Christiana

by Jim Pappas

  "Actually, my suits are not for sale."

  "What! Not for sale? Why, then, where do they go?"

  "To those who need them most."

  "To whom? Those who . . . ? Ah! Heh, heh, heh. I get it. Playing the riddle game today, are we? But I think I catch your drift. Indeed, I do, Miss Mercy. These fine suits are destined to grace the wardrobes of dukes and princes, no doubt."

  "No. Actually they go to the poor and naked."

  "Wha . . . what!" he stammered in shocked disbelief. "Why, those wretches have not got any money to give you."

  "No."

  "Well then, who pays you for your labor?"

  "My Father."

  "Your . . . your father? Ah!" said he, brightening at a new thought. "Your father must be some sort of a philanthropist then."

  "Oh, yes. The greatest of them all."

  "Hmmm," thought Brisk, unconsciously twirling one of his handlebars as the silhouette of his own personal yacht sailed across the sea of his dreams. "And, uh, how much does he pay, if I might inquire?"

  "I don't know."

  "You what! A hem! Uh . . . I mean . . . did you say you don't know?"

  "No, sir. I only know that I am building up credit in an account that I plan to draw upon some day."

  "What! Do you mean to say that you have not yet gotten any cash in hand?"

  "No, sir. Not yet."

  "So tell me," he continued suspiciously, "how long have you been working on credit like this?"

  "Oh, all my life."

  "All your . . . life? Oh dear me!" said he as he drew stiflingly close and said in confidential tones, "I, uh . . . a hem . . . are you, uh . . . that is, can you be certain your father is an honest man?"

  "Oh, yes! I have hung my life upon it."

  "Hmmm. Yes, so I see," said he as he eyed a wardrobe full of suits in various stages of completion. "Uh, . . . tell me, Miss Mercy. When do you intend to collect your dues?"

  "Oh, I don't know exactly. Just when I need them most, I suppose."

  "Hmmm, I see." Then thought he within himself, "Well, well, Brisk, old boy. 'Tis as plain as the long nose on your face that this state of affairs could go on forever. There is obviously no gain to be made from this operation - for surely a woman so poor in business as this one will be of no profit to you. Therefore, make hast to excuse thyself and be off to cut grass in greener pastures."

  So he steps back a pace or two (once again to Mercy's great relief), re pockets pad and pencil and clears his throat, apologetically. "A hem, a hem. Well, Miss Mercy, I am certainly very happy to have made your acquaintance. You are obviously engaged in a noble enterprise of some sort, and I highly applaud your devotion to it. I would, uh . . . stay by a bit longer but I just called to mind some rather pressing business that demands my, uh . . . a hem, rather immediate attention. Therefore, with your permission, I shall bid you a fond adieu. Fare thee well."

  "Oh. Goodbye then," said Mercy, with ill-concealed amusement.

  Then Mr. Brisk pulled on his doe-skin gloves, twirled his ivory-headed walking stick a couple of skillful loops and sauntered to the door. Before opening it, he cast a glance behind him and saw that Mercy was once again hard at it. At this, Mr. Brisk could not help but sigh longingly and think; "Oh that such a lovely creature had also been endowed with some small modicum of intelligence."

  "Uh . . . I do hope that everything works out well between you and your father," he called back.

  "Oh, it will. Thank you," said she with a lovely smile that fluttered his heart.

  Then Mr. Brisk, with a tinge of regret (for Mercy was indeed a most lovely creature), opened the door and let himself out. As he approached the main door, he chanced to meet Prudence who smiled sweetly and said, "Good day, Mr. Brisk."

  "Oh, hello there, Miss Prudence," said he in business-like tones.

  "Are you leaving so soon?"

  "Uh . . . er, uh . . . yes. Yes, I have some rather urgent business to attend to."

  "Oh. And did you enjoy your visit with Mercy?"

  "Oh . . . well . . . you know."

  "I do?"

  "Well, certainly she is nice enough; pretty, a hard worker and all that, but, uh . . ." And at this he and his aromatic cloud drew confidentially close and whispered, "Just between you and me and the wall, dear Prudence - she doesn't seem to have both oars in the water."

  "Beg your pardon?"

  "She is not dealing from a full deck of cards."

  "What?"

  "She is missing a screw."

  "I'm sorry, but . . ."

  "Her stairs don't reach the top floor."

  "Stairs?"

  "A hem!" he said aloud. "To put it in plain English, Miss Prudence, she seems to be ever so slightly mad! Best you keep her here with you, for I assure you that the poor lass would surely starve out there in the 'real world.' Well, farewell, dear lady. There seems to be something a bit odd about this place, so I doubt that you will see much of me henceforth. Ta, ta."

  "Oh, farewell then," answered Prudence.

  And with that, the young dandy pranced out into the afternoon sun where he was immediately attended upon by several honeybees who had waited patiently at the door.

