Tessa (From Fear to Faith)

by Melissa Wiltrout

Lorraine was new at school as of a few weeks ago. I’d never officially met her, but I’d seen her in the halls, her stringy, dyed-black hair almost hiding her face. She wore black nail polish, skin-tight black jeans, and way too much make-up.

  “So you couldn’t stand it either,” she said. “Don’t you just hate it when they try to scare you?”

  I turned to look at her. “What’re you talking about?”

  “You know. That cop. Pat. You’d think she’s on some sort of mission. What a pain.”

  I felt reassured. Here was a person who would understand where I was coming from. “You can say that again,” I agreed. “She actually arrested me once.”

  Lorraine’s face crinkled with interest. “Yeah? What’d you do?”

  “Not much. I picked up a couple things at a store, and a clerk saw me.”

  “Cool. Say, I gotta run, but here.” She handed me a tiny package wrapped in white paper.

  “What is it?”

  “Shhh. Just try it.” She walked out, leaving me with the package in my hand. Curious, I turned it over, tugged at the piece of clear tape on the bottom, and slowly unwrapped two handmade cigarettes. Except for being a little shorter, they looked very much like the ones Walter made from the harvest of his secret garden.

  I glanced over my shoulder as I crumpled the paper around them again. I would be in big trouble if I got caught with this – not only with the school authorities, but more importantly, with Mom. She’d probably turn me over to Walter like she did last spring when she found one of his joints in my jeans pocket while doing laundry.

  I tried to push aside my uneasiness as I hurried to class. Nobody had seen. There was no way I could be found out. But my mind swirled with questions. Was marijuana harmful? Could people tell if I used it? What would my friends think if they saw me with Lorraine?

  I already knew the answer to that one. Lois would turn it into a gossip item. Sandy would shrug it off and go blithely on her way. The only ones who would’ve really cared were Janet and Heather. And I had just made it abundantly clear that I wanted nothing to do with either of them. Rather a stupid move, but there was no undoing it now.

  Lois caught up with me after school that day. “What’s with you this afternoon? Cops freak you out or something?”

  I tried to laugh. “What do you mean?”

  “You act like you think somebody’s after you.”

  My heart raced. Was I acting that strangely?

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “I-I’ve got stomach cramps. You know.”

  Lois stared at me incredulously. “Stomach cramps? You’re that nervous? But I guess it figures. I’d hate to be you and have to worry about getting caught smoking.”

  “Aww, shut up. Who said I smoke.”

  “I do. You positively stink. Especially after lunch.”

  I could feel my face getting hot at the raw compliment. “What do you expect me to smell like, when both my parents smoke? Fresh air and roses?”

  “If it’s that bad, you better move out before it kills you.” For a moment, Lois looked serious. But seconds later she was her old teasing self again.

  “I bet I’ve got it. Pat’s the one who caught you when you ran away.”

  I forced another laugh. “That just shows how little you know about anything, snoopy-nose. Running away’s not a crime.”

  Her eyes went round with astonishment. “No? Then how come they call the police?”

  “Don’t ask me. People call the police for everything nowadays – bats in the living room, leaking pipes, cars that don’t start.” I swung my knapsack onto my shoulder and said, “Mom’s waiting for me. See you.”

  “Bats in the living room . . . Tessa! That’s disgusting!” Lois’s piercing voice echoed after me as I walked out the doors. I knew I’d have to face her prying questions for days, but at least I had won this first time. I was pleased with myself.

  ***

  After lunch the following day, Lorraine approached me again. “Well?” she asked, in a half whisper.

  “Well, what?”

  “Did you try it?”

  I shook my head.

  “Good grief, girl, what’re you waiting for?”

  I felt my face flush. “I’m just not sure about it.”

  Amazement shone on Lorraine’s face. But before she could reply, two more girls joined her. “Hey, what’re you doing?” said one of them, draping an arm across her shoulders.

