Darkness upon the Land

Alexia looked out the window yet again while continuing her vigil at her mother’s bedside. When Reuben got back from town early that afternoon, his greeting to her was “Esperanza’s gone to the dark side.” Then he explained his remark by telling her everything that happened in town. When he left again to dispose of the bodies, she didn’t know just how he was going to accomplish that job and didn’t ask.

What if this was it? What if this really was the end of the world? Why did this have to happen in her lifetime? Didn’t she have enough problems just being a freak? It was disheartening to consider she might have a short life that would amount to nothing.

Alexia looked over at her mother. “It’s not your fault.”

Ah, now that was a different tune from the concerto of accusations she’d been composing for the past three years. Born a biochemical freak, she spent all of her childhood sheltered under Mѐre’s supervision. Her experience was limited to learning how to keep a self-sufficient home, and her social life was confined to the observations of the parish. There was no television. The computer was used only for research and her homeschooling. And, despite snippets about the outside world she heard from others or her stepfather cajoled her with, she had been happy with her life.

Then adolescence descended, and her “ability” began to manifest. Although it started out as a simple matter of popping light bulbs and causing interference with electronics, Mѐre immediately insisted Alexia should never divulge her new idiosyncrasy to anyone.

She already knew she was descended from a line of traiteurs, folk healers in the Cajun tradition, whose specialty was reducing tumors and breaking up growths. None of them had affected inanimate objects, however, although there was some speculation that the power they had always attributed to God might have a biological basis that manifested intensely through her. The hopeful idea occurred to her that she might be able to use this energy to save lives. But Mѐre ground that aspiration underfoot.

Not only had legislation cracked down on anyone practicing any form of healthcare without a medical license, she would never be able to obtain that license and use her talent. The people “in authority” would not allow anyone as unique as her to minister to the masses. They would want to control whom she healed, and they would want to learn how to duplicate her ability in order to use it to fulfill their own goals.

But the force of the energy grew, and its effects upon her became more threatening. She could knock over chairs and fried two computers, but an outburst that large caused her physical weakening. It was that endangerment that goaded Mѐre to seek help from neuroscientist Dr. Vaughn – whom she apparently knew from her colligate days before her ill-fated marriage to Alexia’s father.

At first it didn’t make sense to seek help for a neurological problem, but then she learned these manifestations were actually the result of the unique neural pathways in her brain working in conjunction with her biochemistry.

Great. She was a freak twice over.

Dr. Vaughn’s focus was on studying how the brain could adapt new pathways when the established ones were destroyed by disease or injury. Reuben’s talent for using his memory as compensation for the inability to read offered the researcher intriguing possibilities on what alternatives folks were capable of. Alexia wasn’t sure what he hoped to learn about her capability, but he promised the studies would be used to help her learn how to suppress the outbursts.

Living at the university also gave her access to a world she had been isolated from. At first she was startled by a pervading culture that dismissed much of what Mѐre and the Church espoused. But then she began to see herself as one of the marginalized people, categorized that way by her own mother. She couldn’t “be herself.” She had to live a lie. And her resentment grew as Mѐre tried to impose more restrictions to isolate her again.

Reuben was probably an answer to her mother’s prayers, although none of them would have believed that initially. His forthrightness and dutifulness made him an excellent guardian to keep an eye on Alexia, which she would have resented even more if he wasn’t so amiable. And even though he had his bouts of paranoia, he was lax compared to Mѐre’s delusional apprehension.

But now, as her mother seemed to be poised somewhere between life and death, she wished she could take back all the snooty remarks, all the accusations, and all the put-offs she’d liberally fired. She tried not to bargain with God, but did find herself repeatedly asking for her mom’s recovery so that she could apologize. If only her trust that He would actually respond wasn’t so shaky.

Henry barked. When he barked a second time she got to her feet and stepped over to the window. The Brittany was looking toward the road, and then he turned away and barked over his shoulder one last time as he headed toward the back of the house.

Alexia’s heart started to pound and she immediately tried to calm herself. Reuben had taken the rifle with him when he left to dispose of the bodies, but at least he had returned and was in the back yard to split some wood before chore time. Just as she decided to step out the back door to be sure he knew somebody was coming, she spied the two riders on their bicycles round the bend of the road.

Her spirits rose. There was no mistaking Father Nick in his black clerical vestment.

