by Jim Kraus
On the top of the map was a handwritten note, done in tiny, precise letters, all capitals, in blue ink.
Can you come to visit on the twenty-first? I will be home that morning. Until noon. Then I will be gone until three. (I don’t have a watch, but I am pretty good at telling the time from the sun.) Promptness would be appreciated. If you are not there, I will assume that you are not coming. Perhaps if that happens, we can set another time. If you are not there, I will write again. But please save this map. You can use it if you come at another time. Thank you. Speedy Davis. (Dr. Grainger did not tell you my real first name, did she? Did she remember? It is Sidney. Isn’t that a horrible name? I have never liked it. Speedy is much better. Thank you again. Speedy Davis.
Jake took Speedy’s map and compared it with his well-used atlas. The route would be easy to follow. Speedy was a competent, if obtuse, cartographer.
He placed the atlas and the hand-drawn map on the truck seat. He had asked if Petey wanted to accompany him, but the cat did not budge from his chair that morning, only raising his head in response, and blinking his eyes, as if not willing to be roused.
I can’t go today, Jake. I can’t. Something tells me that I have to stay here and protect things. I’m not sure what I have to protect or from what.
But I sure hope it is not from foxes.
I am hoping, and praying, that if I am asked to protect Tassy I can do as asked, and I will be successful.
Just no foxes, God. I don’t think I can win against a fox.
Petey stood up and stretched.
But you know I would try my best, whatever happens, right? I would try my best to do my job.
Whatever that job might be. Whatever the task. I will try.
Jake left Petey at rest and drove through town and out again, heading east, deeper into the dark green forests of north central Pennsylvania and the stands of century-old lumber and moss and deep, almost nighttime shade, and clean mountain streams filled with bears and badgers, apparently.
He spotted his first turnoff easily. He stopped the truck and looked carefully at the speedometer.
“4.3 miles.”
He did the math in his head and drove south, along what must have been a former logging trail, filled with ruts, rocks, and small fallen trees. Rough, but not impassible.
At 4.2 miles he slowed further, and scanned the east side of the road for the second cutoff and the stand of old pines that formed an “X” of sorts, flanked by a grove of black cherry trees.
“That must be it there,” Jake said as he slowed and then turned into a thickness of brush—brush that all but covered a set of tire tracks. The truck protested a little but climbed and bounced and rocked and then came out on a small meadow filled with wildflowers and Queen Anne’s lace. The rough track led around the meadow. At the far end was a small cabin with a tin roof and a curl of smoke coming from a stone chimney. As Jake got closer, he saw a figure come out of the house, waving.
“Hey, Pastor Jake, you found me! Good job. Not everyone can follow a road map that well. You know, you gotta trust the mapmaker when you go off road. If you don’t trust the mapmaker, then you’re just lost, right? And you must have trusted me. That’s a good thing. Reassuring.”
Jake stopped, felt his kidneys settle back into their proper place from the jostling of the washboard road, and stepped out.
“It looked like you’ve drawn the map before. I figured you had directed people here before me.”
Speedy looked alarmed.
“Good heavens, Pastor Jake. No. I never did. You’re the first person I ever invited here. The very first. You won’t tell anyone where I live, will you? I’m pretty sure I’m on state land here and they might not take kindly to me living here, rent-free and all.”
Jake extended his hand.
“Speedy, no one will ever ask. But if they do, I will have forgotten all about the map. I promise.”
Speedy looked greatly relieved. His face relaxed. He let a smile return. He wiped his hands on his shirt, then looked around as if expecting a few more people to show up.
“You hungry, Pastor Jake? I got some awesome squirrel jerky. And I got a pitcher of cool sassafras tea. And it’s sweetened with real honey that’s from a hive ’bout a mile from here.”
Jake followed Speedy up onto the porch and took a seat on what looked like the middle seat from an old VW van.
“The tea sounds good, Speedy. I’ll pass on the squirrel. I had a big breakfast.”
“Sure thing.”
Speedy returned after a moment with two metal cups filled with amber liquid.
“I like these metal glasses, ’cause they can’t break. I don’t wear shoes inside the house, so glass slivers can be dangerous.”
Jake tried not to hesitate when he took his first sip. The tea was cool, not cold, and tasted earthy and sweet and healthy and not poisonous at all.
“Good,” he said.
Speedy beamed as if he had just been given an award.
“Music to my ears, Pastor Jake. I like a man who likes his sassafras tea.”
Emma tapped in her request for information on the Internet. She waited a fraction of a second and the result popped up. She scanned down the first page and saw the link she needed. Another tap and the website popped up. It posted the hours. Then a list of frequently asked questions. She scrolled down the list. Answers to her three questions were there within the first ten. She slowed and read them carefully.
“We’ll have everything we need. No problem there.”
She looked at her watch.
“Plenty of time.”
She turned the OPEN sign on the front door of the clinic to CLOSED and called up the stairs.
“I’ll be back in a few hours, Winston. You’re in charge until then.”
She heard a muted “worf” in response.
She drove out of town, pulled into the parking lot of the Church of the Open Door, and stopped close to the front door of Vern’s RV. She tapped at the door.
