by Lisa Samson
Now the village was different. Because of Father Isaac. But then, Father Isaac realized the true nature of Christianity, that it was Jesus. She had loved Jesus so much there with him. It was because Jesus suffered with the rest of humanity. Suffered and suffered and suffered, and enough already! When was Jesus going to stop suffering and just make it all stop? Hadn’t he had enough yet?
The next morning as she was making breakfast, she took a chance and told Sister Ruth about it. She knew she’d latch onto it. Sister Ruth had been trying to get her to church for years.
“He’s right. You got to take care of your soul, honey.”
—Oh, boy.
“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I’ve been doing okay without all that.”
Sister Ruth laughed and laughed.
“Okay, okay! You’re right.” May cracked an egg into the frying pan. Then another.
“I’ve met the minister down at St. Thomas Episcopal. His name’s John, a casual kind of pastor. A good man. You’d like him. Want me to ask him to come see you?”
“No!”
“Oh, all right.”
May pushed two pieces of bread down into the toaster. “Give me time to get used to the idea.”
“Please, child. You won’t do anything about it until, one, somebody does it for you, or two, it just happens and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“What do you mean?”
Sister Ruth sat in her chair and straightened the cuffs on her yellow cotton blouse. “Your life lives you. You don’t live it. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
May turned her attention back to the eggs. “So did you hear anything at church about the decision regarding the farm?”
“Most of the congregation is upset about it. But Pastor Marlow is the type of man who seems to get his way.”
“That’s sad.”
“Well, in the end it’ll be good for the church, they say, and they’ll forget about how it all came to be, and Reverend Marlow will be called a man for his time and season. That’s always the way it works. But somebody has to pay the price somewhere.”
May scooped up the eggs onto two plates and laid slices of toast alongside. She sat down opposite Sister Ruth, who held out her hand so May could place hers inside. She said grace, but today she didn’t pray at May like she sometimes did. She prayed for her, for strength to do what she had to do this year.
After breakfast, Sister Ruth took off for the beauty parlor, and May gathered flowers—as many as she could. She’d give some away if she had to.
As May was finishing lunch, just some egg salad on a bed of the spring lettuce she had planted, Sister Ruth came back looking beautiful, her hair cut very short on the sides and back and teased into a pleasing arrangement of curls on top.
“My goodness, Sister Ruth! That’s quite the change. I love it!”
“It was time to get into the twenty-first century. If I had to scrape my hair back one more time, I was going to scream. Now we’re going to have to get you going into something more stylish.”
May had thought the bun looked pretty good the other day, actually. Maybe she just needed to fix herself up a little more.
Sister Ruth spied the camera box on the hoosier. “When did you get that?”
“My father sent it to me for my birthday.”
“Lordymercy, that’s a nice one!” She picked it up and turned it in her hands to get a good look.
“I guess it is. I don’t know about this digital stuff, Sister Ruth.”
“Well, you’re going to need a computer to download all the pictures you take.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Oh, I’m sure you got some money saved up for a rainy day.” She lifted up the camera, spied some other black thing with a cord coming out. “This is the battery and the charger. I’ll get that charging for you, and then we’ll take it out for a spin.”
“You know how to work it?”
“Well, maybe not completely, but I’ll look at the manual first.”
“Please.”
While Sister Ruth sipped her tea and read, the battery charging on the hoosier, May cleaned out the bathroom sink and shook out Claudius’s clothes hanging in his closet. For an hour she rambled about until Sister Ruth hollered, “It’s ready! Green light! Let’s go take us some pictures, May-May!”
Sister Ruth slid the battery up out of the charger. “Now see here? This little door on the bottom? That’s where you slide the battery in.” She picked it open with her thumbnail. “And see those silver squares? They line up with those other silver slivers in there. And never, ever touch them!”
“Why not?”
She shrugged. “That’s what Brother Ben told me.”
“Brother Ben? You all have a Brother Ben at your church?”
