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Like everything else, it was completely deserted. It had been a charming town once, you could tell. There were antique stores and bakeries with French names and tea shoppes. But now it was a ghost town like Howell, only worse, because I know there are people in Howell."The convent is on Whitlock Lane," Alex said. "Off Albany Post Road."
"We should be able to find it, then," Dad said. "Albany Post Road is generally the biggest street in these towns, like Main Street. We'll see where it takes us."
It took us through neighborhoods with empty streets. But amazingly, or maybe miraculously, we saw the road sign for Notburga Farms.
"That's it," Alex said. "That's its name."
Dad made a left, and we drove for a couple of miles on Whitlock Lane. The road was in bad shape, and we had to stop a couple of times to move debris. It was a relief when we saw the Notburga Farms sign.
We looked out at a field. You could imagine how beautiful it must have been a year ago, a large green expanse surrounded by an apple orchard. But now the ground was gray and the trees had only a few sickly leaves.
It could have been anywhere. It could have been Howell.
I got out and opened the gate. Dad followed the driveway to the convent. It was an old farmhouse, with outbuildings, barns, and what looked to be a chapel.
"I don't think there's anyone here," Dad said.
"No," Alex said. "There must be. I asked about it at the archdiocese in Louisville. It was listed as open."
"Alex, that was months ago," Dad said. "Anything could have happened."
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"We're going in," Alex said. "I won't believe the sisters deserted this place until I see it for myself. Come on, Julie."We all got out of the van. Alex led the way, knocking boldly on the farmhouse door.
"Who is it?" a querulous voice asked. "Sister Grace, is that you?"
"No," Alex said. "Please open the door. I've brought my sister for you to take care of."
We could hear footsteps, and then an elderly woman nervously unlocked the door. "Did Sister Grace send you?" she asked.
"No," Alex said. "Father Franco in New York did. May I speak with you privately, Sister?"
"I'm all alone," the nun said. "Sister Grace told Sister Anne and Sister Monica to take the girls back to New York City and to stay there. That was October, I think. A few weeks ago Sister Grace said she'd better get help for us so she and Sister Marie left, and then it was only Sister Helen and me. Sister Helen passed away three days ago. Or maybe it was four. It's so hard to keep track of time. I'm all alone now. Do you know where Sister Grace is?"
"No, Sister," Alex said. "But we brought food. We can give you our food."
"That would be very kind of you," the nun said. "Please come in."
"We haven't been introduced," Dad said. "My name is Hal Evans, and this is my daughter, Miranda, and our friends Alex and Julie Morales."
"I'm Sister Paulina," she said. "I was in charge of the dairy, but we slaughtered the cows months ago. There was no feed for them. The meat kept us alive until Easter."
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I couldn't bear it. "I'll get the food," I said, glad for any excuse to get away from her and the house. It reeked of death, and I realized that Sister Helen must still be there, rotting away.It was awful. I remembered finding Mrs. Nesbitt lying on her bed the morning she died. I left her there, went through her house searching for food, for anything we could use, before going home to tell Matt and Jon and Mom that she had died.
At the time it seemed so right to do that. Now I asked myself what kind of monster was I, that I could carefully examine every inch of a house knowing that a beloved friend was lying dead while I looked.
I took the food from the van and slowly carried it to the farmhouse. The smell must have been too much for everybody, because they were all sitting on the porch, looking out onto the gray deserted field.
"It's so nice to have company," Sister Paulina was saying as I approached. "I don't know when Grace and Marie will be back, though. It's been so long. You'd think if they'd found help, they would have returned by now."
"Here," I said, thrusting the bag of food at her. "It's all the food we brought with us."
"This is so kind," Sister Paulina said. "Sister Helen would have been so glad. She said she wasn't hungry, but I could see that she was. In her eyes, you know. Even at the end her eyes never lost that look."
"Maybe you should come with us, Sister Paulina," Dad said. "Back to our home in Pennsylvania."
"That's very thoughtful of you," Sister Paulina said. "But Grace left me in charge while she's gone. I couldn't possibly leave."
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"Sister Grace might never return," Dad said."Oh, she will," Sister Paulina said. "It's only been a few weeks, and nowadays everything takes so long. I worry that Marie has taken sick. There's been so much illness. We did what we could for the people in town, but so many died. I suppose they've all left by now, the ones who survived. It used to be people would bring us food and firewood, but no one's come for a very long time. We had hoped at Easter we'd be remembered, but it was just the four of us."
"Please," Dad said. "You'll die here if you stay alone."
"I'll die anyway," Sister Paulina said. "I made my peace with that a long time ago." She smiled, but it wasn't a crazy-lady smile. It was the smile of someone who wasn't afraid of death.