  When Prudence had rejoined Mercy and shut the door behind her, both she and Mercy burst into gales of laughter. "Didn't I tell you that Mr. Brisk would soon forsake you?" said Prudence.

  "It was just as you said," affirmed Mercy with a merry chuckle.

  "He is not only gone but, tonight at the ale house, he will doubtless pass around a tale of meeting with a most fascinating but ever so mad young maiden."

  "At the ale house? Really? I thought he was a religious man."

  "Oh, he is - on the outside. He often speaks long and loud of his love for charity and mercy. But when he meets such in the flesh, he finds them so different from himself that he cannot endure their company. Yea, I doubt that Mr. Brisk and Mercy will ever come so close again."

  "Well," said Mercy, picking up her needle. "If he will not share his riches with those needy ones whom the Lord sets in his path, then he is a stranger to the love of God. And so is of no interest to me."

  Then Prudence grew serious and asked, "Does it worry you at all - to lose such a good prospect at marriage?"

  "Me?! Oh, no. I have had many a man show an interest in me. But when they saw that I could not be stopped from giving to the poor, they soon grew discouraged and fell away."

  "And that does not make you sad?"

  "Oh no! My work for others brings my joy. Besides, God Himself has promised to be my husband and has said that 'at His right hand are pleasures forevermore'. Therefore, until I find one who is as I am, I shall be content to live alone. Besides, to join myself to an enemy of God would be to create a home where the shadows are never lifted."

  "You speak with great wisdom, Mercy."

  "'Tis born of observation, I assure you. I have a sister named Bountiful who unwisely let her affections become attached to one such as Mr. Brisk. They married and were happy enough at first. But after the novelty of it wore off, they found they could never quite agree. She would not stop giving time and substance to the poor and he feared she would bring them to poverty (although she was actually the source of his greatest blessings). Soon he began to bad-mouth her in the market. When that had no effect, he turned her out into the streets."

  "Ah. And I'll venture to guess that he professed religion."

  "Oh, yes. A right righteous man he was - in his own eyes. The world is full of such. But I would not give a penny for the lot."

  "And have you perchance considered Matthew?"

  "Yes," answered Mercy a bit sadly. "For a time we seemed to have eyes for each other, but . . . "

  "But what?"

  "I don't really know, for sure. He appears to be a good man. And he certainly knows the theory of religion well enough. But he has somehow been shorn of his strength and courage. He seems all too eager for rest, too willing to do detour, too content to let others fight his battles for him. Fr
ankly, I am concerned for his salvation."

  "Indeed? Was he this way from the start?"

  "Oh, no! At the first he was bold as a lion. But by the time we were accosted by two evil men not far from the wicket gate, he seemed to be unmanned."

  "Hmmm," answered Prudence thoughtfully. "I wonder."

  CHAPTER XIV

  Dr. Skill

  Well, dear reader, as I saw in my dream, Prudence did not have to wonder long. For not many days hence, Matthew fell sick. His stomach seemed to be twisted all in knots and he had such severe cramps that at times he was doubled up with pain. Yea, one could hear his groaning from one end of the house to the other.

  Now, when Christiana inquired after a physician, she was told about one Dr. Skill who had become quite famous in those parts for using God's natural remedies. So she sent for him. After he had observed the lad for a short time, he concluded that he was sick of the gripe. Then said he to his mother, "Pray tell, Madam. What have you been feeding this young man?"

  Dr. Skill: "Pray tell, Madam. What have you been feeding this young man?"

  "Why, nothing but the good wholesome food we all eat."

  "Hmmm," said he as he examined Matthew more closely. Now Matthew was very sore and groaned piteously under the most gentle touch. "Are you sure about that, Madam?"

  "Oh, yes. Why do you ask?"

  "This boy has something lying in his stomach that cannot be digested. It will not come out without our help, and I assure you that if we do not act soon, the lad will die."

  "Oh, my!" cried she. "What shall we do?"

  "That, Madam, you may leave to me. Shall I proceed?"

  "Oh, yes! But of course!"

  "Thank you. Please open your mouth for me, Matthew."

  "Ohhh," groaned Matthew as a new wave of pain swept over him.

  "Hmmm," murmured the Doctor, his brow furrowed with puzzlement.

  "I don't understand," said Christiana mournfully. "We have always eaten at the same table."

  "Roll over, son," requested Skill - which Matthew did, albeit with great difficulty and a long groan.

  "That is not entirely true, dear Mother," observed Samuel.

  "What do you mean, Samuel?" asked Christiana.

  "Don't you remember, back at the beginning, how we all picked that pretty fruit that hung over the wall?"

  At the mention of 'pretty fruit', Prudence and the good doctor were all ears and turned to look upon Samuel.

  "Why, yes!" exclaimed Christiana. "You were all bending the branches down and filling your pockets with it."

  By now the doctor had gotten quite the worried look to his face and looked searchingly at each of the boys. But as yet, he said nothing.

