My gift from God

-a maidenly love story or a family story without relations

2000 © Katta

PART 1

Sister Ruth looked out the window of the schoolroom at the children outside. Some were playing what appeared to be innocent games, others made her frown.
“They’re picking on Ike again”, she said indignantly. She never could stand unnecessary cruelty.
Sister Martha left her sewing and looked out the window too. She taught the youngest pupils, whose opinions of her varied from “quite a good sport” to “frightening”. She was also a very pretty young woman, and her prettiness always made sister Ruth feel awkward. She herself was a thin, nearsighted woman of forty who had never been pretty and certainly never would be.
“Yes, it’s quite a shame, really”, said sister Martha in her melodic, Irish voice. “But I don’t think he understands it. It’s not as if they really hurt him.”
“How do you know?” asked sister Ruth, raising her own voice, which was as thin and plain as the rest of her. “You don’t know what goes on in his soul!”
“Soul?”
It was sister Joan that decided to join the conversation. Sister Joan had lived for fiftythree years and been a nun more than half of that time, and she took for granted that her own opinion was shared by the Divinity.
“Surely there can’t be much of a soul in there!” she said disregarding. She didn’t leave her chair. She didn’t have to. Her voice only pointed out exactly why there couldn’t be a soul inside that little mute, bald twelve-year-old.
“Poor child”, sighed sister Ruth.
The answer to this was a loud snort from the other nun.
“A punishment from God on the parents, I’m sure”, she said.
“I hear they were God-fearing people”, objected sister Martha.
“Presbyterians!” said sister Joan, as if that word was enough.
“Ah, presbyterians!” said sister Martha, and a smile came over her pretty face. “Scottish people! Honestly, sister Joan, if that was all it took, few normal children would ever be born.”
She got no answer. Sister Joan was deeply offended. The younger nun hadn’t only contradicted her, but ridiculed her! Sister Martha realised her mistake.
“I think God just wanted to try them”, she said.
“Maybe he rewarded them”, said sister Ruth shortly and turned to leave. She rushed so quickly through the door that she bumped into a boy that was taken into the schoolroom by mother Helen. The boy took a step backwards and watched her closely. He was of Indian origin, approximately in his early teens, and very serious in a way that made him look like a grown man.
“Watch where you’re going, sister Ruth!” said mother Helen. “This is our newest pupil, Buck Cross.”
“Running Buck”, mumbled the child. Mother Helen gave him a sharp glance.
“Buck Cross”, she repeated. “He’ll be one of Bridget’s pupils.” She gave
the boy a light push in the back. “Say hello to sister Ruth, Buck!”
“Hello, sister Ruth”, said the boy reluctantly.
“Hello Buck”, said sister Ruth, who felt tears coming down her chins. “Forgive me, mother, but I have to go…” And she ran off through the corridor.
Mother Helen looked puzzled.
“What on earth came over her?” she asked the other nuns.
“She’s very peculiar”, said sister Martha with a frown.
“Mad”, said sister Joan shortly. “Absolutely mad, mark my words.”

When sister Ruth came out on the playing ground, she tried to find Ike McSwain, but could not. The other children had moved on to killing bugs or some other sweet, childish game. She walked around aimlessly for a while, before she spotted his red bandana by the henhouse. She went over there, and was surprised to see him sitting on the ground with a hen in his lap.
“Hello, Ike”, she said, softly.
The boy looked up. He wasn’t hostile, but clearly on his guard.
“I’ve never seen anyone pat a hen before”, she said. “I always thought hens weren’t to keen on people. She lookes nice, though. Is she nice?”
He nodded, and reached out his hand. She sat down on her heels and gave her own hand to him. He took it, and very gently he stroke the hen’s back with it. The feathers tickled her palm.
“Well, that’s… lovely!” she said, and she sat there, next to the boy, for quite some time, before the bell rang and she remembered what a proper nun was supposed to do.

