“Bull piss, there’s no argument about it. We’re going to argue plenty, you and me.”
Gail turned pink with outrage. “Can’t you open your mouth without spewing forth dirt?”
“Me spew out dirt? Yours is the dirty mouth, spouting all that hypocritical crap. Did they tie you up and beat you to make you believe you’re a baby who can’t think for yourself? I was here when the February Sisters took over the university, and I don’t let any man tell me what to do.” With a militant gesture borrowed from the seventies, Elaine clomped across the yard toward the barns.
Gail ran after her, grabbing her arm and yelling, “No, you don’t. You can’t go back there.”
Elaine ignored her. Gail tried to stop her, but even though Elaine couldn’t walk fast she was too massive to hold back once she’d started moving. Gail kept step with her, pulling out her cell phone to call the pastor in the kitchen.
“Pastor! There’s a horrible woman—a harlot, a Jezebel! She wants to get into the enclosure, and I can’t make her listen to reason!”
They had reached the milking shed. Beyond it, Nasya’s teepee-shaped enclosure was visible at the end of the row of huts for the new calves. Elaine put her shoulders down like a football player and headed toward it, her arms swinging like sides of beef. One flailing arm smacked Gail in the diaphragm hard enough to make her double over in pain.
The church elder guarding the enclosure saw the women but assumed they were bringing him a message of some kind from the house, or perhaps a sandwich. He’d escorted the last of the most recent group of men out of Nasya’s pen half an hour earlier and was feeling both hungry and bored. It wasn’t until Elaine came straight to the door and started to pull it open that he realized he had trouble on his hands. He leaned into the door, trying to hook the padlock in the latch, while Elaine yanked on his arm.
Gail had gotten her wind back. She wanted to help the elder push the door shut, but Elaine grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her from the entrance.
In response to Gail’s call—Weak woman panicking, he thought—Pastor Nabo walked out from the house across the lot, taking his time. When he saw the tussle at the enclosure, he realized it was more serious. Weak woman seeking strength from the male. He took a minute to call Arnie on his tractor in the sorghum field, warning him trouble was brewing at the sacred enclosure, then put all his strength into moving Elaine away from the door. With the elder and Gail Ruesselmann pushing, they were able to keep the door shut long enough for the elder to snap the padlock into place.
“Woman, whoever you are I command you in Jesus’ name to get away from that door,” Pastor Nabo thundered.
Elaine turned and spat. “I am not part of your stupid church with its sexist rules. I don’t believe women are supposed to sit around twiddling their twats while men tell them what to do, so unlock that door, buster.”
Arnie rolled up on his tractor in time to see Elaine spit. He jumped down, not even bothering to turn off the engine, and ran to the enclosure. “Has she been inside? Has she spoiled the heifer?”
“No, Brother Schapen. It took three of us, but we managed to keep her out.” The elder was panting, wiping sweat from his face with a tissue.
“You’re on private property, you drunken slut!” Arnie recognized Elaine from all the years she’d been hanging around the bars in the county. He’d even run her in more than once himself for disorderly conduct. “I have the right to admit whoever I want to see my calf, and no drunk liberal feminazi is going to come on my land, insulting my faith and violating my rules. If you don’t want to be arrested for trespass, you’d better leave right now.”
“Nazi yourself,” Elaine shouted. “You little tin-pot Hitler, don’t you go telling me what to do.”
She lay down in the mud in front of the door, knocking the elder out of the way as she toppled over. All of the people who’d been in the kitchen with Pastor Nabo were surrounding the calf’s enclosure now. There were around two dozen of them, about a third men, and a number of teens with their ubiquitous cell phones. The kids began taking pictures of Elaine, roaring with laughter at the sight of her giant thighs sinking into the mud, and e-mailing them to their friends.
“This is a lie-in, for all you kiddies who weren’t yet born in the sixties. It’s how we protested injustice back then, and it’s how I’m protesting it now. You can’t bar women from this calf. Join me! Let’s get our rights out here.”
Arnie was turning purple with fury. He started to scream at Elaine, then bit off the words. He got back on his tractor and drove across the lot to his SUV, where he stored his deputy sheriff’s gear.
