Mercy Me

by Margaret A. Graham

  “There are purposes served by the things we suffer too.”

  “Name one!”

  He smiled. “Well, the Bible says Jesus learned obedience through the things that he suffered.”

  I was ashamed of myself. “I’m sorry I spoke out like that, Pastor. It just popped out. . . . What you’re saying is . . .”

  “What I’m saying is that maybe the best thing we learn from suffering is obedience.”

  Well, I thought we’d gotten way off the track from why the Lord was not sparing Maria.

  Pastor Osborne stretched his long legs in front of him and put his thumbs under his suspenders. “I don’t mind telling you, Esmeralda, unanswered prayer is the hardest experience of my life, and there are times when it’s awful hard. The thing that helps me is to remember that Jesus once prayed that that cup would pass from him—but it didn’t.”

  Maria groaned. I got up to see about her. She was all right.

  Pastor Osborne sat there a long time before he said anything more. But we were both still thinking. We must’ve been thinking along the same line, because he spoke, as much to himself as to me.

  “Faith for a miracle is easier to come by than trusting the Lord when no miracle happens. . . . I’m not telling you anything you don’t already know, am I?”

  “No, you aren’t, Pastor,” I said. “With Bud, things didn’t turn up roses, and though it took some time, I got to the place where I was willing to trust the Lord that he loved us and that he had some reason for Bud’s not getting well.”

  Lucy came back in the room just then, rubbing her eyes. “Hello, Preacher Bob. Esmeralda, that nap felt real good. Maria looks quiet. Why don’t you go in and have a little siesta now?”

  I glanced out the window. “The young people are eating out under the tree. If you’ll excuse me, Pastor, I’ll go in the kitchen and fix Elijah’s lunch.”

  “Oh, I’ve got to be going,” he said as he stood up. “Is there anything I can do for you ladies?”

  “You’ve already done a lot for me, Pastor,” I told him. I felt like giving him a hug, but I didn’t.

  Elijah was on the back porch. I told him to go in the bathroom and wash up. When he came back to the table, I handed him a plate and asked him to choose whatever he wanted from the casseroles I had put out. He looked them over, kind of sniffed, then asked, “Missy, where’s the grits?”

  I laughed and put on a pot. “How ’bout I fix you some sausage and eggs to go with those grits?”

  “Oh, Missy! Would you do that for me?”

  I stopped what I was doing, put both hands flat on the table before him, and looked him square in the eye. “Elijah, there ain’t nothing in the world I wouldn’t do for you.”

  “I know, Missy. I know.”

  Dr. Elsie had promised to let me know the results of the tests. I thought she would call me when they came back, but the next morning her car rolled up in my driveway. I met her out on the porch.

  She took a seat on the glider, then patted the seat next to her. “Esmeralda, what we have here is a full-blown case of AIDS—the last stages. There’s nothing we can do but make Maria as comfortable as we can.”

  “AIDS?” Well, I couldn’t say I was too surprised. “What’s the danger of our catching it from Maria?”

  Dr. Elsie shook her head. “Quite unlikely,” she said. “The virus is transmitted through bodily fluids, but casual personal contact is not dangerous. If you had a cut and got her blood on it, you could contract the disease that way. Sharing infected needles is another way.”

  “What about the children?”

  “We’ll have them tested. That, of course, is real cause for concern. With vaginal deliveries there’s danger, and breast milk can transmit the virus too. Let’s just pray that they test negative. If they don’t, well, we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

  She stood up and went inside to check on Maria. I waited on the porch and worried about those precious children. Even if by some miracle they weren’t born with the virus, there was every reason to believe they could get it by being in such close contact with their mama. All I could think of was those little boys kissing Maria. If only I had known . . .

  My mind was running around in my head like a merry-go-round. I’d had it all planned that the Osbornes would adopt the children. But if the poor little things were going to have the virus, it would be too much for the Osbornes to take on. Oh, Lord, have mercy!