"We'll stay with you," Alex said. "Julie and I. Until Sister Grace gets back."
"Alex," Dad said.
"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
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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."
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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
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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 goodbye 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
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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.
June 28
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.
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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.
June 29
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.
I had a horrible nightmare last night, and I couldn't shake it from my mind today.
I dreamed we were in the convenience store, Dad and Julie and me zipped in our sleeping bags. Only Alex was up. First he went to Julie and forced her to swallow two pills. Then he forced Dad to swallow two.
When he got to me, I tried to free my arms from the sleeping bag, but I was trapped. I couldn't move my body. I felt helpless as Alex knelt beside me. He gently lifted my head, resting it in the crook of his arm. Almost in spite of myself, I felt an overwhelming hunger for him, and when he bent over and kissed me, I welcomed his lips, his mouth, the proof of his love, until I tasted the sleeping pills on his tongue.
I woke up shaking. There was enough light coming through the broken windows that I could see everyone's faces. Even in sleep Alex looked troubled.
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I love Alex. I love loving Alex. I love his touch and I love remembering his touch. For so long I thought I would never have someone to love, and now I do. Every day I'm with him is a day I never believed possible.Tonight Alex is sleeping in the room next to mine. I want him so much. I want the wall between us to dissolve, for us to be alone, to be together, to be one.
Then my doubts would be gone. My nightmares would be gone.
All there would be is Alex and me. Two bodies. One heart.
June 30
We're home.Horton is dead.
I'm crying too hard to write.
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July
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***
Chapter 15 July 1
I slept most of today.Jon still refuses to come home.
Matt went to Dad's, but Jon wouldn't talk to him. Dad told Matt that Jon's angry at him for bringing Syl home. Syl's in their bedroom, so she didn't hear, but Matt whispered everything to Mom anyway. Maybe he didn't want me to hear either, but I did.
Syl tried to talk to me, to explain why she did it, but Mom said I was too tired to talk about anything and Syl's explanations would have to wait.
I know I'm going to have to talk to her. We live under the same roof, and I can't move in with Dad the way Jon has. It wouldn't be fair to Mom or to everyone there. Alex has to figure out what he and Julie are going to do, and the way she's been coughing, they can't go anytime soon. That would make seven of us there, not counting Gabriel, and three here, and that's not a good idea.
But I don't want to talk to Syl. I don't want to look at her.
I'm going to start crying again. I'm going to my closet to cry there.
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July 2
Alex came over. I haven't seen him since we got home two days ago. He looked haggard."Mrs. Evans, you have to talk to Jon," he said. "You have to convince him to come home. It's not good for Julie having Jon there all the time."
"I'm sorry," Mom said. "When Jon's ready to accept what Syl did, he'll come back."
"Could you talk with him?" Alex asked me.
I wasn't sure what I'd say to Jon. I couldn't ask him to accept Syl's decision to let Horton go so he could die peacefully in the woods. I can't accep
t it, and it doesn't help that I was angry at Matt before we left for the convent and I'm even angrier now.
But Mom won't go over, which I refuse to think about because it scares me when I do, and Jon won't talk to Matt, and Dad has Lisa and Gabriel and fears of his own to deal with. And Alex looked awful.
"I'll talk with him," I said. "But I'm not going to change his mind."
"Just calm him down," Alex said.
"I'll try," I said. "But don't get your hopes up."
Jon didn't even know what Syl had done until Thursday. Mom sent Jon to stay with Lisa Tuesday night, and Syl let Horton out on Wednesday morning. Matt says that was to protect Jon, so he wouldn't be there when Horton died, but even if that's true, it wasn't Syl's decision to make. Mom was so worried about us, she didn't realize Horton was gone until Thursday.
Syl told her and Matt what she'd done, and Matt went over and told Jon. The two of them looked for hours before
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they found his body. Matt says he was maybe a hundred feet from the house. They just didn't know where to look. I'm not going to cry.Matt went back to the house and got a towel and Horton's favorite catnip mouse. He wrapped Horton up, and he and Jon buried him in Mom's old flower garden. That was Thursday afternoon, and no one knew where we were or if we were okay.
And I didn't know about Horton.
I hate Syl. I hate her doing this to Horton and to Jon and to Mom. It tears me up inside to think of Horton trying to get home but too weak to make it those last hundred feet. Or maybe that was as far as he ever got.
I knew he was dying. I think Jon knew it, too. But Horton should have been allowed to die in his own home. It was more his home than Syl's.
Charlie must have seen us as we were walking over, because he ran to join us. "I wanted to tell you how sorry I am," he said to me. "About Horton. He was ..." and he paused. "He was an excellent cat."
"Thank you," I said. "He really was."
Charlie patted me on the arm and then went back to Matt.
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