the present imperfect

Welcome to "the present imperfect," a new project about sharing works in progress with a small group of friends.

If you would rather not receive these emails, no hard feelings! Please email me and I'll remove you from the list.

I hope you find something interesting. Would love to hear your thoughts.

xo Jen

TEN DAYS TO TEKOA

During the final weeks of the Civil War in an outpost orphanage on the edge of the western territories, two teenage girls, Ann and Callie, have nothing in common except a huge mutual grudge, their hatred for one another and their looming adulthoods. Hoping a shared mission will heal the rift between them, their elderly guardian sends them on a ten day journey to retrieve the body of their mission's pastor so that he can receive proper burial in his own village.

Day One – Grace

I usually said it without thinking about it.

“And what we are about to receive, from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord--"

The air came in and snuffed out the candles by Callie's end of the table. She dropped her ration of bread when she gasped. No one said anything. We were all used to her being jumpy as a chicken all the time.

The man standing in the doorway was bent over, catching his breath. Mother Esther examined his ruddy face and his mud-caked boots.

“Water. Please.”

Nobody moved. The room felt like something else with a man standing there, let alone a real man who wasn't a priest of some sort. We hadn't seen Father Edward in about a fortnight.

The man wiped a tiny pellet of sweat off his cheek with a hand that trembled just a little. It was then I tracked Mother Esther for a signal. I knew her loaded shotgun was an arm's length behind my chair, resting by the kitchen door. She didn't look at me.

I thought about how, that very morning in the barn, she looked so worn. Even so, she picked up the spade like it was a spoon from the table. We had the little boy wrapped in a burlap sheath with soft cloth inside. She filled the tiny hole and prayed over it as we stood in a solemn crescent with our heads bowed low, all so silent except for Callie who sobbed.

Mother said nothing to the man. I knew it was my turn since I was the oldest next to Callie who was just three days younger.

I filled a cup for him and slid it to the edge of the table. The corners of his mouth were crusted with dust and he sucked it down. It was then I noticed his front teeth were missing. He had a swollen cheekbone under his right eye that was more fresh than healing. The man’s name was Leonard. And he told us Father Edward was dead.

Mother Esther turned pale. She stood up and unlatched the door.

“Where is he? We must bring him inside.”

The man shook his head and swallowed hard. He seemed accustomed to being frightened of nuns.

“I don’t ‘av ‘m.”

“What? Why? Was he burned? What’s become of him. Was he burned?”

For some reason, Mother Esther was convinced Father Edward was burned alive.

“He’s not burned, ma'am. He collapsed on the road there. The sheriff in Tekoa has him in a root cellar. I’m to take you back, Mother, so you can take him for a proper burial. Sheriff says only his people can take him.”

We all knew Tekoa was a ten day journey from our settlement. Father had told us that before he left.

"Ann. Callie. See to it that Mister Leonard has something to eat and a clean bed for the night."

Callie and I swept up the cobwebs near the back wall of the storage room and lay some blankets down for poor old Leonard, who had a belly full of bean soup and was already asleep standing up by the time we handed him an old shift from Father’s basket of clothes set for donation.

Mother was always giving us chores together. “To make peace." But my heart was set on never making any kind of peace with that girl. Her face was like an ugly bee's nest. I wanted to spit in it until she erupted. And so making peace was also Mother’s reason why it was just the two of us who we were going to ride with Mister Leonard all the way to Tekoa and back to retrieve Father’s body.

"I'm entrusted you both with this sacred mission. Bring Father home. You've hardly said a word to each other since the incident last Christmas Eve. For the sake of your own hearts and for the example you must set for the younger children, I pray this journey will soften your hearts."

I noticed how frail she was. It wasn't just the long days and nights of tending to all the villagers with no food, no medicine, who needed her. It wasn't just the number of graves in the yard spreading further and further back toward the field each week. Hearing about Father's death brought a sudden weariness to her I had never seen before. Even in my sixteen years since being left here, I'd never seen her so bent over, so slow to get up out of her chair. As much as we resented her stern ways, Mother was all we had. I focused myself on the journey ahead and my mission. I tried not to think about Callie and what she'd done. NO matter what, I would do my best for Mother.

As I packed my supplies into my satchel, I listened to the wind shifting leaves outside. It would be winter soon. Maybe this year would bring us a winter without so many bloody bandages and new children without folk. And more times like the snow falling on my tongue and my cheeks as it had when I was as small as that little boy we saw breathe his last that morning. Where was he now? I tried to imagine him sitting next to God in a cloud, floating healthy and free from any pain.

I am not like them, I thought, as I rolled up my sleeping mattress and swept the dust away from the floor. I'm not like Callie.

I came out to find Mother with a group of villagers.

"We’ve seen these truces before and know they are a delicate thing."

"But they rung the bells in Hamsted and Denton this morning."

"And we'll ring our bell in Sharon. We'll pray this will be the end. But we'll keep our rations set for now."

Callie was already up on the wagon. I took my place next to her just behind Leonard as he waved back to the crowd seeing us off. Little by little, they vanished behind us, still discussing their prayers for times to change.

"We'll be in Denton by sunset. Maybe find out some more news about the peace."

“I hope it lasts. But I'm not thinking it will, " I said, feeling free from Mother's gaze and judgment.

"Why's that?" He was smiling, amused by such opinions from an orphan girl.

"Because peace means admitting you did wrong. And maybe you didn’t do wrong.”

Callie shifted in her seat. I could feel her thinking.

“Everybody does wrong sometimes. I think we all want to get along mostly, " Leonard said.

It was only then that Callie spoke up.

"No, sir. Some people are just pure evil. And there ain't nothing God or anyone can do to save them."

She was looking at me.

I kept straight on ahead, like I didn't hear a thing. Like she was a ghost.