When We Were Saints (6 page)

"Nice place you have here," Clare said.

Archie frowned. "All our land's been rented out. My granddaddy got too old to farm it, and soon the house will be rented out, too. Maybe your daddy told you that already."

Clare smiled. "No, he didn't." She looked around her and said, "I bet you're real proud of this place."

Archie looked out toward the pasture and said, "Yeah, I am—or I was."

"You feel you belong right here," Clare said, nodding.

"Yup," Archie said, shifting his gaze to the woods and then to Clare.

Clare said, "I bet you even named all those cows out there, didn't you?"

"We got too many cows to name," Archie said, laughing. He caught a glance at Clare, blushed, and looked back out at the pasture.

"I can see you've got lots of cows, but still you've named them, haven't you?" Clare said. She pointed to the one closest to the fence. "What's her name? Bessie? Flowers? Pansy?"

Archie laughed again. "No, Freckles."

Then Clare laughed, too, a high, sweet laugh, and said, "You've named it after yourself, haven't you? I wonder why?"

Archie blushed. He didn't want her to notice his freckles, and he didn't want her to know he had named all the cows—but most of all he didn't want her to know he had named the cow by the gate (a female) after himself. Somehow he had managed in just a few seconds to give away two of his stupidest and closely held secrets. Still, he answered her. "That one's a troublemaker just like me."

Clare tilted her head and studied Archie's face so intently it made him blush again, and he turned away. Then, realizing he was facing the wall of the barn and didn't know what to do about it, he turned back around and shrugged, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"No, I don't see you as a troublemaker at all. Quite the opposite," Clare said after she'd completed her examination of his face.

Archie lifted his head and jammed his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. "That's 'cause you don't know me," he said. Then he added, "But that card you gave me. That was you, right? How did you know...?" Archie shook his head, bewildered, not finishing the sentence.

"Oh, I knew," Clare said. "That's why I'm here, actually." She took a step toward Archie and said, "You feel like walking?"

Archie shrugged. "Okay. Want to hike up the mountain?" Archie stuck his thumb out and pointed behind him.

"Sure." Clare rested her bicycle against the barn and hung her helmet on the handlebars.

Archie led the way, speaking over his shoulder. "If you had a mountain bike, I could take you on some pretty twisted trails. They're not that long, but you can really bomb down this one steep one; it's got a pretty decent run out at the end. Oh, or would you rather walk around the fields, or go through the woods?"

Archie knew he was talking too much and sounding like an idiot, but Clare made him nervous. He liked her. He liked the way she looked at him, as though
she
liked
him.
No, it was more than that. She looked at him as though she knew all about him and loved him anyway. He'd never seen that loving expression before in anyone's eyes, not even his grandmother's. He wondered what she could have to say to him.

Archie glanced back to see if Clare was following, but she moved ahead of him as if she climbed Caswells' Mountain every day of her life and was showing him the way. She pulled a rubber band off her wrist and put her hair into a ponytail. Archie watched it swish back and forth in front of him as she walked, and he smiled. Then he noticed a price tag sticking out of her shirt, and he wondered if he should say something. It was just the two of them and he didn't care, but he had to introduce Clare to his grandmother later and maybe she'd be embarrassed if she got home and realized she had been going around with a price tag hanging out.

Archie told her about the tag, and Clare stopped and reached back for it. She pulled it off and laughed. "My mother bought me a whole new wardrobe before I left to live with my father."

"Wow," Archie said.

Clare turned around to face him, and he saw a hint of sadness in her eyes. "She likes to know that I'm dressing appropriately at all times." She sighed and turned back around, and Archie heard her murmur "Dear Mama."

Clare continued up the mountain, taking long strides up the steep rock-strewn path. Archie scooted to catch up with her until they were walking side by side.

"Archibald, I have come here because I believe you and I were meant to be," Clare said, knocking into Archie's side every now and again as the two of them tried to keep to the narrow path.

"Meant to be
what?
"

"Partners, soul mates, pilgrims on the same journey."

