by Sally Laity
“My friend, Mary Theresa Malinowski,” Estelle supplied.
“Glad to have you with us, Mary,” he grinned, initiating smiles and interest from the others. “I’m Lennie Richards. I’ll let the rest of this mob introduce themselves at the close. To catch you late-birds up, our study of the Gospel of John brings us to the account of the condemned woman, in chapter eight, if you’d like to turn there.”
Estelle and Nelson found the passage quickly, but Mary had to resort to checking her Bible’s table of contents first, all the while detecting more than a little scrutiny from some of the young men in the group. Finally reaching the specified chapter, she swallowed and tucked her pinpricked fingers beneath her Bible, wishing she’d at least remembered her lace gloves.
Lennie leaned forward, an open Bible in one hand as he took up where he’d apparently left off before their arrival. “Remember, there was no question about guilt here. None whatsoever. The case was cut-and-dried. The gal had been caught in the act of adultery and brought before Jesus. There she stood, in the middle of the crowd He’d been teaching, all eyes upon her. Now the question was, what punishment should she receive?”
Completely relating to the victim in the story, Mary wanted to crawl into a hole and die.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Estelle cut in, raising her arm to halt the proceedings. She wagged her head. “And where was the man, I ask you? Honestly. Since way back in the Garden of Eden, we women have had to take the blame for everything. Did Eve hear God state the rules of the place? No. She got it all secondhand, from old Adam. It was all hearsay.”
The other young ladies present stifled giggles behind their hands as they exchanged surreptitious glances between themselves. They seemed more than willing to allow her to be their voice.
“Yeah,” a gap-toothed fellow with prominent ears piped up. “But even so, she embellished it, didn’t she? Women always have to tack something on to a story, make it a little juicier, and it started at the beginning of time. Things haven’t changed much, either.”
A collective snicker of agreement came from the male segment.
“Humph.” Estelle crossed her arms. “Well, I have to admit, something has always bothered me about certain passages. How do you justify that all through the Old Testament, kings and patriarchs thought nothing at all of wedding a few dozen wives and taking a multitude of concubines on the side?” Her voice raised momentarily. “What’s fair about that? It’s the old double standard, plain and simple.”
“I agree,” a fair-faced redhead with blond eyebrows said, a rosy glow advertising her reticence to speak out, especially on such a sensitive subject. “Why must women always take the blame, and never the men?”
“ ’Cause that’s the way it’s supposed to be,” said one of the guys who’d been less than discreet in his bold appraisal of Mary.
Quite aware of that fresh perusal as she listened to a few more arguments along that line being bandied about, Mary felt a warm flush of her own, as if she were the woman standing before that judgmental mob. What if Nelson truly had seen her tattoo, guessed what she had done? She clasped her hands in her lap, wishing she could get up and walk out, find someplace to hide.
As if picking up on her discomfiture, Nelson finally stepped into the fray, his voice firm, yet gentle. “I think we’re all getting offtrack here, people. The whole point of the passage is not guilt or punishment, per se. The Pharisees were attempting to trip Jesus up in the matter of Jewish law. The fact is, in God’s perfect plan, He advocated one man and one woman, in marriage for life. And in Israel’s covenant, the law dictated death to both parties in almost all cases of adultery. But Rome had taken away the right of the Jews to inflict the death penalty, which in this case happened to be by stoning. They were hoping to trap Jesus between His allegiance to the law—which ran counter to Rome’s decrees—and His mercy and love toward even those who violated it—which would lower the moral standard. Either way He decided, they figured they had Him.”
“Amen,” Lennie breathed, relief written all over his freckles. “Say on, Nelse.”
“But, as always, Jesus knew the hearts of those dignitaries,” Nelson continued. “And He knew the one thing that would trip them up. Which is why He suggested that whichever one of them who was without sin should cast the first stone. Can’t you picture all those proud teachers of men, their faces turning red, slinking quietly away?”
Heads nodded in agreement around the circle.