Myra, returning from delivering raw milk to the Wieser farm, saw Arnie pull his handcuffs from the back of the SUV. She hurried to his side.
“It’s this damned drunk,” Arnie fumed to his mother. “I’ve run her in a dozen times over the years, but the liberals at Grelliers’ church encourage her to drink and carry on, just so she can thumb her nose at law and order in this county and make me look like I’m the bad guy. I’ve had it! This is my land, and she follows my rules or she gets her fat ass slung into jail!”
He ran back to the calf’s enclosure, Myra following as fast as she could. When Arnie reached the teepee, he could hear Elaine singing “We Shall Overcome,” off-key and missing some of the main phrases. He shoved through the circle of onlookers and knelt next to her to put the cuffs on her.
“Brother Schapen!” Pastor Nabo spoke so commandingly that Arnie looked up. The pastor jerked his head significantly toward the rear of the crowd. Arnie, lips tight with fury, stepped away from the onlookers.
“Brother Schapen, people are taking pictures, e-mailing them, and there’s a reporter here for the County Herald besides. I don’t think it will do our cause good to spread a picture of you arresting this—this creature—around the world. My advice is to let her lie there, ignore her. She’ll get tired of being cold and dirty soon enough if no one pays attention to her.”
“But, Pastor, she’s been living over with that lesbian witch the last few weeks. And I know she took part in their bonfires. Having her this close to Nasya—she’s completely committed to Satan’s cause! She could do permanent harm to the calf!”
“Arresting her will give fuel to our enemies,” Nabo objected. “At least while these visitors are here. Wait for them to leave. We can do what we want if no one’s recording it, but if the Jews think we’ve done something to put Nasya at risk who knows what they might do.”
Arnie slapped the handcuffs against his thigh, trying to make up his mind. His mother arrived and pushed her way through the gaping visitors. Myra was decisive and commanding. Maybe she’d figure out some way to get that disgusting woman off their land.
He followed his mother back to the door of the enclosure and heard her start to harangue Elaine. Elaine had shut her eyes and was singing, “Jesus loves me, this I know, / He makes my brown shit white as snow.”
“Don’t add to your problems by taking the Lord’s name in vain,” Myra clacked.
Elaine opened her eyes and looked up. She started to say something, and then suddenly seemed to recognize Myra.
“Murderess! Get away from me. Don’t try to preach to me, you murdering whore. You killed my baby. I saw you dancing around the fire, laughing your head off!”
Forty
A GIRL’S “FRIEND”
AS THE PILGRIMAGES to the heifer showed no signs of letup, most area churches began discussing what Nasya meant. Was she a miracle, a portent, or an abused animal? Even Pastor Albright, at Riverside United Church of Christ, preached about her at the eleven o’clock service:
The Word of God according to the prophet Hosea: “I desire goodness, not sacrifice; Obedience to God, rather than burnt offerings…They have made them molten images, idols, by their skill, from their silver, wholly the work of craftsmen. Yet for these they appoint men to sacrifice. They are wont to kiss calves!”
When I was preparing today’s sermon, I had to keep remindi
ng myself that Jesus was telling me that I could only cast the first stone if I was without sin myself. And if you in the congregation don’t know it, my wife can surely tell you that I am definitely not free of sin!
A ripple of laughter ran through the congregation at Riverside United as Pastor Albright continued:
So I’m not going to stand here and tell you that our Christian brothers and sisters are kissing calves out at the Schapen farm, or acting like harlots, or any of the other abominations that Hosea spells out. You know, when I read the Book of Hosea I am uncomfortably aware that the Bible is not suitable reading for young children.
The congregation laughed again, and Pastor Albright went on in his conversational style to talk about sacrifice, and what it meant.
We believe with Paul that when Jesus sacrificed Himself on the cross, it was once and for all time a complete sacrifice for mankind. It means we no longer have to offer literal burnt animals to the Lord, because Jesus shed His blood for all of us. But He also left us some pretty stern commandments. He told us that the most important commandment was to worship God with all our hearts, and, right behind that, to love our neighbor as ourselves. And I can’t help wondering how much of that neighborly love is going on in our community these days.
