Beth didn't say anything for about three blocks after they left the diner. The sun had risen a little higher, and every now and then a car or truck would rumble down the street beside them, but other than that and the sound of their footsteps there was silence. Monica was beginning to feel uncomfortable, and a little ashamed - if she'd looked at that picture sooner, she could have asked someone else to tell her about the accident, someone not so involved. She kicked herself for being so impulsive. Was she ever going to learn?
At length, they passed a block of closed storefronts, an old candy store, a photo shop. The morning wind blew, a light breeze.
"When I was a kid," Beth said in a forced, cheery tone, "We used to come down here every day after school. There used to be a record store - you know, back when they had records - and we'd come here, get some Cokes and go listen to whatever had come in. You know who I loved then? Rick Springfield. Joan Jett. Christopher Cross. Now they're all trivia questions on 'Jeopardy.' "
She gave Monica an ironic smile and at the end of the block turned toward a small white house hidden behind a screen of dense trees. It was a charming house, with huge picture windows and dark green shutters.
"This is the place," Beth smiled and unlocking the front door she waved Monica in.
Inside the place was a pleasant jumble of old and new furniture. The living room was huge, with a hardwood floor and a large window seat on one wall. The living room seemed to double as a studio: scattered throughout the room were several dozen paintings, stacked in piles and leaning against the white walls in various stages of completion. Monica peered at them; they were all impressionistic paintings of angels.
As Beth went into the kitchen, Monica set the bag of sandwiches down on a nearby coffee table and stepped up to an easel that was sitting by one of the windows. She looked closely at the painting that sat on it. It seemed to be of a burst of bright light, and in the center an outline of a figure stood, dark except for a halo of white-blond hair.
"You're very good," Monica observed.
"What?" Beth called from the kitchen, and poked her head around the corner. "Oh. Thanks." She came into the living room, an iced tea in one hand, and shrugged depreciatively at the canvas. "It's a hobby I guess. Actually, I love doing it, but around here there's no way to make money at it."
Monica nodded, unsure what to say. Beth solved her problem when she gave the painting a somewhat dark look and, taking a drink of tea, said, "Anyway, the accident..." The ice in the glass jingled as Beth walked slowly over to the window seat and sat down. " It was about a month before graduation, and one of the guys in my class wins this radio contest, take twenty-five friends to see Juice Newton. Eddie Branson." Beth said with a reminiscing smile, and getting up again went to a nearby bookcase and pulled out a faded high school yearbook with SENTINEL 1978 stamped on the leatherette cover. Flipping it open, she showed Monica a set of class pictures, freshman year, girls with Farrah Fawcett hair and boys with wide-collared shirts. She pointed to one boy and grinned. "That's him. I thought he was so cute."
Monica smiled. "He's - what's the word - dreamy." She glanced at the bookcase, saw three other yearbooks and reached for the one that had SENTINEL 1982 stamped on the binding.
"No, don't," Beth said quickly, snapping the yearbook shut and jamming it against the others.
"Oh, I'm sorry," Monica apologized, withdrawing her hand. "I guess that was pretty rude."
"No, it's not that, it's - " Beth looked at the newest yearbook strangely, "Well, I - got that yearbook about two days before the accident, and...well, I never opened it after that. It's too real, you know?"
Monica winced and nodded.
Beth took a deep breath and walked back to the window seat . "Anyway, Eddie didn't know who to invite, so he invited the whole senior class to go on this thing. So we get a school bus and go, and the concert is great, and we're on our way back, but the guy - " Beth paused here to cough, looked at the ceiling - "But the guy driving the school bus isn't watching the road, and somebody said he's gonna get us in an accident, and it's late at night and you know how some of the railroad crossings around here don't have lights, so you stop to make sure there isn't a train coming? Well..." Beth took a deep shaky breath, "Well, the bus driver must've been dozing or something and didn't see the signs cause he hit the brakes but we were too close by then and ..."