  Dr. Elsie was coming out the door. “Esmeralda, Maria won’t last much longer. That means we must not waste any time taking care of the business this situation poses. Right now, we don’t need to worry about expenses, the hospital and funeral; that’s the least of our worries. Lucy says Maria isn’t a citizen of this country, so there’s red tape involved in anything we may do relative to her or the children. I’d like to keep them out of foster care as long as we can, but if Maria should die suddenly, some bureaucrat might even send them back to Guatemala.”

  I could feel my throat tighten. I did not like the sound of that one bit.

  Dr. Elsie put her hand on my arm. “I want Lucy to find out everything she can about Maria. I know she said all her family was killed in an earthquake, but Maria didn’t have these babies by herself, you know. Somewhere there’s a father. We have to track him down.”

  “We’ll get on it right away,” I told her, but for the life of me, I didn’t know the first thing about tracking down a man whose name we might not ever know. Especially if Maria had always been a loose woman with many partners.

  16

  Maria had a bad night, but after it was over, she rallied remarkably. I’d told Lucy everything Dr. Elsie had told me, and she said she would try to get as much information out of Maria as she could. Hospice was coming that day, and I had called Thelma to come, too, so I felt they could spare me for a few hours while I drove up to the county courthouse.

  After being shut up in the house for so many days, it felt good to be driving up the highway by myself. With my cruise control set at fifty-five, which was the speed limit along that stretch of the road, I was breezing along, thinking about the business up ahead. Just outside the city limits, I heard a siren and glanced at my rearview mirror. Lo and behold, a cruiser was on my bumper, the blue light flashing!

  I pulled over on the shoulder, wondering what was wrong with my car. None of the lights on the dash were lit up. It didn’t feel like I had a flat or anything. I rolled down the window and waited for the officer. Then I looked up and saw who it was. Horace Thigpen!

  Without looking at me, he asked for my driver’s license. I felt my face growing red as I searched for it. My pocketbook was always a bottomless pit. I finally dug out my wallet, and the license was in it.

  I handed it to him, and he read it like I was some total stranger. I tell you, I was furious. Did he think he could arrest me and convince a judge I was a drug dealer posing as a God-fearing woman?

  He jotted something down and asked for my vehicle registration.

  “What’s this about, Horace?”

  “Speeding.”

  “Speeding? I had my cruise control at fifty-five.”

  He handed back the registration. “Then your cruise control is out of calibration, Miss Esmeralda.”

  The nerve of him!

  “Horace Thigpen, there is nothing wrong with my cruise control, and you know it! You just spotted my car and come after me for no reason but to harass the life outta me.”

  He grinned. “You wouldn’t resist an officer of the law, now would you, Miss Esmeralda?”

  “Officer of the law? You’re nothing but your daddy’s deputy, and if I have to take you to court over this, I will.”

  “My word against yours, Miss Esmeralda.”

  I could’ve slapped that grin right off his face.

  “Well, fine then. Write the ticket and be quick about it. I’m in a hurry to get to the county courthouse.”

  He scribbled the ticket and tore it off the pad. “So you do admit you’re in a
great big hurry?”

  As I looked up at him, ready to give him another piece of my mind, it dawned on me that somebody ought to tell him about Maria. There wasn’t anybody but Lucy, Dr. Elsie, and me who knew enough to tell. And I was the only one knew he’d slept with her.

  “Horace,” I began, “that woman you . . . well, her name is Maria. I hate telling you this, but she’s dying of AIDS.”

  That wiped the grin off his face. “AIDS?” he repeated, his face gone pale. “I don’t believe you. You’re just saying that so I’ll tear up this ticket.”

  “Hand me the ticket, Horace.”

  He gave it to me, his hand trembling.

  “Now do you believe me?” I asked.

  His face grew white as cotton. “How did you find out she has AIDS?”

  “She’s laying sick in my house right now. You can go up there and see for yourself.”

  “At your house? How? Why . . . ?” He was so white I was afraid he was going to faint.

