When We Were Saints (24 page)

Archie thought about when things had started to change. When was it? Then he remembered. It was the day he had gone to talk to Miss Nattie Lynn and told her he wouldn't be moving in with them, that he had to be about his Father's business. What had been wrong with that? Isn't that what God would have wanted? Isn't that what Jesus had done? And then he had fought off those boys for Clare. Was that the problem? Was God mad at him for using violence? That was when everything had changed, all right, and he had to admit that even though it seemed like he had done everything right, he didn't feel right, even back then. He had left Miss Nattie Lynn's feeling upset with her and worried about his grandmother and later when he'd attacked the boys in the woods, he had felt murderous and that couldn't have been right. But then, what was the answer? What should he have done? Archie sat up and bowed his head in his hands and demanded that God tell him—what should he have done?

T
HE NEXT MORNING
C
LARE
nudged Archie awake and told him it was time to go to the Langon Chapel to see the crying Virgin. Archie sat up and felt the stiffness in his shoulders from his lying on the floor all night. He looked at Clare, who stood above him in her robe with its hood drawn up over her head. Her face was hidden in the shadows, and she reminded Archie of cartoon drawings he had seen of the Grim Reaper: He shuddered and got to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He had put his robe back on sometime in the middle of the night to keep warm and decided to wear it again, at least to the chapel. He pulled the hood up over his head and said, "Okay, I'm ready. What do we do?"

"Follow me."

They started down the stairs, and Archie held his robe up with both hands and followed two steps behind Clare, just to be sure he didn't trip her or himself. The steps seemed to go on forever and he could see that the long descent tired Clare. She took her time going down them, and even so she was breathing hard and leaning into the railing to steady herself. Clare's behavior worried Archie. She was too thin. She would have more strength if she would just eat. He made a promise to himself that after their visit to the chapel, he would find them some food and get her to eat it.

They stepped out onto the second floor and Clare whispered, "We'll wait here."

They found a couple of chairs and sat down. Archie asked, "Who are we waiting for?"

"Mr. Endly. He took over my aunt's job when she died. He's coming early to do some work. We'll have about an hour before the museum opens."

"When did you arrange all this?"

"I saw him yesterday when you were in the garden. I told him all about our pilgrimage. He was very excited about it, and he offered to get permission for us to pray in the chapel by ourselves."

Archie smiled. He liked that they had permission to be in the chapel. "That's great. That's really great," he said, feeling a spark of hope. "I've been really worried about my grandmama. I'm going to pray for her the whole time."

Clare patted Archie's shoulder but didn't say anything. She began to hum, and Archie knew she was praying. He stood up and went to the window and looked at the city view. He drew in a deep breath and let it out. He wondered where his grandfather's truck was in relation to where he stood. If he looked out of one of the other windows could he spot it? He went around the room to the other windows, trying to find it, and was disappointed when he couldn't. He understood that to Clare the Cloisters felt like home, but to him the only bit of home he had with him was his granddaddy's truck—and he had a sudden longing to sit in it and smell the familiar if unpleasant, odors of cigar smoke, mountain mud, and pig urine.

Archie smiled at the memory of the pig urine. A few months before Armory had moved away, Archie was showing off the new camera his grandparents had given him for his birthday. Armory had the great idea of posing a pig in the driver's seat of Archie's grandfather's truck, with its front hooves up on the steering wheel, so that Archie could take a picture. It took both of them to get the pig into the truck, but it stayed there only long enough to pee on the seat before leaping back into Archie's arms and knocking him to the ground. The pig ran over his head, cutting his forehead, and his grandfather said the gash served him right. He and Armory had to spend the afternoon cleaning up the urine, but they never did get rid of the odor completely. Archie laughed to himself and wondered what Armory was up to. Then, remembering their last phone conversation, he felt a twinge of sadness. Maybe it was best that their friendship had ended, he decided. Armory had never brought out the best in him.

A short while later Archie heard a noise, and he turned around looking panic-stricken at Clare.

"It's all right," she said. "Mr. Endly is meeting us up here. That's just the elevator."

