When We Were Saints (29 page)

Archie didn't want to return to the living room just yet, so he stayed in the study and prayed, first for his grandmother and then for Clare.

Sometime later he heard a knock on the study door and Lizzie poked her head in. "There's someone here to see you," she said.

Archie stood up, wondering if Clare had escaped from her parents again and had returned. Then Lizzie opened the door wider and there stood Clyde Olsen, dressed in a suit and tie.

"Clyde?" Archie said, feeling a catch in his heart. Tears welled up in his eyes. He felt so choked up, he couldn't say another word. He scooted around the desk and rushed to him and hugged him. It was so good to see a friendly face from home. Then Archie stood back and looked at Clyde. He was dumbfounded. "How—how did you get here? How did you know where to find me?"

"That Mr. Simpson called me and told me everything," Clyde said. He frowned at Archie and shook his head. "I don't know what we're going to do with you, son. This has to be the craziest stunt you've ever pulled. It near 'bout killed your grandmama to hear you'd run off, and in your granddaddy's truck, too."

"You mean—you mean, she's still alive? Is she okay?"

Clyde nodded. "She left the hospital two days ago. She's at the rehab place now."

Archie hugged Clyde again and then said, "I'm so sorry. I know how wrong I've been—and stupid. I just—I just couldn't face losing Grandmama, not after losing Granddaddy. I hated seeing her in that hospital, all hurt and sick and all. I was just scared."

Clyde patted Archie's shoulder. "She's going to go someday, you know. She's no spring chicken."

Archie lowered his head and Clyde added, "But you'll be well taken care of, don't you worry. It's been agreed upon that I'm to look after you, if ever anything should happen to hen"

Archie looked at Clyde.

"We get on right well, don't you think?" Clyde said. "Think you could stand living with me?"

Archie smiled and shook his hand. "Yeah, I could stand it real well. Thanks, Clyde."

Archie and Clyde spent the afternoon with Irving, and Archie was pleased to see how well the two of them got along. Irving invited them to stay the night, and Archie and Clyde made plans to leave in the morning, with Clyde driving the truck. Archie was more than happy to leave the driving to him.

Before dinner Archie called his grandmother at the rehabilitation nursing home and spoke to her. He spent the first half of the conversation crying and telling his grandmother how happy he was to hear her voice and how sorry he felt about all the trouble he had caused her and her friends. Then he said, "Don't you worry, Grandmama, when I get home I'm going to look after you real well. I'm going to look after all your friends. And I'm going to do a good job of it, too."

"No indeed you're not!" Emma Vaughn said, sounding cross.

"But, Grandmama, I want to. I do. I love you. And I want to show you that. I've been selfish, and I want to show you I've changed."

Emma Vaughn said, "Now you listen to me, sugar. I did wrong getting you to drive me places with you underage and all. And I did wrong making plans to move in with my friends. That's no place for you, running a nursing home.
Don't you see, Archibald, I was scared, too, when your granddaddy died—scared I would be next and where would that leave you? I just wanted you taken care of. I'm getting on up there in age. And then I had this leg, you see. I knew something was bad wrong with it, and I just kept ignoring it, hoping it would go away. I've been foolish. I knew better, but fear makes a person do stupid things."

"It sure does," Archie said.

Emma Vaughn continued, "You've been too isolated up there on that mountain. When we get back home, you're going to go to that high school and meet more people your own age."

"I'd like that, Grandmama, but I'd also like to stay on the farm and not move into town. I love the mountains. I love our mountain. I found something special up there, and I'm not ready to leave it."

"Oh, you'll live on that farm all right, sugar. And you'll help Clyde run it, too. I want you back working again. Clyde's hired a few other boys from the high school to help out, so you'll have plenty of company. Besides, you owe him the price of a plane ticket."

"Yes, ma'am," Archie said, delighted to hear his grandmother's voice sounding so strong.

Archie went to bed early that night, exhausted from the events of the past several days, but before he could turn out the light, he heard a knock on the door and Mr. Simpson entered the study.

"Mr. Simpson!" Archie sat up. A sudden wave of guilt washed over him.