Tassy appeared, a little pale, and let Emma inside.
“Hi, Dr. Grainger. I’m sorry I’m not at work. But I just don’t think I could make the bike ride today.”
“Tassy, like I said before, that’s not a problem.”
She laid her car keys on the coffee table and sat on the couch opposite Tassy. They both turned to hear a scrabbling at the window. Tassy smiled weakly, rose, and slid the window open. Petey jumped down and meowed loudly, looking at Tassy first, then turning his stare to Dr. Grainger.
“Petey, I’m not here for you today. I’m here for Tassy. Don’t have to worry at all. Okay, buddy?”
Petey chirped a reply.
Dr. Grainger looked small and tight, her arms almost folded in front of her, her hands clasped together.
“I know we’ve both been thinking a lot, right? About what we discovered. About your condition.”
Tassy nodded, glum and unsmiling.
“And I think we probably have come to the same decision.”
“I don’t know. Maybe,” Tassy said, her words small, snaillike.
“You don’t have to go through this, Tassy. You’re young and this is not the time for a burden like this. It’s unplanned, right? You don’t want to complicate your life anymore than it already is.”
Tassy looked up. Petey walked into her lap.
“You’re right, Dr. Grainger. You’re right. I’m sure you’re right.”
The cat appeared confused, or concerned. He looked at Tassy, then Dr. Grainger, and then back at Tassy.
“We can handle this today. There is a clinic just across the state line, up in New York. It will take us forty-five minutes to get there. It’s the closest clinic—other than driving to Philadelphia. The procedure is short—maybe thirty minutes. We can be back here by dinnertime. And then your life will start over—from that point. You can make a fresh start that way. It’s . . . it’s really the only logical way. And we have to look at this logically.”
Had Tassy been more intui
tive, more sensitive to the subtle nuances of long-delayed guilt and anger, she might have picked up on why Dr. Grainger was so sure. She might have understood that by following the path already walked on by a young Emma Grainger, it would somehow alleviate, or ameliorate, the pain Emma carried inside, carried every day, the secret carried and hidden. Pain is manageable when divided and shared. With this decision, neither Tassy nor Emma would feel totally alone—ever again. They would be connected by this shared pain. Emma would not be unique or alone or the only woman she knew that carried this sort of secret burden, this invisible pain. Pain shared is pain halved. Emma did not want to see another woman follow a different path and make it through unscathed.
No.
No, Emma knew that for her to heal, the pain had to be shared. Tassy must endure what she did. Theirs had to be a shared story, a shared history.
It was the only way. Blood for blood. Sacrifice for sacrifice.
Biblical.
“So, you believe in God—right, Pastor Jake?”
Now is not the time for total self-disclosure.
“Yes, I do, Speedy. I believe there is a God.”
Speedy looked at his hands.
“I been thinking about one thing, Pastor Jake. Could you call me Sidney? Just for today? I don’t think that Speedy is the right name to use when God is listening. Like I’m trying to hide something. And I don’t have anything to hide. I want to make sure God knows that. Okay?”
“Sure. Sidney it will be, for today, if you want. But I think that both names would be fine with God. I am certain he doesn’t spend his nights worried about our nicknames, no matter how inappropriate.”
“You think?” Sidney replied. “That’s a relief.”
“So Sidney . . . you said you had questions. I am not sure if I am the person who has all the answers, but I will try. I will try my best.”
Sidney took a deep breath as he closed his eyes.
“Man, that’s all I can ask, right? Try to find the answer. Try to find the truth. That’s righteous.”
“Can I pray for you . . . and us, to get us started?”
“You sure can. Don’t think anybody’s ever prayed for me before, ’cept maybe my mom.”
Jake folded his hands together. He bowed his head. He closed his eyes.
“Dear Lord, I’m asking for your help today. For Sidney. For me. Help us find you. Help us find faith again. Help us see you. It’s a simple prayer, God. It’s a simple request.”
Jake sniffed loudly. His throat had grown tight, but he coughed and continued.
This prayer might have been the first prayer—ever—in which Jake had actually asked God to help him find his faith, his belief, his center. Up until this moment, Jake knew it was up to him, and him alone, to find his faith. As he’d heard all his life, he knew God rewarded those who were seeking faith.
“I don’t know what questions Sidney has for you. But I know the questions I have for you, God. Questions like . . . why did you abandon me as a child? Why did my life turn out the way my mother wanted and not the way I wanted? Why did I pretend to have faith all my life . . . when it was never really there?”
Now Jake felt the tears form behind his closed eyes.
“Lord, help Sidney. Help me. Please help me, God. Help me find faith . . . help me know what faith is. Help Sidney find faith, God. Help him right now. Enter his heart, God. Give him the gift of faith. Fill us with your Spirit. Fill us with faith. Help us know, without doubt, that you will never abandon us. You have never abandoned us.”
He took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. He looked up.
“Amen.”
He looked at Sidney, who had fallen to his knees while Jake prayed, and whose face, too, was wet with tears.
“Amen, man. Amen. It’s like you looked inside me and knew what I needed. Faith. And then there it was. God heard you, man, loud and clear.”
