to light and guard

chapter thirty three

In the front of a Baptist church, Mary Eunice perched beside Lana on the pew, cast in the colored light filtering through stained glass. At the base of the stage, the casket rested, open and revealing the face of Lana's father, peaceful and placid in death. The morticians had made him beautiful. A heavy suit masked his frail limbs. He had a rose between his hands. A blue pocket square drew out the color in his tie. His hair was combed and face shaven. Mary Eunice's eyes kept darting to him from under her veil, examining the man she had met only once before his death—mere hours before his death, at that. He loved Lana. He made us come all this way just to tell her that he loved her, just to apologize. Beside her, Lana sniffled. Mary Eunice reached into the pocket of her habit and fumbled for her rosary. She offered her hand, palm open and holding the string of beads, to Lana, and at the nudging on her thigh, Lana accepted the gift, tangling their fingers together with the crucifix dangling from their joined hands. It was a clever disguise, the only way Mary Eunice could provide comfort to her girlfriend without suspicion.

My girlfriend. Mary Eunice's stomach flipped. They hadn't had the opportunity to talk about the things they had said in the creek—they hadn't had a moment of privacy since the night before. The morning had swept them away with Frieda's children screaming, Frieda and Helen weeping, John shouting into the phone at his boss, and Timothy and Roger exchanging knowing looks and whispers no one else could make out. Is that still what she wants? Is that what I want? Is it something we should want? Romance violated her vow of chastity, that was certain, but she couldn't hear God guiding her. She had no guidance at all besides the imperative inside of her which said she, a nun, could not have a romantic or erotic relationship. Why did the pieces fall this way if I am not meant to love Lana? Everything was perfect, like God had lined everything up. I prayed for a sign, a clear sign, and Lana told me she loved me the next day. That has to be a clear sign.

Silent rivulets of tears slipped down Lana's cheeks, which she hid by lowering her head and dashing them away with a handkerchief. Mary Eunice's heart squeezed at the sight, but she could offer nothing more than her hand with the rosary clutched between them. I want to comfort her. I want to know she's okay. Down the pew, Frieda choked on her own sob and twisted away to bury her face in John's chest. All of the children sniffled except Rex, the baby, who bounced in Helen's lap and entertained himself with the string of pearls around her neck. Every woman in the church had covered her head with a bonnet or ornate hat, and more than one pair of eyes fixed upon Mary Eunice's back; she had never felt so much like a spectacle before in her life, even as a nun.

At the front of the church, behind the pulpit, a grizzled old preacher with the voice of a cowboy ministered to the congregation. "Today, we all have the misfortune of saying farewell to our brother, Landon Winters. Landon lost his fight against a rare form of pancreatic cancer and went home to the arms of the Lord yesterday morning. Today, we come together both in mourning for a life taken too soon and celebration of another soul gone home to Jesus Christ, our Lord and Savior." The man gruffly cleared his throat and coughed into his handkerchief. "The Winters family has belonged to this congregation since Landon was a boy, when my father still ran things around here. He and his wife raised four babies right here in this very church. I can say with certainty I've never known a man to bring people to God more than Landon did. Landon knew how to show someone a Christ-like spirit without ever bringing the Bible into the conversation. My daddy always said you gotta exemplify Christ to bring people to Him—why would anybody wanna be with Christ if they think his followers are a ton of jerks?"

The crowd snickered, watery and weak laughter, but Lana averted her eyes, jaw set tight where she glowered at the ground. He wasn't very Christlike to her when he chased her away. Mary Eunice caressed the back of Lana's hand with her thumb. "Landon had his values, and he would bend them for no man. God came first in his life and in the life of his family. Every man has his faults, but Landon's were few and far between. He was a church deacon, raising two sons as altar boys. He instilled virtues into his kids to make them providers and homemakers. Proverbs 22:6 says, 'Train a child up in the way he should go: and when he is old, he will not depart from it.'"