Jim, sitting next to Lara near the back of the church, let the words flow over him without registering them. He couldn’t seem to notice anything around him these days. Even the crowds that continued to chew up the gravel on the county road, spreading dust into the Grellier house as they raced to Schapens’, scarcely existed for him as he struggled with his silent, withdrawn wife.
The worry churned round in Jim’s head as Pastor Albright spoke on the hubris of supposing we know what’s in God’s mind. “Does God want war? Does He want us to rebuild the Temple? We can only study Scripture and pray for guidance. We can’t presume to say with certainty, ‘We are doing exactly what God wants.’”
Jim didn’t know anymore if he agreed or disagreed with Pastor Albright and the board of directors on anything. He’d been opposed to Riverside’s war resolution, when the directors prayerfully announced the church’s opposition to the war in Iraq, but it was clear now that they’d been right and he’d been wrong. Would Chip still be alive if Jim had agreed with Susan, if he’d opposed the war, too?
Lara nudged him: the collection plate was being passed in front of him. The sermon had ended, and he hadn’t noticed.
A dozen times in the last week, he’d picked up the phone to call Gina: “This is Jim Grellier. You doing okay? Susan’s home from the hospital, and the social worker says it would do her good for her friends to visit her. Could you stop by?” He kept rehearsing his careful words, because what he really wished was that Gina would come visit him. Each time he pressed the SPEED DIAL button, he put the phone down before it started ringing, afraid he wouldn’t be able to mask his neediness if Gina answered.
He knew Elaine Logan was still camping out at Fremantles’, because most days he saw her standing by the train tracks, thumbing a ride into town. With all the people driving to Schapens’, it seemed someone was usually willing to stop for her. Jim couldn’t bring himself to talk to her, let alone give her a lift—the shame and anger he’d felt the night he found Elaine on Gina’s doorstep still felt like a physical pain around his heart.
Curly, back at work, told Jim about the scene at Schapens’ farm, when Elaine accused Myra of killing her baby. Curly said it took six men to get Elaine to her feet. He said the Herald reporter had coaxed Elaine to ride into town, promising the paper would investigate if Elaine gave them all the details. The reporter had gone through all the unsolved child murders for the last forty years but hadn’t found any that might plausibly connect Myra and Elaine and a baby.
Jim had been ashamed with himself for listening to the whole story, knowing that all he really wanted was for Curly to mention Gina’s name. But of course Gina hadn’t played any role in Elaine’s drama. And not even Curly knew what Gina was up to, although he did report that she kept poking around in the ruins of the old bunkhouse.
“They’re getting ready for another bonfire, you know,” he’d told Jim. “For Halloween. Maybe Susan would like to take part in it, give her something to be interested in.”
Blitz had silenced Curly with a ferocious glare, but in a moment of gallows humor Jim had thought maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. He could drive Susan over. It would be something more fun for her than farm accounts.
Even though Gina didn’t come, or even call, several members of K-PAW did drive out one evening after their weekly meeting. Susan couldn’t seem to remember who they were or what the protest was about. They finally left, with little chirping admonitions of “Peace,” like the hippies used to say back in the sixties. Jim asked them if Gina was still part of their anti-war movement, and Oscar Herschel, the ringleader, said, “Oh, yes. She doesn’t make it to meetings very often, but she’s still committed to the cause.”
Jim was trying hard not to take his anxieties out on his daughter the way he had earlier in the fall when Susan was collapsing, but he couldn’t cope with the way she kept vanishing. He worried that she was sneaking into the heifer’s pen, trying to jeopardize Arnie’s big success. And even though she swore she hadn’t crawled into the enclosure again, he could tell she was lying, or at any rate concealing something. At least she had stopped failing her classes at school. She wasn’t doing well, not the honor-roll work she’d produced her freshman year, but Rachel Carmody had assured him that at least Lara was going through the motions these days.
His daughter poked him again; once more, he returned to the present with a jolt. The service had ended, and everyone was getting up. Jim might as well have stayed in bed, for all the attention he’d paid. Low-pitched laughter and conversation floated around him. Pastor Natalie, the associate who was trained in pastoral counseling, came over, as the other clergy took up their posts by the door.
