"What God Has Cleansed"
by
Sarah Lynn B
It was just past dawn when the red convertible pulled into the dusty main street of the small Midwestern town. The early sunlight was glinting on the whitewashed steeple of the church on the corner, and the young woman seated on the passenger side of the car lifted her head to admire the sight as the car, its top down to take advantage of the warm spring air, crept past.
"I think the dawn is my favorite time of day," The young woman sighed in a light Irish brogue, and stretched her arms above her head. "So many possibilities."
"Hm." Her companion, an older heavyset woman, grunted good-naturedly as she steered the antique car. "Most people just sleep right through it."
"Then it's a pity," The young woman replied as she ran her fingers through her long brown hair. "I think the sunrise is God's way of saying every day's a new beginning. You sleep through it - you might never know what He might offer."
The other woman smiled in agreement as they slowly drove up the deserted street. To anyone who looked, there might not be anything special about these two women, or this car. There would be nothing in the young woman's slight figure or Gaelic face to hint that she was eight thousand years old; nothing in the other woman's darker complexion or white-streaked hair to suggest that she had been around to see the Earth form. And you'd never know, just by walking by and saying hello, that the eyes that met yours in kind reply had looked into the face of God Himself, and given Him all praise at the beginning of time when they were created as His angels. Yet all of these things were true.
"Tess," the younger woman said as her companion eased the huge car into a diagonal parking space on the main street, "Do you suppose there's a diner in town?"
"Why?" Tess answered as she shifted the car into park.
"Oh...I could go for a cup right now, is all."
"Monica," the older woman said in a warning voice, and shot her companion a stern look. "You know you were told to cut back."
"I know," Monica acquiesced as she opened the massive convertible door, "But it's such a lovely day, and somehow it just doesn't feel right to be standing here,in the light of God's majesty without- "
"Without that all-important caffeine buzz going on?" Tess deadpanned as she hauled herself out of the low-slung vehicle. She paused to survey her surroundings, and shoot Monica a small look. "You just pay attention to your assignment, Miss Wings. Maybe later you can find that cup of coffee."
Monica smiled slightly and nodded. Tess had been her supervising angel for as long as she'd been a caseworker - three years, and she knew that what Tess said you didn't argue with. She looked around her at the deserted main street, and frowned; It was one of those downtowns that looked as if it had once been bustling. There was a large department store across the street, empty and dark, the letters of the store sign gone but the outline still plainly visible among the metal posts on the storefront where the letters had been removed years ago. Around it on both sides of the street were many small stores, just as deserted, some with soap and newspaper covering the windows like shrouds. Small withered trees, dying of neglect, shook their crisp branches in the morning breeze, dropping dead leaves among the rust-colored scrubby bushes that sat morosely under them in a vain attempt at decoration. The church they had passed coming in was still plainly visible, but from the scrubby, overgrown lawn, dingy appearance, bare sign and padlocked doors Monica guessed it had, for some reason, been closed years ago. There was no sign of life anywhere
"Is there an assignment here?" Monica asked in wonder. "I thought we were just stopping to stretch."
"There most definitely is,"Tess said firmly. "Look around you. This place used to be the happiest little town on Earth. Full of the kind of joy that makes God glad. Now look at it."
Monica ventured another glance around. "What happened? Did everyone move to the suburbs?"
"No," Tess said sadly, "They moved inside. Inside themselves."
"But why?"
"Why don't we try to find that diner," Tess answered cryptically as she turned to go up the street, "And maybe we'll find out."
Monica looked around again, shrugged, and followed her mentor up the street.
The sun was up a little higher now, striking the Mansard roofs and glittering eagles that adorned the old buildings of the street. Monica paused by one storefront to glance at the sight, then turned to continue up the sidewalk - and bumped squarely into someone she hadn't seen come up beside her.
"Oh!" She exclaimed, and stepped back. "I'm sorry - "
She stopped. It was a man who faced her, an older man with greying hair and a sad, haunted face. He looked at her with an expression she might have called surprise, but didn't say anything.
"Are you all right?" Monica asked, placing a hand on his arm.
The man flinched away from the angel's touch, wincing a bit. "Yes, I'm fine," he said in a low voice, and without meeting her eyes again he hurried past. As Monica watched him go she saw he was carrying a plastic garbage bag, picking up stray pieces of paper and other litter as he went down the street.
Monica turned back. "Tess - "
"Meet your assignment." Tess said in reply, "That's Richard Paxton. Fifteen years ago he was a high school bus driver, quiet, kept to himself, but well enough liked. Then one day on the way back from a school trip the bus he was driving hit a train because he wasn't paying attention. Twenty-three children - most of this town's senior class - died."
Monica felt her heart tighten. "Oh, Tess..."
"Everybody in town lost someone, or knew someone who had. A lot of people moved away after the crash, said it was just too painful. Some stayed, but it's hard to be happy in the face of so much grief. Richard pleaded guilty to manslaughter, did some time, but when he got out nobody in town would give him the time of day. They still don't. Now..."
Tess paused and, with Monica, watched Richard amble slowly down the street, his dejected form dark even in the morning light. Tess shook her head.
"Now he just does odd jobs and at night sits alone in his shabby little house, waiting to die. Just like this town, he's got to see through the past to embrace the present and look to the future. Problem is, Richard doesn't have a whole lot of future left."
That's when Monica saw the young man standing on the second-floor balcony of a closed store across the street. The morning sun had reached the balcony, and gleamed in the young man's blond hair and off his beige linen suit. He stood there, not moving, with his hands in his pockets watching Richard walk down the street. He was an angel, like Tess and Monica, but unlike them he had another title besides caseworker - the angel of Death.
