68
ATTICUS
Flames crawled high, spiraling into the blue-black, star-filled sky; branches popped and crackled under the fire, and spit sparks that became ash carried off by the light August wind. The gypsies, made up of all shapes and sizes and races and religions, danced around the bonfire, men dipping women, women dipping men, children spinning around hand-in-hand. The pounding of drums, the twang of acoustic guitars, the picking of two fiddles. The night was animated with joy; it was as if the world had never ended.
Thais danced with Ossie. I—carefully, because of my injuries—danced with Edith. Everybody danced with somebody. And then we switched. Ossie with Edith. Thais with me. And when we were all tired, everybody sat around the bonfire, and we ate until we were bursting and some drank until they were drunk and others told stories of their adventures. But no one spoke of death or hardship or about any of the terrible things they had witnessed or experienced; they spoke only of happiness and of love and of how life could be and would be. Someday.
The gypsies were a free people, who refused to be intimidated or enslaved by what they called “The Devil’s Disciples”, or, “The False Prophets”, or, “The Scourge of the Earth”, or, “The Damned”, or “The Unclean”. “We are The Resistance! We are the Lord’s Fingers, sweeping across the world like wind across the sands! We are the Protectors of all things good! We live and die for His Purpose!” And the crowd cheered, some raised their arms high into the air, eyes closed, and they praised the Lord with their full hearts and their full souls. Even those who didn’t fit into the same Faith, they too praised their gods and vowed to do Their work. Because in the end, it didn’t matter the god’s name, or the name of their religion—the work was the same, and every Faith a religion of peace. And, perhaps, unbeknownst to the people who worshipped Them, they were all the same God, too, speaking to them in tongues they understood, revealing Himself to them in ways they could relate. Different. But the same. I still had my reservations about religion, but I would’ve been lying if I’d said I wasn’t moved by the gypsies’ faith and devotion.
As promised, Thais sang Hallelujah for the children, but it was not only the children whose souls filled up with love and joy and wonder: the camp fell silent when she began to sing, her angelic voice carried through the forest.
Hallelujah…
Hallelujah…
Hallelujah…
“She’s a remarkable young woman,” Edith told me, sitting next to me on a log near the fire.
I couldn’t take my eyes off of Thais; she walked around the crowd, and amid the crowd, and she sang, and sang, and sang; there were few dry faces amongst the audience when she came to the last line, and mine was no exception.
“Yes,” I whispered. “She is.” Had I even heard Edith’s voice? I couldn’t be sure. But I was sure of one thing: Thais was a remarkable young woman. You would’ve loved her, Mom. Josie, Tara—you all would’ve loved her.
After Hallelujah, and then Danny’s Song, Thais insisted the band play something upbeat and fun, and the camp went to their feet again and danced until they couldn’t dance anymore. I watched from the sidelines with my injuries. Ossie, and his granddaughter, Ona, played their fiddles with enthusiasm and skill.
Thais practically fell next to me, exhausted from so much dancing, and she laughed and smiled and coiled her fingers around mine and lifted my hand to her lips. “The last time I had this much fun,” she told me, her voice rising over the music, “was at the cabin with you and Jeffrey—remember?”
How could I ever forget? How could I ever forget even the smallest of details in my time with her? The way she always chewed on the left side of her mouth when she ate. How she would check me out when I was shirtless, and she thought I didn’t notice. The way those cotton pants I took from the farmhouse looked on her: a little frumpy in the back, and made her butt look bigger than her head—but I adored it. Or how when she cast her fishing line, or pulled it in, she always squinted one eye and bit on the tip of her tongue. Or the time—
I turned her hand over, raised it to my mouth, and kissed her knuckles. “Of course I remember,” I said warmly.
Ona came running up, took Thais by both hands, and she lifted her from the log.
“You promised to tell us a story,” Ona said over the many conversations and the lingering music.
With Ona eagerly tugging on Thais’ hand, Thais leaned over and gave me a quick kiss on the edge of my mouth. “I’ll be back soon!” she told me, and I watched her slip through the crowd.
“You made a good decision,” Edith said, and I felt her hand patting my leg, “to marry that girl tonight. Can’t be wasting time anymore. If you love somebody you better grab ‘em early and hold on to ‘em for as long as you can. In the Old World, people were lazy. They didn’t worry about anything. They thought they had all the time in the world. But then they woke up one day and saw that all along the Devil had been covering their eyes with his hands. Truth was, they had no time. It was all just an illusion. A dream. A lie.”
I looked over. “You like Thais a lot,” I commented.
Edith nodded. “Uh-huh. I do.”