  “It’s a long story, and I don’t have time to answer a bunch of questions. Now, if you’ll please step aside, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Gimme back that ticket. I won’t charge you.”

  “Not on your life, Buster. Not until you apologize for the rotten trick you tried to pull on me.”

  “I apologize! I apologize!” He swore and snatched the ticket out of my hand.

  I stepped on the accelerator and left him standing in the road. Well, all I had to say was he better go take that test.

  As I got going again, I felt bad I had been sharp with him. I hope and pray he don’t have AIDS. I knew Horace when he was a little boy—use to run around my place chasing my chickens—and his mama was a sweet woman. Horace was the apple of her eye. If she had lived, he would have turned out better than he had. I sure hope he’s okay. Lord, I know he’s done wrong, but have mercy on him. I was thinking maybe this scare would bring him to the Lord.

  After I prayed for him, I put Horace behind me and forgot about the speed limit as I zoomed up the road. Being stopped that way didn’t leave me much time to do all I had to do. First and foremost, I had to see about finding the daddy. Second on the list was tracking down birth certificates for the children, if they even had birth certificates. And what about burying Maria? Could we bury a foreigner without breaking the law? But probably the most important thing I needed to know was how to get those children adopted by good parents.

  I didn’t feel equipped to do all this, but who else was there? Time is of the essence, I thought. I’ll take the bull by the horns, and if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll see to it those precious children are spared the clutches of big government.

  “Lord,” I said aloud, “help me keep ahead of all them bureaucrats sniffing out cases like this one.”

  At the courthouse they kept sending me from one office to another. I had to be cagey, not tell them everything, lest they turn me over to Social Services and take everything out of my hands.

  The first question I asked got an answer that scared the daylights out of me. I inquired of some bored-looking clerk what the government did with immigrants who didn’t have their citizenship papers yet. He looked at me as if I were from outer space. “Illegal aliens are deported.”

  Smart alec! He looked like something from outer space himself. I could tell he loved his work; he seemed about ready to lie down beside it and go to sleep. Splurgeon said it right: “Idle people are dead people that you can’t bury.”

  I went down the hall, looking for another likely source of help. I saw a sign that said PROBLEM RESOLUTION OFFICE. Sounded like a winner. There were a lot of people waiting, and I had to take a number. I don’t know how long I sat there, maybe forty-five minutes, before my number came up. Turns out the people in that office only solve IRS problems. Some skinny woman sent me to Health and Human Services. They gave me forms to fill out that made no sense at all. I asked a woman filing her fingernails if I was in the right place. She said, “It’s the right place if you’re a Medicaid client.” Seeing I was about to blow a gasket, she said, “You probably need the Social Security Administration down the hall.”

  By the time I got there and sat in the waiting room another half an hour, I was frazzled. Seeing how worn out I was, a woman about my age came around the counter, took me in a private office, and had me sit down across the desk from her. Anybody that kind must be trustworthy, I thought, and before I knew it, I was telling her the whole truth, nothing but the truth, so help me God.

  She listened carefully, and when I was finished, she said, “What you need is a private investigator. He’ll find the father and the birth certificates. You also need a lawyer. I don’t know much about adopting foreign-born children, but there’s a couple in my church adopted a child from China. I’ll find out what I can from them. Give me your phone number, and if I come across anything helpful, I’ll get back with you.” She stood up and reached her hand across the desk to shake mine. “Miss Esmeralda, I’ll be praying for you and that family.”

  Can you believe a saint like that works for the Social Security Administration! All the way home, I thanked the Lord for her. Now I knew what to do—get us a private eye and a lawyer. Of course, that was going to cost big bucks, but the Lord always provided. I didn’t ever worry about money.

  I sailed home in record time.

