*****
It's not until I'm across the street, standing in front of the U.R. building, that I suddenly remember my house-arrest.
Whoops.
Well, I'm here now. I'll be quick and hopefully no one will care.
Please God don't let me run into Andrew or Mr. Terrell. Or Tim.
I walk quickly down the stairs to the room with the clothing bank. The ladies in charge of clothing keep it fairly well sorted, so it's only a minute before I've found the little girl clothes. I grab several warm things that look like they might fit Rosa. None of the coats seem warm enough, more like jackets. That’s disappointing because what she was wearing was little more than a ragged shawl. A sign is hanging up on the wall that reads:
"Need more coats, especially Men's.
Please donate any you are not using.
Thanks, Jean Hosche Jan. 10th"
Some donations must've come in since then, because Aunty found that nice coat for Matt after this sign was written. Mr. Terrell had no coat this morning. I have this strange thought that Aunty may have stolen that coat from Mr. Terrell. And then reason kicks in, reminding me that Aunty would never steal.
Surely not?
Just imagining Aunty tiptoeing away from the elder's coat closet that day makes me grin.
I find Rosa a cute winter hat with Mickey Mouse on it. I'm sure it will make her smile. I also take a pair of boots and a pair of shoes, hoping that at least one pair will fit for now. I remember to pick out some little panties and socks too. My bag is bulging with what I hope will be a new wardrobe and a new life for that baby girl. I don’t sign the sheet with my name or what I took. I’d rather no one knew that I was out of the house against the Reverend’s orders. These few little things won’t be missed, and I’m only taking them for a little girl who desperately needs them.
Climbing the stairs and walking past the doors to the clinic, I change my mind. I need to talk to the doctor. Who cares if anyone knows that I left the house. What are they going to do to me? My life is already a living punishment. Maybe Aunty is being stubborn. Maybe she’s intentionally not using something that could help her in an attempt to selflessly save it for someone else; like she did with the Tylenol for Thomas. I bet the Doctor can do something to give her more strength and more time. Tim's dad is one of Aunty's closest friends. It's only right that Dr. Markowitz knows what's going on.
Please don't let Tim be here? I ask The Lord in desperation. At least do that for me? I plead silently.
I take a deep breath and open the door to the small clinic. Tim is sitting at the front desk. I promised God that I wouldn't question Him anymore, but I yell Why Lord?! in my head before I can control the impulse.
"Ivy! What are you doing here? Is something wrong? You aren't supposed to be out!"
"Yes, I know."
And really it's none of his business.
"But Aunty is—not well. I need to ask your dad how I can help her." I fight my emotions and keep my eyes dry. I do not want to look vulnerable and hug-needy.
Tim stares at me and then stands up to go get his dad. His pitying look and the way he hurried away makes my heart sink. Tim knows how sick Aunty is, and I found no hope in his eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I Bear My Soul to Sasquatch
The wind is stinging my cheeks; and, again, I find relief in the pain. Alone on the sidewalk on this windy, God-forsaken day, my faith is wavering. Dr. Markowitz was kind but direct. The way he described Aunty's cancer and her present condition made it clear that he has given up hope for any medical turnaround.
"She's in the final stages," he said.
I didn't understand much of what he said about cells and malignancies and growth rate, but I understood that. Final stages means death's doorstep. He said her speedy sudden decline means that she probably doesn't have much longer. He told me what the end would probably look like. What to watch for.
I can hardly stand to think about it. I told him that I had prayed over her and that I am believing God for healing. He didn't say anything, but his emotionless face spoke volumes. He's a doctor and one of the Living. He believes in healing as much as the rest of us, maybe more. He made it very clear that he does not expect Aunty to get better. I wish he would've lied to me. He offered to have Tim walk me home. I exuberantly insisted that wasn't necessary.