“Even today, we must consider our own faults and failures before we jump onto someone else’s. All of us have something in our lives to be ashamed of. Let’s not be so quick to condemn others.”
Just then the bell in the tower signaled the call to worship.
“Well said, Nelson,” Lennie declared with an emphatic nod and clapped his Bible shut. “We’re sure glad to have you back. Now let’s close in prayer.”
Mary Theresa let out a slow breath. The class had finally ended. Her heart swelled with gratitude over the way Nelson had come to her rescue like an undeclared champion.
Then the other shoe fell. For him to have defended her, he must have seen the tattoo.
❧
After the morning worship service, as their little group headed homeward, Nelson let the other members of his family compare their impressions of the finer points of the pastor’s sermon without any input from him. He had other things on his mind. Conscious of Mary Theresa’s presence beside him, his ears perked up a little whenever she spoke, but the rest of the time he tuned everything out.
He felt rather pleased with his performance in Sunday school. He hadn’t intended to take over the discussion and, in fact, had planned to sit back as he had done last week and listen to those younger guys talk. But when it became apparent that the class had gotten out of hand and that Mary Theresa was in distress, a need to protect her rose to the fore.
And she’d had every reason to be uncomfortable, Nelson concluded bitterly, the way Barry Sanders had stared at her. And Rob Denton hadn’t been very subtle in the way he’d ogled her, either, considering the young man was supposedly going steady with Pastor Herman’s granddaughter, Melody.
Of course, Nelson reminded himself, both those guys had excellent jobs. Promising futures. When it came right down to it, they had a whole lot more to offer someone like Mary than he did.
Whoa! What was he thinking? His own former true love had dumped him the instant she learned about the loss of his lower leg. What made him think someone perfect—much less rare and exquisite, like Mary—would give serious consideration to a guy who’d been maimed, and who spent most of his time sitting on his backside, letting the savings from his allotment checks rot in the bank?
Fact was, he felt a whole lot better about himself now that he’d tossed the crutches and started using his artificial leg. It seemed incredible how much more relaxed people were around him, how they treated him the same way they had before the war. Maybe it was time to consider going to work again. At least do that much.
“What did you think about that, Nelson?” Dad was saying.
“Hmm? Oh. Sorry, I wasn’t listening. My mind was elsewhere.”
“Asleep, more than likely,” Estelle chided. “After using up a year’s supply of brainpower in Sunday school.”
“How’s that?” his mother asked.
“Just the usual male versus female thing,” she answered. “No sooner do I get to put in my two cents then Nelson charges forward like a knight ready to do battle. Nobody got a word in edgewise after that.”
“Probably scared little Mary to death, with such goings-on,” Mom said.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Estelle returned. “She was really quite a hit. The guys were all admiring her. A couple of them in particular.”
“Do not say such things,” Mary said quietly, her head lowering.
Picturing that bunch of young guys leering at Mary Theresa, like wolves circling helpless prey, Nelson ground his teeth. He looked up at his father. “Say, Dad, I’ve bee
n wondering. Suppose Mr. Gavin’s still holding my old job open, the way he promised? Think I might try going back to work.”
“Well, that is good news,” his father said, meeting his gaze in the rearview mirror.
“An answer to prayer,” Mom added. “A real answer to prayer. We’ll have to celebrate.” She turned around to Mary. “I do hope you still have an appetite, Dear. You will be coming to dinner, of course, won’t you?”
“A. . .headache I have,” Mary said, with that trapped look about her. “I should go home.”
Nelson’s spirit flagged. She had to know he’d monopolized Sunday school for her benefit and hers alone. Or was it just him she wanted to avoid? Thank heaven he hadn’t humiliated himself by asking her out. One small blessing he could be grateful for.
“Oh, nonsense,” Mom countered. “That’s nothing a little bit of aspirin won’t cure. We have plenty of that at home. We’ll get you fixed up right and proper. See if we don’t.”
