THE 1999 WADE EDWARDS
SHORT FICTION CONTEST

   A PROJECT OF THE WADE EDWARDS FOUNDATION  RALEIGH, N.C.   WWW.WADE.ORG

First Place Winner

Bearing the Bitter Cross

by

Kristin Denise Payne

The day I laid my parents in the ground was the day I lost my mind. Maybe it was that day, or maybe it was the day I got the phone call, or maybe it was the day David cut his finger and I automatically yelled for my mother, only to find my screams met by cold, dead silence stretching across infinity. I don't quite remember--the past year has been an endless, unsympathetic hell.

On this day of days, this miraculous wonder they call Christmas, I stand alone before the graves of the two most precious souls that ever graced this earth. Celebrating the birth of the Lord Jesus Christ, Savior and Light of the world? No, I am mourning the death of my parents. Light of the world, why don't You shine Your Light on me? 0 Great Resurrected One, resurrect my parents, why don't you?

This afternoon, David had another seizure, resulting in another bruise on my arm because he didn't like me trying to prevent him from swallowing his tongue. David has Prader-Willi Syndrome, a condition characterized by mental retardation, and he is prone to sporadic, often violent seizures. Sometimes, as I'm trying to suppress his large, nine-year-old frame, I wonder why God chose me to have the "special" brother. His spurts of loud, uncontrollable laughter and ceaseless accidents often annoy me. But there are the sweet priceless moments when he stares up at me with his precious, angelic eyes and plants a wet, sloppy kiss on my cheek. He and Amy are the reason I find the strength to get out of the bed every morning.

My parents were killed in a car accident last New Year's Eve. They were ripped from our lives when an intoxicated teenager crossed the yellow line. Aside from my elderly grandfather, we have no family. So three days after my parents' funeral, the state sent an attorney who did his professional best to remain emotionally uninvolved and efficiently inform me that David and Amy were to be sent to separate foster homes. After Pontius Pilate washed his hands of the situation, he left me standing in the living room with a two-year-old on my hip and unbearable pain in my heart. Being only seventeen, I was "incapable of properly caring for David and Amy." I found it ironic that these potential foster parents could possibly care for my brother and sister better than I could. After all, did they know that David wouldn't go to bed without his nightly bowl of Frosted Cheerios and episode of the Rugrats? Did they know what to do when he started banging his head against the wall? Could they fix Amy's pancakes the way I did, with the chocolate chips lined up in a heart on top?

Fortunately, I turned eighteen on February 8, and even the court, with its emotionally destitute lawyers, couldn't cut through the red-tape bureaucracy of the legal system in that amount of time. I was deemed legal guardian of David and Amy on March 3.

I often ponder that day, and wonder if I realized the task I was taking on. The money from my trust fund, along with money and assets I inherited from my parents' will, provided us with a steady income until I graduated in June. I searched for a daycare that Amy could attend. I could not bear to take her to the daycare at my father's work-, every time I passed his office the harsh reality of their deaths pierced my heart. I discovered a small, reasonably priced childcare center, owned and operated by a local church. It was clean, safe, and the people were exceptionally understanding of my situation. They seemed to genuinely care about Amy's welfare, which was my sole concern.

While I was at school, David stayed with my mother's best friend, Emma. She watched David while my parents were alive. She loved David, and cared for him almost as well as we did.

I planned on attending the University of Virginia and becoming a pediatrician. I applied for several scholarships during the fall of my senior year. Two weeks before my parents' death I received an early admissions acceptance letter from UVA.

My whole world dropped from beneath me when my parents died. For weeks I had a difficult time grasping reality. I couldn't even perform the basic functions of living; I didn't eat, I didn't sleep, I didn't cry, I just sat there. When I looked in the mirror, I saw no soul in my eyes--there was just a corpse, as if I had died with my parents. I felt that if I succumbed to my grief I would fall so far that I would never recover.

As if my own grief weren't enough to destroy me, I had two young children to placate. I worried about the pain they felt, but my own heart was annihilated. Even now, every day is a struggle; I feel like the pain is going to consume me. The injustice overwhelms me. What about my life? What about what I want? I love David and Amy more than life itself, but I'm paying the ultimate sacrifice.