When Mr. Endly, a portly man with a thick mustache and a pasty complexion, stepped off the elevator, he was surprised to find them standing there.

"Now how did you get in? They said you hadn't arrived yet," he said, looking Archie up and down.

"They'd better step up their security around here," Clare said, giving the man a hug. Then she turned and introduced Archie, and the man offered him a sweaty hand to shake. Archie shook it, and when Mr. Endly wasn't looking, Archie wiped his hand on his robe. A minute later they all got on the elevator and Mr. Endly led them to the chapel.

"Will you two be all right then?" Mr. Endly asked before he left them alone.

Clare nodded, and both she and Archie thanked Mr. Endly and then he left. At last they were alone in the chapel, kneeling before the solemn Virgin at the altar Archie bowed his head and prayed for his grandmother. He prayed that she had been moved to the rehabilitation center and he prayed that she believed the note that he had left behind saying he was on a camping trip. He prayed for her happiness and asked for forgiveness for any way he may have hurt her since his grandfather's death. He knew his death had been hard on her although she'd never said anything about it. He had seen the sadness in her eyes. Even when she laughed with her friends it was there, and there was worry, too. Had she just been concerned about the pain in her leg?

Archie lifted his head and stared at the Virgin. No, he knew what she had been worried about. Even before she broke her hip she had been worried about him. She was frightened she would die, too, and Archie would be all alone. She was frightened. Archie knew it. She was frightened still, and he had abandoned her What had he done? He had been scared, too. He knew he couldn't face another death, not yet, not hers. But it had been stupid to run off. He glanced over at Clare. Her face was lifted to the windows. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. She looked so contented, and it reminded Archie that he didn't belong there. The Cloisters was Clare's home, not his. The memories and people were hers. He belonged in the country, not the city. He needed the mountains and the country roads and the South, where people didn't talk funny, the way they did in New York. Archie blinked up at the Virgin and made his final decision: With or without Clare, he was going home and he was leaving that very day. His grandmother needed him, and, he realized, he needed her.

A
RCHLE HEARD
C
LARE GASP.
He turned his head and saw her staring wide-eyed with her mouth open. She raised her arms toward the Virgin, and her body went rigid. Her arms were held straight out, her fingers splayed and stiff but shaking as though electricity surged through her body. Archie stood up, frightened.

"Clare? What is it? Clare?"

He looked at the sculpture, but nothing had changed. He saw no tears. He felt Clare's shoulder and it felt like stone, hard and cold.

He shook her and spoke again to her. "Clare? Are you all right? Say something."

Clare gasped again and then again, as though she was trying to breathe but couldn't draw in enough breath. He got behind her and wondered if he should try to lift her up. He was afraid she was having a seizure. He looked back at the sculpture, and still he saw no change, yet Clare stared as though she was seeing something. Archie leaned over her "Clare, can you hear me? Are you okay? Clare?"

He moved around in front of her blocking her view of the Virgin, hoping to break the spell. He took her outstretched hands in his. They were still stiff, and cold to the touch. He didn't know what to do. He rubbed her hands, trying to warm them, to wake them or her up. He looked at her face, still with its startled expression. He wondered if she was dying. Could someone die kneeling like that?

Archie kept rubbing Clare's hands, wondering if he should call for help. Her hands began to feel warm, and he believed his rubbing was helping. He saw her blink once, then again. He kept rubbing, and Clare's hands got warmer and warmer Then he felt something wet, and he looked at his own hands and saw blood on them. He looked at Clare's hands, and she, too, had blood. He grabbed her hand and saw a wound in the center of it, where blood oozed and trickled down her palm. He looked at her other palm, and it, too, was bleeding.

Tears ran down Clare's face. She pointed at the Virgin. "Do you see, Francis? Do you see the angels?"

Archie looked at the sculpture. It was as it had always been. He turned to Clare. "No. No, I don't see anything. Clare, there is nothing there."

Clare was not listening to him. Her face was beaming. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The sight before her eyes enraptured her. "O blessed Jesus!" she cried out, lifting her palms up toward the ceiling.