Beth stopped and blinked, a single tear dropping out of her eye. "It was fifteen years you know, and I can still see it. Here," She set the glass down on the floor and quickly rolled up one sleeve of her shirt and ran her hand along a whitish scar that marked the inside of her left arm. Monica came closer to see. "That's where I got this. I was really hurt, I thought I was gonna die, I..." She looked at Monica, the pain fresh in her large brown eyes. "Sometimes I think I was supposed to die. Eddie did. I never figured that out. He had a scholarship, you know? And Lisa Letterman, she was gonna get married in six months. And other kids, popular kids, you know, more important than me, they were gonna be somebody. And they died. And I lived and here I am, still stuck in this Godforsaken town, still nobody. I don't get it." She sniffed, and looked forlornly out the window into the sunshine.
Monica knelt by Beth and gently stroked her arm. "I'm sorry, Beth. I shouldn't have made you relive this."
Beth looked back, gave a tiny smile and shrugged. "Just thought you should know. Anyone will tell you the story, in fact it's all most people talk about. " Beth took a drink of tea and heaved a large sigh. "Anyway, I got out of the hospital, two weeks maybe, half these stores were shut. The only survivors were me and these two other girls, but their families moved as soon as school let out. We never did have graduation. First the record store, then the drug store. By the time I was well enough to go out there wasn't anywhere to go."
"Why did your family stay?" Monica asked.
"Oh, Dad said if we stayed long enough things would get back to normal. You know, other kids would grow up, somebody would reopen the stores. Didn't happen, though. I mean, there were other kids, but it was like people felt guilty if they had any fun, especially if I was around. We stayed, but things never came back."
Monica nodded; she didn't know what else to do.
There was a long pause as Beth stared at the melting ice in her glass. Finally she said, "You know what the worst part is? All my friends, they never got to live, and I did, but it doesn't mean anything. I mean, when I woke up after the accident, all I thought was my life is over. After a while I thought maybe that was a little melodramatic, but then..." She ducked her head back down again, and her voice grew small. "I found out it was true."
"But it can't be," Monica insisted, trying to smile. "I'm sure God has a purpose for you, Beth. Have you asked Him to help you?"
Beth looked at her, perplexed. "Nobody talks about God around here, except to ask why if there is a God He didn't prevent the accident. The one church we had is shut down. I'm not even sure I believe in God."
"Well, you must at some level," Monica replied with a small smile, standing, "Or else you'd have a hard time painting such beautiful pictures of His angels."
"Oh - " Beth lifted her head, and gazed with shimmering eyes at the white-haloed figure on the canvas. "Well, that - he's..." She paused, pursed her lips, then looked down and shrugged wordlessly, rubbing her arm as if reliving something. Finally she looked up and asked, "Um, do you want me to put your sandwiches in the fridge?"
The sandwiches! Monica suddenly remembered them, and walking over to the coffee table picked up the paper bag. "No thank you, actually I picked these up for a friend. I should probably be taking them to him."
"Oh. Okay." Beth stood and walked Monica to the door. She opened the screen door and Monica stepped onto the sun-dappled sidewalk.
"Does your friend live far from here?" Beth asked, holding the screen door open and leaning amiably against it.
"No, not very. He lives out on Chestnut Street."
Beth's eyes snapped to Monica's face. "Not Richard Paxton?"
Monica nodded. "He's doing some yard work for me and - "
"Okay, Monica," Beth said in a tight voice, standing quickly, "I'm gonna tell you something, and please don't take it the wrong way, but nobody around here has anything to do with that guy. Everything I just told you? It was his fault."
Monica bit her lip; she should have expected a reaction like this. "You mean he - "
"He was driving the bus and caused the accident. Trust me, if you want to make any other friends around here you don't want to be friends with him."
Monica wrung the top of the paper bag in her hands. "But Beth, he's lived with that guilt long enough. Surely after fifteen years the people here - "
Beth cut her off with a sharp look. "Um, Monica, I like you and I don't want to alienate you or anything but for me it still feels like it happened yesterday. That's the way everybody feels, so you might as well get used to it. And I don't care how long that jerk has lived with his guilt. Even if it's a hundred years it won't be long enough."
And with that, Beth slammed the screen door and retreated back into the house.