I paused, searching my mind. “Well, I was…just wondering why exactly”—I chuckled—“did she help birth a calf, or save somebody from drowning while I was unconscious? I guess it really wouldn’t surprise me.”
Edith’s shoulders bounced lightly underneath her blouse. She patted my knee. “No, son,” she said, “I just know good people when I see ‘em. That girl’s been through a lot; doesn’t seem to have a hateful bone in her body—a little vengeance and justice in there, but no hate, and that’s exactly what the world needs. She’s special. Just like my sweet granddaughter, Ona. They’re both special. They’re the future.”
I watched Thais talking with Ona. Yeah, she’s something special all right. Thais wore a thin, ivory dress that fell to her ankles; the short sleeves cascaded with flowing ruffles that hung around her upper arms; around her waist was a little cloth belt tied into a bow; more ruffles cascaded down her hips, and her legs. The dress had been Ona’s, Thais told me. Ona was to marry a man last fall, but he died before their wedding, and now Thais would wear it to hers.
Edith looked at me, and feeling the pull of her stare, I looked back at her. “I’m no fortune teller, but I’ll tell you what I believe is gonna happen to that girl,” she said.
I swallowed nervously. Of course, I didn’t think she was a fortune teller, either, but that didn’t stop me from worrying about whatever she had to say regarding Thais’ future.
Edith took my hand, squeezed it firmly, and then patted the top with the other; her skin felt warm against mine. “She’s gonna live a long life,” she said, nodding as though sure of herself. “She’s gonna die an old lady. But before that’ll happen, she’s gonna grow, and she’s gonna be like water, carving a path through the toughest rock.” She patted my hand once more, smiled so lines deepened around her mouth, and then she faced forward just as Thais was taking center-stage in front of the dwindling bonfire.
I looked down at my hand where Edith’s had been, feeling the warmth left from it slowly fading away; Edith’s surprising words doing the opposite: they bloomed like wildflowers touched by sunlight, and made me feel weak in the chest with equal parts love and fear about the woman’s prediction.
A hush fell over the camp. The fire behind Thais had dwindled to a calm, dancing flame no higher than her knees. The people watched Thais with fascination and patience, and when she stepped onto the flat surface of a tree stump so she could be better seen and heard by everyone, their eyes followed without waver.
“I was asked to tell you all another story tonight,” she said aloud, “but I’m afraid I…well, the one I told you last night, it was only fiction. The poetry I recited wasn’t even mine; it was my sister’s, Sosie Fenwick, who died not long ago. The songs I sing, I sing from the heart, but like the stories that are not real and the poetry that is not mine, the songs I did not write, either, therefore I’m only a voice carrying on a message that belonged to someone else.”
A light flurry of whispers passed around the crowd, but everyone remained still and patient and eager.
I straightened my back, and propped my wrists atop my knees; anxiously I listened, with a little fear in my heart, though I wasn’t sure why.
“So, tonight,” Thais continued, “I would like to tell you all a true story, one that is as tragic as any poetry I’ve ever read, and as soul-healing as any music I’ve ever heard.” She looked right at me then, and my pulse quickened.
Thais paused thoughtfully, winding her fingers together down in front of her. I could tell she was nervous.
And then she began:
“I know the world is a dark place, but it was dark long before The Sickness, before many even knew what the world was really like beyond their computers and their morning coffee and their yearly sporting events and their privilege. I was only eleven-years-old when The Sickness hit, and I wasn’t supposed to be old enough to understand much outside of a typical eleven-year-old girl’s life, to grasp how dark the world before its Awakening. But I did understand it. Because my father wanted me to. And because I chose to pay attention. I understood it every morning when my parents watched the news. I understood it when I learned that a girl at school killed herself because she’d been bullied every day by other girls who thought they were prettier than her. I understood it when I heard a neighbor beating his dog every night, and when I watched, with my father, live coverage of peaceful protestors being run down by cars driven by domestic terrorists. And I understood it when, at ten, I had to choose between getting beat up by my so-called friends, or turn a blind eye to something I knew was wrong and cruel and evil and that I knew I would regret for the rest of my life. I went home that day with a few scratches, two new puppies, and two less friends.” She smiled and the crowd laughed and cheered lightly.
I knew something was happening—I’d known it all along—but only now was I beginning to realize what it was. Only now was I beginning to see…and it scared the hell out of me.
