Tessa (From Fear to Faith) (23 page)

48

B
ack in the courtroom again, the tension was unbearable. Tom and Walter sat together on the front bench. Mom hunched next to me, her head down. Patty had her eyes closed as if praying. None of us said anything.

When the judge returned, he ordered Walter to stand. “This court cannot pass lightly over such serious crimes,” he said. “Mr. Miner, you have done untold damage not only to your daughter, but to many others in the community through your illicit drug business. I concur with the sentencing recommendations of our prosecuting attorney, which I feel are very appropriate for your case. However, in view of the apparent change in your life, Mr. Miner, I have decided to reduce your sentence somewhat.”

He paused.

“You are hereby sentenced to five years in the state prisons and eight years of extended supervision. That is a total of thirteen years. You are also ordered to pay a fine of $35,000.”

A weight I didn’t even know I was carrying lifted from my chest. For the first time in days, I could draw a full breath. I had been vindicated.

Beside me, Mom was fighting back tears. Walter came and gave her a hug. “Hey, Julie, it’s over. All done. Could have been worse, hey?”

“You’re crazy,” she said, sniffing. “You always were.” She tried to smile, but it only made her cry harder.

A short time later, I followed Mom down a flight of stairs and out the front doors of the courthouse, leaving Walter behind. Tom and Patty had taken the elevator. We met again on the sidewalk.

“Thanks for coming,” Mom said to them. “I appreciate it. And thanks for looking after Tessa all this time.”

“Would you two accept an invitation to supper at our place?” Tom asked. “Maybe Tessa could get her things then.”

“What time?”

“How about five o’clock?”

“Okay.”

The drive home was somber. Mom and I were silent, each occupied with our own thoughts. Personally, I felt satisfied with the outcome. Walter was being punished, but not beyond measure. Hearing the district attorney’s viewpoint on the charges cemented things for me, as I grasped for the first time that the way Walter had treated me wasn’t just mean, it was a terrible crime. The guilt that had plagued me for months was dissipating like fog on a sunny morning.

At home, Mom sought comfort in cigarettes and soap operas. I went outside and lay down on the grass in the sun. Exhausted from the events of the morning, I fell asleep.

Supper at Tom and Patty’s house that evening was uncomfortably quiet. Whatever Mom was thinking, she wasn’t telling anyone. After the meal, Tom drew me aside.

“How are you doing? Are you okay with what happened today?”

“Yeah. Mom’s unhappy, but I think it’s fair, what he got.”

“Good.”

“I didn’t know you were gonna testify for him.”

Tom smiled. “I didn’t either, until last week. When he said he was going to plead guilty against his lawyer’s recommendations, I knew he needed help.”

Out in the kitchen, a drawer slammed, and I heard Mom’s voice raised in anger. Her words drifted into the living room where we sat.

“He’s not, huh? Yeah, I know. God loves me and all that. I’ve heard it all before. Well, then where was God when they took my kids away?”

Electricity ran through me.
She means my sisters.
Tom half rose, then sat down again.

Patty’s reply was soft. “You’re carrying a lot of anger. Can I ask what happened?”

“Never mind. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” Then Mom came into the living room and said it was time to leave.

49

I
heard no more about my sisters for some time. I couldn’t stop wondering about them, though. Who had taken them away, and why? But I didn’t dare ask Mom, and trying to piece together the facts I’d heard over the years yielded no sensible answers. I would have to wait until the subject came up again.

Even so, that summer was the happiest I had known. The first weekend in June, we turned over the soil in Walter’s garden and planted my seeds. Everything came up within a week. I liked working in the garden, and as the plants grew, I spent hours pulling weeds and watering

Afternoons often found me over at Patty’s, playing with Sadie and helping Patty in her new flowerbeds. She had a gift for growing things and was happy to share her knowledge with me. As the summer progressed, she also began teaching me to cook and play guitar. I missed Heather, who had moved back home with her parents, but we kept in touch by writing. Once in a while she even called me.

Pleasant as my life was, however, there were shadows that friendships and sun-drenched days couldn’t dispel. Painful memories resurfaced, eclipsing my joy. Patty encouraged me to talk them out, but I didn’t like to. I wanted to forget the past and move on with my life.