After Beth left Monica began to retrace her steps to Richard's house, aimlessly swinging the paper bag and thinking. She shook her head, infuriated at her blindness to the intensity of human emotions. Why didn't she realize, of course Beth would still hate Richard. And she was probably right about the town too. From what they saw he took away their very future, why wouldn't they blame him for the town's sad decline?
But fifteen years, she thought. So long to be bitter. And after that long, could there be forgiveness? How could she make such fruit spring from such bitter ground?
At length she found herself in front of the sad clapboard dwelling. She knocked on the front door and waited.
And waited some more. Knocked again. No answer. Concerned, she stood on tiptoe, trying to peek in through the small window near the top of the door. But she couldn't see anything.
She then went around to the back, carefully stepping through overgrown weeds and shrubs to the back door. Knocked. Nothing. Tried the door. Locked. Looked in through the grimy kitchen window.
From this vantage point she could see, much as she had before, through to the living room. Richard's legs were plainly visible, hunched in the chair in the corner. She could see them move, then cross in a casual way, so she deduced he wasn't having a heart attack or any other medical problem. And she knew he wasn't deaf. He just wasn't answering the door.
"You stand much longer those sandwiches are gonna be spoiled."
Monica turned; Tess was regarding her from beneath the shade of a nearby tree.
Chagrined, Monica looked at the bag in her hands. "And I forgot the coffee."
"That's not all you're forgetting," Tess admonished, stepping out of the storefront to face her protégé. "There's an old man in that house who desperately needs your friendship."
"Are you sure about that? When I tried to talk to him this morning he hardly said a word to me. And now he won't even open the door. I feel like an intruder."
"Well our Lord did say he would come like a thief in the night."
Monica turned a sad eye to the closed door. "You should have heard what Beth said about that poor man, Tess. She still carries such anger in her heart over him. I'm not sure she'll ever get over it. Or the town. There's so much grief to be borne here."
Tess put a supportive arm around Monica's shoulder and said, "I know. I know this is isn't easy, baby. It's hard for people to accept that God has a future for them, when they're still mourning for what's past. But you know and I know that God wants these people to know that there's hope; all these people, starting with your friend in there. There's a lot of healing that can happen here,baby, but somebody's got to give that ball a push."
Monica nodded. "I'll take these to Richard right now." She started to walk around to the front of the house and was about halfway when something caught her eye.
The late morning rays were shining fully on the cemetery across the street, casting feathery shadows where the new spring leaves were appearing on the shade trees that crowned the hill. Standing beneath them, his back to them but instantly recognizable, was Andrew.
Monica stopped, confused, and looked back at Tess.
"I see him, baby," Tess replied, but said nothing else.
"I thought Andrew didn't like cemeteries." Monica said quizzically, turning back to gaze at her friend. He didn't move, didn't seem to know they were there.
"He doesn't." Tess answered. "But right now that's where he feels he's got to be. Don't, baby," Tess said quickly when Monica moved to walk toward the hill. "There's some mighty strong angelic emotions working up there. Best to let it be."
"But why?" Monica turned back, exasperated, "Tess, he's my friend and he's in pain, why can't I help him?"
"Because he's not ready for you to help him yet."
"Can you help him?"
Tess shook her head. "I thought so, but what Andrew's going through he's got to work out with God and God alone."
"But what is he going through?"
Tess gave her an even look. "Just take care of those sandwiches, baby. Everything in good time."
Monica took a few more steps towards Andrew, tentatively, then stopped. Then, resisting every comforting, nurturing fiber in her being, Monica turned back toward the house.
At that instant she heard the back door open and Richard appeared, looking a little confused.
"Yes, miss?" He said, stopping and blinking at her.
"Um - " Monica held out the bag, "I bought these sandwiches, but I'm not hungry. Would you like them?"
Richard's eyebrows lifted in surprise. "You don't want them?"
"I'd like you to have them. Please." She approached him. To her surprise, he backed away. Instinctively she put out her arm to stop him.
"Don't be afraid." She said, a note of surprise in her voice. "Please, I want you to."