"Oh, Tess, look - it's Andrew,"Monica said happily, waiting until she caught the angel's eye and giving him a friendly wave. He saw her, she knew he did, but instead of waving back he returned his gaze to Richard for a moment, watching him with an expression Monica, who knew him almost as well as she knew Tess, had never seen before - anger. Then Andrew slowly turned and left the balcony.
"Why, Tess," Monica said, puzzled, "He didn't even wave hello. That's not like Andrew at all, is it?"
Tess gave a sigh and turned to head back to the car. "You'll have to forgive him, baby. This is a tough assignment for all of us, but it's going to be especially tough on our Angel-boy."
"Why?" Monica asked in concern, falling into step beside Tess.
Tess paused, then said, "You'll find out when the time comes, but the important thing is if everything goes well by the time God is through here Andrew, and Richard, and this town, are all gonna get what they need the most."
"What's that?" Monica asked as they reached the car.
Tess paused beside a newspapered store window. The newsprint was faded, yellowed and brittle, but still readable. On one wrinkled page a banner headline screamed "23 KILLED IN BUS CRASH", beneath it a black-bordered class photograph. Monica saw it as well and looked at it thoughtfully as Tess answered, her ancient eyes fixing on the closed church down the street.
"A cleansing, baby. A cleansing."
Later that morning Monica found herself in front of the city's municipal building, a tiny sandstone structure sandwiched between two vacant stores on the town's main street. Even though it was past 10 o' clock, she felt as she entered the doors and walked across the polished wood floor to the antique counter as if she was the first customer of the day.
An older woman, attired in a navy blue suit and her hair in an old-fashioned bun, came wearily to the counter and said in a flat tone, "Can I help you?"
Monica glanced down at the nameplate that sat on the counter in front of the woman.
"Good morning, Ms. Stratford," Monica said, smiling her most beatific smile in hopes of lightening the woman's expression. It didn't work. "Ah - I've come to look after the church."
The woman's dour face was now dour and puzzled. "Excuse me?"
"I've been sent by ecclesiastical management to look after your church. The one on the corner. It needs some attention."
"Oh." Ms. Stratford nodded, not looking any happier but at least looking as if she understood. Thank goodness. "Well, it's about time. That place has been going to rack and ruin for years." She reached under the counter and pulled out a stack of forms.
"If you'll pardon me for asking, ma'am, but I wasn't told why it closed."
"Huh? Oh, the pastor moved out of town. His wife was too upset by the accident."
Monica started. "She had an accident?"
Ms. Stratford laughed, a short humorless bark. "No, the bus accident! Oh, that's right, you're from out of town." She jabbed her pen at a black-bordered photograph that hung on a wall just behind the counter. Monica realized it was the same one she'd seen in the store window - probably cut from the same issue of the paper, right after it happened. "Huge wreck. Twenty-three high school students killed, practically the whole senior class. Awful thing. A lot of people around here couldn't handle it. "
"She doesn't know about the accident?" A stout, bespectacled woman carrying a folder, who had apparently been just out of sight, shuffled over and blinked at Monica in wonder.
"Out of towner." The other woman said, scribbling something on one of the forms. "My sister lost her eldest, my nephew Tommy. She moved out six months later."
The stout woman smiled at Monica. "Are you staying long?"
Before Monica could answer the other woman shot back, "Course not, Mildred. Nobody ever stays here long anymore. This city's been like a morgue ever since the accident. Name?"
"Ah, can I fill that out and bring it back later? I'm running errands."
"Huh? Well, I suppose so." Ms. Stratford shoved the stack of forms at Monica. "Just don't do anything with that building till you bring 'em back. They're authorization forms."
"I won't. Actually," Monica was trying to balance the forms in her hands, "I was wondering, the lawn looks like it's going to need the most work. Can you recommend anyone?"
"Well," Ms. Stratford set both hands on the counter and stared up at the ceiling, "Yeah, I could, but this is planting season and they're all busy. You may end up doing it yourself."
Monica nodded. 'I did see a man this morning, I don't think he was a farmer. He was walking along Main Street, picking up trash, looked like he could use the work. Do you suppose he might be available?"
"Old Richard Paxton?" Mildred exclaimed, and giggled into her folder.
"Is that his name? I'd like to hire him." Monica said.
Ms. Stratford stood back and placed her hands on her blazered hips. "Well, you must be new around here or you'd never let those words out of your mouth. That's the man who killed those kids and if you give him so much as the time of day there'll be tongues wagging from here to the state line. He's a , a , what's that word when nobody speaks to you - "
"Pariah," Mildred suggested, still from behind the folder.
"Yeah, that's it. He's a pariah. "
Monica frowned. "You wouldn't hire him then?"
"Not if he was the last man on Earth."
Monica studied the forms in her hand. "And if I choose to?"
"You'd be the first person around here to speak to him in months. Nobody has anything to do with that murderer at all if they can help it. Still, he does do odd jobs, so do what you want, I can't stop you. He lives on Chestnut Street. But you've been warned."
Monica nodded silently, somewhat stunned by this woman's wholehearted condemnation of Richard. She backed away from the counter.
"Bye now." Mildred said, waving her folder. Ms. Stratford had already left the counter, but was eying Monica suspiciously from the doorway into the back room.
The icy hatred in that woman's eyes still touched Monica's soul, and chilled her even after she stepped into the warm spring sun. Once on the sidewalk, she glanced at the small pile of forms in her hand, then down the street to where the church stood, empty, shabby, waiting to be reborn. Then she turned her steps toward Chestnut Street.