She strode out the bedroom, through the living room, and out the front door. Alexia waved as she hurried across the galerie and met the two men in the middle of the yard.

Father Nicolas LeBlanc smiled warmly at her as he stopped the maroon bike and straddled it. “Well hello there! I heard the good news you’d made it back home.”

Her spirits faltered slightly. “Thank you for coming, Father.” She nodded at the priest’s gray-haired, dark-skinned companion, who in times past would have been called a “Creole” by the Cajuns because of his mostly African ancestry. “And thank you, Deacon. I just wish we didn’t need you because of the bad news.”

“It’s still a blessing you made it back here,” Deacon Bernard Joliet replied.

Father Nick asked, “How is your mother?”

“The same, I’m afraid. She’s barely conscious, just enough to drink some water or tea or broth. Otherwise she doesn’t seem to even notice we’re there.”

He nodded solemnly. His light brown hair was a little windblown, and his dark blue eyes seemed to shimmer with a touch of sadness before they brightened again with his usual jovial warmth.

“We just heard she was badly hurt,” the deacon stated. “What happened?”

“Somebody beat her up and she was shot. So far as we can tell the bullet didn’t really get into her, but it did break some ribs. She lost a lot of blood.”

Both men suddenly looked past Alexia and the priest raised his right hand in greeting. She turned and saw Reuben approaching them, his own hand also raised. He had changed into his hiking boots and the shorts still stained from their flight across the Baton Rouge bridge, but his torso was bare from his job of wood splitting. The rifle hung from its strap slung over his shoulder.

She glanced back to the other men. “Do you remember Reuben?”

Father Nick nodded but the deacon thoughtfully shook his head.

“As soon as Louise told me who he was, I remembered he’s come to a few Masses with you and your mom,” Father commented.

“Hello! Glad to see you!” Reuben began speaking before he quite reached Alexia. “I had no idea if you’d make it here today or not.”

She introduced him to the deacon, and he shook hands with both men before adjusting the strap across his shoulder.

“Pardon the rifle.” He shrugged. “When I saw the dog looking for somewhere to hide I wasn’t sure who I was going to find out here.”

“Quite understandable.” Deacon Bernard nodded. “In fact, since you showed me yours, I guess I’d better show you mine.” He pushed back the light blue windbreaker he was wearing and exposed the shoulder holster with its small pistol. “Father here won’t carry a gun, but he doesn’t complain a bit that I bring mine.”

Reuben arched an eyebrow. “You know, there’s at least a couple of goons back in Esperanza who would be more than happy to relieve you of that.”

The deacon’s grin had a touch of mischievousness. “They have to think I have one, first.”

The priest regarded Reuben seriously. “Have you had a run-in?”

“Yeah, but we can talk about that later. I heard Alex was updating you on Liana when I showed up.”

Both men stepped to the sides of their bicycles and engaged the kickstands while she continued to tell what she knew. Father Nick removed a somewhat bulgy tote bag that was strapped to the handlebars, which he opened and glanced inside. But when she relayed the part about the attackers returning and how Reuben had to dispose of them, his gaze shot to her and then drifted to her partner.

“Did you report this in town today?” Father asked him.

“My run-in made me decide not to.”

“Good.”

“Father?” Alexia was perplexed by the priest’s response.

“I’ll explain later.” He nodded toward the house. “I presume you’d like me to administer the sacrament of Anointing?”

“I’m sure Mѐre would want that.”

“Is there somewhere we can wash up first?”

“We’ve got a basin in both the kitchen and bathroom.”

“I’ll meet you in her room,” Reuben excused himself as he preceded them to the galerie, but then trotted up the stairs to his room while the rest of them went inside the house.

When they entered the bedroom after the two men washed their hands, Father Nick gracefully but purposefully strode to Mѐre’s bedside. He set the tote bag toward the foot of her bed and leaned with his ear near her mouth while grasping her wrist.

“How is she?” The deacon asked after he stood on the other side of the bed for about half a minute.

Father frowned slightly. “Pulse seems a little slow.” With the thumb of his other hand he pushed up one of her eyelids and studied the pupil.

Reuben, wearing a purple, button-down shirt, entered the room and strode toward them. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”

“Just what I remember from Boy Scouts,” he muttered before he straightened and lightly tugged on the side of Mѐre’s cover while glancing at Alexia. “May I?”

