Faith: Chapter 2

Have courage for the great sorrows of life and patience for the small ones; and when you have laboriously accomplished your daily task, go to sleep in peace. God is awake.
- Victor Hugo

It was early the next morning when Missy remembered Gabe again. She was at work, and being the only one in the office, she thought it the perfect time for a little email to check on her friend. True, they didn’t know each other particularly well, but Missy knew what it was like to be outside the country - to be among children who hurt, and to not have the luxury of a friend to share your own pain with. And while she figured Gabe’s trip wasn’t as intense as seeing children orphaned by AIDS, walking through overcrowded slums, and spending three weeks doing her business in a bucket - she knew a mission was a mission, and the feelings of loneliness were the same.

Though she didn’t have time to read the lengthy account of Gabe’s first encounter with airport security, or how cold the plane was (details that were gathered upon skimming the letter), Missy still smiled, and felt sure that God was going to use this young man in the lives of everyone he came across.

To: “Gabe Sanchez” Sanchez.Gabriel@hotmail.com
From: “Melissa Bryant” MLBRYANT@officeadmin.com

Dear Gabe,

How are you? Your name came up last night, and I thought I’d email and see how you’ve been. Adjusted to Central American life yet? It either happens real fast or real slow. I pray, for you, that the transition is fast and comes second-nature for you. It makes day-to-day life much easier. Of course, in Tanzania, we were on “African Time” which really meant “fly by the seat of your pants” so that took some getting used to for me.

I bet you have beautiful weather, and are spending time getting to know some amazing children. It’s the most eye-opening experience one can have. Really. To meet kids with so little, that still have the capacity for joy and love. It changes you.

Anyway, I need to get to work. (I’m AT work, so I should probably do some.) We miss you!

Love,
Missy

Settling in, Missy focused on getting all she needed to done so she might have a chance to leave early. She loved leaving early on Fridays.

--

Andrew tried to stay awake through his Geography class, but it was difficult, especially running on as little sleep as he’d gotten the night before.

The time of year wasn’t any easier on his parents, but Andrew felt that a change had begun in him the previous winter, and though his parents didn’t speak of Tommy, Andrew found it didn’t hurt as much as it had in the past.

He saw Josh more frequently at school than he saw Belle. They took choir together, but it was almost as if they didn’t know each other.

Andrew never knew what to make of things when Belle got quiet, or did weird stuff like dying her hair. He knew better than to comment on it, since it was obvious that girls were sensitive about that kind of thing. Other than the hair, she still looked the same. Same make up, same clothes. But her attitude was different. She seemed almost depressed - though he was afraid to suggest it to her.

He was worried, but he also knew Belle. She felt things deeply, but she always came out stronger on the other side of whatever God brought her through.

--

Belle couldn’t leave school fast enough. It was beginning to feel like a chore just waking up and getting out the door for school in the morning. Belle wasn’t dumb. She knew symptoms of depression when she saw them. She’d seen them last year in Andrew and Alex, and in her younger years, she’d seen them in Chris, too. But recognizing it for what it was didn’t help much. She knew her mom was against medicating things like depression. Southern culture often looked down on getting help for a chemical imbalance, or anything else they felt wasn’t a legitimate condition. Even the majority of the church she belonged to now felt that one could combat anything with more of Jesus.

It wasn’t that Belle didn’t believe that, or was falling away, but she believed also that depression was a true medical condition. To Belle’s way of thinking, if God didn’t think mental illness was real, He wouldn’t have given people in the medical field knowledge about treatment for it.

On her way home, she stopped by the local coffee shop, thinking of the time last winter, running into Gabe. She remembered talking about life with him - encouraging him to go on a mission trip to a South American country, because of the warm weather. She never dreamed that twelve months later, he’d be in Costa Rica, serving his heart out for the Lord.

Ordering some citrus tea, Belle staked out a computer, and opened her email. She had none, except the old spoon reminder from Alex.

Gabe was on her mind, though, and she knew she owed him at least a little communication, even if she was in a sad state at the moment.

To: “Gabe Sanchez” Sanchez.Gabriel@hotmail.com
From: “Belle Sutton” SuoSoleBella@aol.com

Gabe:

Hey, it’s me. I’m sitting inside the little coffee shop you and I talked in last year, remember? So, I thought I’d write you an email and see how things are. I know, if you were here, you’d ask how I am, too. I guess I’m fine. Mikhail wants me to watch Aly tonight while he and Maria go out someplace. So that should be nice. She’s always good for me. And, anything that gets me out of the house is a good thing. Life with my mother is not that great right now. We’re on each other’s nerves all the time. Which reminds me. Don’t get too freaked out when you come back and see my hair. It’s very dark. Like yours, except my color came in a package instead of being blessed with it naturally as you were. I will send you a picture, so you won’t be too frightened when you come back. Love, Belle.