My legs feel like wood as I reach the steps in front of the Inn. My feet are suddenly too heavy to lift, too stubborn and unresponsive to carry me the last few steps to the door. My faith is slipping out in wet drops down the front of my cheeks. Maybe I should sit down on the front steps and give the cold wind a chance to do what it wants, to freeze me over, inside and out.
The branches of the tall shrubs next to the Inn's old front porch shake with more than the wind's power. I turn my head expecting to see a squirrel; but, instead, Matt steps out of the evergreen wall of pointy Holly leaves. I'm too numb inside to jump or be startled. I slowly meet his green eyes with my wet brown ones. As we appraise each other, I dig around in my heart to find some emotion that hasn't already been used up.
I thought he'd look worse from the way Aunty described his injuries of only a week ago. There aren't any stitches showing, and I realize that Aunty didn't say where he needed them. His wounds must be hidden by his clothes. Around one eye is a fading muddy-yellow bruise that spreads part way down the bridge of his nose. Other than that, he looks healthy and not at all like a zombie. He defies both faith and science with his lack of disease.
"What's eating you?" he asks pleasantly. I'm sure he expected me to be my jumpy self. He was probably looking forward to startling me.
"Hey," I reply.
He frowns, puzzled, and says, "Well, I thought you'd be happier to see me. After the letter," He lifts his eyebrows up and down at me, giving me his most handsome flirtatious look yet.
I shrug. I need to get back inside to Aunty and Rosa, and I don't have time for his sparkling eyes today.
"You reminded me what love looks like," he trills in a mocking, girl voice, reciting the words I wrote in my letter.
My love goggles have temporarily slipped off to one side, and I remember how irritating he can be.
"Aunty is dying," I say bluntly.
"I thought you people couldn't die," he returns jokingly.
"She has cancer."
He finally accepts my mood, and his quirky half smile fades. He nods knowingly. Like he had already figured out something was wrong with Aunty. Did everyone but me know? Was it that obvious? But I did know, didn’t I. I knew something wasn’t right. I just didn’t want to believe it.
"I'm sorry," Matt says sincerely.
"Thanks. I'm still hoping God will heal her. I know He can."
Matt shrugs. "You know where I stand on that theory," is all he says.
"Yeah," I nod.
"I thought they had you cooped up. So you're allowed out of your house now?" he asks with an antagonistic smile. "I thought I was going to have to break in and steal you."
"I—no. I just had to get something."
I remember Rosa sleeping inside in nothing but a towel. I need to get back inside before she wakes up and doesn't know what to do. Neither Ben or Jack will be comfortable caring for a little naked girl. I wonder if Jack even knows about all the scars on Rosa’s body.
I need to hurry.
"I'm sorry, I have to go. I have a lot going on right now and I'm—really sad," I say, my eyes brimming with tears again.
"I'm sorry," Matt says in turn.
Then, he is suddenly holding me.
I go rigid with shock! So many feelings fight for precedence. The desire to be comforted. The thrill of being close to him. The reality that I'm being hugged in front of our house on the main street of town in broad daylight by a zombie.
That feeling wins.
I stand tense in his grasp; and, after a second or two of embrace, he releases me with a sad look on his face.
"I hav
e to go back in." I say, looking around to see if anyone was out on the street to witness that.
"Sure," he says with disappointment in his voice. "How's Tom?" he asks.
"In pain," is all I can think to say. I'm a real Debbie Downer today.
"Can you give him this?" Matt pulls a lump of black shiny fabric out of his back pocket, and I realize it's a glove. One of their special gloves. "When he's healed enough, this will help him. It has all four fingers. I need you to tell him that I'm keeping an eye on him. It'd be nice if you didn't say that to anyone else. It just makes things harder for me."
I nod, "Ok."
He melts back into the bushes. I remember, momentarily, how much I had been missing him and I call out, "Will I see you again?"
"Course," he says, closer to me than I realized, just behind the closest bush.
A small smile plays at dry lips as I climb the front stairs and go back inside.