“But then the world ended,” she said, “and the darkness that had been there all along bubbled up to the surface, and it overflowed, and now it’s everywhere, like it has always been, only now everybody sees it. Everybody feels it. Everybody faces it every day of their lives because they have no choice; they no longer have their morning coffee and their computers and their sporting events and their privilege to blot it all out.” She glanced at me again. And again, my pulse quickened. “I thought I was being punished for everything I’d ever done wrong when my home was attacked by people he knew.” She pointed at me, and I froze. “I thought I was being punished when my father was killed, and my sister and me were taken away from everything, to a place where men intended to molest and rape us, to force us to bear their children—all people that he knew. People who believed that the color of their skin made them superior; people who believed that they had every right to condemn, judge, and execute those whose sexual nature differed from theirs. People he knew, and worked for and with.”
Every pair of eyes were on me, bearing down on me with question and accusation and hurt and anger.
What is she doing?
I couldn’t move, not even my eyes to look at those looking at me. It didn’t matter I had chosen another path—I would always feel shame and regret for spending even a minute with the people I was nothing like.
“But I wasn’t being punished,” Thais said, the tone of her words shifting to something more appreciative, and then all eyes shifted back to her. “Everything that had happened, led me to that city because that man”—she pointed again—“was meant to save me, to take me away from all the darkness, to lead me on a path into the Light, to open my eyes to a purpose. He could’ve died trying to help me, but he didn’t care. He was one man against hundreds, yet he risked his life, he risked everything, to do what he knew was right. He had everything to lose—a safe home, an abundance of food, hot baths and a comfortable place to sleep every night—but he left it all behind to help me be free. He took me away from that place and has protected me every moment of every day since then.”
Hands patted my shoulders and my back. But I couldn’t look up to acknowledge her praise; I tangled my fingers, dangled my hands between my legs, and I looked at the ground to avoid giving away the guilt that plagued my face.
“Because of him,” Thais went on, “I am more than that frightened girl I used to be, who thought she was going to live a short, cruel life, and inevitably die a violent death.”
I could feel Thais looking right at me, knew that she was speaking directly to me now.
I looked up slowly.
“I am alive because of him. I am someone because of him. I am loved because of him. And I am free because of him.”
Cheers. Praises. Shouts and more pats on the back—I felt my face redden; I looked only at Thais, loved only Thais, acknowledged only Thais. And my eyes smiled back at her.
Then Thais looked out at the crowd again. She clasped her fingers together against her pelvis. She wasn’t nervous anymore.
“Freedom,” she said, raising her chin. “It is what we all want. What we all need. What each and every one of us are entitled to. And no one should ever be able to take it away from us. Goodness. It is what we are all made of. What each of us are bound and obligated, as human beings, to spread to the rest of the world, no matter how greatly outnumbered by evil we are; no matter what darkness stands in our way, threatens us, kills us and our sons and daughters and mothers and fathers”—she raised a fist into the air—“It is our duty to be the Light and fight for the Light; it is our duty to sacrifice ourselves for Goodness, for if we do not, if we sit back and watch and do nothing, then we are destined to lose everything that is precious to us! And we will not let this Darkness extinguish our Light!”
The crowd erupted into cheer and whistle and applause; people rose to their feet, pumped their fists skyward; some kissed their hands and blew them at Thais, others used the moment to praise Jesus instead.
I stood shell-shocked; my skin tingled all over my pain-filled muscles; the blood drained from my face. I felt awed and proud and motivated by her words, just as everyone else. But unlike everyone else, I also felt confusion and loss. Thais wasn’t only mine anymore…
“Because voices that do not speak out, cannot be heard! And hands that do not fight, cannot win wars! And Light that does not shine, cannot penetrate Darkness!”
Shouts. Rejoicing. Hands raised to the night sky.
A moment longer, and the cheering died down, giving Thais the floor once more.
She held her hands out to me.
“And I refuse to lose what is precious to me,” she said. “Because Atticus is my light in the darkness. So tonight, I will marry him, and tomorrow when we arrive in Shreveport together, we can begin our new lives as one.”
The crowd cheered once more, the whistles strident and provocative; I felt a dozen hands pushing against my back, moving me forward through the throng and toward Thais.
My hands engulfed her cheeks when I made it there, and I kissed her so deeply and for so long that I couldn’t hear the cheers and the whistles amplified all around us.
I raised my free hand above me, and a hush fell over the crowd from front to back.
I cleared my throat, and squeezed Thais’ hand.