  Lucy met me at the door, just beaming. “Esmeralda, guess what? I got some information today. When Thelma was trying to get a little Jell-O in Maria, I was able to ask a few questions. Little by little, she gave me a few answers. I kinda had to piece together what she told me.”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, it seems that after the earthquake in Guatemala, Maria and her boyfriend joined a band of migrant workers coming to the States. They were a rough bunch, stealing and drinking, fighting. After they slipped across the border, they had to avoid the law. That’s why Maria never went to a hospital to deliver her babies. The best I understand, she was alone in a field when Angelica was born.”

  “How long have they been in the States?”

  “I’m not quite sure, but all of her children were born here. One year they worked in California, but the migrants murdered a woman and had to run from the law. They worked their way through Texas. That’s when Maria’s boyfriend started doing drugs. He beat her too, but because she didn’t speak English and didn’t have a green card, there was no way she could get away from him.”

  “How awful for poor Maria!”

  Lucy nodded. “I know. And when they moved from Florida up the east coast, following the crops, they stole a van, and her boyfriend held up a store. By the time they reached the South Carolina border, Maria knew they’d be caught, and she was terrified she might lose her children. Then one morning she found her boyfriend dead in a ditch from an overdose.”

  “Mercy me, Lucy, you got a lot of information! Do you know how she got to Live Oaks?”

  “Yeah, she said after her boyfriend died, some men in the group came on to her strong. Their women didn’t like that. As they were traveling north, on the outskirts of Live Oaks, the women pushed her and the children out of the van and sped off.”

  “Good night!”

  Lucy shook her head. “I wonder where she got the virus.”

  “There’s no telling.”

  “Esmeralda, I know being a hooker is a bad sin, but what else could Maria do? I can see why she wound up like she did—couldn’t speak the language, had no way to feed her children. Afraid of the law . . .”

  “It’s sad, Lucy, it’s sad. And to think such as that went on right under our noses.”

  I could see Thelma was still in there with Maria, and I knew she would stay long enough for me to get my ducks in a row. Lucy was talking a mile a minute.

  “I know. I see stuff like that on TV, but it’s hard to believe it’s happened right here in Live Oaks. Maria wanted to tell me more, but she was given out. Maybe I can get some more out of her later.” Lucy brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “What
did you find out at the courthouse?”

  I started toward the kitchen to get busy on the phone. “Can I tell you about it later?” I asked. “I need to make some phone calls.”

  “Sure. Oh, by the way, Beatrice called. She said to tell you she and Carl went to church and that Carl is bald on top and uses his pigtail to do a comb over. She fixed Sunday dinner for him, and the couple upstairs also ate with them.”

  I couldn’t help but smile at that. “Thanks, Lucy, I’ll try to call her. But right now I have got to find us a lawyer.”

  Lucy put her hand on my arm. “One more thing,” she said, looking worried. “Maria’s afraid to die.”

  Well, that piece of information didn’t surprise me one bit. I had worried that neither the pastor nor I could speak to Maria about the Lord. “Lucy, since you’re the only one speaks Spanish, it’s up to you to show her the way.”

  “Well, I tried to say something.”

  “Good . . .” I walked over to the window; somebody was pulling up in the driveway. It was the cruiser, with Horace at the wheel. I wonder what he wants? I walked out to the porch to meet him.

  Well, Horace wasn’t nearly the officer of the law chasing me on the highway; he looked like a shorn sheep, drooped shoulders, head down. He got out of his car and walked over to me.

  “What can I do for you, Horace?”

  “Miss Esmeralda,” he said softly, “you said I should come and see for myself.”

  “You want to see Maria?”

  “Yes’m.” He fingered the cap he held in his hands, looking scared to death.

  “Well, all right,” I said. “I’ll see if you can.”

  Well, it wasn’t all right. I went into the sickroom to have a peek and found that Maria had started coughing and was spitting up blood. I turned around and started to tell Horace to wait a minute, but I didn’t. I figured he might as well see what it was like to have AIDS.

  I beckoned to him, and he followed me in. After not a minute, that poor boy was gagging on the odor of the sickroom. He bolted out of there. I could hear retching, gagging, and some more throwing up.