The Sword of Ruth: The Story of Jesus' Little Sister

by V. M. Franck

Raven

  Grief existed in a hollow part of my heart, a chasm of regret and honesty. Each day, I spent most of my time recording dreams from the previous night. The further they carried me into the lifetime, the more I experienced them as though they happened recently, like my memories of Demmy and Tad. Poignant images accompanied fierce emotions from both lifetimes.

  Gulping my coffee I pushed away from my desk. I shuffled out to the upper deck, descended the staircase, skidded down the grass and settled on the bank just above the waterline. Beyond the riverbed, echoing above the water, the call of birds foretold of the upcoming autumn migration.

  "It's hard, isn't it?"

  Hugging my knees, I glanced behind me to see Jessie scooting down the bank.

  "Yes."

  "Are you stuck?" He sat down next to me, close but not touching.

  "No, there just...."

  "...aren't any adequate words."

  I nodded.

  He slipped an arm around my shoulder. Together, alone, we stared at the water. On the far shore a seagull pulled at remnants of a fish. Up at the river bend water rippled over scattered rocks.

  "I remember when we used to sit like this," I said.

  "So do I."

  "Up on the hill above the housing complex under that ancient tree. We'd stare at the valley below and watch the sheep. Sometimes we'd talk. Sometimes we wouldn't say anything. Those were my favorite times."

  "Mine too. So you finally remember who I was?"

  "Yes." I leaned my head against his shoulder, glad for the comfort. "Where's Felipe?"

  "Grocery shopping."

  "He's a good cook."

  "That he is. He picked the knack up from his mom."

  "I appreciate you being here," I said. "I've been remembering such painful things. It's easier with you around."

  "Even if we haven't confirmed what's come to you?"

  "You're right not to. I need to do this on my own. I believe, and I don't believe."

  "I think it's that way with everyone, if they are honest. I was afraid you might be upset with us."

  "I've been more upset with myself."

  "Why's that?" he said.

  "Because doing this has been like trying to extract a bone from the middle of my arm, without a knife to cut into it or pliers to yank it out."

  "So, it's felt impossible?"

  I nodded. "It's just that I'm so skeptical. I guess a person gets that way after everything she's ever counted on has fallen apart."

  "You weren't skeptical as a kid?"

  "Demmy kept giving me lessons. But I always wanted to believe in the best in people and in how the world would turn out."

  "And now?"

  "I think people are too lazy to do anything to change the direction the world is taking," I said. "It bothers me a lot."

  "Why's that?" he said.

  "This is such a wonderful place with so many possibilities. And what do we do? We destroy the air, the water, the vegetation and the wildlife. We kill each other. It's discouraging."

  "Yes, it is, if you think about it that way."

  "How else can I think about it?"

  "Maybe it's supposed to be this way," he said. "Could be we have to destroy ourselves in order to learn. It's possible it's just a part of a grand experiment."

  "One that doesn't work."

  "Or one that does."

  Chapter 18