*****
Rosa isn't in the bed when I get up to her room. Panic is my first emotion, but I keep it in check and do a quick search of the room. No Rosa. I check the bathroom. I find her hiding under her towel in a little puddle of water down in the big tub. She is shivering, and I'm not sure if it's from fright or cold. She has her head down and is completely covered by the towel. I don't want to scare her.
"Rosa," I say sweetly, calling softly over the side of the tub. Her shivering lessens a little, so I say it again, "Rosa?"
She peaks at me from under the towel, and I smile at her. She smiles back. I hold up the Mickey Mouse hat, and she squints quizzically at it.
"Hat," I say, and I make a silly face and set it on top of my head. It doesn't fit, and it falls right off. She giggles.
I coax her out of the tub and dress her warmly. Some of the clothes are too big, but I've guessed close on most of them. The shoes fit perfectly, and the boots are only a little too big. She looks thrilled with all of it. She loves the hat and keeps looking at herself in the full length mirror behind the door.
I know nothing about her. Did she ever have a mother who loved her? Someone must have nursed her and brought her safely through those fragile newborn years. If she had only been intended for meat—the sick thought makes me almost throw up—she would've been killed at birth. Someone kept her safe. But those scars—
What was done to her? Was she kept safe only to be repeatedly hurt? What abuses has she suffered? I vow before God to keep her safe; to show her the special, wonderful things in this life. Beautiful flowers, chocolate cookies, Disney movies, fancy dresses. Just like Aunty did for me. And, most importantly, I will raise her to know Him. I lean over and kiss her cheek. She looks at me with wonder in her eyes.
"Kiss," I say with a smile.
She leans close to me and stares seriously into my eyes, like she's searching for something. Suddenly satisfied, she brushes her lips against my cheek and then sits back to weigh my reaction.
"Thank you," I say as I pull her close and hug her.
"You sure have a way with her," Jack's voice startles me. "She is more human with you. With me, she was like a little animal. She would hide in the corner of my tent and only dart out when I offered her food. She needs a mother. I'll be relieved to see her with some nice family."
"I want her," I blurt out. "I think God wants me to have her. I've never felt like this before. I love her already. Could you tell the Elder's for me? I'm not allowed to leave the house."
In retrospect none of that sounded like the right way to convince him to let me keep Rosa. I've proclaimed myself a crazy shut-in who is desperate for someone to love.
"I mean, I can leave the house, just not lately because Pravda is hunting me."
This wasn't a recovery. It made things worse. I can tell by the tight furrow of his sasquatchian eyebrows. He thinks I'm a crazy, desperate shut-in with a death sentence.
"Why is Pravda hunting you?" he asks quietly.
I can't make things any worse than I already have, so I launch into the whole story. He nods and asks occasional questions. I'm getting pretty good at telling it. I was careful not to call them zombies this time.
"Did the man cut you anywhere?" he asks after thinking quietly for a few moments.
"How could you know that?"
I never even mention that part when I tell the story. It wasn't worth mentioning, just a scrape that happened in the struggle.
"They cut you?" He can tell by the look on my face that they did.
"It was just a scrape on my neck. It wasn't anything. It just happened in the struggle."
"It was everything. It was the whole point. Blood, Ivy. We live and die by blood these days. Blood purchases health. For us it's the blood of Christ. For them, it's the blood treatments. Pravda takes all the donated blood and cleans it. They sell the cleaner blood to whoever can afford it, and it slows the progress of the disease. But Pravda doesn't want to just hold the disease at bay; they are looking for a cure. For some reason, they think that your blood is special. That man was sent to obtain a sample of your blood. The question is what did they find? They may have found nothing. In which case, you are safe. They only want you if they have some reason to believe your blood will help them find a cure."
This is an extreme "good news, bad news" scenario. The good news would mean that I'm already safe. They have no use for me and are no longer interested. Long gone. I could be free again. The bad news means that they'll never stop hunting me—to the ends of the earth. And there's no way to know.