  Lorraine half turned. “Why Britt, haven’t you met Tessa yet? Tess, this is Brittney.”

  Brittney smiled and said, “Hey.” She was a big, good-looking girl, with thick auburn hair and fine features. I later discovered her mother was the pianist at the Lutheran church across the street.

  “And this is Crystal.” Crystal was standing behind Brittney and wouldn’t look at me at all. She was thin, with dark, brooding eyes and a deep scar on her cheek.

  “We’re a pretty diverse bunch,” Lorraine said, with a laugh. “So, what grade you in?”

  “Does it matter?” I shifted my weight and glanced across the room where Janet and Heather stood talking with a few friends.

  “You new here?”

  “I have friends, if that’s what you mean.”

  “You mean those two?” Lorraine jabbed a thumb toward Janet and Heather. “I’ve met them. They don’t seem like your type.”

  I took a step backward. “Oh yeah? And just how would you know who’s my type?”

  Lorraine threw her head back and laughed, revealing severely crooked front teeth. “I like your style, Tess. Join us outside McDonald’s tomorrow noon, okay?”

  I took a few more steps backward. “I can’t. I don’t live in town.”

  “Your old man won’t drive you, huh? Tough. Well, we’ll have to think of something else then.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.” I edged away, wishing the bell would ring. Lorraine’s forwardness made me uncomfortable.

  14

  Walter was released from jail the week before Thanksgiving. In his usual fashion, he had promised Mom he’d work in the furniture shop and finish up his orders as soon as he got out. And Mom, desperate for any kind of good news, believed him. That is, until she pulled into the driveway after picking me up at school that afternoon.

  “Oh, come on.” She shook her head at the beat-up station wagon and two pickup trucks parked at various angles in front of the shop. “He’s having a party already?”

  “Doesn’t he always, when he gets out of jail?” I said.

  Mom rolled her eyes. “I just wish he’d celebrate by working once in a while. He’s eight weeks behind on his orders. More like ten or twelve on a few of them.”

  Throughout the evening, more cars trickled down the driveway. By dark, I counted seven. Mom observed the situation, once or twice hinting to me that she ought to crash the party.

  “Why don’t you?” I asked.

  “It wouldn’t do any good. About that time, the cops wouldn’t find anything, and we’d have to deal with a very mad Walter.” She shook her head. “Dish up the soup, would you, and we’ll eat. There’s no sense waiting for him. He’ll be out there all night.”

  I knew she was right about that. Even so, I found it impossible to relax and enjoy my supper. The mere presence of Walter on the property was enough to keep me on edge.

  That night, as I lay in bed with my door bolted shut, listening to the pulsing beat of rock music coming from the shop, I started to think about running away again. Walter’s month-long absence hadn’t changed him a bit. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what would happen next. He’d pull me out of school, shove Mom aside, and haul me off to work for him again. And if I dared to resist or complain, he’d make sure I paid for it.

  I heard water trickling in the pipes as Mom got ready fo
r bed. Outside, a car engine revved, then died. It must be close to midnight. Pulling a blanket around my shoulders, I rose and went to the window. The night sky was moonless and black except for a faint orange glow off toward Northford. Somewhere in the distance a dog barked. Tomorrow I had school again. I should go back to bed and get some sleep.

  Yet I continued staring out the window, turning the situation over in my mind. I knew the time had come to make a move. Running away might not be the best option, but it was the only one I could think of.

  The plan I invented was pretty simple. I would get up before dawn and drive Mom’s car into town. There I’d buy a ticket on a bus headed for some warmer part of the country, provided they were willing to sell me one. I had heard bus companies were cautious about selling tickets to minors. I’d have to lie about my age and hope they believed me. Still, it would look pretty suspicious – me walking into the bus station alone at five in the morning and trying to buy a ticket. Were they even open at five in the morning?

  I went to bed, but I tossed and turned all night, torn between excitement and fear. I already had the money; all I needed were a few clothes and things. At ten minutes to four, I crawled out of bed and crept down the hall to the kitchen.