  "But," continued Samuel, "when you bade us stop picking and forbad us to eat, we all obeyed, except . . . "

  "Except for Matthew!" declared Christiana. "Oh, the naughty boy! I knew I should have been more firm in my commandment!"

  "You told him not to eat it," said Samuel.

  "Aye, but not with such firmness as he would have feared to disobey. Oh, my!"

  "And did he indeed partake thereof?" inquired the doctor with intense interest.

  "I . . . uh . . ."

  "Come, come, Madam. Do not cover for the boy. That fruit hangs over the wall from Beelzebub's garden. If the lad has indeed eaten thereof, he lies in mortal danger."

  "Yes," confessed Christiana. "He did eat some."

  "More than just some!" volunteered Samuel. "He even filled his pockets and snacked upon them between meals and before bed."

  "Samuel!" protested Matthew, albeit weakly.

  "'Tis true," maintained Samuel. "And I speak of it for your own good."

  "Hmmm," murmured Skill, with furrowed brow. "Serious. Most serious."

  "Oh, me," moaned Christiana. "'Tis my fault! All my fault!"

  "What kind of fruit was it, good Doctor?" asked Samuel.

  "That tree is an offshoot of the 'tree of knowledge of good and evil'," he answered, "and many have died from eating thereof. I am surprised that no one warned you to stay away from that evil, infectious fruit."

  Then Christiana began to cry, and said, "Oh, naughty boy and oh, careless mother! What shall I do for my son?"

  "Come, come, m'lady. Do not mourn before the need. Now that we know the problem, we can proceed to intelligent solutions. We must give him a purge that will make him vomit it up."

  "Ohhh, noooo," groaned Matthew.

  "Do whatever you must, dear Doctor. Whatever the cost."

  "Don't be concerned about costs, Madam. You shall find me quite reasonable."

  And with that, he made him drink a purge made of the blood of a goat, the ashes of an heifer, and some juice of the hyssop plant. So Matthew forced it down, but not without much choking and gagging, for the brew was quite bitter. Then they sat down to await its effects. While waiting, the doctor asked Christiana, "Tell me, Madam. Has the boy exhibited any change in behavior?"

  "Ummm . . . no. None that I can think of . . . except . . . no, wait! Yes! Yes, I have! My Matthew was always the boldest of the lot. But, since eating that wicked fruit he has become the most timid of them all. Why, when we were attacked by two villains near the gate, we were defended by all the boys -except him."

  "Hmmm. And what else?"

  "Well, when we came to the hill Difficulty, he was often of a mind to be resting or turning back."

  "Umm-hmm. And?"

  "Later, when we came to the giant, he urged me to go on detour rather than face him. And when it came to battle, he hid himself behind my skirts right along with the younger ones."

  "Hmmm, serious. From this I perceive that the toxins have entered his brain."

  "Oh, Doctor! Is it too late? Is he lost to me?"

  "'Tis too soon to say. Has he been openly rebellious to you?"

  "Nay. Not openly."

  "Ah, good! Then there is room for hope."

  "When we were at the House of the Interpreter, he was very quick to answer questions on spiritual matters. May I not be encouraged by that?"

  "Not overly, Madam. Many on this journey have all the proper theories in the head but none of them in the heart. We can only wait and see."

  So, after a reasonable wait, Dr. Skill concluded that the first purge had been too mild. Therefore he resorted to the most powerful tonic known to man: a tonic that could in no way fail of achieving a cure in any who would partake thereof. It was made ex carne it sanguine Christi and was mixed with a powerful promise or two and a dash of salt. This miraculous potion was made into pills and delivered up to the boy's mother, who said,

  "Thank you, Doctor. But do tell? How do I use them?"

  "He must take them three at a time on an empty stomach. Have him wash them down with a quarter pint of the tears of repentance."

  "Will you help me with the first treatment?"

  "But of course. Come."

  But when the boy set eyes on this remedy, he was loath to take it and turned away. This, in spite of the fact that his cramps were so hard upon him as to nearly tear him in two. Then Dr. Skill assumed a stance of authority and commanded the boy:

  "Come, come, lad! You must take them!"

  "No! Just to look at them makes my stomach turn!"

  "No matter. I must have you take them!"

  "No! They taste so bitter that I'll just vomit them up again!"

  "Pray tell, Doctor, are these pills indeed bitter?" asked Christiana.

  "Nay, but sweet. They taste like manna, or the bread of life," he answered.

  "May I taste one?"

  "Certainly."

  Then Christiana tasted one of the pills; gingerly at first with the tip of her tongue, but then with greater boldness as she felt a life-giving current surge through her. "Why, Matthew! This potion is sweeter than honey!"

  "No!" moaned the lad. "'Tis bitter!"

  Then Christiana turned the boy towards her with an authority which could not be resisted and said, "Matthew! If you love your mother, if you love your broth
ers, if you love Mercy, and if you love your life - take it!"