“I tell you no lie. But you can believe him. He’s a very technical sort.”
She turned on the camera, pointed it at May, and pressed the silver button on top. May winced.
Sister Ruth flipped the camera around and there May was, on the screen, looking like a monster was about to attack her.
“Lordymercy! That’s horrible! Is that what I really look like?”
Ruth looked at it. “It’s not so bad. I mean it may not be your best day, honey, but you’ve been worse. A lot worse.” She held it forward. “Want to give it a try?”
May received it into her hands, held the viewfinder up to her eye, and clicked. And there she graced the screen. Sister Ruth. With a dazzling prepared smile.
“You look great. Figures.”
“That’s ’cause I was expecting it. Oh, I do like this new hairdo!” She took the camera. “Let’s try another one!”
“No!” May yelled, holding her hands over her face. “Now that’s going too far, Sister Ruth.”
“All right, party pooper.” She frowned. “How about if we go outside? I’m sure the trees won’t mind, even if you do. Or the chickens either, for that matter.”
May started clicking as soon as she stepped out the back door. It had been so long since she’d held a camera. She liked the feel of it, the perfect heft—not too heavy, but not light either—as it snuggled in the heel of her hand.
“And don’t be shy. I have the resolution set low, which means …”
May spaced out while Sister Ruth sputtered technical jargon.
“ … so you can take about a thousand pictures.”
“Oh. Wow. Really? That’s awesome!”
—Awesome? Did she just say that? Really?
So she fired away, picture after picture, hiding her face behind the black box, yet seeing. Really seeing. “This is wonderful! I’d forgotten!”
“I know. There’s nothing like a camera, May. It’s the best way to see the world. And then you get to see the world again and again when you look at the pictures.”
A thousand pictures without worrying about the expense? Amazing the things that happen when you store yourself away on a farm for a decade.
• 7 •
Eli took his time writing back.
Glen had to come to the door to hand May a package, but
he raised his eyebrows at the letter sitting on top.
“Eli Campbell,” May said, though he didn’t utter a word.
“Can you believe that? Who’d ever have thought Eli had that in him?”
“I know. Doesn’t it make you wonder what you yourself are capable of ?”
“Not that! I’d never gun somebody down.”
But May shook her head. She knew what otherwise decent people found themselves compelled to do. “I don’t know.”
“Gotta go. It’s nice you’re writing him, though, May. I mean, he may deserve to rot, and maybe even rot alone, but it’s good you’re reaching out.” Glen reached out, too, and touched her upper arm.
She said goodbye and watched him climb back into his Jeep.
August 25, 2003
Dear May,
Your letter came as quite a surprise. I’m glad you wrote, though. You’
re right, I don’t hear from many people. Mom sends me letters and visits when she can, but she’s busy raising Callie now. You should see that girl. She’s the most wonderful nine-year-old in the world.
I don’t really know what to write about. I know we knew each other once, to put it mildly, but you must be having some doubts about writing to a convicted killer. Just know you’re safe with me. I’m not going to get somebody outside to stalk you, and I have no romantic designs. Those days are gone. Well, the romance part. I’ve never sent stalkers on anyone. If all goes as planned, I won’t be here a few months from now anyway. But letter writing does pass the time. We watch TV sometimes, too, and I read a lot.
My crime was horrible. I admit that and don’t blame anybody but myself, just so you know. Not even the military. Most guys with my training don’t shoot an eight-year-old and her father while robbing a convenience store, even if they are high like I was. I’ve been clean now since I’ve been in prison, and that’s about all I can say for the experience. I deserve far worse, so I’m not complaining. You’ll hear lots of complaining in here, that’s for sure. Almost every guy on my block is a repeat offender, and I keep wondering why they did what they did knowing what it’s like in here. I guess it’s more complicated than that. I mostly try to keep to myself though. They gossip too much for my liking.
