When We Were Saints Page 17

  Clare gave him an innocent look. "Why? What do you mean?"

  "Your new haircut. Did you know you would look like a boy with that cut once you put on the robe? How did you know she would give you that haircut?"

  "I asked for it," Clare said. "The boys' haircuts looked like the way some monks wore their hair back in the Middle Ages. I thought it would look right. It feels right. Wearing my robe feels right. Doesn't it feel right to you?"

  Archie wrapped his rope around his waist and tied it. "It's cool," he said. "I don't know how I'll feel out in pub-he, though. And if we're going through the Cloisters like this, don't you think we'll be really noticeable? What will your aunt's old friends think?"

  "I'm not trying to hide in this. I'm just being who I am meant to be. Finally I get to be the real me. I get to be Clare."

  "But shouldn't you be dressed like a nun, then, or like a lady saint?"

  "I've made these robes according to God's directions. God said plain and brown, tied with a rope. It's what Saint Clare and Saint Francis wore."

  Archie tilted his head. "Did you really hear God? Did you hear a voice?"

  "You've asked me that before. Yes, I heard a voice."

  "What did it sound like? Was it a man's or a woman's voice?"

  "Neither. It had no sound."

  "But you said you heard it. It had to have a sound."

  Clare pulled her rope tighter about her waist. "It isn't a sound or a voice like you would normally think. I hear it, and then it's gone before I can identify its sound. It can't be described; that's all I can tell you. But one day you will hear God's voice for yourself and you will know." She pulled her hood up on her head. It framed her face, highlighting the contours of her cheeks, and she looked even more beautiful than she had before. Irving was right, Archie thought. She would look beautiful even if she were bald.

  He pulled his hood up and asked Clare how he looked.

  "Like a real brother. You are my brother, Francis."

  Archie blushed. He could think of no better compliment. He wanted to please her. He wanted to feel chosen by her as her one true companion, her Saint Francis. He looked at her moving to the edge of the deck in her robe, her hands clasped in front of her in prayer and he felt he would do anything for her. It must have been the hunger and fatigue that made me think I would leave her yesterday, he thought.

  He loved the confident way Clare handled everything. He loved her devotion to God, and he wanted to be just like her. She inspired him to be a better person, to be more loving toward people, and to love God more.

  Archie looked at Clare's back, long and way too slender and shook his head. He had no idea how the day would turn out, or how they'd actually live at the Cloisters—would they ask permission or would they sneak in? And he didn't know where their next meal after lunch would come from, but he had faith; he did—he could feel his own confidence. He smiled to himself and joined Clare facing the Hudson River bowing his head as he prayed the words "Be still."

  Chapter 28

  ARCHIE AND CLARE remained praying on the deck below the Cloisters until Clare turned away from the river and said, "It's time to go up. The Cloisters is opening now."

  Archie strained his ears, listening for sounds of cars and buses arriving, but he heard nothing. Still, he grabbed the lunch bag Irving had packed for them and joined Clare on the path. He felt clumsy in his robe. He stumbled, falling into Clare and almost knocking her off the walkway and down the embankment. She caught herself just in time by grabbing on to a branch of a dogwood tree.

  "Sorry, Clare," he said, reaching out and grabbing her by the waist and pulling her back onto the path. She felt thin in his arms, too thin, and his heart missed a beat. Her frailness made him think of his grandmother. He let go of her and they resumed walking, but Archie made a mental note to make sure Clare ate plenty of lunch that afternoon. She had eaten at most only a few bites of food a day since they had left home. He knew it wasn't enough.

  Archie held his robe up with his free hand the rest of the way up the path, keeping a safe distance from Clare. His fall had reminded him of when he was seven and had been in the Christmas pageant at church. He had played one of the angels, and he'd worn a long white robe and a halo made from a hanger and a golden rope of tinsel. His grandmother had made the costume the way he had asked her to, so that he couldn't see his own feet, because he believed angels didn't have feet. On the night of the pageant, he had tripped onto the stage, knocking over the girl in front of him, and the whole congregation had laughed at them. The girl never forgave Archie. He thought of that as he and Clare stepped out into the parking lot and made their way toward the entrance to the Cloisters, and he felt silly in his robe and wanted to take it off. Then Clare turned around and smiled at him, and he felt brave again.