❧
Mary knew exactly how a mouse felt when the trap snapped on its tail. She hadn’t exactly disliked her foray into the different style of worship. Granted, that plain sanctuary with its simple wooden cross backlit behind the pulpit could have used some sprucing up. A few statues, some embroidered cloths on the altar, a bank of flickering candles. . . But all in all, she’d liked the hymns with their lovely music and words, and the soloist had performed flawlessly, as well. And the pastor’s sermon, in English rather than Latin, had stirred her heart, taking her back to those Bible readings she’d found so comforting in the barracks.
And even that class—what did they call it—Sunday school. Especially Nelson’s standing up for her. Even now she felt his very real presence next to her on the seat. She tried to shift a little closer to Estelle.
Except for the topic which had hit a bit close to home, her thoughts rambled on, it was quite an experience to hear young people discussing religion and its practical application to one’s life. She’d never had much interest in such things in her younger years. Her parents and siblings attended Mass only sporadically, and none of them seemed to feel a lack.
Not until Ravensbruck did Mary begin to grasp how very deeply Almighty God loved mankind, how precious and real His presence seemed to those who trusted Him with their very lives. Even in that hellish place, amid the indescribable suffering, His peace was available to anyone who reached out for it. Where one worshipped God wasn’t the most important thing. It was a matter of the heart that counted.
But still, all of that happened in the past. What about the present problem? Now that she’d gone to church with her friend’s family, even enjoyed some portions of it, she wanted to go home. Be by herself. Ponder everything she’d heard.
And that was the one thing she couldn’t do. In misery, she looked out the corner of her eye at Nelson. . .who strangely didn’t appear any more thrilled about her coming than she was.
Of course, he’d had more time to think about that hateful brand. He’d surely guessed her shame. Perhaps he knew. . . everything.
thirteen
Nelson brought up the rear of the oddly quiet group as his family and Mary Theresa trailed into the house after church.
“I’ll change and get dinner going,” his mom announced, heading for the stairs. Already tugging his tie loose, Dad clomped after her.
“Come on, Mare,” Estelle said. “Soon as I put on a more comfortable dress, I’ll go find you some aspirin for your headache.”
Nelson slipped off his suit jacket and watched in sullen silence as the two girls started up the steps. When he heard his sister’s bedroom door close, he ascended to his own room at a slower pace.
No wonder Mary Theresa had a headache, he told himself, after so much attention was drawn to her at Sunday School, then sitting through a long worship service that probably seemed strange and foreign to her. And of course, Stella invariably talked the girl’s ears off all the time. But then, why should he complain about that? It kept him from having to make so much conversation himself.
Changing into casual slacks and a short-sleeved cotton shirt, he continued mulling over the day’s happenings.
By the time he came back downstairs, he discovered that the others had already beaten him. He crossed to his chair, bent to pick up the Sunday paper on the floor beside it, then took a seat.
Stella’s impatient voice drifted from the kitchen. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. It’s all gone. Really. The bottle’s in the medicine cabinet, but it’s empty. I looked for another one, but there wasn’t any.”
“How odd. I know we just bought that a few weeks ago,” Mom replied, her voice somewhat muffled by the door she closed whenever she had the oven going. “Maybe Nelson’s been taking it to ease the pain of walking with that wooden leg. I know it bothered him quite a lot at first. You’ll just have to run to Murphy’s and get more. I believe this is his Sunday to be open for emergencies.”
“Oh, Mom. . .” Stella groused. “It’s hot out. Are you sure there’s no other aspirin in the house? Maybe in your purse?”
“No, Dear, that was all we had.”
“Is no problem,” Mary Theresa said. “Only small headache I have. Fine I am.”
But Nelson doubted his mom would allow anything to dissuade her from that inborn compulsion to mother their guest. She reveled in it. He almost smiled when he heard her reply.
“Small headache or not, I’m sure you’re very uncomfortable. The drugstore is just down at the corner. It’ll only take Stella a few minutes. She’ll be back in no time.”
“Then I, too, go,” Mary Theresa offered. “I’ll keep her company.”