Richard stopped, then grinned a little, sheepishly. "I'm sorry. I guess I'm not used to people being nice to..." He paused, and took the bag. "Thank you."
Monica smiled warmly at him, but Richard didn't see it.
Without looking at Monica he said, "Tomorrow morning nine o' clock." And hurried back into the house.
Monica looked to where Tess still stood, hidden in the shade tree.
Monica shrugged. "Tomorrow morning, nine o' clock."
Tess smiled at her. "Let the cleansing begin - " She paused, and Monica followed her gaze to the solitary figure, who still stood in the cemetery, a quiet figure in the morning sun.
" - for everyone."
The following day dawned brightly, one of those glorious spring days that hints playfully at becoming summer. The dew sparkled brightly in the long grass and twinkled like diamonds from the spiders' webs that hung from split wooden fences. The air was redolent with the mingled aromas of mown grass and fresh manure, spring flowers and fertilizer, and Monica smiled at the brilliance of the scene as she walked down the quiet main street on her way to the abandoned church. Spring is beautiful anywhere, she mused, but somehow in the heartland it seemed more real, more there. It was possible in some places to not even notice flowering trees coming out, grass turning green, clouds of fluffy pinks and blues instead of slate grey. But in the country it was impossible; and for that she was glad.
Pity then, she thought as she surveyed the empty streets around her, that the people of this town seemed so shut in against the Spring that God had provided. Even though it promised to be a balmy morning there were no young couples with strollers, no grandmothers on the porches watering blooming plants. In fact, she was alone on the street at the moment. It was as if the town was stubbornly refusing to admit that good things waited if they only opened their doors. It made Monica ache to think of the joy they were missing. But maybe it wouldn't be forever.
As she neared the corner where the neglected church lay Monica was surprised to see that Richard was not only already there, but had been hard at work for some time. Piles of pulled-up weeds and dead scrub-brush lay in one corner of the square yard, and as she approached she noticed he had washed the rectangular sign that stood in annunciation on the church's front lawn. Before it had been so dingy she couldn't read it; now, despite some obvious wear and a long diagonal crack through the covering plastic, she saw that the church's name was Redemption, and if the lettering in the sign was right its last service, held October 15, 1983, was ironically titled "Mov ng On ith Ch ist". Some of the letters had fallen to the bottom of the sign.
Richard, who had been on his knees toiling in the sad little bushes around the edge of the church, looked back and stood up when he saw Monica. He gave her something like a smile.
"Good morning, Richard," Monica returned the smile, with interest. "My, I see you've been busy already."
"Yes, Ma'am," Richard shyly replied, looking at his handiwork.
Monica waited for a moment, but when he didn't say anything else offered, "Well, I'm sure it makes God glad that someone is keeping his house in order again. You're doing a good job."
"Thank you," Richard said simply, and turned back to the bushes. "Thought I'd get done what I can in what little time I got."
Monica started at this, and thought of Andrew. "Why? Richard, are you ill?"
"Huh? No," Richard didn't turn around, but spoke to the bushes. After a few moments' pause he asked, "You been in town?"
"Yes, a little."
"Then you know about me."
Monica paused and bit her lip in thought. "I know that you need a friend, and I need some help with the church lawn. Sounds like a match made in Heaven to me."
For a couple of seconds all she heard was the trowel Richard was holding crunching through the rocky soil around the bushes. Then, still not facing her, he said, "Never said I needed any friends."
Monica was glad Richard wasn't looking at her face, because she was thinking very hard about what to say next, and she knew such concentration always showed. Finally she said, "Would you like me to get you something cool to drink? The diner's only - "
Now he turned, trowel in hand, and sat on his heels, looking at Monica intently. "Know what I can't figure out? Why you'd hire somebody like me knowing me. Nobody else around here would."
"Well," Monica offered. "I'm not from around here. Maybe that makes a difference."
"May be. See, I figured as soon as you found out about what I did to those kids you'd fire me just like that. And forget about the church, cause there's no reason to clean it up."
"Why do you say that?"