Mr. Simpson went over to Archie's bed and put his hand on his shoulder. "How you doing, son?"

"How's Clare, sir? Is she all right?"

"She's dehydrated and her kidneys aren't working as they should, but she'll be all right—she's a strong one."

Archie looked down and rubbed his legs. "I'm sorry, Mr. Simpson," he said. "I know what you must think. You must hate me. I'm so ashamed of myself."

Mn Simpson pulled the chair out from behind the desk and sat down beside Archie's bed. He leaned forward. "So it's all your fault, is it?" he asked.

Archie nodded, looking straight into Mr. Simpson's eyes. "Yes, sin I'm sorry. I should have taken better care of Clare."

"No," Mn Simpson said, "I should have. I should have paid more attention to her. I pride myself on my ability to read people, but I couldn't even read my own daughter. I guess I was blinded by my anger with her mama. I wanted to give Clare her freedom. I thought that's what she needed. Her mama watched her all the time. She put her in that mental hospital and made her take the pills the hospital gave her. Those pills changed her personality. I felt like I was losing my Clare. I couldn't bear it. So I let her throw the pills down the toilet. I even encouraged her by giving her the attic room to use for her prayer ceremonies, and helping her hide what she was up to from her mama. I was using my own daughter to get back at my wife, and I'm ashamed of myself for it—we've both been using Clare." Mn Simpson nodded at Archie. "So don't blame yourself for my mistakes."

"No, sin But I was the one who drove us here. I did whatever she told me to, like I didn't have a mind of my own."

Mn Simpson smiled wistfully. "She's a hard one to resist. She's got strong convictions. She knew exactly what she wanted, and she went after it."

Archie nodded and gazed up at Mr. Simpson. "So then, all her visions and the stigmata and stuff, is that just some mental illness? Is none of it real?"

"All of it's real to her Archibald. I don't know if they're gifts from God, if that's what you're asking. Nowadays they've got other explanations for those kinds of things. And I don't know who's right, the scientists or the religious people, but her love for God is real, and I believe God's love for her is real, too. I believe that."

"Yes, sir so do I," Archie said, "but I think maybe she sometimes confused her will with God's, because she was so desperate to get up here to the Cloisters. I think she was real unhappy, Mr. Simpson, if you don't mind my saying. I don't think she believes y'all love her." Archie looked down at his hands remembering Clare's words, "
I want love, not hospitals.
" And "
Why won't they love me?
" Then he looked up and continued, "And I think she fooled herself into believing God wanted her to suffer and die like Jesus. That's how unhappy she was. I think she believed if God wanted her then she wouldn't be committing a sin, she'd just be dying for the love of the Lord. She fooled herself, you see, and she fooled me—I mean she always looked so happy, didn't she? She never let on that she was hurting."

Archie looked at Mr. Simpson and saw such pain in the man's face, he had to look away. He felt sorry for what he had just said and decided he shouldn't have said it.

Mr. Simpson bowed his head and said, "I hope God can forgive me for what I've done."

Archie thought of his grandmother and his own need for forgiveness, and he swallowed hard. Then he said, "Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on us."

"Amen," Mr. Simpson said, nodding. "Amen."

A
RCHIE COULDN'T WAIT
to get back to the mountains, but he was sorry to say good-bye to his new friends, and when everyone had gathered around the door to bid him and Clyde farewell—Irving, Lizzie, her two boys, and Albert—Archie turned to Irving and said, "Now that you've got your computer hooked up, let's stay in touch. I'll e-mail you."

Irving nodded. "Good, good. I'd like that."

Archie smiled at the old man, noticing the way he then stood up so straight and the way his eyes sparkled, and he said, "You know, I thought we were just helping you out a little—actually, Clare was—but then it turns out you helped us so much more." He looked at Lizzie and Albert and added, "All of you have. I feel like a real fool."

"Nonsense," Irving said. "That's just the way it works. Any time you give, you get. It doesn't matter if you don't want anything, you still get. It's just the way it works."

"Well, thank you," Archie said.

"Sure, sure." Irving waved the thanks away.

"Thanks to all y'all," Archie said, nodding at Lizzie and Albert.