Petey’s meow turned into a soft, gravely growl as he stared at Dr. Grainger, his eyes narrow as if he were facing some loud, hidden, dangerous noise.
“Today?” Tassy asked.
“We don’t have much time, Tassy. If we wait, they won’t be able to handle it. It will get more complicated. There is a time limit. Let it go too long and it becomes much more difficult. It might even be impossible then. And we don’t want that, do we?”
“Today?”
“Yes. Waiting will only make it harder.”
The fur on Petey’s neck began to grow stiff and expand, making the small animal appear bigger, more ferocious, more protective. He growled again, low, rumbling, threatening.
“Petey,” Tassy said sharply, almost scolding him. “Settle down. There’s nothing for you to be angry about.”
He jumped from her lap and stood between Tassy and Dr. Grainger. He arched his back.
“Petey!” Dr. Grainger snapped. “Enough. Stop it or get out.”
Protect her. That’s what I have to do. I’m not sure what they’re talking about, but Tassy has to stay here. Nothing good can happen if she goes to New York. I don’t know where that is, but it is not where she should go. Right? Right?
His breathing quickened, his ears folded back, his fur on edge, his back arched.
This is why I’m here, isn’t it? To protect someone who is helpless?
You sent me to do this, didn’t you? You did, right?
He took a step forward, toward Dr. Grainger, keeping his eyes locked on hers.
That’s what you do to danger. You stare it down. You can’t let them look away.
That’s what my mother taught me.
He arched his back higher and for the first time in many months, Petey hissed, as loudly as he could and with his right paw, the one that Dr. Grainger had repaired, he swung out, claws extended, swiping at the air, letting everyone know just how serious and dangerous he could be.
Especially when called on to protect someone helpless.
“Is that what you need, Sidney? To find faith?”
Sidney pushed his long hair behind his ears and shook his head as if to clear his thoughts.
“No. I mean, yes. But, like, Pastor Jake, I think I’ve found it. No. That’s not it. I know I found it.”
“You mean now?”
Sidney shrugged, sheepish.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Just like that?”
Sidney shrugged again. He shrugged a lot, Jake observed.
“How long should it take?”
Jake had no quick answer for that.
“I’m . . . I’m not sure.”
“Ain’t faith like a switch—on . . . or off? Not much in between, is there? And you asked God, and he . . . I guess he gave it to me. Or let me see it. And let me know what it felt like. It got switched from off to on. Inside me. Faith. It’s on now. That faith switch. It’s on. I can see.”
That’s it? That’s all it took? All that seminary training, and all it took was a thirty-second prayer? And not a very good prayer at that.
Sidney sat back on his rickety wooden chair with fingers of the frayed wicker seat poking out under his jeans. He looked about, as if seeing his world for the first time, smiling, beatifically, graciously accepting whatever it was Jake helped him find.
“You want to pray, Sidney?” Jake said, almost secretly hoping that Sidney had not found faith—because if he had, and if it were that simple, then Jake’s wandering in the wilderness for these past years would have been rendered implausible and self-indulgent and foolish and childish—and more—and worse . . .
Sidney doesn’t understand faith. I’m betting he has no idea what he’s talking about. A person who is lost does not get found just like that. It takes time. It takes effort . . . a lot of personal effort. It takes . . . work. And Sidney has not worked at all. Faith does not snap on like a light switch. It doesn’t work that way.
He waited, the crickets or spring peepers or katydids chorusing at the far edge of the meadow.
If Sidney can find faith like flipping a switch . . . then what abo
ut me? What’s wrong with me?
Sidney closed his eyes.
“Hey, God. Thanks. I guess it took Pastor Jake to help open my eyes. Thank you for sending him to me. Thanks for giving me faith. I can feel it. Like I know that everything comes from you and that I came from you and I owe everything to you. I have that faith. I do. And like, God, if Jake needs something, could you show him the way? That would be righteous, man. I guess . . . amen. Amen. Is that right? Amen.”
“Yes, Sidney, that’s right. Amen.”
Petey appeared to quickly cycle through all the alternatives and choices he had before him. He could attack. He could defend. He could do battle. He was obviously ready to do any and all of them.
But at the moment, when his back was arched highest and his ears laid flattest, he saw the glint of shiny metal, a glistening of a key.
He knew that those metal things, keys, started cars and trucks.
Without them, no one could go to New York.
Houses on wheels, he was not sure of. Perhaps it was a different system. But he did not think Dr. Grainger would drive the house with wheels.
From the couch, he launched himself at the coffee table, sliding when he landed, his head down, his mouth open, growling as he bent down, close to the surface, and closed his jaws around Dr. Grainger’s keys—all on a ring with a short but thick leather lanyard. He grabbed the lanyard in his mouth and launched himself toward the open window. There was not a large landing space there, on the inside, but there was the merest hint of a ledge, of a sill. The weight and the heft of the keys almost took him off balance, but his front paw landed just right, and rather than perch there for a second, he just pulled harder on the thin ledge of the window and propelled himself through the still-open window and down to the ground.