  A van pulled into the parking lot, and a mother and father and three girls climbed out.

  Clare smiled at them and waved and said, "I hope y'all will visit the Campin Room. Have you been here before?"

  The mother said, "I have, but my girls and Roger haven't, and the Campin altarpiece is one of my favorites. How did you know? I wanted to show my daughters and tell them all about it—that is, if I can remember everything, the symbols and all."

  "There are guides and guidebooks that can tell you, if you forget—or if you'd like, I can tell you," Clare said.

  The three girls, who ranged in age from about six to ten, were staring at Archie and Clare, and Archie felt their stares and blushed. He felt like an impostor. He was an impostor. The middle girl looked at Clare and said, "You talk funny."

  Clare smiled. "I'm from the South."

  The young girl studied Clare and then asked, "Are you a boy or a girl?"

  The father and mother both jumped in, trying to hush their daughter and saying, "That's not a polite thing to ask."

  "Why isn't it?" the girl asked.

  Before either parent could answer, Clare said, "It's a perfectly natural thing to ask when you're unsure of something like that. I don't mind the question." She leaned toward the girl and asked, "What do you think I am?"

  "A boy?" she said.

  "You're a girl," said the older one.

  The youngest daughter agreed. "You're a girl."

  "I'm a mystery, aren't I?" Clare said. "I'll tell you what. You go to the museum, and you'll discover all kinds of mysteries, like the painting your mother and I were talking about and these giant tapestries that look like rugs with beautiful stories on them, and before you leave come find me and tell me all about what you saw—and then I'll tell you what I am."

  The girls agreed to the plan, and the youngest took hold of Clare's hand and said, "I want you to come with us, whatever you are."

  Clare kissed the girl on the top of her head and said, "That's the best answer of all. You accept me for me, not whether or not I'm a boy or a girl."

  The middle daughter took Clare's other hand and said, "It doesn't matter to me, either." Clare bent down and kissed her on the head as well, and the oldest daughter crossed her arms in front of her and said, "Well, it never mattered to me in the first place."

  Clare laughed and dropped the two girls' hands to grab the oldest sister and give her a hug. Then the other two wanted a hug, and the parents, watching, invited Clare to join them. They noticed Archie standing behind Clare, with the brown lunch sack in his hands, and the mother added, "Your brother too. Is that what you call him?"

  Clare turned to Archie with her radiant smile and said, "That's exactly what I call him."

  The three girls led Clare toward the Cloisters, and the parents and Archie followed behind.

  After a bathroom stop for everyone, Clare led the family and Archie from room to room, telling them story after story and pointing out details they never would have noticed on their own. Her stories were so interesting and her manner so engaging that more and more people joined them as they moved from object to object.

  There were several children in the group, and they all had questions for
Clare and called out, "What does this mean?" and "What's this over here?" Clare made up games for them, like find-the-hidden-rabbit or who-can-guess-what-this-story-is-about. Even the adults enjoyed playing.

  By noon Clare had ended the tour, announcing that it was time for lunch. Many people had brought picnics, and they followed Clare across the parking lot to the lawn overlooking the Hudson. They sat in a circle on the grass, which was still slightly damp from the early morning rain, and shared their food with one another. No one wanted to share the liverwurst sandwiches, and Archie was glad to have them all to himself. People passed him raisins and orange slices and cookies, and Archie gave away his pickle and apple and felt it was a great sacrifice. He had been looking forward to the pickle. He had never before seen one so big and fat. His grandmother only made pickle chips. She never kept the cucumber whole, like the pickle was. He had never eaten liverwurst before, either and he decided it had to be an acquired taste. He liked it better the more of it he ate, but the first bite had shocked him. It was the first bite of meat he had eaten in a long time. He noticed that Clare didn't eat anything; she was too busy talking. He passed her one of the sandwiches and some cookies and slices of orange, but she passed them on to someone else and paid no attention to the food.