--

Elise breathed a huge sigh of relief as she walked inside the apartment after school. Life had improved so much over the past year, but school was still proving to be a trial. With time, Elise was learning the little things - that she could have a note-taker in certain classes, that some tests could be taken orally, but it was still a challenge to figure everything out, and a little scary to raise her hand in class and ask a question.

On the positive side of things, Robby had pursued and gotten legal guardianship several months back, and the fact that Elise now had a permanent place, and the chance of being forced to go home with her mother had diminished, things had calmed considerably. She couldn’t remember the last time she had a nightmare.

Giving the note by the door a cursory glance, Elise read the reminder to lock the door, and did so. She heard sirens and shouting outside. The sounds that had once frightened her, now gave Elise a strange comfort.

Picking up the phone, Elise called Kylie. Though she no longer came and stayed, and Elise appreciated the independence, she missed the afternoons when she and Kylie would hang out and talk. She knew Kylie didn’t mind her calling. Besides, she wanted to tell Kylie not to cook anything for dinner.

“Hey ‘Lise. How are you, baby?” Kylie greeted warmly.

Smiling, Elise replied, “Fine. I just got home. Hey, don’t make anything for dinner, okay? You’re invited over here. I’m making spaghetti.”

Kylie swallowed every cautionary thing she wanted to say. “I wouldn’t miss it. Call if you need somethin‘?”

“Yeah, I will,” Elise promised.

A short time later, Elise hung up, and set to work. She found that the more she did things like cooking, the more second-nature they became. Sequencing was still hard, so she found herself on the phone before she wanted to be, asking for clarification.

Flipping through numbers that were now in the directory in their phone, Elise chose Kenzie and waited.

“Yo.”

“Yo? Did you get lost in the ‘hood?” Elise joked.

“What’s up?”

“Well, are you--”

“I’m not busy. I’m driving into work.” Kenzie supplied, knowing Elise well enough to gather when she got uncomfortable.

There was a long pause, while Elise waited for her voice to come back. “I’m making spaghetti. Water or burner?” she asked, knowing this was a conversation she had with Kenzie at least once before.

“Water,” Kenzie told her. She waited while Elise filled the pot halfway, and set it on the stove.

“Okay. Just make sure when you turn the burner on that it’s the same one you’ve got the pot on.”

Carefully, Elise scrutinized the small diagrams beside the knobs before selecting one. “We have lift off!” she declared.

“Woo!” Kenzie cheered. “Just put it on medium or something.”

“All right. Thanks,” Elise adjusted the heat. “So, they didn’t fire you yet?”

“Oh, shut up! I’m a wonderful employee.”

“Right, I forgot. All the wonderful ones get in trouble the first day for breaking dress code,” Elise said sarcastically.

“I didn’t break dress code. I forgot my name tag.”

“Andrew works at the same store chain. Your name tags are huge,” Elise said knowingly. “Anyway, I gotta go. I have to watch my water.”

“All right. Bye.”

Elise felt a tiny surge of jealousy talking to Kenzie. After her junior year of high school, when she received her grades, she’d begged her brother to let her drop out and get a job. She felt sure she’d be of more use that way, then failing out of high school. Robby had refused, and instead put her in a tutoring program to help her get caught up, and stay there. Where he got the money, Elise had no idea, but she was pretty sure Mikhail and Maria were behind it somewhere. Mikhail always seemed exceptionally happy when she mentioned a good grade nowadays. But then again, Mikhail had always been proud of her.

Even now, Elise couldn’t shake the desire to help her brother out financially. She knew money was tight. But Robby never wavered. She would finish high school. He was determined of that. “Your job,” he always told her, “is to go to school, and do your best.” Finally, she had relented, and let the argument drop.

Instead, she started helping around the house here and there. She wanted to contribute something. Robby worked so hard, and Kylie had given so much to her, Elise wanted to give back to them somehow. She’d begun taking the laundry money and washing her brother’s work shirts. She dried them, and made sure they were put away in his closet before he came home. Making dinner also seemed like a good option, and it was much more appealing than doing homework.