“When can I visit Susan?” she asked Jim.
“She’s not doing well with visitors right now, Natalie.”
“That’s what I hear. If you don’t mind, I’d like to see her. We miss her around here. Is Wednesday afternoon good for you? You’re out near that miracle calf, aren’t you?”
“The miracle calf is near us,” Lara said. “I want to charge Arnie Schapen a dollar for every car that goes by because I’m the one cleaning off the dust they spread all over our house.”
“Have you seen it?” Pastor Natalie asked.
Lara clasped her hands and assumed an expression of total sanctity. “Girls aren’t allowed in. Didn’t you know our menstrual blood might make the calf start hemorrhaging or something?”
“Lulu! Enough.”
Jim felt his face burning, embarrassed at his daughter’s language, despite Pastor Natalie’s spurt of laughter. Natalie looked at him, her laughter turning to sorrow and pity. Rachel Carmody had given him a similar look when he came into church this morning. He was a Grellier, damn it all, not an object of pity. If this was how people were going to treat him, he’d stop coming to church.
“You do what you think you need to do, Natalie.” He turned away. “Lulu—pancakes today?”
It was their old Sunday ritual, which they hadn’t followed since Chip’s death, pancakes after church. Jim waited tensely, afraid Lara would turn him down and disappear on her mysterious errands, but after a brief hesitation, when he saw her look at her watch, she agreed.
They walked over to the river before getting into Jim’s truck. The church had originally been built during a drought cycle; it wasn’t until the first time the Kaw overflowed its banks that the settlers realized their mistake. The second building was set back from the river’s bank; the church planted a peace garden between the new building and the river.
Lara ran her fingers through the dry lavender flowers. “Dad, you know it’ll be a good thing for Pastor Natalie to see Mom. One of these days, someone is going to say the right thing to Mom, the thing that will make her come back to
life. Like the prince in ‘Sleeping Beauty.’”
“So I’m not really a prince—is that what you’re saying?—because my kisses don’t have any magic to them?”
Lara blushed and snapped off a piece of lavender. It was when she bent over the plant that Jim noticed the hickey on her neck. So someone was kissing her, that was where she was flitting off to. He felt a further abandonment as well as worry. Who could she be seeing that she didn’t want to tell him about?
All through lunch, he tried to summon up the language to talk to her about it. It wasn’t until they were heading back to the farm that Jim said, “Lulu, you’re too young for sex. I’m afraid if I ask you, you’ll lie to me. So I’m just going to say—if that’s become part of your life, will you promise to be responsible?” He kept his eyes on the road but was aware of her looking at him, her dark eyes large, her cheeks crimson. “You know what that means, right? You—you take steps to see that you’re—” He stumbled over the words. “Safe sex. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“Dad, please. I can’t. It isn’t like that. We just hang out,” she whispered. “How did you know I was—”
“I didn’t just fall off a turnip truck, baby,” he said when she couldn’t finish the sentence. “Why don’t you want me to know his name? Is it someone—Oh! Robbie Schapen, of course. That’s why Arnie didn’t skin your ass when you were in his manger!”
“Dad! Mr. Schapen doesn’t know. He’ll kill Robbie if he finds out. You can’t tell him. Promise you won’t tell him!”
“You two are playing with fire, if you think someone won’t see you and rat on you. But, of course, I won’t talk to Arnie. Maybe as long as these crowds keep up, he won’t notice anything. Bring Robbie to the house, though: don’t go sneaking off with him in your pickup.”
They’d reached home. She dashed inside, still scarlet around the ears. Robbie Schapen. He wasn’t Jim’s first choice for his daughter, not that family with their violent religion, their dislike of women, not to mention their hatred for Jim himself. But he couldn’t forbid Lara from seeing Robbie. Then she’d become even more secretive. And, anyway, he couldn’t face any more friction in his family. As long as there were no pregnancies, no bad diseases. If she made it to twenty-one without those, without getting killed on the Kansas highways, or fleeing to a distant war—
Bleeding Kansas Page 33
