Tessa (From Fear to Faith)

by Melissa Wiltrout

  “None of your business,” Lorraine muttered, then cursed.

  Mr. Stone clamped a hand on her shoulder. “All right, young lady. You’re going to the principal’s office. And Tessa, you’re excused to go clean up.”

  I couldn’t wait to get out of there. Grabbing a napkin, I hurried from the room. Milk dripped from my hair and my wet shirt clung to me like shrink wrap. How would I ever get it dry?

  Passing the restrooms, I turned right and continued on toward the lockers. I might as well leave. It would be a long walk home, but anything was better than staying here.

  “Tessa?” called a familiar voice behind me. “Hey, wait!”

  Through the blur of tears, I saw Janet hurrying toward me. She caught up and grabbed my arm. “Good grief, Tess, what happened?”

  I tried to shrug her off. “It’s too late, Jan. I’m leaving. Nobody wants me here.”

  “What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

  “I wish I knew! Everybody hates me.” Then I started to cry. “I’m never gonna be good like you and Heather. Why should I even try? I’m just a stupid fool, going to church and thinking I’m a Christian all this time.”

  “Tess, you’re not a fool. Now tell me what’s going on.”

  I wiped my eyes with my damp sleeve and sniffed hard, trying to compose myself. “Well, nobody will talk to me, and . . . they’re saying stuff about me being in jail, and using drugs, and…”

  Janet put an arm around me and steered me back toward the bathroom. “Listen to me. You are God’s beloved child. You are not what any of them say. You never will be. Stop pulling away from me.”

  “But . . . but I feel so dirty.”

  “Because you’ve got milk in your hair?”

  “Because I know what everybody’s thinking.”

  “Well, everybody’s wrong. Don’t you remember what we learned in Sunday school last week?” Janet opened the restroom door for me, then took a paper towel and began wiping the remaining drops of milk out of my hair.

  “I don’t think it applies to me.”

  “If it doesn’t apply to you, then it doesn’t apply to me or Heather or the pastor either, and we’d better all go to jail. Now, do you remember it or not?”

  “Uh . . . this sounds kinda stupid, but I’m righteous in God’s eyes?”

  “It’s not stupid at all. It’s the truth. Jesus made you holy and righteous and blameless because you belong to him. Even if your dad is in jail, even if everyone is lying about you. Doesn’t make the tiniest bit of difference.”

  I sniffed a couple of times. “Where’ve you been all day?”

  “I had a dentist appointment this morning. I just got back now. Couldn’t you hang out with Heather?”

  “Lois and Sandy are with her. And Lorraine got mad and threw her milk in my face.”

  “Oh boy. I’m sorry.”

  Dabbing my shirt with paper towels did little to make it presentable again. Janet lent me her sweater so I’d have something dry to wear, and then accompanied me back to the cafeteria.

  The rest of the day wasn’t easy, but I kept reminding myself I belonged to God and I was a good person, regardless of what anyone else thought. Once I met Janet between classes, and she gave me a quick thumbs-up, which I knew meant she was doing her best to counteract the lies. When three thirty came, I latched onto Heather like a piece of Velcro and didn’t let go until we were sitting side by side on the bus.

  The following day, things were better. Sandy and some of my other friends apologized to me for believing the rumors. Apparently Lois had told them I’d been arrested for selling drugs myself. Her uncle, who worked for the sheriff’s department, had supposedly shared this “confidential” tidbit with her dad so he could warn Lois to stay away from me. Yeah, right. The only good part was that it would take Lois a while to live down the reputation she’d gained from this prank. Maybe she’d think twice before spreading such hurtful rumors again.

  46

  Two weeks after Walter’s arrest, Mom returned from another late-night visit to the neighbors with the news that she’d raised the money for Walter’s bail.

  I was surprised. “You mean Tom agreed to pay it?” I asked.

  “More or less. With a few stipulations and things.”

  “Interesting.” I couldn’t imagine Tom caving in to her demands. There had to be more to the story.

  “They also agreed to let you stay with them again,” she continued. “I hope you’re okay with that. You’ll be moving this weekend.”

  I stared at her a second. “Great. I don’t get any say in it, do I?” I whirled and stomped out of the room. Why should my whole life be uprooted for the benefit of Walter? But I should’ve known. Mom always did what was most convenient for her. What I wanted didn’t matter.

  Mom followed me to my bedroom. “I thought you’d like staying with Heather again,” she apologized. “But if you really don’t want to, we’ll think of something else.”

  I kept my back to her as I pretended to busy myself digging in my top drawer. Since Walter had gone to jail, Mom had started spending time with me. Last weekend, we’d stayed up past midnight, playing Scrabble and Chinese checkers. Mom had assured me we’d do it again soon. Was that just an empty promise? And what about the seeds that had arrived in the mail yesterday? If I wasn’t home, how would I ever plant them?

  “Why don’t you sleep on it, and we’ll talk tomorrow,” Mom said.

  But morning came, and I still didn’t know what to say. The week I’d spent with Heather had been enjoyable, but I also remembered how difficult it had been to leave. If it hurt that much to leave after only a week, what would it feel like after several months?