Archie cut his eyes sideways at Clare. What was she talking about? "No offense," he said, "but I'm not interested in any partners or pilgrims or whatever;"

"We were predestined, Archibald. It's not about what we want; it's just the way it is."

Archie stopped walking. "Wait a minute. What are you talking about? And why did you give me that card?"

Clare stopped walking, too, and turned to face Archie. "I was told to give it to you and so I did."

"Who? Who told you?"

Clare smiled but didn't answer his question. Instead she said, "Do you know that my father had a vision about me just before I was born?"

"How would I know that? I don't have visions and I don't read people, like your father. I'm not a prophet and I'm nobody's soul mate. Sorry." He turned around as if to go back down the hill. The shining eyes he had thought were so beautiful moments before were creeping him out.
The girl was crazy. No wonder she looked at him the loving way she did. She was nuts!

Clare grabbed his arm and stopped him. "My daddy had a vision that I would someday illuminate the world—the world, Archibald. That's why he named me Clare."

"Well, that's real nice. Maybe you should go work for General Electric, become a lightbulb or something." Archie couldn't help himself. He wanted to get away, and he thought insulting her would be the quickest way to do it. He felt let down, disappointed. He realized that for a little while, when they'd been talking about the cow and she was looking at him and smiling with such love and gentleness in her eyes, that he had felt a surge of excitement. He thought maybe he'd met someone who could become a good friend. He needed a good friend.

Clare laughed at Archie's remark and didn't look insulted at all. "That's a good one," she said. Then she got serious again. "Your granddaddy's dying words were for you. He said you are a saint. Last words are important, especially ones made by a prophet."

Archie turned serious. "Do you know that all my granddaddy's predictions were of gloom and doom? They were all about sin and repentance."

"You have been
called,
Archibald. Do you dare refuse the call?" A gnat hovered near Clare's eyes. She blinked but didn't brush it away.

"I don't know what I 'dare' do. I don't know what you're talking about. What do you want from me?"

"Archibald, I am your answer: You've been searching, haven't you? You want answers. Why did your grandfather call you a saint? What did he mean? I am your answer. I am part of your journey to sainthood. Come on, let's walk and I'll tell you more." Clare set out again, taking the lead up the hill.

Archie didn't know why he followed her except that she seemed so sure of herself, so certain, and he was so unsure about everything. He did want answers. He ran to catch up to her and when she saw that he was with her she smiled at him—and the smile was so welcoming and her eyes held such joy at seeing him that Archie relaxed a little and listened to what she had to say.

"Before my aunt died I used to visit her and she had these books about the Virgin Mary and Jesus and the saints—stuff like that. I read them all. So I've known my destiny since birth practically."

"What 'destiny'?" Archie slowed down, but Clare kept marching up the hill.

"There is a Saint Clare. She was canonized—made a saint—in 1255. She was the female partner to Saint Francis of Assisi. Before she was born, her mother had a vision. And do you know what it was? That she would illuminate the world." Clare glanced back at Archie, her eyes shining. "I'm Saint Clare and you, Archibald, are Saint Francis. Those words on the card were his. Not his exact words. I translated them. He was Italian. But it's his thought—and yours, Archibald. Am I right?"

Archie caught the branch that flew toward his face after Clare brushed past it, and he sped forward to catch up with her He grabbed her arm. "Look, I don't even know this Saint Francis. I'm not Catholic. I don't know any of this stuff, okay? My grandfather was just blathering. Sometimes he got his words mixed up. He once called a pencil a peanut! I'm sure what he meant to say was that I am a sinner, not a saint. He just got the words mixed up. Or he was just cursing me or mocking me, that's all."

"Saint Francis is one of the best-known and best-loved saints in the world!" Clare said, ignoring his words. She took Archie's hand from her arm, and she held it as she continued walking, pulling him along with hen. "He was just a nobody like us till he got sick, and when he recovered, he went to pray in the church of San Damiano. That's where he heard Christ say to him, 'Repair my falling house.'"

"Sounds like he was still sick, then, if you ask me," Archie said.