  Flashlight in hand, I pawed through the assortment of plastic shopping bags in the bottom of the pantry. I wanted a big thick one with handles, not some flimsy thing from Walmart. When I had found one I thought would work, I returned to my room to pack.

  Socks. Toothbrush. Money. Extra sweatshirt. Safety pins. One by one I checked the items off my list, moving about by the faint glow of a night light I had borrowed from the bathroom. Over in the corner, I could hear Genevieve nosing through her food bowl. She had rapidly outgrown the shoebox under the lamp, and I had moved her into a large plastic garbage can. She was now half grown, very friendly, and curious about everything. I would miss her terribly.

  The final item remaining on the list was food. I made one more trip to the kitchen, scouring the cupboards for things that would be easy to pack. Spam fit the bill, as did a box of cheese crackers, two candy bars, and a couple slices of banana bread. By then my bag was bulging.

  It was a quarter to five when I whispered goodbye to Genevieve, picked up my bag, and walked down the hall for the last time. I was more nervous than I’d ever been in my life, but I kept telling myself it was now or never. I set the bag down on the table and felt around in the shallow desk drawer where Mom kept the car key.

  Nothing.

  I pulled the drawer out farther, feeling around the stack of receipts, loose pens, scissors, calculator. The key was not there. I pushed the drawer shut and stood there in numb disbelief. This could not be happening. Everything was ready. It was time to go. How could such a small thing stop me? It was just too stupid.

  I dug in my bag until I found my flashlight, then proceeded to do a thorough search of the drawer, the kitchen table, the counters, Mom’s coat pockets, the bookshelf. I even crept out to look in the car. The key was nowhere to be found.

  I returned to my bedroom too discouraged to think. School would start in less than three hours. Even if Mom would accept a claim that I was sick, I didn’t want to stay home with Walter around. I dropped my bag next to my bed and crawled under the covers without even taking my shoes off. Why did nothing ever turn out right? Blood pounded in my head, each pulse jabbing into my temples like a nail. There’s no way out, it seemed to say. Quit trying. You’re doomed.

  I pulled the blankets up over my head and inhaled the warm, stale air. Just maybe, you’ll suffocate down here, I thought, recalling one of my childhood fears. Back then, I couldn’t sleep with so much as a sheet over my nose. Mom’s repeated assurances that air could go through fabric had little effect on me.

  The warmth eventually made me drowsy. Either I really will suffocate down here, or else I’ll sleep for a few hours, I remember thinking as I drifted off.

  15

  Despite my anxiety, we saw very little of Walter over the next few days. Once or twice he raided the cupboards for candy bars and soda pop, and one morning I awoke to a heated argument over an unpaid credit card bill. Otherwise, things were calm. But I knew better than to relax. I spent my evenings in my bedroom with the bolts pulled.

  Thanksgiving was the one bright spot during this time. School let out a day early to allow families time to travel. We, of course, had no such plans; but I did spend a portion of the extra day helping Mom make an apple pie. It was more enjoyable than studying the geography of South America or learning about the classification of insects.

  “Is this enough apples now?” I asked, adding yet another freshly pared apple to the short row on the kitchen table.

  Mom turned from the counter where she was mixing the crust. “It might be. Cut out the cores and slice them real thin. We need six full cups.”

  “You know, I was thinking,” I said. “Everybody else has turkey and dressing and mashed potatoes and–”

  A mild crash from the other end of the kitchen interrupted me. “We’re not everybody else, Tess.”

  “Of course not. But it would be kind of nice to have that stuff, don’t you think?”

  Mom unfolded the bottom crust into the pie plate and began rolling out the top in short, even strokes. “Maybe sometime,” she said.

  Her indifference frustrated me. I shoved my chair back so hard it fell over. “I’m sick of this!” I burst out. “What’s the matter that we can’t ever do anything?”