Rob got home at 5:30. He could tell immediately that someone was cooking. Italian. “Smells good!” he called, hanging his jacket up and walking into the kitchen.

He found their small table set for three with spaghetti and salad in the middle. “Hey,” he greeted Elise warmly.

“You should call Kylie. Tell her to come.”

“I will,” Rob answered. “Thanks for making dinner. It helps.” He walked through the kitchen to get to the phone, passing the stove on the way.

“Elise,” he said, getting her attention. “Stove.”

“Oh!” Rushing forward, Elise quickly turned off the heat on the burner she’d used. “I’m sorry.”

“No problem,” he reassured, kissing the top of her head. “You did good.”

--

In a way, it was good that Mikhail had offered to give Belle a ride home. Her car was on its last dying breath, and her mom had to give her a ride over. They fought again. There was rarely a time when they didn’t.

“Why on earth would you do something like that to your hair?”

“I don’t know,” Belle mumbled.

“I’ve been asking you for months to fix it! Do you have no respect for me at all?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Belle asked darkly.

Sherry gave an exasperated sigh. “You’d better shape up and start minding me! Do you have any idea what people will say?”

“It isn’t the South. Nobody cares if I dyed my hair,” Belle denied. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Sherry demanded angrily.

“That Daddy didn’t leave us. We left him.” Belle’s voice sounded dead to her own ears.

--

Belle arrived at Mikhail and Maria’s in plenty of time. She breathed a sigh of relief as she approached their front door and could hear the happy Russian chatter coming from inside.

She knocked on the door.

“Belle,” Mikhail greeted happily, inviting her inside. “Kak dela?”

She stared at him, forcing a smile and shaking her head, though she knew he was asking how she was. Mikhail loved teaching people new things.

“Ponimaesh?” (“Do you understand me?”) He spoke slowly, Belle noticed, tilting her head to listen.

She did understand, but had no idea how to respond. “Nemnogo?” she tried. Belle knew enough to know that meant “a little” but didn’t know if it was used in that context.

“Kak. Dela.” Mikhail tried, articulating more this time.

Belle closed her eyes briefly, and tried to be gracious. Mikhail had always been nothing but kind to her. “Harosho. I’m good, thank you.”

Mikhail and Maria left quickly, saying their goodbyes to Alyona, and heading out. Not that it mattered. Aly was a calm three-year-old. Things rarely bothered her. She rarely threw a tantrum, so long as Belle was there to play with her.

“Wanna have a tea party?” Aly asked sweetly, two inches away from Belle’s face.

Belle smiled instinctively, trying to block out the conversation with her mother. “Sure, I love tea.”

“’Kay, here some for you!” Aly delightedly poured imaginary tea from her purple teapot into thimble-sized cups and brought them to her little table. “Wanna cookie?” Aly asked, pointing to her plastic collection of scones.

“Oh, I don’t know… Do we have cookies before bed?” Belle quizzed, smiling.

“I say yes,” Aly confirmed happily. “They just pretend.”

“All right,” Belle sighed good-naturedly. “I suppose pretend cookies are okay.”

From the pocket of her jeans, Belle felt her phone go off and jumped. “Oh no! My pants are vibrating!” Belle exclaimed, jumping up and doing a little dance.

As expected, Aly did her best to mimic Belle, giggling, “Oh no!”

“Hello?” Belle asked, feeling relieved to see Greta’s name in the display window. An image of her filled Belle’s mind, and she smiled remembering the nose ring that Greta had proudly pointed out, with a promise that Belle would soon have one just like it.

“Hey! Where are you?”

“No-no, Aly. Don’t put it in your mouth. That’s icky.” Belle admonished lightly, taking a scone away and giving her the tea pot instead.

“Are you baby-sitting? Whose kid?” Greta asked incredulously. “I could never baby-sit. I hate kids.”

“Are you talkin’ to Mama?” Aly asked in a sing-song voice, distractedly filling all six cups with pretend tea.

“No. My friend, Greta.” Belle told her.

“Can I?” Aly asked, suddenly interested. She dropped the tea pot.

“Greta, she wants to say hi. Mikhail’s daughter, Aly,” she added as an afterthought.

Reluctantly, Belle handed the cell phone to Alyona and listened.

“Hi, Rayda!” Aly greeted cheerfully. “You wanna have some tea, an’ a cookie?”

Greta blinked. The only kids she was ever around were the bratty ones at work. She wasn’t used to talking to a friendly one.

“Um. No, thank you,” she managed finally.

“It’s just pretend cookie, so you can have one. It’s okay,” Aly placated.