"Archibald, listen." Clare smiled at him and squeezed his hand as if to say, "I understand your discomfort, but I'm here with you; it's okay." And Archie felt okay. He felt really okay. Out of the blue, just like that, with a squeeze from her hand, he felt more okay than he had felt in a long time, since before Armory had moved away and before his grandfather's illness. Archie continued up the mountain, walking hand in hand with Clare as if they'd walked that way for years, and he listened.

"In order to do what Christ had told him to do, Saint Francis sold everything he had, even the clothes off his back, and went to work on rebuilding the church. His father was so mad, because he was rich and his son was turning his back on all that; so his father disowned him and Saint Francis became like a pilgrim, traveling all through Italy, preaching about living simply and repenting."

Archie shook his head. "Okay now, I don't know what this is about, but I'm not going to tell people to repent, especially when I'm just as much a sinner as anybody. My granddaddy was always telling people to repent, and meanwhile he was rusting out his brain on liquor every day. He never had a vision sober,"

Archie's eyes widened and he stopped in his tracks, pulling his hand away from Clare's. He hadn't intended to tell Clare about his grandfather; It was an unspoken promise in the family that no one would tell. Archie wasn't even supposed to know about his granddaddy's drinking. Did his grandparents think that he believed his grandfather was just filled with the Holy Spirit every time he staggered down the driveway shouting prophecies at the top of his lungs? Archie knew it was spirit all right, but it wasn't holy. He had let the information slip out in front of Clare without thinking, and he felt exposed and suddenly afraid, believing somehow that his grandfather would know and punish him for telling.

Clare said, "It's okay, Archibald. Come on—we're almost near the top." Again she smiled and looked at him with so much compassion and acceptance, his fears fell away. He blinked several times, surprised that he had to fight to hold back his tears. He didn't even know what he was feeling so tearful about—his grandfather's drinking, or Clare's loving acceptance of him?

Clare walked ahead and continued her story. "You see, Saint Francis set up a monastery and so did Saint Clare, only hers was for women, but they both took a vow of poverty and chastity and humility." Clare paused, glancing back at Archie. "Come on with me, Archibald."

Archie started walking again.

"He lived like Christ," Clare said when Archie had again caught up. "Now, weren't you always taught that nobody could be as good as Christ, and that we're all sinners, and only Christ was without sin? But the pope, I forget which one, a recent one, said that this Saint Francis was the best representative of Christ there ever was. What do you think, Archibald? Do you think it's possible for us humans to live a sin-free life? I mean never ever sin? Could we do that?"

Archie answered, "I don't know. Maybe it was easier not to sin way back in the Middle Ages." They had reached the top of the mountain, and together they stepped out into the clearing.

"I don't think so. Hey, it's pretty up here," Clare said, turning to look around her.

Archie looked, too, feeling proud of his mountain. The sky appeared large and close, and the grass and wildflowers were beginning to poke up through the ground.

"It's so beautiful, isn't it?" Clare said, sounding delighted. She ran toward a large rock near the center of the mountaintop. It was where Archie liked to sit and think and eat his lunch. It was where he'd sat when the light changed, and the wind blew, and everything came alive and became part of him, and he a part of everything. Clare reached the rock and climbed on top.

"I'm queen of the hill!" she shouted, laughing. "Come on up!"

Archie joined her and they stood together on the rock, looking out at the pines where Archie had fallen to his knees in worship. They were silent for a minute and then Clare spoke. "Saint Francis is also known as the patron saint of the ecologists, because he loved the earth and the animals. He spoke to them, and he believed they spoke to him. He called the sun and the wind his brothers, and the moon and water his sisters. See, he felt a kinship with all the earth." Clare turned to Archie, who stood with his mouth open. She put her hands on his shoulders. "You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you? You know."

Clare looked at him, her eyes shining, and Archie nodded.

A
RCHIE DIDN'T KNOW
what to make of Clare and her strange stories. Was it possible that this Saint Francis had had the same spiritual experience as he, and wrote those words on the card afterward? Was it possible that he and this girl were somehow really soul mates? What did that mean? What did any of it mean? How could he be a saint? His grandfather hadn't meant those words, not the way Clare seemed to believe they'd been meant.