I’ve never been raped or committed any act like that here either. They all know I’m a little crazy, highly trained, and they stay away, thank God. Or maybe God has protected me in a way I don’t deserve. I’ve been thinking a lot about those sorts of things now that execution day is set to be scheduled. I know God has forgiven me, but I can’t forgive myself. What I wonder though, is my failure to enter the appeals process suicide in the eyes of God? Don’t people go to hell for that? I really don’t want to go to hell. I know I’ll have some sort of punishment to face, but hopefully I’ll skip out on an eternal measure of it. Honestly, I hope God just annihilates me. How merciful that would be. But I don’t believe that’s the way it goes. My conundrum is theological. People call it “eternal security.” Do you believe that, May? That once you’re saved, you’re always saved?
Anyway, thanks for listening. Upon rereading this, I see it’s a little odd. I don’t get out much, you know. You can write back again, but don’t feel you have to. I have such fond memories of you, May. We could have been really good friends. You were always easy to be with.
Sincerely, Eli
May set the letter on the kitchen table. Oh my. Eli was getting all theological on her! Once you’re saved, you’re always saved? She’d never heard a sentence like that in her life! And talk about God and suicide. Shoot, she just figured she was going to cheer the guy up a little.
Maybe she wouldn’t write him back. Who was she to say anything to him about his standing before God? She doubted God gave a rotten fig about what was happening to Eli Campbell anyway. If he didn’t care what happened to Priscilla and Yvette, who never murdered anybody, why would he go the extra mile for a child killer?
• 8 •
Monday morning dragged itself over the horizon, bringing rain along with it. August was waning; nine months to go and she’d only had one visit from Marlow, thank goodness, and she’d refused to answer the door. Not much to do outside, and May hated rainy days. Usually she saved up all the major scrubbing of the house for rainy days. It kept her busy.
Rainy days, rainy days.
The rainy days in Rwanda were the worst.
Sister Ruth came around nine thirty, her old Suburban bounding over the potholes like a bucking bronco. It made no sense whatsoever that a woman who could barely see above the steering wheel drove such a behemoth. She saved the speed for May’s driveway and slowed traffic to a standstill everywhere else. Putter, putter, putter.
May opened the back door before she could knock. “Hey, Sister Ruth!”
She cried with a start. “Lordymercy! You frightened the daylights out of me, honey!”
“I heard you coming up the drive. Come on in. You want a cup of coffee?”
Sister Ruth stepped inside, removing her raincoat from her shoulders and the plastic rain bonnet from her hair. Monday was her beauty parlor day, and that new haircut looked just as good the second time around. Why that prissy, neat, pin curl of a woman ever took May on, May just couldn’t say. Maybe Ruthie Askins felt the need for penance.
May poured her a cup of coffee and set it down by her place at the table.
“What brings you here on a rainy day?”
“Well, I was thinking it rained last week and you scrubbed this place from top to bottom. I was coming to save you from doing all that again.”
“Too late. I’ve done the upstairs.”
“Oh, honey. You’re too much!”
“I like that shirt.” May felt her sleeve, peacock blue silk.
“I got it at the thrift store for a dollar fifty last half-price Wednesday. You really should come along sometime.” She lifted her mug and blew on the hot coffee.
“I’ve already got more things than I could possibly wear in a week.”
Sister Ruth raised an eyebrow. “So I guess going to the beauty parlor is still out too?”
May couldn’t blame her for trying.
“Time’s a wastin’, honey. You got less than a year. You’ve got to start with baby steps, and cutting that string mop hanging down your back would be a fine place to begin.”
“Hey, it’s a horse’s tail, and you know it. You still haven’t told me why you’ve come. I doubt we’re going to sit here in the kitchen all day.”
Sister Ruth set down her mug on the left upper corner of the place mat, the perimeter of the mug bottom exactly at the edges. She smoothed out the fringe and looked at the window, the rain running down the panes. “I looked up Eli’s address, and I thought we might just take a drive over to Campton.”