The trouble was, I couldn’t. I’d have one good day, but then something would trip the switch and plunge me back into the old feelings of guilt and worthlessness. Over and over, Patty reassured me that God loved me and would heal and restore my broken life if I’d give it to him.

I desperately wanted that healing. But entrusting my broken self to God proved incredibly difficult. I hung on, afraid I would lose who I was if I let God take charge.

Patty spent many hours with me, praying, reading Psalms, and teaching me what God was like and what he said about me. As the weeks passed, my guilt and fear gave way to a cautious but growing trust in God. Often when I prayed, he would reassure me of his love. The despair that had threatened to swallow me retreated.

Mom seemed pleased Patty was spending time with me, though I was careful not to let on how much I confided in her. Over supper, I’d recount the latest things I’d learned about growing fuchsias or making white sauce. Mom would listen and ask what we were planning to do the next day. She laughed when she heard I was learning to play guitar.

“It figures. I always said stuff like that was genetic.”

“What do you mean, it’s genetic? You don’t play.”

“Want to bet?” Mom laughed again, then got up and disappeared into the bedroom. I could hear her shuffling through the boxes in her closet. When she returned, she laid a small photo album on the table. “Take a look. I don’t believe you’ve seen these before.”

Pushing back my now-empty plate, I took the album and eagerly opened it.

The first picture was of a very ancient car. The thing might have been black at one time, but years of rust had rendered it a mottled brown. Light shone through fist-sized holes under the doors. Plastic sheeting and duct tape covered the rear side window. But what captured my attention was the curly-haired teenager leaning against the driver’s door. That crooked half grin looked familiar.

I bent for a closer look. Yes, that was Walter. But with his black T-shirt, greasy jeans, long hair, and backwards baseball cap, he looked every bit as disreputable as his car. What had Mom seen in him?

“Pretty, ain’t it?” Mom commented from behind me.

It took me a minute to realize she meant the car. “Uh, I don’t know about pretty,” I said. “Interesting, maybe.”

“It’s too bad Walter isn’t here to scold you,” she teased. “That car was his pride and joy for years. The transmission finally died on the thing; otherwise we’d still have it.”

The following pages held more pictures of Walter – driving a tractor, bottle-feeding a calf, stacking hay bales, roasting hotdogs over an open campfire, lying barefoot and shirtless in the grass by a muddy stream.

I was halfway through the album before I found the first picture of Mom. She was sitting cross-legged on a shabby, mustard-colored couch, playing a small guitar. I marveled how young and pretty she looked.

“This would be shortly after we were married,” Mom said. “Walter took that picture on the sly.”

The remainder of the album contained a series of posed shots of the two of them together, several pictures of white ducks on a pond, and a final shot of Walter lying on his back underneath his car. The hood was propped open with a piece of wood, and all that could be seen of Walter were his dirt-caked boots.

“Don’t you have any wedding pictures?” I asked.

“We didn’t have a wedding,” Mom said, reaching for the album. “Neither of us had any money to speak of. We drove to town one day and got married, and that was about it. Anyway, like I said, I did play guitar. I wasn’t half bad, either.”

“Do you think you could still play?”

“I don’t know. It’s been like twenty years.”

Then she changed the subject. “Say, I wanted to ask you. One of the ladies I work with has a cat she’s been trying to find a home for. You’re not still interested in a pet, are you?”

Excitement bubbled up in me as I realized what she was saying. “You mean we could get her?”

“If you want. But you’d have to take complete charge of her.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her. How soon can we get her?”

Mom laughed at my eagerness. “Maybe Saturday. We’ll need to pick up a few things first. I’ll talk to Kathy tomorrow.”

That night I could hardly sleep for excitement. A cat! And it was going to be mine! I would have been content to settle for something small – like a hamster or even a turtle. But this was more than I had dared to hope for.

“Thank you, God,” I whispered into my pillow. “I don’t know what you did to make this happen, but it’s totally awesome.”

After our shopping trip that Saturday, we drove over to Kathy’s home to pick up the cat. A short, dark-haired lady answered our knock and took us behind the house to the enclosed porch. As she opened the screen door, a sleek black cat with a white face and bib jumped from a wicker chair and greeted us with a series of loud meows. I scratched her head, and she curled around my legs, purring.