  Of course, the circumstances were different this time. Life at home wasn’t unbearable, and when I did have to leave, it would be with the promise of seeing them again every Sunday. Maybe it would be all right. They might even have room for me to plant my garden seeds if I stayed into the summer.

  Once I’d made up my mind, I couldn’t wait to go. Early Saturday morning, Heather came over and helped me pack my clothes and other belongings into a couple of large cardboard boxes. Then Mom drove us and my stuff over to Heather’s house and said goodbye.

  Patty had already made up my bed in the back room, complete with several hand-crocheted pillows. There was even a mirror and an old dresser for me to use. Once I was settled in, Tom and Patty sat down with me and explained the situation.

  “We don’t want you to spend the next several months wondering whether we really invited you, or Julie pushed us into this,” Tom began. “The truth is, God placed a love and concern for you in our hearts, and that’s why we agreed to help in this way. You are as welcome here as any of our grandchildren.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  “Something else you should know,” he continued. “We’re putting up about half the money to bail Walter out. Our pastor offered to provide the rest. I’ll be driving into town this afternoon to post the money and pick Walter up.”

  So those are the stipulations, I thought. It made sense, considering the amount of money involved. But I could only imagine Mom’s embarrassment over not being trusted to handle it herself.

  Aloud, I said, “That’s awful nice of the pastor. Does Mom know?”

  “She was over there with us, talking to him the other night.”

  “You’re kidding.” Mom hated preachers almost as much as cops. How had she ever agreed to this?

  “You won’t believe what Roger had to say about Walter,” Tom went on. “Last Monday he went over to the jail to talk with the guys like he does every week. He says typically he’ll get one or two of them to pray for salvation, but last week there were about ten. Walter’s been preaching to everybody, including the guards, and creating quite a stir.”

  I s
nickered. Only Walter would try preaching to the guards. Did he really think they’d listen to him?

  That first day at Heather’s passed much like usual. I’d spent so many Saturdays visiting that I felt right at home helping out with the chores, playing fetch with Sadie, and watching movies with Heather. After supper, the four of us worked on a puzzle until bedtime.

  The next morning, I awoke to the tantalizing aroma of fried sausage. I pulled on my clothes and rapped at Heather’s door. “Hey, sleepyhead, I’m gonna beat you to breakfast.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” she mumbled.

  Out in the kitchen, Patty was pouring the last of the pancake batter onto the griddle. Tom sat at the table with his laptop, trying to connect to the internet.

  “Morning,” he greeted me, then added, “Say, do you know what this ‘no contact’ thing Walter has with you means?”

  I frowned. “Not exactly. Why?”

  “Because Walter called to ask us to take him to church. He thinks it’s okay, but Julie says it’s illegal because you’re going too.”

  The internet page finally loaded. Tom typed the term into a search. “All right, here we go.”

  “Well?” I asked, as he scrolled down the page of some lawyer’s website.

  “I think it’s iffy,” he concluded. “It seems they’re trying to prevent communication. Sitting in the same room with you is probably not allowed. I guess I’ll have to tell him no.”

  Fair enough, I thought. Walter would be disappointed, but it was his own fault for getting into so much trouble. Still, pity tightened my throat as I imagined the ridicule Mom was heaping on him for wanting to go to church.

  “I could stay here,” I suggested.

  “Yes, I suppose you could,” Tom said. “But do you really want to?”

  I nodded. “Sure.” It wasn’t often I got the chance to turn the tables on Mom.

  “I’ll keep you company,” Patty offered.

  So it was settled. Tom called Walter back, and after explaining the plan to Mom’s satisfaction, he set a time to pick him up.

  “I don’t think Julie’s happy about it,” Tom commented afterwards. “But Walter is as eager as a kid on Christmas morning. I hope he’s not disappointed.”

  Just then Heather padded into the kitchen barefoot, carrying her socks. She perched on the kitchen stool and yawned. “Did I miss something?”

  “You sure did,” I told her. “You’ve been assigned to take Walter to church.”

  A look of mock fright crossed her face. “Oh no you don’t.”

  “Not even with a chaperone?” Tom teased her.

  She shook her head, laughing. “No thanks. I’ll stay here.”

  “I guess it’ll be just you two guys,” Patty said. “I think that’s more appropriate anyway.”

  After breakfast, Patty tuned up her guitar and sang with us for a while. Later, we peeled potatoes while she seared the meat for a pot of beef stroganoff. By the time Tom returned around twelve thirty, dinner was ready.

  “Well, how did Walter like church?” Patty asked, as she dished up plates.

  “He enjoyed it. He’d says he’d like to go back sometime,” Tom said. “But I was disturbed how some of the men treated him. You could tell they were only shaking his hand out of duty.”

  “Did they know who he was?” I asked.

  “Most of them did. The story has gotten around. But Walter took everything with a good attitude. He did surprise me after the service though. He wanted to know if Pat was there. I guess he knows her. I pointed her out, and he hobbled all the way across the sanctuary just to apologize for being unkind to her in the past. I don’t suppose Pat has that happen very often. She held out her hand, and Walter took it, like he couldn’t believe it. He even thanked her. It was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Picturing the scene, I felt tears prick my eyes. This was not the Walter I used to know. Not even close. If only I could have been there to witness it for myself.