The three of them laughed at Archie's expression, repeating it to one another and then they hugged him and shook his hand, and everyone said good-bye.

On the ride home Archie and Clyde were slowed in traffic near Front Royal, Virginia, and Archie remembered the trip up, when he had looked for a road paved in gold as they passed the Front Royal exit.
That was stupid,
he thought to himself, and then he thought that the whole trip had been about his looking for some golden highway to enlightenment. He had wanted visions like Clare, and to hear the voice of God. He had wanted to live in a constant state of bliss, and to believe that God had chosen him, that he was special—that he was a saint.
When,
he wondered,
did it become more about me and what I want for myself, and less about God?

Archie looked out the window at the car beside him. The man in the driver's seat seemed impatient with the delay. A young boy sat in the backseat of the car Archie smiled and waved. The boy stuck his tongue out at him. He remembered the other little boy on the trip up, the boy who had handed him his sandwich and lifted his hand in the "I love you" sign. Archie had thought that the boy had seen saintliness in him. He had believed the boy had looked at his eyes and face and had seen them shining die way Clare's always had. But, he realized now, the boy probably just saw a starving person and had given away his sandwich as an act of kindness.
He was the saint,
Archie thought,
not me. Maybe that's all it really takes to be a saint—those simple acts of kindness.

O
VER THE NEXT SEVERAL
months, Archie went often to visit Mr. Simpson, who gave him updates on Clare's progress in the hospital. He had told him that Clare's mother had taken her back to North Carolina to the mental hospital there, and that she was doing very well on her new medication. He said the doctors and the staff at the hospital called her Doris.

Archie had written several letters to her still calling her Clare, but she had never answered any of them. Over Christmas break he rode to North Carolina with Mr. Simpson and got permission from him and Mrs. Simpson to visit Clare by himself.

Archie felt nervous following the nurse through the locked doors of the mental ward. She led him to a large room where tables had been placed in the center in rows, and couches and chairs sat off to one side in front of a television set. There were groupings of people all over the room, of all ages and colors. The room smelled of ammonia. Archie looked around for Clare and found her with some of the other patients, sitting at a table and listening to a man reading from
Time
magazine. As he approached the table, he hoped that she would recognize him and that she had forgiven him for what he had done. He could see that she had gained some weight, and he was pleased about that. It made him feel that his betrayal had done her some good at least. She was dressed in a pair of jeans and a red sweater instead of the robe, and that worried him although he knew that it shouldn't. It was a sign that she was getting better wasn't it? But he wondered,
Is there anything of the old Clare left anymore?

He walked over to the table, and several faces looked up at him, but his eyes were only on Clare. Would she recognize him?

Clare smiled at him, but the smile didn't light up her face or reach her eyes, and Archie's heart sank.

The nurse who was with Archie said to Clare, "Mr. Caswell has come to visit you, Doris. Why don't you take him to the private corner and talk?"

"Yes, ma'am," Clare said, her voice quiet and slow.

Archie felt so sad, he wanted to run away. Where was his old Clare? He walked with her to the far corner of the room, noticing the shushing sound the slipper-socks she had on her feet made. They sat down across from each other and Archie fidgeted with the torn plastic on the armrest of his chair.

"How are you, Archibald?" Clare asked without emotion.

Archie nodded. "Good. I'm real good. I'm at the public high school now, taking advanced courses. I guess my granddaddy taught me pretty well, after all." He scratched the back of his neck. Clare didn't look as if she was even listening.

"Uh—I'm doing a lot more drawing now, cartoons and other stuff, like faces," Archie continued. "You really taught me how to look at people—remember?"

Again Clare smiled, but she wasn't looking at him. She was staring at the piano.

"So—uh," Archie said, scratching his ear "the art teacher at school says I've got real talent. Maybe someday I'll create something as beautiful as. some of those paintings at the Cloisters."

"Have you ever heard me play the piano?" Clare asked, turning to face him finally.

"Oh—uh, no. So—you want to play something for me?"

Clare stood up and shuffled to the piano, and Archie followed her.

They sat down together and Clare played a waltz. She sounded good, and it made Archie feel better. Maybe she wasn't a complete zombie.