  Archie played catch with a small boy after lunch. It felt good to be a part of things somewhat, but he wasn't comfortable in large gatherings, so he was silent most of the time, speaking only when spoken to. Most people were looking toward Clare and wanting to talk to her, anyway. Everyone wanted to please her The children showed off for her demonstrating cartwheels and showing her how high they could throw the ball into the air or running as fast as they could along the grass. Most of the time Archie sat back and just watched everything, as though he were one of the crows that stood on the stone wall nearby. He felt full and contented and surprised that he hadn't felt the pressure in his stomach when he ate the liverwurst. He glanced again at Clare and wished that she would eat something. He was thinking about how he could get her to eat when a man came along and pushed himself between a woman and Clare so that he could sit next to Clare.

  Archie sat up. He didn't like the guy's manner. Right away he acted too familiar with her and he kept asking her questions—too many questions—about where she had come from and why she was wearing the robe, and did she want some of his pumpkin bread. Archie didn't like it. He wasn't sure why, but he felt it wasn't the man's place to get her to eat. He was a complete stranger after all. What did he know about anything? Anyway, getting Clare to eat was Archie's job, and he didn't like all the attention the man was giving her The man just plain made him nervous, although he couldn't tell why exactly. He looked decent enough. He was clean-shaven, and dressed in khakis and a short-sleeved polo shirt. Archie looked for the tin tag that proved he had been in the Cloisters, but the man wasn't wearing one. He had just drifted over and joined them. Archie tried to draw Clare's attention away from the guy, but for some reason she was drawn to him. Archie didn't like it, and during the rest of the picnic, he kept watch on the man.

  When lunch was over everyone walked back to the parking lot and people said good-bye to one another hugging like they were all good friends. They all thanked Clare, and many offered her money as thanks for the tour but she refused to take any. The slimy man hung about them, acting as if he belonged with Archie and Clare.

  Archie tried to get rid of him. "Well, it was nice meeting you," he said, offering his hand.

  The man ignored him and asked Clare what order she was from. Clare answered she was from the Order of Poor Clares, an order founded by Saint Francis of Assisi and Saint Clare in the Middle Ages. She went into great detail about the order and its dedication to poverty, humility, and faith in God. The man wasn't satisfied. He wanted to know more. "Does the order forbid food?" he asked.

  Archie made a face at the man. He thought it was the dumbest question anyone could ever ask. What kind of religion forbids food?

  "Of course not," Clare replied.

  The man was standing too close to Clare for Archie's comfort. Archie got on the other side of her and took her hand. "If you'll excuse us now, we're going back into the Cloisters," he said. He squinted at the man, lifting his chin and pressing his lips together to show he meant business.

  The man held his hands up as if he were under arrest. "No fear" he said. "I was just curious." He walked on ahead a little, then stopped beside a tan car Archie was sure wasn't his. Archie and Clare walked past him, and Archie could feel the man's eyes following them all the way back into the building.

  When they got inside, Archie said, "I don't like that man. I don't trust him."

  "He's just a lost lamb," Clare said. "He needs our understanding, not our judgment."

  "Well, you can be understanding if you want, but I'm keeping my eye on him."

  Clare turned to Archie and took both his hands in hers. "I don't need your protection. God is with us."

  "And God gave us brains and discernment, and I have discerned that that man is up to no good. And God has put a feeling in me that says that man is bad news, okay?"

  Clare shook Archie's hands. "Have faith, Francis."

  Archie lowered his eyes. He couldn't look at Clare without falling in with her way of thinking, and he wanted to have his own thoughts about this. To him it was the boys in the woods all over again. How could he not want to protect her? Did his desire to protect her really show a lack of faith in God? Hadn't he been born with the instinct to protect what he loved? Didn't that come from God? Archie was tired of feeling so confused about everything. He pulled away from Clare and headed toward the bathrooms.

  Clare followed him.

  "Maybe I have too little faith in people," he said finally, looking back at Clare. "But maybe you trust them too much—and maybe you shouldn't."