“Okay. Can I talk to Belle now?” Greta asked.

Aly sighed exaggeratedly. “Yes.” Then, turning her attention to Belle, and offering her the phone. “Here. The friend wants to talk to you.”

Belle took the phone back in time to hear Greta complaining and laughed.

“What? First I’m Rayda and now I’m just the friend.” she said witheringly. “How long do you have the rug rat for?” she wondered.

“Until whenever.” Belle answered. “Mikhail and Maria usually aren’t out past 10:00, though.”

“God, I would hate to be married…” Greta commented bitterly.

“Don’t say ‘God,’” Belle corrected off-handedly.

Greta felt a twinge of regret. “Right. Sorry, God,” she apologized. “Are you okay?” she asked Belle suddenly.

“My mother and I fought about my hair. She wants me to change it back,” Belle said miserably.

Greta rolled her eyes. “What else is new?”

“Aly doesn’t like my hair either, do you, Aly?” Belle asked seriously.

“No,” she agreed somberly.

Belle pressed her. “Why don’t you like my hair?”

“’Cause,” Aly answered thoughtfully, as she carefully stacked the cups together. “It ‘care me, an’ make me cry.”

“What did she say?” Greta wondered, amused.

“It scares her and makes her cry,” Belle relayed.

Greta cracked up. When she had composed herself, she spoke again. “So, call me later.”

“Maybe…” Belle allowed.

“It’s not an optional activity,” Greta scolded.

--

Later, Belle fixed Aly a snack and read her a story before tucking her into bed. Belle sighed, relieved that Mikhail and Maria had such a well-behaved little girl. She was a spitting image of both her parents - her little face a startling combination of their features. She had Mikhail’s eyes and smile, and her mother’s petite stature and serious demeanor.

Belle thought of herself at Alyona’s age, and cringed inwardly. She had her mother’s features, and, she prayed, nothing of her father’s.

It was Alex’s bandana that did it. Alex always wore them, that wasn’t the thing. For some reason, seeing a particular one that summer sent a flood of memories, and nightmares so crushing Belle hoped she was making it up.

She remembered being only a year or so older than Aly, when she and her mother left their house suddenly at night. It had taken several more days for the rest of the memory to emerge, but with time it had.

Before they left, her parents had been arguing. She had colored on the wall earlier that day, behind the couch, where she was sure no one would look. Belle had been sure they were fighting about that, because she heard her own name shouted a lot. She had gotten up and hidden herself beneath the bed, close to the wall. Then, he had come in and pulled her out. He screamed at her - used words on her that she was not allowed to repeat. She remembered taking a punch to the mouth and spitting blood and three teeth out onto the floor.

No matter how she tried, Belle couldn’t remember her mom actually taking her out of the house. They were just running down residential streets, trying to lose him as he chased them. And she remembered the black bandana she’d been given to conceal her hair. She found it in a dresser drawer only days ago - the only tangible piece of what she had experienced.

Eventually, the divorce was finalized, and they moved north when Belle was in kindergarten. Then, she hadn’t worried about him anymore. In fact, she started to miss him.

She felt ill thinking about it. The incident with the coconut had been only one of many. It wasn’t an isolated occurrence. It had happened all the time. And her mom never spoke about it - never corrected her when she had asked why he had left them.

Feeling broken, Belle crept in the small bedroom where Aly was sleeping, and slid soundlessly into the toddler bed, wrapping her arms around the little girl. Belle stayed there until she heard the car pull up, and then forced herself to leave the room and meet Mikhail and Maria with a smile. She would tell them what a good girl Alyona had been, and how much fun they had together.

She thanked Mikhail for giving her a ride home, and went inside, praying her own mother was sleeping. Then, as it was every night, she fell asleep against her will, and dreamed dreams that horrified her, because she lived through them once.

That night, after waking from a nightmare, she thought of the little boy who always stole pop at Greta’s store. Her stomach clenched again, hoping that the child had a father like Mikhail, and not a father like her own.

Night was the only time she cried. When no one could hear. Belle curled up beneath the blankets and wept so hard she shook. There was no noise. She never made any. Only a sadness so deep, Belle feared it would engulf her completely.

--

It took several days for Belle to gather the courage to confront her mother. She knew she had to. The argument on Friday night had gotten Belle no closer to answers. Her mother had just stayed silent, until they pulled into Mikhail and Maria’s driveway.