  ***

  As the days and weeks passed, good reports about Walter continued to filter back to me. Most of them came from Tom, who visited him every few nights. Mom rarely mentioned him, at least around me, but she couldn’t hide the spark in her eyes. At stores she picked up his favorite snacks, and when she drove me up to the park one Sunday to see the spring wildflowers, she brought along her old film camera and snapped pictures of them so he could see them too.

  I puzzled how Mom could overlook all the contempt and ill-treatment Walter had given her. Maybe the change in him had affected her more than I realized. Still, her growing fondness for him provoked distrust and even resentment in me. If she really cared about me, like she claimed, how could she ignore all the terrible things he’d done to me? Didn’t they upset her even a little?

  It helped I knew Walter’s time at home was limited. Around the third week of April, I received a letter from the district attorney’s office encouraging me to stop by and talk to a victim/witness coordinator about the case. Patty drove me to the courthouse after school the next day and helped me find the right office.

  The lady I talked with was very kind. Her name was Brenda. She helped me fill out some forms and explained how the court system worked and what was going to happen next. Brenda told me I had the right to be present at Walter’s court dates, and, if I wanted, I would have a chance to speak before the sentencing occurred. Then she gave me her card and told me to call her if I had any more questions or concerns.

  I thanked her, then went home with Patty and did my best to forget the whole mess. Every time I thought of Walter standing trial, I felt a vague guilt. I knew he’d done terrible things and deserved to be punished, yet at the same time it felt so wrong to demand he pay for everything he’d done to me. He was my father, after all. And he had said he was sorry. Was I evil to want to see him punished?

  Patty told me I didn’t have to attend the court sessions unless I wanted to, which made me feel better. But then I remembered what Brenda had said, that I had every right to be there, and the guilt returned. It was Mom who finally set me straight on it.

  “You need to be there,” she said in her no-nonsense way. “I dare say it’ll do you more good than that drug abuse program they want me to put you in. Besides, some of his crimes were against you. Do you really want to hear the outcome of this secondhand?”

  I had to admit I didn’t. Right then, I promised I’d attend. But I dreaded the date.

  47

  The twenty-sixth day of May dawned clear and bright. Outside my windows, a robin chirped to his mate in the apple tree. Yellow dandelions strewed the yard, and against the shed pink tulips bloomed. But I scarcely noticed the beauty before me as I stood combing the tangles from my hair. If Walter was sent to prison, would I spend the rest of my life crushed under the guilt that I’d helped send him there?

  With a heavy heart, I turned from the window. The other day, I had called Brenda and told her I wanted to speak in court. I had even written out a statement. But now, thinking about it made me feel worse. How could I stand up and accuse my father of hurting me, when I had supposedly forgiven him way back at Christmas time? Maybe I should tell Brenda I had changed my mind. Then no one could say it was my fault if Walter did end up in prison.

  Or could they? My heart sank even lower as I remembered the hour and a half I’d spent talking to the police detective. No doubt he’d used my story to further incriminate Walter. Chris had assured me that my anger over Walter’s mistreatment of me was normal and healthy. I wished I could believe that. I wished I could somehow silence the voice in my head that kept screaming I was a terrible person because of my “extreme” reactions to Walter’s supposedly “reasonable” behavior.

  Tom had taken the day off so he could accompany Patty and me to court. After a rather solemn breakfast, Heather left for school. The rest of
us finished the chores and piled into the SUV for the drive to town.

  At the courthouse, we took the elevator to the second floor. Brenda met us and escorted us to the courtroom at the end of the hall. Half a dozen people I didn’t know were sitting on the rows of wooden benches at the back of the room. Mom was there as well, sitting in the far back next to Walter. She glanced up when we entered and gave me a weak smile.

  Brenda guided us to an empty bench and then sat down at one of the tables ahead of us. I huddled on the hard bench next to Patty and glanced around. I’d never been inside a courtroom before.

  The judge and the other court officials were already in their places, discussing via microphones whether or not a certain man would make a good replacement judge. Talking softly, Patty pointed out the various officials to me, including the clerk, the court reporter, and the district attorney, who was sitting next to Brenda.

  A heavyset man in a suit and tie walked in and sat down at the other table. Patty whispered that he was a lawyer, probably the public defender. The judge ended his conversation, adjusted his glasses, and stated that court would commence.

  The public defender began calling cases. One by one, his clients walked up to sit with him at the table while their case was being heard. When it was finished, they left, and the next case was called.

  At last the lawyer announced, “State vs. Walter Miner,” and it was Walter’s turn to walk up and sit at the table. The district attorney handed him some papers, and the judge proceeded to read the charges.

  Patty slid an arm around me as the reading continued. I counted ten charges, all of them felonies. For the first time, I glimpsed the enormity of Walter’s wrongdoing. The crimes seemed much more shameful when they were read aloud in public.

  “Do you plead guilty or not guilty?” asked the judge.