  Chapter 29

  ARCHIE HAD THOUGHT THAT they would spend the afternoon in the Langon Chapel with the crying Virgin, but they didn't. During Clare's tour of the chapel earlier that morning, Archie had stood staring at the sculpture, waiting for tears to flow. He had wanted to be the one to discover the tears and to say to the group that stood listening to Clare, "Look! She's crying! The Virgin is crying for us." As soon as he had realized the desire, he'd felt ashamed. He knew he was just greedy for attention. Everything came so easily to Clare. Everybody loved her. All she had to do was walk into a room, and people flocked to her while Archie stood like a stooge in a monk's costume. That's what he felt the robe was, just a costume. On Clare it was real; she was a monk or a saint—someone holy—but he was just a stooge in a Halloween costume, and it wasn't Halloween.

  That afternoon Clare led Archie to the Gothic Chapel and she described some of the details of the room. He loved the stained-glass windows and the high vaulted ceiling and all the delicate cutwork in the stone around the windows, but there were tombs in the room, and they made him uneasy. They were large stone tombs, with sculptures on the lids representing the dead buried within them. Clare showed Archie one lid sculpted with the figure of a young man staring up at them, his eyes open and his hands together in prayer upon his chest. She told him that the man was a knight in the Crusades who was said to have brought back a piece of the True Cross, the cross Jesus died on. Clare ran her hand over the young man's stone face while she talked. Archie didn't like looking at him. Clare said the knight looked so peaceful, but he made Archie think of the dead and of his grandfather. He felt the odd pressure above his belly button and turned away.

  Clare moved to the end of the room and stood beneath the stained-glass windows. She stood with her back to the wall, hidden from most onlookers by a sculpture of a saint. She bowed her head and prayed, and Archie tried to do the same. He stared up at the stained-glass panels of Isaiah and Mary Magdalene and tried to keep his mind focused on God, but the tombs were behind him and he felt their presence. His thoughts were dark. He thought about the man they had just left in the parking lot, and then, because that disturbed him too much, he thought
about his grandfather's death and the way he had missed his chance to set things right between them. Thinking about that upset him even more than the strange man had. He felt that he had missed something so important: an opportunity for him to understand his grandfather and for them both to say what was really in their hearts. Archie supposed he had feared speaking up because he'd been afraid of what his grandfather might say to him. The two of them had never gotten along, and he knew that it was his fault. He had purposely tried to bedevil his grandfather every chance he got. He was sorry, but it was too late, and he knew that he would never feel right inside about it. He felt the pressure in his stomach and it made him angry. What am I supposed to do about anything now? he asked God. Then he thought about his grandmother and grew even more anxious, and his heart felt heavy with dread.

  Archie tried to shake all the dark thoughts from his mind. He tried to focus on God. Every time his mind strayed back to the thoughts that filled him with anger or anxiety, he reminded himself to pray, to stay with God, to look at the windows, the pretty windows with their reds and blues and golds, but still his mind strayed. Finally he got so frustrated, he couldn't stand it, and he told Clare he was going outside to the gardens and that he'd come back for her before closing time.

  Archie left the Gothic Chapel and stepped out into an herb garden surrounded by brick walkways. He sat down on some stone steps, making sure to leave room for people to get by him, and took several deep breaths. He felt much better sitting outside. He thought of his mountain back home and how he had loved to bike on the trails with Armory, rising to every challenge and risk Armory would place before him. He loved to hike to the top of it and to look out over the fields, his grandfather's fields, and see the cows and sheep and corn and wheat. Viewing his world from the mountain had always made him feel satisfied somehow, and safe. He no longer felt safe or satisfied. He felt lost, empty, even, and trotting after Clare everywhere she went didn't feel good to him anymore. Maybe he wasn't a saint, not even a saint-in-the-making. Maybe his grandfather had meant to say sinner instead of saint, or he had been hallucinating, or as Archie had originally believed, his grandfather hadn't had enough time to say it all, and what he'd really meant to say was, "Young man, even if you are a saint the rest of your life, you'll never make it up to me!"