  “Stop it. Be glad you’re getting a pie.”

  I hacked at an apple, venting my anger on it. What could possibly be wrong with making a normal Thanksgiving dinner? But I should’ve known. Mom didn’t want to bother, for some stupid reason.

  “Uh-oh.” Her exclamation interrupted my sullen mood. “Vicks just drove in.”

  “Oh great,” I muttered. “Tell ’em we’re not home.”

  “Right. Like that will solve anything.” Mom brushed the loose flour from her hands and hurried to the front door.

  Dan Vick was an older man, well-built and balding on top. One of Walter’s original furniture customers, he had a reputation for being particular about quality and price. He possessed a booming voice and lately, an irritable temper.

  “I’m here to pick up that bookshelf,” he greeted Mom.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but Walter’s still working on it.”

  “He told me it would be done today!” His voice became hard. “Where is he?”

  “He’s gone right now.”

  “Gone again, huh? Well, this is some kind of racket,” he stormed. “First he tells me it’ll be done in a few days. Then he changes his mind; says it’ll be a couple weeks. Last Friday he promised it would be done today. I’ve had it. I want my money back, or I’m calling the sheriff.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be done real soon,” Mom reassured him, beginning to close the door. “He’s had some problems with it.”

  “Yeah, I bet. We’ll see what the sheriff thinks about that.”

  “I can’t imagine what that Walter thinks he’s doing,” Mom sputtered, as she locked the door and returned to the kitchen. “You can’t run a business like that! Doesn’t he have any brains at all?”

  I looked up from mixing the pie filling. “I don’t think he’s even started the bookcase.”

  “I’m sure he hasn’t. And the way he’s going, he never will.” She took the bowl from me and scraped the filling into the pie shell. “I’m not talking to any more of his customers. Period. I’m not answering the door, I’m not answering the phone, and I’m not taking any more messages! Either he’s gonna be here, or he’s gonna lose ’em. It’s his problem.”

  Justified as it was, her outburst grated on my nerves. I was so weary of thinking about, hearing about, and worrying about the mess we were in that I wanted to scream.

  Picking up
a stray piece of apple, I slipped off to my room. Playing with Genevieve had become my favorite escape from the mounting tension in the air. I dropped the apple into her food dish, then reached down and tapped gently on her nest box.

  Nothing happened. I tapped harder. Suddenly Genevieve scurried from the nest and ran up my arm. Chuckling, I shook her off. It was fun to let her explore the bedroom, but the other night she had been impossible to catch again. It was safer to leave her in the garbage can and watch her eat.

  A short time later, Mom stuck her head in my room. “Oh, there you are.” Then her nose wrinkled. “Phew! Don’t you think that mouse is old enough now to fend for itself?”

  “What do you mean? She’s my pet.”

  “A very smelly one, I’d say. How about if we take a drive and find her a new home. We’ll go out to that abandoned farm across the highway. There are plenty of old buildings there she can live in.”

  “I said, she’s my pet. I’m keeping her.” I folded my arms and stared at Mom.

  “But Tessa, haven’t you thought about what the mouse wants?” Mom countered. “She’s not gonna be happy living her life in a garbage can. She wants to run and mate and have babies.”

  “I wasn’t gonna keep her in a garbage can,” I retorted. “I’m gonna build her a cage.”

  “She doesn’t want to spend her life in a cage either. She’s a wild mouse.”

  “But I need her, Mom,” I pleaded. “She makes me happy. I’ll take real good care of her, I promise. I’ll build the cage tomorrow.”

  But Mom was shaking her head. “We’re not gonna have a mouse in the house. They stink no matter how well you take care of them.”

  Tears crowded my eyes. Genevieve wasn’t just a mouse. She was a playful creature whose silly antics brightened my days. She made me laugh when everything else was going wrong. How could I ever be happy without her?

  My throat was so tight I could hardly speak. “If I let her go, can I have another pet?”