“In that bright sun? I won’t hear of it.” The kitchen faucet ran momentarily, then ceased. “Now, I’ve wrung out a nice cool cloth for your head. You just come sit down in the parlor and close your eyes. Put your feet up. We’ll have you better in no time.” The kitchen door opened, and three sets of footsteps came down the hallway.
While Stella took her leave, Nelson watched a white-faced Mary being guided into the front room, right past him, to his father’s favorite overstuffed chair near the fireplace. “Here,” Mom insisted, gently pushing her down onto the seat cushion. “Lay your head back. Yes, like that. And put this washcloth on your forehead. Here’s the hassock to rest your feet. And you won’t need these high heels on, either.” One by one, she slipped Mary’s shoes off, then placed them together on the floor, within easy reach.
The whole scene would have been comical, Nelson supposed, if he hadn’t been in such a mood. Stella pouting her way out the door, Mary Theresa approaching the parlor as if to face a firing squad, Mom so absorbed in the chance to fuss over somebody, she was completely oblivious to all else. That left only Dad out of things. Where was he, anyway?
Just then, the older man’s heavy footfalls echoed along the upstairs hall and down the risers. Nelson’s eyes widened. Instead of the typical Sunday afternoon attire his father wore in case relatives dropped by unexpectedly, he had on his grubby chore clothes. “Thought I’d change the oil in the car,” he said, meeting Nelson’s gaze. “It seemed to idle a little rough this morning; did you notice?”
“Who, me? No.”
“Well, no sense waiting till old Jenny gives out on us altogether, when there’s plenty of time today to set her to perking again.” With a conspiratorial wink at Mom, he sauntered toward the rear of the house.
“Guess I’ll see about dinner,” she said with a little shrug, and traipsed up the hall again.
The back door closed with a click. The kitchen door whooshed shut.
And the loudest silence Nelson had ever experienced settled over the front room.
Across from him, with her forehead and eyes shrouded beneath a worn, pink washcloth, Mary Theresa sat so still she scarcely appeared to be breathing.
The mantel clock ticked, ticked, ticked.
Nelson gave a silent huff. “Nice day today, wasn’t it? Al-ways did like midsummer in New York.”
Mary Theresa moistened her lips.
A few more minutes passed.
So that’s how it was gonna be, was it? Well, he wasn’t about to take on sole responsibility of entertaining the troops. That was the USO’s job. Picking up another section of the Sunday paper, he snapped it open.
“You saw, didn’t you?” she finally asked.
“Excuse me?” Having a fairly clear idea what Mary meant, Nelson didn’t have the heart to come clean, not after all the trouble she’d gone through to keep that tattoo hidden from the world. Always wearing long sleeves, no matter how hot the weather. Protecting her from the truth would be easy enough. After all, it was the gallant thing to do, and all.
Then again, perhaps he’d misread her. Maybe she meant something else entirely. That was marginally possible, wasn’t it?
She raised a corner of the cloth, peeking at him through one eye.
“Oh. You mean, the way all the guys at class were gawking at you?” he hedged. “They weren’t exactly subtle about it, you know.”
Mary hesitated for an instant, then lifted her head, and the washcloth dropped to her lap. She toyed with it as she focused on Nelson. “Uncomfortable it makes me, to have people looking at me. I do not like.”
“Well, you might as well face it, Mary Theresa,” he said with a half-smile, “the Lord didn’t exactly cut corners when He made you. I don’t know when I’ve ever come across a more beautiful woman in my life.”
Expecting her to warm to the compliment and perhaps even blush a little, Nelson watched her expression deflate instead. Incredibly, the edges of her lips wilted sadly.
“A curse it is,” she disclosed. “Too much it draws attention.”
How was a guy supposed to respond to that? All the women he knew seemed to want a man to notice them, to appreciate the effort they’d put into looking attractive and appealing. Otherwise, there’d be a lot less in the way of coy looks and short skirts around, wouldn’t there?
Mary Theresa expelled a tired breath. Tipping her head back once more, she closed her eyes and replaced the pink blindfold.