A Light in the Desert

by Anne Montgomery

  Miranda fidgeted.

  “Wouldn’t it be wiser to drive Kelly to Los Angeles? You and Eduardo could make sure she gets there safely and—”

  Miranda’s face screwed into a churlish scowl. “I want her gone! And there is no reason Eduardo needs to know where she is.”

  Elect Sun lifted her eyes and stared at Miranda with an unflinching gaze. Things she had not thought of saying in years, words she had exorcized when she discovered the true path to God, flooded her mind. She studied the woman before her and fought to control the tirade. Miranda was an exotic beauty that most men would find irresistible. How long did it take before they recognized who she really was?

  Elect Sun saw Miranda look away nervously. She got an idea. Standing, she slowly removed her work gloves and stretched out her six-foot frame. She towered over Miranda.

  “Here is what you will do.” Elect Sun spoke as if to an unruly child. “You will travel with Kelly to Los Angeles yourself.”

  “I don’t have the money to—”

  Elect Sun silenced Miranda with a wave of her hand. “I will purchase the ticket for you. You will make sure I have the phone number of where Kelly can be reached, and you will have her contact me upon her arrival at your … sister’s.” The last word came out more harshly than Elect Sun intended.

  Miranda stood speechless, like a child being punished. Elect Sun momentarily suffered the sin of pride for reading the woman correctly.

  “Why should I?” Miranda pouted. “You have no right—”

  “I will go to the police, Mrs. Garcia. I will tell them that you knew what was happening to your little girl. That you allowed her stepfather to have sex with her. That is a crime. Kelly’s a minor. You are responsible for her by law. Do you want to go to prison?”

  The woman’s eyes widened. Elect Sun enjoyed the look of fear on Miranda’s face, but the feeling was paired with guilt.

  Miranda turned on her heel and stomped off.

  After Miranda’s car disappeared in a cloud of dust, Elect Peter found Elect Sun on her knees in the dirt, palms pressed together, head down, praying. He approached quietly and waited until she was once again trying to tame the weeds. Then he dropped to his knees and began working the ground with her.

  “Do you want to talk?” He kept his eyes on the desiccated plants in the row before him.

  Elect Sun brushed away some stray strands of gray hair with one hand. She told him about her conversation with Miranda and showed him the ticket for the Sunset Limited.

  “I don’t know how else you could have handled it,” Elect Peter said. “Though I’m suddenly feeling a bit guilty. I would have enjoyed seeing Miranda cowed.” A conspiratorial smile lit his face.

  “It bothers me that I can still have bad feelings toward people,” Elect Sun confessed.

  “You know as well as I do that we are only human beings. We try to live the way Jesus taught us, but we all make mistakes. Some are not so horribly grievous.” He smiled again, trying to lighten her mood, but consternation still etched Elect Sun’s wrinkled face. “There is something else bothering you?”

  Elect Sun sighed. “I should take Kelly to Los Angeles myself.”

  Elect Peter understood. “We have been here a long time. You would be of little help to the child in a city. Things have changed in the world since we came to this place. We should trust in the Lord. He will protect her.”

  “Sometimes the Lord wants us to help ourselves, Peter.”

  The old man thought for a moment. “Maybe we should ask Jason for his opinion. He’s been out in the world. Maybe he can help.”

  15

  THE BELL SOUNDED as the screen door to the Butterfield General Store opened and snapped closed. Tom Pace, never removing his eyes from the box scores, reached under the counter and grabbed a cardboard container that once held a shipment of Poore Brothers Potato Chips, Barbeque Style. When he looked up, he saw a haggard Jason Ramm standing before the counter.

  “You don’t look so good. You feelin’ all right?” Tom shifted his reading glasses to the top of his head.

  “Just tired.” Ramm grabbed the box and moved down the aisle. Kelly needed protein, so he pulled three cans of Bumble Bee Tuna and three cans of sardines off the shelf. His hand hung in the air as he reached for a jar of Extra Crunchy Skippy Peanut Butter. He clenched his fingers into a tight fist to stop the shaking, then realized Tom was craning his neck, watching him. Their eyes met and the storekeeper returned to his paper.

