Susan Pfeffer - This World We Live In

“No, Hal,” Alex said. “It’s the right thing for us to do.”

“It’s sweet of you to offer,” Sister Paulina said. “But Sister Grace didn’t give me permission to open the convent to others, so I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”

“Is there anything we can do for you while we’re here?” Dad asked.

“Why yes,” Sister Paulina said. “Helen’s been lying in her bed all these days. She looks so peaceful, but I think it would be for the best if she were buried. Don’t you agree? Dust to dust.”

“We can do that,” Dad said. “Tell us where we can find shovels.”

Sister Paulina rose and pointed to one of the outbuildings. “That’s the toolshed,” she said. “Helen was in charge of the vegetable garden. Oh, she had a green thumb. Tomatoes so sweet you could eat them for dessert. Zucchini and carrots and corn. All summer long we’d eat from her garden, and then we’d can what we didn’t eat. It was a wonderful life.” She looked out at the apple trees. “No crop this year,” she said. “If God is merciful, next year the bounty will return.”

“God is merciful,” Dad said. “I believe in His mercy.”

“I used to,” Sister Paulina said. “I suppose I will again someday. After all, you people have brought me food. And you’re going to help with Helen.”

Dad nodded. “It’s going to take a while,” he said. “We’d better get started. Come on, Alex.”

“Could we walk around?” Julie asked. “I’ve heard so much about the farm, I’d like to see it.”

“Certainly, dear,” Sister Paulina said. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you? My arthritis is kicking up today. I think it will rain tomorrow.”

“Want to come?” Julie asked me, and I was more than willing. We never walked so far we couldn’t see the farmhouse, but we were too far away to hear any conversation or to be overheard.

“There’s no reason why you and Alex can’t stay with us now,” I said.

Julie shook her head. “Alex’ll find another convent to take me,” she said. “Between here and Ohio. The archdiocese in Pittsburgh will know where there’s one. Then he’ll go to the monastery.”

“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Carlos won’t know any better.”

“It’s not just Carlos,” Julie said. “Alex wants to go to the monastery.”

What Alex wanted was me. But there was no way Julie could know that, or at least know the depth of his feelings.

“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” I said. “You said he didn’t always want to be a monk.”

“That was before,” Julie said. “Alex explained it to me when we were in Kentucky. He said God had entrusted me to him and that once he knew I was safe, he would dedicate his life to Christ in gratitude.”

“People change their minds,” I said.

“Not Alex,” Julie said. “Even when he’s wrong, he doesn’t change his mind.”

I realized then that I knew Alex better than she did. But Julie would never believe me if I said that, any more than I’d believe Syl if she said it about Matt.

“Alex loves you,” I said. “He wants what’s best for you. So does Carlos. You’re lucky to have them.”

Julie shook her head. “They may love me, but they don’t want me,” she said. “Neither of them wants me. But it doesn’t matter. The Holy Mother will look after me until I can look after myself.”

“We’ll look after you,” I said. “Mom and Dad and Lisa and Charlie. Jon. You’re part of our family now. You and Alex both are.”

“We have no family,” she said. “Not anymore. Come on. We should go back.”

I let her lead me to the farmhouse. When we got there, Sister Paulina, Alex, and Dad were kneeling in prayer. Julie joined them. I felt uncomfortable standing and watching, but I knew I’d feel even more uncomfortable joining them.

Then Alex and Dad went upstairs, and a few minutes later they brought down Sister Helen. They’d wrapped her in a blanket, but it didn’t matter. It was obviously difficult for them to carry her, and Julie, without hesitating, walked over to help. I had no choice but to do the same.

We carried her outside, Sister Paulina by our side. Dad and Alex lowered the body gently into the hole they’d dug. Alex, Julie, and the Sister recited some prayers, and then Dad and Alex filled the hole with dirt.

We didn’t stay much after that. It was still early, but the sky was getting dark. Sister Paulina kissed all of us good-bye and thanked us, and said she’d tell Sister Grace about our visit when she got back. Which we all knew she never would.

We were back on the road for less than two hours when the van stopped. We could feel it die.

Dad got out, lifted the hood, and acted like he knew what the matter was. Alex joined him. They looked manly and stupid and only got back in when rain began to fall.

“We’ll sleep in the van,” Dad said. “We’ll start for home in the morning.”

“How far are we?” Julie asked.

“About forty miles, I’d say,” Dad replied.

“That’s two days walking,” Alex said. “Three if the weather stays bad.”

“We can do it,” Dad said. “We’ll be home by Thursday.”

None of us said anything, but we all knew that’s two days of hard walking on no food. The longer we go without eating, the harder the walking will be.

So that’s where we are. The rain is pelting against the roof of the van. Dad’s sitting behind the wheel, staring out the front window, thinking about Lisa probably, and Mom, and how upset they’re going to be. Alex and Julie are in the back, whispering furiously in Spanish. I’d brought my diary and a flashlight pen on a just-in-case basis, so I’m in the passenger seat, writing all this down. The more I concentrate on what happened, the less I have to worry about what’s going to happen.

We’re camping out in a gas station convenience store. It’s crowded with the four of us, there’s no food (we looked everywhere), the roof leaks, and the windows have all been smashed in. But the toilet works, so I guess we’re in paradise.

We stopped before it got dark because Julie was coughing. I don’t know how much farther I could have gone anyway.

Dad says we made good progress today, and he thinks we’re about twenty miles from home. We should be home by tomorrow night.

“I want to tell you how proud I am of you,” he said. “A year ago I had three children. Now I have seven. The world is a mess, and you have every right to be angry and scared, but things will get better. You’ll make it better.”

“We’ll do our best,” Alex said.

Dad smiled. “Life’s sloppy,” he said. “You think you know how tomorrow is going to be, you’ve made your plans, everything is set in place, and then the unimaginable happens. Life catches you by surprise. It always does. But there’s good mixed in with the bad. It’s there. You just have to recognize it.”

My feet are blistered from all the unaccustomed walking. My body is shaking from cold and hunger and exhaustion. I’m frightened I’ll never see home again and almost more frightened that once I get there, I’ll never leave.

I know Dad’s right that there’s good mixed in with the bad. But I don’t know that I’ll ever have the wisdom to recognize it.

We’re still in New York, but we’re close to the border. We’re spending the night in an empty house. There are beds and pillows and blankets.

Dad and Alex went out looking for bikes or a car with some gas. I fantasized they’d find some food. But when they came back, they had nothing.

It was foggy most of the morning, and with the ash, it was like breathing mud. We had to take break after break because we were coughing too hard to move on.