The smallest things infuriate me. David spilled his drink yesterday, and I practically went insane. The poor boy was horrified, and as I berated him, all I could see was Mom in his eyes. How can you treat your brother this way, Mariel? He needs you, Amy needs you, and I need you to raise these children. And I keep thinking, why me? Why, God, did you pick me? Thanks for Your eternal blessings, but You can keep them.

". . . and Mrs. Robertson says that it's 'kay to like my presents Santa Clause brung me, but the real reason for Christmas is 'cuz it's Jesus' birthday."

Amy had been babbling ceaselessly for the entire car ride home about her teacher at daycare, Helen Robertson. "Granny Robertson," as she had affectionately been deemed by "her children," was somewhere between sixty and eighty(though some say she had actually helped Noah build the ark), the petite wife of Pastor Robertson, and the sweetest, most spiritual woman in Christiansburg, Virginia. I appreciated her avid interest in Amy's spiritual life, but the child was three years old and hardly ready for religion. Hey, I'm eighteen and I'm not even ready for religion!

As a child, I remember attending Sunday school at the local Baptist church, but my parents were not devout Christians. We believed in God, put our fair share in the collection plate, and occasionally leafed through not so well worn Bibles. At times I question what it would be like to have an unshakable faith in some Supreme Being. How can a God that loves His children as immensely as "our" God take my parents from me, rip my life from beneath my feet, and leave me to be so empty and bitter?

"So, can I go? Huh, Mariel? Can I go? Please, please, please..." Amy's insistent begging cut through my rambling thoughts.

"What? Go where?"

"Mrs. Robertson's party. All my friends are goin'. Purty please, Mariel? Mrs. Robertson says that we need to start the year off night and be with our good Christian friends."

"Sweetie, do you even know what a Christian is?"

"Mrs. Robertson says--"

"I don't care what Mrs. Robertson says!" I exploded. "What do you think a Christian is?"

"Emma says that a Christian is someone who loves God and goes to church, and puts dollar bills 'stead of quarters in the church plate." I had nearly forgotten David was sitting in the back, until he piped up from behind his chocolate fudgecicle. Great. Just what I need--another God-fearin, self-righteous Southern Baptist informing my brother of the social etiquette of morality. As much as I love Emma, she has strong ideas about everything, ideas that inadvertently influence David.

"David, putting money in the collection plate doesn't make you a Christian." I glanced at his chubby, chocolate-stained face in the rear-view mirror as he smiled contentedly at me.

"Mrs. Robertson says I can be a Christian if I ask Jesus to come into my heart.

But how's he gonna fit in there, Mary?" Amy's pigtails bobbed as she turned to face me.

"Amy, Jesus doesn't really come into your heart. It's just a metaphor."

"What's a meckafor?" she asked, obviously perplexed.

"Metaphor. Nothin', honey, it's nothin'." I replied.

"And she says that Jesus died on the cross to save me for my fins and I can go to Heaven and be with Him if I ask. But I don't have no fins, and what's He savin' me for? I ain't in no trouble."

Amy was incredibly smart for her age, but she retained the curious innocence of a three-year-old. I couldn't help but laugh.

"Amy, Jesus will save you from your sins, not fins, and no, you're not in any trouble."

"So I can go? Please, please, please?"

"To Heaven?!" I asked incredulously.

"No, silly. To the party!"

"Oh, okay. You can go," I sighed, "but from now on, I don't want to hear anymore about what Mrs. Robertson says, all right?"

"All right. Thanks, Mary, you're my best favorite sister ever!"

Suddenly, David leaned against my seat.

"Mariel, how come we don't go to church for? I like singin' them songs at Christmas time. We ain't Christians, Mary, 'cuz we don't never go to church, right?"

Enough was enough.

"David, I don't know and I don't care if we're Christians, got it? And if you wanna sing songs you can do it at home. We don't need church, and I'm sick of hearin' about it, okay?"

