Chapter 134

word count 987

The hogs, Abraham and Sarah, grunted greedily as they attacked the scraps Trudy dumped in their pen. She stood, looking at the sky, reviewing the day. Remembrances of Father Brown's sanctimonious attitude still rankled her. It was an itch she couldn't scratch. She longed to tell him off, or kick him, or just scream at the guy.

“It seems to me this is my life, and his stupid penance has nothing to do with anything.” She muttered the words out loud, projecting her frustration into the inky, dark night.

“What on earth are you talking about?” Sister Rebecca had come up behind Trudy, toting another pot. “There were a few more scraps,” she explained nodding at the container.

“I confessed to Father Brown today, and he was so 'holier than thou'--it just irked me, that's all.”

“Well, he is holier than thou!” Sister Rebecca's sizable frame wiggled as she stated the fact with determination.

“Says who?”

“Well, God, I guess.”

“He's just a man! And believe me, I know men, and they don't have any kind of moral superiority. You can trust me on that!” Trudy stood firm, hands on hips, ready for battle.

“Trudy, dear, don't you think you're taking it just a bit too seriously. It's all symbolic. The priest represents the Lord on earth to us. That's all.”

“That's preposterous! To give a man so much power. Look, sister, I've just been down a long, tough road learning how to not let men dominate me, and this really goes against my grain.”

“If you don't mind my saying so, don't you mean domination in the sexual sense?”

Trudy looked at Sister Rebecca in horror, and next proceeded to advance forward in anger. With her fist clenched, she issued a punch with all her might, smacking against sister's cheek sending her flying backward. The sister squealed and landed with a thud on the ground. A red bruise painted across her cheek. She held a hand on her jaw, crying.

Trudy froze. What had she done? She slapped around a holy woman!

The commotion sent the others rushing outside. When they arrived and spied poor Sister Rebecca, all faces turned to Trudy. Finally, Sister Esther spoke.

“Trudy, what have you done? We love having you here, but this...hitting Sister Rebecca.” She paused, hand to forehead as though to contain herself. “I think perhaps you should take a long walk and contemplate your actions. I don't know why you hit Sister Rebecca, but she will forgive you. You need to think carefully about what you've done. Take that walk. We'll look for you at vespers later.”

With that, Sister Esther turned to go and the others followed like a mother duck leading her chicks. Sister Rebecca walked in their midst receiving their comfort. Trudy was left alone. She started her walk.

There was a lot to think about. The sisters were demonstrating grace and dignity, also humility, but at what price? Why should they demean themselves to any other human being? It was a stumbling block for Trudy. She was a new woman these days, growing more every day. Why did she feel certain aspects of the church, like buckling under to Father Brown, were a step backwards?

By this time, Trudy had reached a tiny store on the outskirts of town. It was open, so she slipped in the door. Perhaps she could find some chocolate or something to lift her spirits. She had a decision to make. Would she go back and see what else she could learn from the sisters, take comfort in their cloistered life, give herself time to rest and grow...or was it too much, demeaning herself to “holy Mother Church”--to play by their rules and treat the priest and other authorities as better than her.

The store was warm and well lit. She realized it had been a while since she stood under electric lights. A radio played Tammy Wynette in the background, and a fellow at the register was busy texting, barely noticing her arrival. She sighed and looked around.

A newspaper stand sat nearby, and a name in the headline caught her eye, “Buzz Miller.” Her pulse raced and with shaky hands she lifted the paper off the rack. The story of Buzz's heroic efforts were front page news. She read of his bravery and tears welled in her eyes. She ran a finger along the page over his name, and it brought back memories. Buzz, he always was the best. With a sigh, she put the paper back. Standing there in the little store, she knew it was time to either go back to the sisters, or return to her old life. The sisters demanded a lot, maybe more than she could give, but her old life—was she ready for the mainstream again? Was she strong enough?

***

While the uniforms removed the scuzzbags from his living room, Buzz ran to the kitchen to find the paramedics lifting Mrs. Dunn to a gurney, The lady was out cold.

It hit Buzz like a brick to the face. This poor woman had come in harm's way, all because she was in his employ. She hadn't done a thing to anybody, and now she had been brutalized and lay unconscious in his kitchen. He never intended for an innocent to be in danger.

His cop instincts, long dormant, were now renewed. Innocent people shouldn't be getting hurt. He had to do something. It was time to get back to his job, maybe do more work on the street. He'd been behind a desk too much in recent years. It's what made him wander from life, from his marriage...the restlessness doing paperwork, when he was a cop in the true sense of the word—it made him crazy to push papers. He needed to go back to work on the street, and he needed it now.