“Thais likes to give me all the credit,” I began, nervously, “but I have a feeling she probably didn’t tell anyone here that she has saved me and cared for me more than I ever could for her. It was Thais who freed me from Lexington City…and from myself. It was Thais who broke me out of a prison in Paducah and got me to safety. It was Thais who cared for me when I was sick, and broken, and tired, and on my deathbed”—I brought her hand to my mouth and kissed her knuckles again—“She says she wouldn’t be alive today if it weren’t for me, but the truth is, she saved me over and over. And even though I don’t feel worthy of her, I’ll tell you all the same thing I told her: I’m selfish, and I’m going to marry her anyway.”
Shouts. Cheers. Whistles. Laughter.
A voice rose above the crowd then. “Reverend Raymond is here!”
A short, stumpy Black man with broad shoulders, came strutting through the crowd with the kind of confident swagger that suggested he was not only a man of God, but a man of candid hilarity. A ragged-edged bible was wedged underneath one arm, a glass of what I assumed was whiskey, in the other hand, its amber-colored contents sloshing over the rim as he walked.
“Where have you been, Reverend?” Edith asked as the man stepped forward. “We were starting to think you weren’t coming.” She pursed her lips on one side, and looked at him sidelong in a scolding manner.
Reverend Raymond strutted right up to Edith, set his glass of whiskey on the tree stump Thais had used as a platform, and then tried to straighten his sloppy suit jacket with the free hand, tugging on the faded lapel.
“Hey, ain’t nobody told me yesterday anythang ‘bout no weddin’ ceremonies,” he said with a deep, southern accent. “Ya’ll know I need a day’s notice. I got thangs to do, just like everybody else. Ooh-wee look at you!” He smiled so wide at Thais I could see the pink of his gums. “How old are ya, girl? Lookin’ like you ain’t old enough to be gettin’ married”—he shook his finger at me—“and don’t be lyin’, either one of yahs, ‘cause I’ll know it if you lie.” He laughed, his beer-belly jiggling over the top of his belt.
“She’s old enough,” Edith spoke up for Thais. “When did you get all legal, anyway, Ray? Ain’t no laws anymore. Anybody can marry anybody these days. Long as they’re both willing.”
“Oh, they can can they?” Reverend Raymond came back. “Then I can marry your Ona, then?”
Edith snarled. “She ain’t willing.”
Reverend Raymond’s hand fell on his belly and he threw his head back and laughed. “Yeah, that’s what I figured. Now quit badgerin’ me, woman, so I can do my job. Ossie! I thank God every night she chose you over me when we were kids!”
Edith gave Raymond the evil-eye, mixed with a playful smile.
“I thank God every night, too!” Ossie called out.
Edith and Ossie exchanged loving glances.
Reverend Raymond turned back to Thais. “You are the ones gettin’ married, ain’t yah?”
“Yes, sir,” Thais said, and she curtsied. “And I’m nineteen, if you really want to know.”
Reverend Raymond winked, and he glanced at me with a mysterious smile. “I was jus’ jokin’ with yas,” he said. “You look like a fine couple. Both of yas look young as all get-out. Nineteen is believable”—he pointed at me—“Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”
“I’m about that,” I answered vaguely. What does it matter?
I felt Thais’ elbow nudging my side.
“Twenty-four, sir,” I changed my answer, and then glanced at Thais. Yes ma’am, my expression told her.
Thais blushed and smiled and squeezed my hand.
“Then let’s get on wit’it,” Reverend Raymond said, and his bible dropped from underneath his arm into his open hand with the smoothness of a magician. “Now, before I start”—he raised his voice high over the crowd—“I wanna know now, ‘stead of befo’ the kiss, if anybody here is gonna object to this union, ‘cause I ain’t about to waste my breath going through everythang—”
“Nobody’s gonna object,” Edith cut him off.
Reverend Raymond grumbled, then he opened his bible.
“We’re gathered here today…”
THAIS
Atticus and I stood arm-in-arm, facing the reverend—I didn’t even have a bouquet. It was all happening so quickly; there wasn’t time to rehearse or to do the traditional things people used to do before weddings, but neither of us cared about any of that. There would not have even been an official wedding dress if Ona hadn’t stepped in and offered hers when she heard the news an hour after Atticus had asked me to be his wife.
“Oh nonsense!” Ona had said earlier in the evening. “You aren’t getting married in that”—she wrinkled her nose at my casual attire—“I have just the dress for you to wear.” And Ona took me into her tent and she showed me the dress she was going to wear to marry the man she loved.
“I won’t take no for an answer,” Ona had said, holding the dress up against my body.
And I would never have said no. Especially after Ona told me what had happened to the man she loved, and why she never got to wear the dress herself. It was an honor to wear it.
“…these two people come together now to be joined…” Reverend Raymond went on.
ATTICUS & (THAIS)
I settled with the jeans Thais had given me after I had a bath, and a plain gray T-shirt.