“If you think you can help, by all means. You are on the side of the wound.” She reached over and gingerly pulled back on the covers to expose Mѐre’s bandaging while trying to keep the rest of her mother draped. She noticed that the deacon took a sudden interest in a painting of a pastoral landscape on the other wall.

Reuben also seemed to rediscover the artwork even though he was the one who originally tended to her mother. She heard him ask the deacon, “So were you ever in Boy Scouts?”

“Yeah, but I never made it to Eagle like Father did,” he replied. “How about you?”

“Not under my circumstances.”

“That so? What might that be?”

“Well ... that’s kind’ve a long story for right now.”

“Nice work,” Father Nick commented as he felt around the bandaging. “Whom do I compliment?”

She nodded toward Reuben. “I just copied what he did when I changed it this morning.”

“You both seem to be doing the best you can with her.” He nodded and straightened again to help her arrange the covers back over Mѐre. “At least she’s not running a fever and I can’t find any sign of infection. But she is in shock.”

Alexia sighed. “That is our biggest worry right now.”

“I’d say I wish I could do more,” he replied, “but the fact I can’t shows how good a job you’re doing, and that’s a very positive thing. So I guess I might as well get to liturgical business.”

They cleared the nightstand which was on the side near the window, and the priest removed a small leather case from the bag. He set the sack on the window sill and opened the case.

Reuben stood at the foot of the bed while Deacon Bernard stationed himself on the side of the bed opposite Father Nick. The priest then set out a few items including a crucifix, a silver flask she knew contained holy water, and a square, cloth-covered case that held the Communion wafers.

She had never witnessed the Anointing of the Sick before, and when Father Nick placed a purple stole around his neck she glanced at Reuben.

He had known next to nothing about Catholicism when they first met, so his associating that color with God had been by his own design. And now that the priest stood before her with the Divine purple draped over his shoulders, she winced on the inside. Just moments ago she had wrestled with doubting there would be a positive answer to her prayers, and now it almost seemed an aura of holiness had overtaken the desolate hopelessness that pervaded this room earlier.

The deacon and Alexia kneeled when Father Nick kneeled and stood when he stood, but Reuben remained standing and also didn’t make the sign of the cross when they did, which was no surprise to her. He always refrained from the peculiarly Catholic observances. As a heartfelt advocate of religious freedom, however, he never took offense at being included. He did chorus “Amen” with the others as the priest recited prayers from a small handbook only occasionally glanced at.

After Father applied sacramental oil to her mom’s forehead and hands, Reuben participated in the Lord’s Prayer, which he always did, but refrained from the other responses leading to the celebration of the Eucharist. The priest placed a very small corner of a wafer into her mother’s mouth, and then gave a wafer to Alexia and Deacon Bernard. When he turned to look at Reuben, the younger man immediately folded his arms in an “X” over his chest because he had learned that was the sign to declare one wasn’t a candidate for Communion.

“I can give you a blessing,” Father Nick replied without a missing a beat.

She knew he was already aware of this, and always abstained. So it was a surprise when he seemed to think about the priest’s offer for a couple of seconds before responding, “I’ll take all the blessings I can get.”

They stepped toward each other, and Father Nick placed his right hand upon Reuben’s head. The blessing was quick and he resumed the rest of the ceremony. When he finished the sacrament and returned the equipment to the case, Alexia thanked him.

“If Mѐre can tell at all that you’re here, I’m sure she’s grateful too.” She added.

“I’m sure she’s probably hearing everything.” He smiled kindly. “And even though you haven’t been able to find a doctor for her, never doubt your faith that she can still be healed.” He glanced back and forth between her and Reuben. “Don’t overlook the fact it is a miracle you two showed up when you did.”

“It would’ve been better if we’d gotten here a day sooner,” she muttered, and then wished she hadn’t.

“Would it?” His attention focused on her. “Sometimes what seems so clear to us mere mortals really isn’t part of our Lord’s design. That’s not to say the attack on your mother was part of God’s will, because something like that never is. But with His infinite grace there may be a better good that can be brought about, which we may or may not realize in our lifetimes.” He smiled gently. “We’ve been struck with the Chinese curse to live in interesting times. It’s what we do with this time we’re stuck in that can further His purpose for our world.”

Her conscience cringed again.

“So you had some news from town?” Reuben asked as the priest closed the case and slipped it back into the tote bag.

He nodded. “Let’s go into another room where we can all sit down. The two of you should know the attack on Liana might not have been a random act of violence.”