"Cause it's dead." Richard gazed up at the weather worn steeple, gleaming defiantly in the warm sun. "It's like this town, it's dead and I killed it. I got no right even being near it, and normally I wouldn't be, but you're right about one thing, I could use the work. But God don't want me here. I can feel it."
"Don't say that," Monica came close and knelt by Richard's side, placing a caring hand on his arm. "Everyone is welcome in God's house. "
"Ah, that's the line, but it's not true." Richard looked across the street and sighed, his eyes distant and sad. "You don't live here, so you don't understand. I went to this church for fifty years, knew everybody. Well, didn't talk to them much, but you know how country churches are, you know people just by seeing them all the time. All those kids, most of 'em went to this church, I saw 'em grow up. Baptism. Easter, Christmas, every year get a little bigger. Confirmation. Few of 'em stopped coming after that, but well, that's how kids are I guess. They'd get up during lay services, read Scripture and sing, it was so beautiful. And me? Well, you can see what I did with that." He gazed at the broken sign and shook his head.
Monica measured her next words carefully. "Richard," she began, "I'm sure God knows how sorry you are and he forgives you. Now is the time to let go of what's happened and start living the life God has given you again."
Richard smiled at her, a defeated smile. "Now see, you still don't understand. You think I'm sad because the town hates me. You think I hide in that tiny little house because I'm depressed. The truth is, Monica, it's fine with me, their hatred. Because that's how I feel. God's got no reason to forgive me. I stopped asking long ago. I don't want to be forgiven. I don't want you telling me it's all right and I should let go and all that. I want them to hate me. I deserve it. I got no right to be forgiven after what I did, and anybody in town would tell you the same. "
Monica found herself at a loss. She stammered for a moment, and in that moment Richard turned to her and said, "Let me ask you something. You believe in Heaven?"
Slowly, Monica smiled and nodded. "Yes, Richard,I do and-"
"You believe in Hell?"
Monica winced. "I believe there is a darkness, that is separation from God."
Richard nodded resolutely. "Cause that's where I'm going. I know it. God's never going to forgive me for taking all those kids' lives. " He gazed along the silent stretch of road.
Monica was flummoxed. What could she say? She'd never seen anyone so convinced of their own irredeemability. How could anyone not want God's grace?
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a door slamming shut across the street. Monica looked up to see Ms. Stratford marching over the pavement, looking very angry.
Richard stood up quickly. It ran through Monica's mind that Ms. Stratford and Richard should not get too close to each other, and she went forward to meet the older woman halfway. The other woman was so fast, however, that they ended up meeting on the sidewalk only a few feet from the church's lawn.
Despite being somewhat cowed by Ms. Stratford's stern expression, Monica smiled pleasantly. "Good morning, Ms. Stratford."
"I thought I told you no work was to be done on this property without the proper forms." Ms. Stratford replied angrily.
"Oh - yes," Monica said, "Well, they are being filled out - "
"Are they! Well, when you're done filling them out bring them to me. Then you can begin anything you like. In the meantime - "She jabbed a finger at Richard, who was bending over the bushes with his trowel. "That man's not to step foot on this property. Understand?"
"He's not doing any harm," Monica stammered, "He just wants to help me - "
"He wants to help!" The other woman barked. "If he wanted to help he'd leave town so's nobody would ever have to look at his murdering face again. That would help. That murderer working on a church lawn is nothing short of blasphemy, and if you had a half a brain in your head you'd know that, especially after what I told you yesterday!"
Monica stared at the woman, speechless, and doubtless that's where the conversation would have ended but at that moment the side door of the church opened and Tess, looking as authoritative as Monica had ever seen her, stepped out and loudly asked, "Is there a problem?"
Ms. Stratford gaped at her. "How did you get in there? That church has been locked for fifteen years!"
"God gave me the key." Tess deadpanned.
"Well, that's trespassing," Ms. Stratford replied acidly, looking Tess up and down, "I could have you arrested for that."
"Pardon me," Tess returned, fixing Ms. Stratford with a riveting look, "But isn't this God's house?"