  Ramm took a deep breath. He had to relax. “Hey, Tom!” he said with false gaiety. “You got that feed yet?”

  “Sure do,” the store owner answered. He dropped the newspaper to the counter and stepped down from his stool. “Got some forty-pounders of dog food back there, too, if you need it. Guess you’re gonna be keepin’ that dog?”

  Ramm allowed himself a small smile. If Tom didn’t get some piece of information from each of his customers every time they came in, he felt somehow unfulfilled. The dog was a good neutral subject. “Yes, I’ll be keeping her. She’s a nice dog. She has collar marks. Must have gotten lost.”

  “Or dumped,” Tom said as he moved toward the storeroom. “So many of them city people just drop ’em out here, thinkin’ little Spotty can fend for hisself. Shit! It’s better just puttin’ a bullet in their heads.”

  The bell on the door jingled, but Ramm couldn’t see anyone when he peered over the shelf. He heard the rustle of cellophane. He placed the box on the floor and walked up the aisle and around the corner. Kelly, head down, examined the wrapper on a package of chocolate chip cookies.

  “Hello, Kelly.”

  Startled, she dropped the cookies and turned away from the voice. When she realized the man was not a stranger, she lifted her chin, and faced him. “Hi, Jason.” She touched one hand to her bulging belly and rubbed it. “The baby’s moving. Sometimes it kicks really hard. It doesn’t hurt. Just feels a little strange.”

  “Put two bags a feed in your truck and a forty-pounder a dry dog food,” Tom said, as he reentered the store. “Oh, hello, Kelly. Didn’t realize you were here.”

  Kelly stared at her bare toes, while fishing a piece of paper from the pocket of her blue sundress. She handed the list to the shopkeeper.

  “Let’s see what we’ve got.” Tom slipped reading glasses down from his forehead and eyed the neat script. “Okay. Yep. Got it all. I’ll have everything for you in just a minute.” He moved around the store collecting the items indicated on the list. “Somebody goin’ on a trip?”

  “Yes, I am.” Kelly bent over slowly in an effort to pick up the cookies she’d dropped.

  “I’ll get that.” Ramm walked over, retrieved the package, and placed the cookies on the counter. She smelled of bath soap.

  “Getting ready for the hospital?” Tom pried. Kelly shook her head. “No, I’m going away.”

  “Where?” Ramm asked.

  “I’m going to stay with my aunt in Los Angeles.”

  “Who?” Tom placed toothpaste and shampoo on the counter.

  “My mother’s sister, Lilliana.”

  Tom opened his mouth to speak, but just grunted instead. He deposited her purchases in a plastic bag, then picked up the cookies. “These, too? Don’t see them on the list.”

  “Oh, no. I don’t have enough.” Kelly shook her head.

  “Put the cookies in the bag, Tom. I’ll pay for them.”

  Kelly thanked Ramm, placed her money on the counter, took the bag, and turned to leave. “Goodbye.”

  “Mother’s sister, my ass!” Tom exclaimed when the screen door snapped shut ringing the brass bell. “Miranda ain’t got no sister. No brother neither.”

  “Why would the woman lie?”

  Tom looked up smiling, happy to divulge some of the information he regularly collected. “My guess is Miranda’s jealous of the girl.”

  “Jealous? Of Kelly?”

  “Who do you think made that baby?” Tom didn’t wait for an answer. “Kelly’s stepfather’s took a
likin’ to her, and Miranda ain’t never played second fiddle to nobody. She’s one pissed off momma.”

  16

  ELECT SUN HEARD the approaching vehicle and went outside to wait on the steps as the truck ground to a stop on the gravel drive.

  “Are you all right, Kelly?” Ramm helped the girl from the vehicle.

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired, but Jason and Dog gave me a ride from the store.” Kelly handed the plastic bag containing the groceries to Elect Sun.

  “Hurry inside now. Go upstairs and get washed. It’s almost time for supper.” Elect Sun turned and appraised Ramm as Kelly disappeared behind the screen door.

  “You’re not sleeping, Jason. Is there something wrong?”

  Ramm took a deep breath, forced a smile. “I’m just sorting some things out.” He followed Elect Sun into the shade of a sprawling cottonwood tree. Together they sat on the red cedar swing suspended from a broad, low-hanging branch.