“I don’t really have anything nice for you to wear that’d fit—my pants’d be floodin’ your ankles,” Ossie had told me.
“That’s all right,” I had said, standing outside Ossie’s and Edith’s tent after Thais had been whisked away by an excited Ona. “I think what I’m wearing will be just fine; Thais doesn’t care about stuff like that.” I sighed then, and glanced at the woods, my face shadowed by regret. “I don’t care much, either,” I had said, “but I wish I could give her a nice ring at least; I mean I know she wouldn’t care about that, either, but I do care.”
Ossie and Edith looked at one another, and something private passed between them.
Then Edith held out her hand and slid her wedding ring from her finger.
“I don’t need this anymore,” she told me, and placed the ring into the palm of my hand. “Ossie and I have been married forty years; we have each other, and that’s all we need.”
I looked at the ring in my hand, a small white diamond sparkling amid an intricate golden band. I looked up at her, and shook my head, started to give it back, but she wouldn’t let me.
“You’re right,” she said. “That girl needs a ring. And I have one to give. What’s a wedding without the rings?”
“I uh…thank you.” I wanted to say so much more, but I didn’t know how to put it all into words; not like Thais could put things into words.
Ossie took his ring off then and gave it to me.
“And after you’ve been married forty years,” he said, “then maybe you can pass them on to somebody else, too. Or keep them if you’d like.”
“Thank you…both of you.” I shook hands firmly with Ossie, and I hugged Edith like I would my mother.
“…and in these tryin’ times, God knows we all need more unions like this one…” the reverend continued.
As I stood next to Thais, and the reverend performed the ceremony, I thought of my mother and my sisters, wishing they could all be here with me.
“Wait!” someone shouted, and every head in the crowd turned simultaneously toward the voice.
Reverend Raymond grumbled. “Now, I said before I started that I didn’t want anybody interruptin’ with objections.”
“No objection, Reverend,” Ona said as she broke through the crowd, out of breath, and ran up carrying a bouquet of wildflowers wrapped and tied with a yellow ribbon. “The bride’s bouquet!” Her smile was radiant, her face filled with sweat and happiness.
“Thank you, Ona,” Thais said, beaming, and she took the bouquet and then kissed Ona’s cheek. “Thank you so much.”
“Oh, you’re welcome! Can’t be having a wedding without a bouquet.”
After a second of awkward silence, Reverend Raymond cleared his throat and said, “Is that all, darlin’?”
Ona’s face flushed. “Oh! So sorry!” She walked backward to get out of the way, and went to stand next to her grandmother.
Reverend Raymond turned back and said, “Now repeat after me…”
And I, looking into Thais’ eyes, repeated after him:
“I take you, Thais, to be my wedded wife. I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live, to have and to hold from this day until my last day, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish, until death do us part.”
And then Thais, looking into my eyes, repeated after the reverend:
“I take you, Atticus, to be my wedded husband. I vow to love you and care for you as long as we both shall live, to have and to hold from this day until my last day, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, honor, and cherish, until death do us part.”
(I nearly cried.)
I nearly cried.
Reverend Raymond held out his hand, palm up, and said after clearing his throat again: “Should I skip the ring part?”
Realizing, I released Thais’ hand and fumbled inside my pocket for the rings Edith and Ossie had given me.
(My eyes grew wide with surprise when I saw the rings sparkling in the palm of Atticus’ hand. I looked up at him, back at the rings, wondering where he got them, but so happy he’d managed the gesture somehow. I would have been happy with anything, or nothing, but this sure made my heart flutter.)
I took Thais’ hand, and I smiled, and I waited for the reverend to get on with it because I was more than eager to get the ring on her finger.
Reverend Raymond continued, and I repeated after him:
“Thais, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you. With this ring, I thee wed.” I slid the ring onto her finger, and tears cascaded down her cheeks.
Thais took the other ring from him and she held it and took my hand into hers and she repeated after the reverend:
“Atticus, I give you this ring as a symbol of our vows, and with all that I am and all that I have, I honor you. With this ring, I thee wed.” She slid the ring onto my unbroken ring-finger, and I choked back the tears that almost cascaded down my cheeks.
“You may now share a kiss,” Reverend Raymond said.
With my hands upon Thais’ cheeks, I pulled her close and kissed my wife for the first time. And the crowd hooted and hollered and whistled and cheered and clapped and the music started again in celebration.
After Thais blindly threw her bouquet, and a young wearing a hijab caught it, we danced more, and we ate more and drank a little until the first chance we got we slipped away unnoticed so we could be alone.