“She likes me,” I breathed. “What’s her name?”

“I call her Nikki, but you can rename her if you like,” the lady said. She lifted the cat and gave her an affectionate kiss. Then she handed her to me. “Well, she’s all yours. Take good care of her.”

“Thanks. I will.” I felt overwhelmed. This was the best gift I’d ever had. I hooked a finger under her red collar to prevent a possible escape as we walked to the car, but Nikki seemed content in my arms.

Back home, I set up her cat box at the bottom of the basement stairs and her food dishes in the kitchen next to the pantry. Nikki wandered from room to room, meowing and rubbing against the furniture as she investigated every inch of her new home. At last she sprawled out on the living room carpet for a nap, her black coat gleaming in the sunlight. I stretched out beside her.

“I think she’s happy,” Mom commented, glancing up from where she sat reading a magazine.

“Oh yeah,” I agreed. “She thinks she owns the place. Don’t you, Nikki?” I scratched her chin with one finger, and she rolled over and batted at my hand, purring loudly.

“I was wondering though, what made you change your mind?” I asked Mom.

“Change my mind?”

“Yeah. About me having a pet.”

“Oh, that.” Mom thought a bit. “Lots of things, I guess. We had a dog once, way back, but it didn’t get along with Walter. He got rid of it.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it was for the best. He was getting aggressive. But I’ve always wanted a cat. I figure it’s the best way to deal with the mice in the basement.”

“Or in my room?” I added.

She laughed. “You two are gonna make a great pair.” Reaching for her camera, she snapped a picture of me and Nikki lying on the carpet.

50

I
returned to school in September feeling like a different person. Had it been only a year since I’d run away and sustained myself by stealing from the grocery store? Much as I wanted to forget those dark days, I knew I never would. Nevertheless, seeing how far God had brought me filled me with thankfulness.

It felt good to see my friends. Janet smothered me in a bear hug and asked how my summer had been. Sandy wanted to know how my garden was doing. Even Lois begged to see a picture of Nikki, though she laughed at me when I said she’d have to wait until the pictures were developed.

Lorraine, however, made it clear she wanted nothing to do with me. When we met in the hall that first day, she scowled and turned her back. I shrugged and continued walking. If she didn’t want to be friends, that was fine with me. She was kind of strange anyway.

But try as I did, I couldn’t blot Lorraine out of my mind. She still had her little gang of followers and acted tougher than ever. But the veneer was wearing thin. She looked sick. Even when she was with her friends, I could see the loneliness in her eyes. Was there nothing I could do? I admired the way Heather had reached out to me, even though I was often rude to her. Maybe someday, I’d have a chance to do the same for Lorraine.

Or maybe not. Two weeks into the school year, Lorraine was caught selling drugs on school property. She was arrested, along with Brittney and another student. I had to admit I was relieved.

At lunch the next day, I noticed Crystal sitting alone at the table Lorraine and Brittney had always claimed. I walked over to her.

“Hey,” I said. “Want to come sit with me and Janet?”

She glanced at me, then looked down again and shook her head.

“Okay then. Well, I just wanted to let you know you’re welcome to.”

Feeling awkward now, I returned to my own table. “She won’t even talk to me,” I complained to Janet.

“That’s okay,” Janet said. “Are you trying to change her, or be her friend?”

The question made me think. “Be her friend, I guess.”

“Then I’d say you did just fine.”

It took a week of invitations before Crystal came to sit with us. She didn’t say much the first day, but I trusted she would open up more in time.

I returned home that afternoon feeling particularly good about myself. Stepping off the bus, I got the mail and started up the driveway. The September sun still shone warm on my back, although storm clouds loomed in the western sky and golden leaves drifted from the big silver maple with every whisper of the breeze. I paused under the tree and gazed upward through the branches, feasting my eyes on the color. All too soon, winter would come and lock us into seven months of cold and dreariness. Mom wouldn’t mind if I borrowed her camera for just a few pictures.

I pulled a key from my pocket and let myself in the back door. Nikki jumped from a chair and greeted me with loud meows. I stroked her as I flipped through the mail.

“What’s this?” I wondered aloud, picking a card-sized blue envelope from the pile. My heart stopped when I saw the return address.