David lowered his head. "Okay, Mary. I won't say no more."

No, we didn't need the church. Sure, the gifts and food they sent when mom and dad died were helpful, and at times, I thought I actually appreciated their prayers. But we could get by without them, and I was beginning to think we'd be fine without God. He seemed to be more trouble than He was worth. I would allow Amy to attend the party--what harm could it do? But I intended to talk to Mrs. Robertson as soon as possible about her spiritual guidance of my baby sister.

"I'll pick you up at seven, okay Amy?" I watched as she toddled happily after two of her daycare friends. The party had already begun and she was eager to join the festivities.

"We can speak in my little office if you'd like." Mrs. Robertson turned to me and smiled. "It's not much, but I'm sure it will suffice."

"Sure." I followed her into a small nook adjacent to the main playroom. Flowers, smiling photographs, and cheerful finger-paints overwhelmed me. The happiness was stifling. She offered me a seat at a small round table and took the one across from me. I was completely stunned when she took my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

"How are you?" she asked, her voice mirroring the genuine compassion her eyes revealed. Just like that--how are you. No formalities, no "what can I do for you," nothing.

"I, I, I'm fine, thank you." I replied, withdrawing my hand from hers.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" Her question startled me. I was not accustomed to such familiarity from someone who was practically a stranger. It was disturbing, as if she was trying to penetrate my innermost thoughts.

"I, well, uh, we're fine. Actually, I'm not here to discuss myself, Mrs. Robertson. It's Amy I'm concerned about."

"Please, dear, call me Granny, everybody does. Now, has something happened to upset Amy?"

Granny, indeed. Mrs. Robertson would do just fine.

"Quite frankly, Mrs. Robertson, I am concerned with what you're teaching Amy. Granted, this daycare is operated by the church, and I understand that the children are going to learn Bible verses and such, but Amy frequently comes home talking about sins and salvation. She's three years old, ma'am, and certainly not prepared to deal with those topics.

"Ms. Jacobs, no child is too young to learn about the wonderful doings of our heavenly Father." She had apparently caught my insistence on formality. "Don't you want Amy to grow up a Christian?"

"Well, I suppose I do, but I'm perfectly capable of handling my sister's spiritual growth. In due time, I'll tell Amy everything she needs to know."

"I sense that you're not totally confident in wanting Amy to be a Christian. I hope I'm not probing, but may I ask why?" For some reason I found the concern in her eyes irritating.

"Mrs. Robertson, my parents went to church, and they took me to church when I was young. After my brother was born, our visits became rather sporadic, but they still taught us Bible stories and we prayed before dinner every night. I was raised to thank God for all He had given me. But the same God that showered me with blessings has taken them all away, save David and Amy. So if you sense a lack of faith in me, Mrs. Robertson, you're right on target." I hadn't intended to let the bitterness that often haunted my voice show, but it creeped up on me.

"I see." Her voice was barely above a whisper. She stood up and walked to the window that overlooked the play area. "May I tell you a story, Ms. Jacobs?"

Spare me. Another 'just pray about it and God will take care of everything anecdote. But I politely answered that it was fine.

"Have you ever been in love, Ms. Jacobs?"

Whoa, I did not expect that.

"Uh, no, not really, ma'am.

"Then I suppose you won't know exactly where I'm coming from, but the principle is the same." She continued, her slight frame turned away from me. "My first husband was command sergeant major in the army, an admirable position for someone so young. He was called to Korea in 1963. We had been married for seven years. We had a four year old son, and I was three months pregnant."

I wasn't sure where this was leading to, but I was intrigued. She turned to face me and I was shocked to find her eyes welling with tears.

"Two months after he left, our son was diagnosed with spinal meningitis. It destroyed his little body, and he died two weeks later. I was beyond distraught. I tried to contact my husband, but I received a letter informing me he was missing in action. The shock was too much; I lost the baby."

I knew my mouth was hanging open, but I couldn't help it. I hadn't known that Mrs. Robertson was even married before, and I had never heard of her horrible tragedy. She dropped back down onto the chair in front of me. Tears sprinkled her wrinkled cheeks.