"Well - it's a church, if that's what you mean, but - "
"And does that not make God the owner? And if the owner lets me in willingly and lovingly is that not the opposite of trespassing?"
Ms. Stratford opened her mouth, then closed it again. "Who are you anyway?" She asked.
"I am Tess. I am this young lady's supervisor, and if you have any problems with how this renovation is being handled you will bring them to me."
Ms. Stratford paused, clearly sizing up her new opponent. "Fine then. I told this young lady yesterday that she couldn't start work without having the proper forms filled out and - "
"You mean these forms?" Tess asked archly, holding up a stack of papers. Monica could see each form was neatly, and completely, filled out.
Ms. Stratford started, and once again her mouth worked uselessly for a moment.
Tess firmly pressed the papers into the other woman's hands. "Is there anything else?"
Ms. Stratford looked at the papers in her hands as if they were pythons and said, in a smaller voice, "No...no, I guess not." And she turned to go.
"Just one moment." Tess barked, loud enough to make the woman turn back in surprise. "I believe you owe these people an apology."
"Oh..." It seemed obvious that Ms. Stratford knew she was caught. "Well.. I guess. I'm sorry, miss, for losing my temper. I guess it was just seeing that man here..."
"You owe him an apology too." Tess observed.
Ms. Stratford straightened indignantly. "For what?"
"You called him a murderer."
Ms. Stratford set her jaw. "I won't apologize for that. He is one!"
Tess leaned back and eyed the other woman. "Ms. Stratford, where are we standing?"
"Huh? On the church lawn, of course."
"And is this not the home of 'judge not lest ye be judged'?"
Ms. Stratford's face clouded with anger. and after a moment Monica realized she had unconsciously backed a few steps away from the two women.
After a few tense moments Ms. Stratford firmly shook her head and said, "You're from out of town. You don't understand." And, with that, turned on her heel and strode across the street, with the papers clenched under one arm.
Monica breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Tess."
Tess was watching the woman's back and shaking her head. "Sometimes I can't believe the anger humans let burn in their hearts. And that is one angry woman."
Monica nodded sadly and turned back toward the church - and nearly bumped into Richard, who had not moved from his position behind Monica since Tess arrived. He looked at Tess with undisguised amazement.
"Oh," Monica jumped, "Richard, this is Tess. She's my supervisor."
"Hello Richard," Tess said cheerfully, extending a hand.
"How do you do," Richard replied automatically, taking it. 'Say, you never did answer her - how did you get into the church? Did you break in?"
"Heavens no!" Tess answered, "I just opened the door and walked right in."
"Huh." Richard scratched his head, looking in puzzlement at the open door behind them. "Guess nobody's tried the doors in a long time. Locks must have rusted or something."
"Or something." Tess allowed.
"Um," Richard stuttered, fingering the trowel in his hand, "I'm going home to get some more supplies, if that's okay."
"Oh. Of course, Richard," Monica said amiably. "I'll be here when you get back."
Richard nodded and walked off the lawn and behind the church.
Grateful to finally be alone with Tess, Monica shook her head and moaned, "Oh, Tess, I wish I knew what to do! I thought I could draw Richard out by getting him here but it doesn't seem to be working, in fact, it's worse. Seeing this place only reminds him of his guilt."
"And seeing him seems to remind people here of their own demons." Tess observed, looking at the municipal office across the street.
Monica shook her head. "Tess, I'm so confused. God's forgiveness is so simple, yet so powerful and healing. It could heal this town, I know it could. But Beth is still so angry I don't know if she can ever forgive Richard. And even if she did, Richard told me he doesn't want God's forgiveness! Tess, how can that be? How can anyone not want to be forgiven by God?"
Tess shook her head and gave Monica a knowing look. "No one said understanding human behavior was going to be easy, Angel girl. And no one said this assignment was going to be a walk on the church lawn either. But it might help you to understand that struggling with guilt is not something humans alone face."
Monica cocked her head. "What do you mean?"
"You'll find out," Tess replied enigmatically, "In the meantime let's see what we can do to help your friend." And with that, the two angels went to work on the lawn of the abandoned church.