Sarah Miner, Springfield, Missouri.
It was addressed to Mom.

I pressed the envelope to the window, but all I could determine was that it contained a card and a letter. Disappointed, I dropped it back into the pile. Mom would be furious if I opened it. But my mind raced in curious speculation. Why would my sister write to Mom after all these years? Did she perhaps want to visit? The possibility both excited and scared me. What would it be like to meet her? Would she be friendly to me? Or would she act snobbish and grown up?

The hour until Mom came home felt like an eternity. I had plenty of homework to do, but instead I went back outside and used up the film in Mom’s camera taking colored leaf shots. I even walked a few hundred feet up the road to capture a particularly colorful hill. If that really was a storm in the west, it might be my last chance. Meanwhile Nikki sniffed the bushes around the shop, hunting crickets and mice before sprawling out on the step for a sunbath.

As the hands on my watch crept toward six o’clock, I called Nikki inside, fed her, and settled at the table with my schoolbooks.

Mom drove in a few minutes after six. She greeted me, then washed her hands and set to work making supper. Unaware of the blue envelope hidden beneath the bills and catalogs, she sliced an onion and fried it with hamburger, then added spaghetti sauce and a can of green beans. By the time she finished and reached for the pile of mail, I was ready to burst.

Her face paled when she saw the blue envelope. In one quick motion, she tucked it in her back pocket. Then she spread out the grocery flyer from Allen’s and began marking the coupons she wanted.

“Is that from one of my sisters?” I couldn’t hold back the question.

“I don’t know anyone else with that name.” Mom’s answer was matter of fact, but I detected a catch in her voice.

“Could I read it, do you think?”

Mom tried to laugh. “Before I do?”

“Well no, but…”

“Look. Whatever’s in there is none of your business.”

I felt as if she’d slapped me. “But Mom, she’s my sister! How can you say it’s not my business!”

“Because that’s the way it is.” Mom folded the Allen’s flyer and shoved it on top of the refrigerator, then strode down the hall to her bedroom and shut the door.

I tried once more during supper. “Can’t you at least tell me what the letter says? Please?”

“No! And if you don’t quit bugging me about it, you’re gonna be sorry!”

It was a sharp disappointment. Why hadn’t I gone ahead and read Sarah’s letter while I had the chance? Now I might never know what it said, much less solve the mystery of what had happened to my sisters.

***

Mom seemed quieter than usual in the weeks that followed. She made supper, vacuumed the crumbs off the floor, and did the laundry, but she no longer laughed at Nikki’s foolish antics or invited me to watch movies with her on Saturday nights. Instead, after the kitchen was cleaned up in the evening, she’d slip off to her bedroom. There she’d remain for hours, with the door closed and only a dim light burning.

I thought she was ill. But one night on my way to bed, I heard muffled sobs behind the closed door. Mom rarely cried, except after one of Walter’s beatings. I listened a moment, then crept off to bed with tears in my own eyes. Maybe Mom wasn’t as tough as she wanted me to think. Maybe she carried hurts I knew nothing about. Was she lonely? Did she wish she had a friend, or even someone to talk to? I wanted to comfort her, but I did not know how.

Nikki jumped up and nuzzled my face, then curled up against my chest with a purr. I stroked her silky fur and prayed for Mom until I fell asleep.

The next day was a Sunday. As usual, I left for church before Mom got up. When I returned, I found her sitting in Walter’s easy chair, smoking and watching television. She glanced up when I walked in.

“How was church?” she asked.

“It was good. I like it a lot now that I know most of the songs.”

Mom clicked the TV off. “There’s something I wanted to talk to you about. Remember that letter?”

I nodded. How could I forget it?

“Well…” Mom pushed her hair back out of her eyes. “I think it’s time I told you a few things. About your sisters, and how things were before you were born.” She hesitated, and I could see her hands were trembling. “It’s not a pretty story. But I need to tell you. And Ericksons.”

“Ericksons? Why?”

She stood up. “Because I’m sick of how they treat me. Are they at home now?”

“Yeah, they should be.”

“Then let’s go.” She went to the back closet and put on her coat, then shouldered her purse. “Come on.”

Puzzled, I grabbed my coat and followed her to the car.