I felt like dying with them. They were my life. How could God take them from me? How could He be so cruel? I nearly lost all faith in the Lord." She sighed. "I blamed Him for a long time."

I didn't know what to say. In my world of abysmal pain, it had never occurred to me that other people could possibly have gone through what I had.

"Ms. Jacobs, I'm not going to tell you that I know how you feel, and that everything's going to be okay. I'm not even going to tell you to pray about it. Hopefully, that will come, but for now I'm going to do the praying for you." She wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. "But God is with you, whether you want Him to be or not."

As much as I didn't want to admit it, something stiffed within me. For a brief second, I felt something akin to life within my heart. There was something about her acknowledging that she couldn't exactly identify with me that was comforting. I was thankful that she didn't expect for me to pray--I wouldn't know where to begin even if I wanted to. All the others who had tried to help me made me feel as if I was in debt to them for their sympathy, as if I was obliged to pray as a token of my appreciation for their own thoughts and prayers. But this interesting, little lady demanded nothing of me.

"I do hope that in time you will find peace, Ms. Jacobs. You and your family are always welcome in our church. As far as Amy is concerned, she will be exposed to some Biblical knowledge, but I will try to restrain from guiding her spiritually, as you feel that it is your responsibility." She smiled. "I hope that you will continue to allow Amy to stay with us; she is a delightful child."

I mustered a smile and wished that I hadn't been as formal with the lady as I had been. I couldn't get over the brief flash of emotion I had felt as she told me her story.

"Amy can stay, and I appreciate your time, ma'am." I rose from my chair, feeling awkward and as if I should say something more. After all, the woman had just shared a life-altering experience with me. She put me at ease, though, by politely opening the door and wishing me a good evening. I watched as she walked toward the group of children seated around one of the low tables and stooped to give them each a hug. Good evening to you too, Granny.

I was tucking Amy in for the night when it finally occurred to me what had been bothering me. In the three days since I had spoken to Mrs. Robertson, something had been troubling me, nagging me. I couldn't even put it into conscious thought, it was just an insistent blurb in some remote comer of my brain. Amy brought it to the front burner.

She was humming a tune that I vaguely recognized as I brushed her hair. It was a common lullaby, but I couldn't recall the name. Suddenly I remembered--Jesus Loves Me. Image after image flooded my mind. There I was, as a little girl, sitting in the bathtub as my mother washed my hair and sang Jesus Loves Me. My father dancing me around the room--Jesus loves the little children of the world. My mother, rocking me to sleep after a nightmare--God is right here with you, even though you can't see Him. Mrs. Robertson--God is with you, whether you want Him to be or not.

I dropped the brush and sank to my knees beside Amy. Hot tears streamed down my face.

"Whatsa matter, Mary?" Amy asked, raising a pudgy hand to my cheek. "Are you hurt?"

"No, precious." I whispered. "I'm just very confused."

"What's confused?"

I sighed. "I don't know what to do about something."

... Bout what?"

"Amy, you like your daycare, don't you?"

"Yeah, I like it a whole bunch."

"And you like Mrs. Robertson a whole bunch, too, right?"

"Sure do, by golly!"

I had to laugh. That was one of David's favorite expressions, and Amy, forever doting on her big brother, had picked it up.

"How would you like to go to church at the daycare?" I asked.

"Yeah! All my friends would be there!" Her eyes lit up.

"Now, hold on, Amy. I didn't say definitely, I just asked. We might not even go, I'm not sure."

"I'd like to. And David could sing them p@ songs he's always talkin' 'bout."

"Okay, I'll think about it. But you go to sleep, now, you hear?" I tucked the blankets around her and kissed her forehead.

"Okay, Mariel." She closed her heavy eyelids.

I tiptoed across the room and switched off the light.

"Mariel?"

Yes?"

"I love you."

I swallowed the huge lump in my throat. "I love you, too."

"Mariel, could you type this up for me?"