“Sister Ruth, I don’t think I—”
“Oh, not to visit him, you silly goose. Lordymercy, do you think I’m a fool? I’d just as soon try to gain a hundred pounds in a night as get you to visit anybody. No, we’ll just drive by and look at the new prison. I hear it’s state-of-the-art.”
“Sister Ruth. Seriously. A prison field trip?” May sat, no cup in hand. She’d already had too much caffeine for one day.
“Now, now. What can a little drive hurt? You been here on this farm for almost a decade. I’ve been comin’ and comin’, and heavens but you’re getting to be a chore. Buying your groceries, getting the money orders for your bills, picking out books. I’ve been patient—”
“You’ve been a saint!”
“Yes, I have. So just humor me. Get in the truck and sit your bottom down and let me take you for a little ride. That’s all.”
Nine months left. Baby steps. “Okay.”
Ruth tapped the table with both hands. “That’s it? That’s all I had to do?”
“I guess so.”
“Lordymercy!” She stood up and headed into the bathroom to powder her nose, as she always called it.
May figured she’d better clean up a little herself. It was a big day in an odd sort of way, and why today was the day, of all days, she chose to leave the farm, she couldn’t say, but she was going to go with it. So she grabbed a pair of clean jeans, a blouse Sister Ruth brought her several years ago, and a gray cardigan sweater she’d knitted last winter.
She figured she’d try doing that bun hairdo again.
She opened her nightstand drawer and touched Father Isaac’s red stole, lifted it to her nose and breathed deeply, and hoped for the best.
When May joined her in the kitchen, Sister Ruth’s reaction was much like Claudius’s all those years ago, only this time her dressing up was several steps down from the getup for the father-daughter picnic. At this rate, next time May got off the farm she’d be in pajamas.
“Well, don’t you look nice!”
“Thanks.”
“See? You just needed a little encouragement, and I was the one to do it.”
> —Oh, boy.
Five minutes later they headed down Route 11. Things hadn’t changed much at all in the last eight years.
“Wow. I haven’t missed much, have I?” May shoved down the feeling of nausea threatening to take over.
“Keep telling yourself that, honey.”
“Maybe I will.”
“Lots of new cabins and things down further.”
“That’s nice.”
A few of the beech trees lining the road were beginning to turn a little golden around the edges, and as they continued farther, the cliffs of the Red River Gorge, a rock climber’s Mecca, towered over them.
—Just think about nature, May. The trees, the rocks, just like on the farm.
They passed by the spot near Natural Bridge State Park where Claudius found May that long-ago day. She pointed to the side of the road. “Right there is where I met Claudius.”
“He never would tell people how that happened.”
So May filled her in, glad for the distraction.
“So you’ve been lost from the beginning, honey.”
“Yes. I guess you could say that.” She hated it when people were right about such things.
Sister Ruth sighed. “I sure do miss him. He was a good friend to a lot of us. Many a time a family couldn’t buy food, and he’d show up in that old car, unloading eggs and vegetables and milk. Don’t know what people do without him now.”
“What I do, I guess. Try their best to get along.”
Ruth took a right onto Route 15.
Vacation cabins and chalets clung to the hills surrounding the exit off the Mountain Parkway. A visitors’ center, even a wedding chapel, combined with a couple of gas stations and a Subway, dotted the scene.
“I do love that Subway place,” Sister Ruth said. “The meatball subs are delicious.”
A meatball sub. May wanted to cry at the thought of it, imagining her teeth sinking through fresh bread, sauce, and cheese and into the soft ground beef of the meatball. She must have moaned just a touch, because Sister Ruth agreed.
“Mmm, hmm. Very tasty, indeed!”
“I used to eat a lot of Subway in college. Cheap food, and there were a couple of them near campus.”
—Keep talking, May. That way you don’t have to think that you’re actually in civilization!