It was late - almost midnight on the following Thursday, when Sherry got home from work and set her keys on the counter, prepared to go straight to bed. She saw a figure seated at her kitchen table and gasped.

Belle reached behind her, and turned on the light. “I need to talk to you.”

“Belle, it’s late, and I’ve had a horrible time at work. Theresa never came in; I almost had to fire somebody. Go to bed, it’s a school night.”

Reaching in her pocket, Belle felt the fabric of the bandana and pulled it out. “Where did I get this?” she asked. Her voice sounded cold. Final.

“Young lady,” Sherry warned.

The sight of the bandana turned Sherry’s stomach. The thin, black fabric with intricate white designs. She’d gotten Belle a small collection of them the year Belle turned four. There had been all colors - pink, sky blue, purple, green - but that night, she’d hastily grabbed the black one off the counter on their way out the back door. She remembered Belle’s battered face, her bloody mouth, black eye, her swollen left ear. Sherry prayed Belle would just let it go, and go to bed. She never wanted to have this conversation - and hoped that by telling her that he was the one who left - that’s what she would grow to believe. She never wanted to tell Belle anything. Had always prayed she wouldn’t remember.

“Where did I get it, Mom?” Belle insisted.

“You know where you got it, and how dare you ask me something like that?” Sherry demanded, stepping closer.

Belle flinched, though her mother was still several feet away.

“You’d better stop that right now,” Sherry spoke quietly. “I never laid a hand on you! Don’t you dare act that way!”

“But he did.” Belle glared at her mother. “Didn’t he?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about! And do not speak about your father that way!” Losing patience with Belle, and her defiant attitude, Sherry took several quick steps toward her.

Instantly, Belle stood, and backed up, knocking the chair to the ground. She stared at her mother with frightened eyes, feeling paralyzed.

Fed up, Sherry took her daughter by the shoulders and shook her. “Belle! That’s enough! Apologize right now.”

“Why did you let him hurt me?” Belle asked softly. Tears built in her eyes, but she fought them back. “Why didn’t you ever tell me the truth, or correct me when I said he was the one who left?”

“He’s your father, and he deserves your respect. Apologize.” Sherry crossed her arms, and waited.

Belle felt tears start, and tried to stand her ground. “Why didn’t you ever talk about it? Or tell me we weren’t going home? It’s like it never even happened, except I know it did. And I want you to admit it!” Belle cried. She could fell her heart pounding. Her hands shook, and she backed around the fallen chair, so it lay between them.

Sherry set her mouth in a firm line. “Your father was a good man. He had his reasons for doing what he did.” she spoke quietly now.

“How can you defend him?” Belle screamed, feeling despair drag her down even deeper.

“Listen. You want me to be honest with you; you better be strong enough to hear it!” Sherry said sharply. “You were a difficult child. You were disobedient; you whined. You pushed his buttons! He tried talking to you! You don’t remember, but I do! He tried to reason with you, but you never did a thing except provoke him. It was the only way to make you listen! It wasn’t right, but it was all he knew. We left him that night because of you.”

Belle stood back in shock, feeling the blood drain from her face.

“I have to be up early tomorrow morning, and so do you.” Sherry said, sighing. “Pick up the chair, and go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

By now, Belle’s whole body was shaking. She bent and tried to right the chair, feeling it slip from her trembling fingers and clatter to the floor again.

Sherry reached over, and set it up, coming around and cupping Belle’s face firmly in her hands. “I never told you the truth, because you were the cause of a lot. If you had been able to control yourself, your father wouldn’t have been the way he was. When you behaved, he was a wonderful man. Now, go to bed. I love you,” Sherry said, and kissed Belle’s cheek soundly.

But Belle didn’t go to bed. She couldn’t. Instead, she went to her bathroom and sat alone on the floor with her back against the shower door. Nothing felt real. She felt detached but in so much pain. She couldn’t cry. She didn’t even feel like she could breathe.

She stared down at herself. Her blue jeans. Her grey choir sweatshirt. Her dark hair had started to fall out of its ponytail. It hung around her face messily, and Belle hated it. She stood up and studied her face in the mirror. Her make up had run off with the tears of her emotional outburst. Belle felt exposed. Like the fraud she always knew herself to be.

Her mother knew her well. Because Belle remembered being that willful, disobedient girl - intentionally coloring on the walls when she couldn’t find paper, even though she knew it was wrong, as well as sassing back and not cleaning up her toys. She had known right from wrong then. She was smart. Smart enough to know what not to do, but she had still done it, regardless.

It was her fault.

Belle closed her eyes.