I looked up from my paperwork to find Dr. Reynolds standing at the door to my office with a sheet of yellow notebook paper in his hand.

"Sure, I'll get right on it." I smiled and took the paper from him. He often preferred to write his letters on notebook paper instead of dictating them to me as several of the other doctors in his practice did.

Dr. Stephen Reynolds was one of the three pediatricians that had established Christiansburg Pediatrics. He was young, kind, and rather informal. The latter made my job as his personal secretary relatively easy. Although clerical work was not my chosen occupation, it was as close as I was going to get to being a pediatrician, at least until I could save enough money to pay my way through college. The salary wasn't overly generous, but it paid the bills and kept food on the table.

It had been a particularly hectic morning. The office was swarmed with the usual January head colds and coughs. The elementary schools were surely empty, because every child in Christiansburg under the age of ten was sitting in the outer office. The phone hadn't stopped ringing, and there was a huge stack of bills to be sent out. To make matters worse, I couldn't concentrate. I couldn't get Mrs. Robertson out of my head. I kept thinking about her offer--you and your family are always welcome in our church. I had thought about little else since talking to her. It bothered me that her story had such a profound effect on me, but I couldn't deny the fact that she had moved something within. I knew that David and Amy would love to go, but they didn't truly understand the significance of church. I wasn't sure that I was ready to even try going, but the idea seemed firmly embedded in my mind. As if that weren't enough, I now had a lengthy letter from Dr. Reynolds to type.

I had just started on the letter when the phone rang. As I was scheduling little Timothy Matthews an appointment, another call came in on line two. I asked Mrs. Matthews if she could hold, and answered the call.

"Good morning, Christiansburg Pediatrics, Dr. Reynold's office. May I help you?"

"Mariel?"

"Yes?" I wasn't use to personal calls at work.

"Mariel, it's Emma. I'm at Christiansburg Memorial Hospital. David's been in an accident."

I went numb. "What?"

"I don't have time to explain, honey. Just get down here."

"Wait! Wait! Emma, is he. . . I mean. . . ."

"I'll tell you when you get here. Just hurry!" With that, there was nothing but a dial tone.

I don't remember getting in my car or driving to the hospital. Suddenly I was just there. It was like I was outside myself, watching. I saw myself walk into the emergency room. It was exactly like when mom and dad died. Emma was there then, too. Emma met me at the door that time, too. Again, Emma set me down and explained to me what had happened. Only this time, I was lucky. David wasn't dead--yet.

Emma had been fixing David breakfast while he was playing in the living room. He was watching a cartoon and she didn't give much thought to how quiet he was being; David often became totally absorbed in television shows. She didn't hear the front door open and she didn't hear him slip on the ice that covered the front step. Only when he didn't come after she called him for breakfast did she discover him lying on the front porch. He had been knocked unconscious after hitting his head on the concrete step. She called an ambulance and David was still unconscious when they arrived at the hospital. He was being examined.

I was just thankful that he wasn't dead. I slowly felt myself return to reality. I was once again me, not an outsider watching me. I squeezed Emma's hand and assured her that it wasn't her fault.

"Is there anything I can do?" she asked.

"Actually, yeah. Could you go and pick Amy up? I know that she would want to be here."

"I'd be glad to."

"Just let me call the daycare and tell them that you're coming."

I rose from the couch, walked over to the payphone, and deposited thirty-five cents.

"Christiansburg Baptist Daycare, may I help you?"

"Mrs. Robertson?" Her voice was unmistakable.

"Yes?"

"This is Mariel Jacobs. My brother, David, has been in an accident and I'm at Christiansburg Memorial Hospital. I'm-" Before I could finish, I heard a gasp.

"Ms. Jacobs, I'm so terribly sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

"Well, I'm sending a friend of mine, Emma Harris, to pick Amy up. I'm sure she would want to be here. So if you could just have her ready. . . ."

"I can do better than that. Why don't you let me bring Amy to the hospital? There are plenty of people here to watch the children and I'd like for you to have someone there with you."

"Really, Mrs. Robertson, I don't want to inconvenience you. I'll just send-"

Nonsense. We'll be right there." Without another word, she hung up the phone.