  “I need your advice.” Elect Sun glanced up at the girl’s corner room. “Miranda is insisting the child leave here.”

  “Kelly told me.”

  “I don’t know what to do, Jason. Supposedly, Kelly’s going to stay with Miranda’s sister in Los Angeles, but …”

  “Miranda doesn’t have a sister.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Tom Pace.”

  “Of course. When in doubt, ask Tom.”

  “Where do you think Miranda is really sending her?”

  Elect Sun paused. “I’ve been trying to figure that out. I insisted that she tell me where Kelly is going so we can stay in touch with her, but I’m not holding my breath. Miranda’s biggest concern seems to be making sure Eduardo has no idea where Kelly is.”

  Their eyes met.

  “Eduardo fathered the child,” Elect Sun said.

  Ramm nodded.

  “Let me guess. Tom.”

  Ramm’s lips lifted in a half smile. “Of course.”

  A breeze rippled through the leaves above, filling the air with white noise like the rushing of a shallow stream over smooth river rock. A pair of doves swooped down, gliding to a gentle stop in the grass at the base of the tree.

  “Isn’t there something we can do to help her? If only we could keep track of her. But in a city like Los Angeles, she’ll be swallowed up. Lost.”

  Ramm had never seen Elect Sun look so defeated. Suddenly, he understood. “It’s not your fault. I know how you feel about cities. Without the peace that surrounds you here you might get lost yourself.”

  Elect Sun gazed at the two gray birds, following them as they took off cooing into the cloudless desert sky. “I’ve lived in the city, Jason. Remember, I wasn’t born in the desert. Why I have this fear, I don’t know. Perhaps I’m afraid I won’t be here when the time comes. I must be ready for the end of God’s clock. I’ve been waiting over thirty years.”

  Ramm considered the problem. “Here’s what we’ll do. I know some people in Los Angeles. People I’ve worked with.” People who get paid to track anyone I want them to. “I’ll make a few calls. We’ll find out where Kelly is and keep an eye on her. You don’t need to worry about a thing.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Good,” Elect Sun smiled for the first time all day. “Then we must think about getting her back here. Her and the baby.”

  “One thing at a time,” Ramm said. “Now, do you have any reason to believe Kelly’s mother would physically harm her?”

  “I know she has used physical force with the girl, but I can’t say Kelly’s been abused, except by Eduardo, of course.” Elect Sun was quiet for a moment. “But that’s a different kind of abuse. Miranda is self-centered and has certainly neglected Kelly …”

  “And her ego has taken a big hit, but is she capable of anything worse than pettiness and neglect?”

  “I don’t know. I think she’s just an overgrown, spoiled child who’ll do nothing more than stamp her feet and pout in the hope of getting her way.”

  Ramm looked through the cottonwood branches toward the black basalt mountain that rose east of the compound. A thought occurred to him. “How does Miranda feel about money?”

  “I have to assume she’s never had much.”

  “Perhaps, we could make her an offer.”

  Elect Sun looked shocked. “You mean buy the child?”

  “Sounds a little sick when you put it that way, but yes. That’s what I mean.”

  The chains that held the swing tethered to the tree branch creaked as the seat moved back and forth. Dog, who’d been rooting around the yard, plopped down on the grass, flipped over, and stuck all four paws into the air, lying flat on her back. She wriggled around, apparently trying to scratch an itch.

  “Oh, my!” Elect Sun gasped, her attention diverted when she saw the angry red marks, the swastika still clearly visible on the dog’s belly.

  Ramm patted her hand. “Don’t worry about Dog. Or Kelly. We’ll get this straightened out.”

  “But we don’t have much money, Jason. Just a little saved up for emergencies.”

  “We’ll work it out.”

  17

  LATER THAT NIGHT, Ramm thumbed his way through the worn, second-hand Bible. The leather-bound book was gilt-edged, the letters tiny, ornate. The answers were in the book. Why couldn’t he find them?

  He shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep the headache at a bearable level. A quote came to him, not from the Bible, but rather from Shakespeare’s All’s Well That Ends Well.

  “Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, which we ascribe to heaven.”