Jack lets me take Rosa downstairs. I want to keep her close. Even if they won't let me have her, I will love her forever. If someone else is chosen to adopt her, I could still be like a big sister to her. But I desperately hope they'll consider Aunty and I. If Aunty gets better.
I have to stop saying if.
WHEN. When Aunty gets better.
But what if she doesn’t? I can't stop thinking about where I would go if I no longer had a home here. I'm sure the Elder's wouldn't kick me out of the Inn, but I would never want to live here with someone else running it. All the memories of Aunty that I have here—my eyes threaten to leak for the tenth time today. I couldn't stay here.
*****
After finally cleaning up the breakfast dishes, I take Rosa to my room. My thoughts are tangled in a hazy quagmire. Every time I try to unravel the mess, it is Matt's face that emerges out of the fog. I wonder when I'll see him again. I dig through my closet for some of my old toys and put them on my bed with Rosa. She is instantly engrossed in them. I decide to finish devoting myself. Was it really just this morning that the door bell interrupted my quiet time bringing a new wave of chaos into my already frayed life? Today has been full of a week's worth of energy and emotion, and it is only lunchtime.
The devotion book I’m reading is one of my favorites, written as though God is speaking directly to me. Today's date, January 20th, reads:
Approach this day with awareness of who is Boss.
As you make plans for the day, remember that it is I
who orchestrates the events of your life. On days
when things go smoothly, according to your plans,
you may be unaware of My sovereign Presence.
On days when your plans are thwarted, be on the
lookout for Me! I may be doing something important
in your life, something quite different from what you
expected. It is essential at such times to stay in
communication with Me, accepting My way as
better than yours. Don't try to figure out what is
happening. Simply trust Me and thank Me in
advance for the good that will come out of it all. I
know the plans I have for you, and they are good.
Isaiah 55:9-11; Jeremiah 29:11
I told you, He does this all the time. It's as though this little book was written just for me, just for this day in my life. He might not be making things easy for me, but I know He loves me. He's promising me, always pro
mising me, that it's going to be ok. I don't need to make plans for myself, He has already made them. I cry at the thought that He might still take Aunty. Like the book says, sometimes He doesn't work the way we want.
The verse at the end, Jeremiah 29:11, is every teenager's favorite verse. Looking forward to the future, wondering what you'll become, who you'll be, it's a promise you want to wrap your arms and legs around and refuse to let go of. Even when it feels like it couldn't be true: 'For I know the plans that I have for you, declares The Lord, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, to give you a future and a hope.'
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Aunty Gets Her Way
I made homemade potato soup for lunch. Aunty's recipe. Soup wasn't the best choice for Rosa's second meal in civilization. She's going to need another swim in the tub at some point. After feeding everyone else and asking Jack to keep an eye on potato-faced Rosa, I'm in the kitchen cleaning up.
After getting the kitchen almost as nice as Aunty keeps it, I finally get a chance to bring a tray of food to Aunty's room. She is unresponsive. After several minutes of trying to rouse her, I dissolve into tears. I won't disobey twice today, so I ask Ben to go across the street for the doctor.
*****
I'm sitting on Aunty’s bed when Dr. Markowitz arrives a few minutes later. His tall muscular frame fills her doorway, and worry is written in the age lines on his square face. An attractive man for his age, he's always been singularly focused on caring for the people of our town and uninterested in replacing his late wife.
"Not good," he says after checking her pulse and her heart with the stethoscope that is always around his neck. "It's happening faster than I thought it would."
"What does that mean?" I ask through small sobs.
"I'm sorry, Ivy," he says with genuine heartbreak on his face.
He and Aunty were good friends. This is hard for him too. Dr. Markowitz comes around to where I'm sitting on the side of Aunty’s bed and gives me a half hug. "Colleen told me the details of what's going on and I promised her I would keep you safe. We'd like you to come stay with us."
We.
He means Tim. Of course Tim would like that.
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