I returned to where Emma was sitting, shaking my head.

"What?" she asked.

"I guess I won't need you to pick her up, after all. Her teacher's going to bring her down here."

Within minutes, Mrs. Robertson came walking through the door, Amy in her arms. Despite my frazzled mental state, I was surprised at Mrs. Robertson's strength--although not overweight, Amy wasn't light. She let Amy down and Amy came running for me. I could see that she had been crying. I lifted her up into my arms.

"Where's David?"

"He's with the doctor right now."

"Is he.. did he go away ... like mommy and daddy?"

"No, sweetie, he's still here."

"I'm scared, Mariel." Tears welled up in her big blue eyes.

"Me, too." I pulled her to me and stroked her blond curls.

"Ms. Jacobs, what happened? Is he okay?" Mrs. Robertson reached out and touched my arm.

"He fell and hit his head on a concrete step. He was knocked unconscious. The doctor hasn't came out yet, so I'm not sure how he's doing. And please, call me Mariel."

I sat down on the couch and placed Amy on my knee. Mrs. Robertson took my hand in her own. This time, I didn't withdraw it. I was going to tell her about considering her offer of going to church when a doctor stepped into the waiting room.

"Ms. Jacobs?" He scanned each of our faces.

"I'm Mariel Jacobs." I replied, shifting Amy from my knee to the couch.

"Your brother suffered a severe concussion. We're going to keep him overnight. He's not awake, but you may see him." He smiled grimly. "Your brother was very fortunate, Ms. Jacobs. The blow that he received ... well, let's just say Someone was watching out for him."

I hadn't realized that I was holding my breath until it all came out in a half-sob, half-sigh. Tears clouded my eyes, and despite my efforts, I couldn't hold them back. The words I uttered next shocked us all.

"Thank You God."

I didn't realize what I had said until I saw Mrs. Robertson and Amy both staring at me in awe. Had I actually thanked God The same God that took my parents from me? The same God that had abandoned me? That had robbed me of all happiness? It was the first time I had even acknowledged that He existed in a long time. And it occurred to me that the same God that I had been blaming for every injustice in the world was the same God that had just saved my little brother.

The gravity of it all hit me and I was overcome with uncontrollable sobs. Having never been a deeply religious person, the experience was incredible. I had been completely shutting God out of my life, not to mention David's and Amy's. At a time when we needed Him the most, I had pushed Him out and even denied His very existence. We did need Him, especially me. I wasn't sure that we needed the church, but it couldn't hurt to try.

Although I didn't know why, I felt amazingly calm. There was a sense of peace that I hadn't known in a long time. Slowly, a smile spread over my face.

I turned to Amy and scooped her off the couch. I reached for Mrs. Robertson's hand, and caught the bewildered expression on her face.

"Amy, remember the other night when I asked you if you would like to go to church at the daycare?"

"Yeah, I 'member."

"Well, how 'bout we go next Sunday?" I watched as Mrs. Robertson's mouth dropped open, then turned to an exuberant smile.

"Yeah!" Amy grinned and nodded enthusiastically.

"Are you sure, Ms. Jac--Mariel?" Mrs. Robertson's kind eyes searched my own.

"Yes, ma'am. What harm can it do to try?"

"Hey, let's go see David!" Amy cried.

"Good idea!" I let her down so she could walk.

Mrs. Robertson put an arm around each of us and we walked together to see David.

The next Sunday we went to church for the first time since mom and dad died. I was a little sad, and very scared. I didn't know what to expect. The people were wonderful, though. I was afraid we would feel out of place, but they made us very comfortable. I've come to realize that we do need God, and we need the church, too. We need a Christian family to belong to. I had been isolating us from everyone, too afraid that we would be hurt again.

We still have a long way to go in our walk as Christians. There is so much that I don't know. I wasn't even sure I was doing the right thing. But it felt right once we were there. We're going to go back next Sunday. I do know that we're going to be okay, though. We've got each other, and now, whether we're ready for Him or not, we've got God.