  Ramm closed the book. Perhaps the answers were in him. He stood, intending to place the Bible back on the mantel, when he noticed a card sticking out of the pages. He slumped back into the corner of the couch and reopened the book, finding what he knew to be a Catholic memorial card placed on a page that read:

  Ecclesiastes 5, The Value of a Friend.

  Two are better than one, because they have a good reward for their labor. For if they fall, one will lift up his companion. But woe to him who is alone when he falls, for he has no one to help him up.

  Ramm stared at the page. When was the last time he truly had a friend? His eyes burned with visions of a grinning soldier with white-blond hair, a boy whose long-ago death kept him forever young and strong, no memory able to age him. Then the fire.

  “No!” Ramm rose and forced that nightmare away. He placed the card back into the Bible and noticed the date on the card was August 6, 1969. The memorial service for Robert T. Massi had been held at St. Jude’s Catholic Church in Prescott, Arizona. St. Jude. The patron saint of lost causes. Perhaps the card was a sign he should convert. Perhaps the Roman Catholics could help him.

  Ramm, amused at the thought, turned the card over. He froze, eyes riveted to the picture. Before him was the Virgin Mary with her sad blue eyes, arms outstretched beside her, palms up beckoning. She was draped in an azure gown, the folds falling gracefully to her feet where little children turned smiling faces upward to greet her. Though the countenance of Jesus’s mother was a source of inspiration for artists for hundreds of years, he had not spent much time considering her face. Somehow, this one woman, whose actual features were unknowable, always seemed to look the same, regardless of the racial qualities ascribed to her. Whether Arab or Indian, African, Latina, or Asian, or even the ridiculous paintings that depicted the Semitic woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, like the one he held in his hands, the face and the expression always seemed the same. Her ever-present broken heart made portraying Mary as anything but a woman in despair—as any mother who had ever lost a child would be—impossible.

  But Mary should have been joyous at the resurrection, her prayers answered along with all the other believers. Yet, in all of the museums and churches and galleries he’d visited, Ramm had not once seen the woman portrayed as anything but somber or grieving. There appeared not to be even a glint of happiness in the woman who bo
re Jesus.

  He held the picture to the light, searching the face again, analyzing the melancholy countenance. Mary always appeared heartsick, devastated by the thought of what might have been.

  He thought of the woman in Jerusalem.

  The first time Ramm saw her, she was climbing the stairs to the Room of Pity inside the Church of the Holy Sepulcher. He had abandoned his surveillance of the target, while the old Hasid lunched with a friend at a noisy, outdoor cafe. With several hours to kill, his curiosity led him to the holy place said to be the exact location of the crucifixion.

  He watched the woman move past the intricate glass mosaics as if in a trance, then into the darkened room. She paused briefly before the glittering altar at Golgotha and, without warning, dropped to her knees, face twisted in agony, and began crying out, desperate sobs reverberating off the ancient stones.

  Ramm was transfixed by the spectacle. And that was when it had started.

  18

  BILLY CHECKED THE GLOWING dial on the watch with the camouflage band, yet another gift from Buck. He had about ten minutes, if the freight train was on time. Judging from the schedule, the Amtrak Sunset Limited should pass this section of track at about 1:10 a.m. Monday morning. He stepped across a three-foot joint, limping from the gash the dog bite had opened in his calf. He was able to ignore most of the pain, thanks to some self-medication in the form of a mixture of pot and Jack Daniel’s. He counted as he went. Twenty-nine spikes and four bolts secured the track. The wiring, he knew, was pretty basic, and he’d have plenty of time, since there was little traffic on the antiquated line.

  Billy saw the faint light in the distance and felt a surge of excitement. He’d read and reread the SP Trainline article, and picked the perfect location: on a trestle, near a curve that would encourage the train to tilt. Facing the oncoming train, he straddled the track, and watched as the locomotive approached. He’d seen a boy crushed by a train once—a game of “chicken” that the train had won in spectacular fashion. The boy’s death had been quick, albeit messy, and hood lore had him down as a brave hero, as opposed to the drunken idiot Billy knew him to be. Still, you had to admire the guy for going out in style, a blaze of glory that left him splattered over three hundred yards of track. A death like that certainly beat wasting away on crack or shriveling up with AIDS.