Archie felt as if he were in the dramatic death scene of one of those Shakespearean tragedies his grandmother liked to watch on public television. He looked again at the sculpture, moving closer and examining its eyes and the altar space around her "Clare, there is nothing there." He grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. "Clare, it's nothing. You've had a seizure or something. You're sick. You need help. Okay? Let's go now."

Archie let go of Clare's chin and tried to get hold of her arms and lift her up, but she grabbed his robe and clung to him, using all her weight to hold him still. She cried, pressing her face into his stomach, and Archie leaned over her and rubbed her back, trying to calm her. He wondered where Mr. Endly was and how soon the museum would open. He needed help. Again he tried to lift Clare, and he succeeded in pulling her to her feet. More blood oozed from her hands, and when she stood up and faced him, she grabbed her chest; Archie saw that blood had seeped through the side of her robe, leaving a small wet spot.

"What's happening? I don't understand," Archie said, wrapping his arm around her and feeling her warm, thin body fall against him. He led her toward the exit, taking one small step, then pausing before taking another. He wanted to grab her and run, but Clare felt so fragile limping along beside him. He looked down and saw blood coming from beneath the straps of her sandals. He stopped walking and turned to her "Your feet are bleeding. Everything is bleeding. I need to carry you. I'll take you to the truck. We should get to a hospital. Where's a hospital around here?"

Clare lifted her face to Archie's. "Don't fret, dear Francis. Don't you see? Jesus has united me to him forever I share in his Passion. I bear his wounds." She showed Archie the palms of her hands, where several more trickles of blood ran from the centers.

"How—how did you do that?" Archie took her by the wrist and led her toward the door She moved with him, walking faster than before. Clare spoke and her voice sounded stronger. "I have done nothing but meditate on Christ's Passion. It is Christ who has done this."

Archie could hear voices in the hall beyond the room. The museum was open for business. He wanted to get out of there, and he didn't want to be seen. What should he do? He shut his eyes for a second and prayed for help. Then he felt Clare tugging on his sleeve. "We must go now, Brother Francis."

Archie opened his eyes and followed Clare through the hall, surprised by her sudden energy. Archie saw a few people staring at them, but no one stopped them or asked what was wrong.

Archie guided Clare down the steps toward the exit and the parking lot. Once they were outside, Archie took a deep breath, happy to be free of the Cloisters. He told Clare that he would go to get the truck if she wanted to sit down and wait for him. Clare surprised him by agreeing to the plan, and Archie took off at a gallop. He wasn't gone more than five minutes, but when he returned he saw that the awful man from the day before was with Clare. Archie pushed down on the accelerator and pulled up right beside them. He jumped out of the truck and told Clare to hurry up and climb in. He ran around to where the two stood, and he saw that the man had Clare's wrists in his grip.

"Hey, back off!" Archie shouted.

The man let go of her and raised his hands. Archie watched him back away, and he decided the man had eyes like the comic-strip cat Garfield, heavy-lidded and lazy-looking. He didn't like the guy at all.

"That's the stigmata!" the man said to Archie, lowering one hand to point at Clare's hands.

Archie glanced at Clare, and then back at the man who had started coming toward him. Archie grabbed Clare's hand and Clare said, "It's all right, Francis."

Archie knew he didn't want another episode like the one he had had with the two boys in the woods at the school. The man was far bigger than Archie, both in height and weight, so he tried to seem relaxed and friendly. "Look," Archie said, "we'll have to talk another time. We've got some business to take care of. So if you'll excuse us..."

The man blocked the passenger's side of the truck. "She needs help," he said, glaring at Archie.

Archie gritted his teeth. "I'm taking care of it, so would you mind getting out of the way?"

The man turned around and opened the door of the truck. Archie thought the guy was going to get in, and he prepared to reach out and grab him, but the man just held the door open for Clare and bowed.

Clare thanked him and climbed up into the seat. Then the man turned back to Archie and said, "Go to Irving's. She needs help."