After that, sister Ruth did not pay much attention to Ike for a while. She had so many pupils, and she was far too fond of them. Even though all the pupils she taught literature were ten years old or more, she always referred to them as “little lambs”. She had no illusions of them, she knew little lambs are not as white as we suppose them to be, and she managed to keep her class disciplined. But there was some aspects of teaching that she simply couldn’t stand, and beating was one of them.
“What is it now, sister Ruth?” asked sister Martha, rather wearily, when she found sister Ruth crying in the corridor.
“Listen!” answered sister Ruth.
Sister Martha listened and heard sister Joan’s harsh voice interrupted by the smacks of a cane.
“Well, some children need a beating”, she said and sat down next to her colleague. “The Bible says so.”
“Yes, I know”, sobbed sister Ruth, “but I cannot believe that it’s right!”
They heard sister Joan shout:
“You will burn in hell if you don’t abandon your heathen ways, do you hear me! I will beat your sins out of you if it’s the last thing I do!”
Sister Martha leant back and smiled.
“Buck?” she asked.
Sister Ruth nodded.
“I bet he’s standing straight as a tree”, continued sister Martha, “taking the blows curageously like a man should, whatever he may feel about it. Heathen or not, I can’t help admiring the boy. He’s got character.”
The noise inside silenced, and a few seconds later, Buck came out. By his expression, nobody could tell the condition of his behind. He stopped and looked at the two nuns.
“She’s got quite an arm, doesn’t she, Buck?” said sister Martha lightly.
“She does”, said the boy and looked at sister Ruth, who was still sobbing. She looked up and tried to wipe her tears away.
“Hello”, she said.
“Do you always, cry, sister?” the boy asked.
There was a half-choked laughter from sister Martha, who quickly put her hand in front of her mouth. Sister Ruth blushed.
“No”, she said. “Not… always.”
“I feel so silly!” she said when Buck had left. “Am I such a whimp that I can’t stand to hear my pupils be beaten?”
“The whimp in the wimple!” said sister Martha and laughed. “I don’t think you’re a whimp. You’ve got plenty of guts -you just have to find them.”

It just so happened that Ruths first chance of finding her guts came thanks to Ike McSwain. She was just undressing after completorium when a violent knock came on the door, and sister Bridget’s voice shouted:
“Sister Ruth, are you in there?”
“Yes”, she answered, “what is it?”
“We need you down in the boys’ dormitory number four!” said the other nun.
“Come quick!”
Sister Ruth hurried to put her clothes back on and opened her door. Sister Bridget was waiting for her outside. She was a chubby nun, thirtysomething, with a surprising look of mischief in her eyes. Now, however, she look entirely distressed.
“Hurry up!” she said, and started running down the corridor.
“What… is… the matter?” panted sister Ruth as she ran.
“It’s Ike McSwain!” said sister Bridget, who in spite of her weight didn’t seem to be a bit troubled by running. “He has attacked sister Renata! Fortunately, mother Helen, sister Martha and I was right outside and we heard her scream. Otherwise he might have seriously hurt her! Oh, sister Ruth!” She stopped short, because they were now right outside number four, and she looked really desperate.
“I don’t know if we can keep him after this!”
Sister Ruth frowned. Somehow it didn’t sound like the boy she remembered holding a hen in his lap.
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” she asked.
“It was sister Martha’s idea”, said sister Bridget as she opened the door. “She thought you might have a good influence on him.”
Sister Martha barely gave the two nuns a glance, she was too busy holding Ike’s wrists to prevent him from hitting her.
“Stop it!” she said in that no-nonsense tone of voice that could frighten sensitive little children. “Now, lie down and behave yourself. I’ll have none of this, you hear me?”
Not far from Ike’s bed sat sister Renata on a chair, with mother Helen next to her. The sister’s face was lined with red, bloody marks of nails.
“I have never in my life met such a child!” she said indignantly. “He must be mad! Either that or possessed with some evil demon!”
“What did you do to him?!” exclaimed sister Ruth.
“I? I did nothing! He just suddenly got a fit and tried to kill me!”
“Well, that’s a serious accusation”, said sister Ruth and looked at the crying, helplessly struggling boy.
“For Christ’s sake, Martha”, she added sharply, “let go of him!”
“Sorry, sister”, answered sister Martha, and there was a quick shadow of a grin on her face, “I’m not going to have those nails in my face.”
Sister Ruth approached the bed, trying to ignore the curious faces of nine little boys that from their beds followed everything that happened.
“Ike”, she said, softly, “you wouldn’t hurt me if sister Martha let go, would you?”
The boy gave her a suspicious look.
“Would you?”
He lowered his arms, and sister Martha let go, even though she obviously was doubtful about it. Sister Ruth sat down on Ike’s bed and stroke his cheek.
“Now, what’s wrong?” she asked.
He reached out his hand, with a commanding look on his face.
“What? What did she do?”
“I tell you I didn’t do anything!” said sister Renata.
Ike made an ugly face at her, and sister Ruth had to bite her lip not to laugh.
“I don’t believe that for a minute, sister!” she said, and her voice was hard as steel. “Something must have happened, and I assume you had something to do with it!”
“Well, I never…”
“Yes, you said that! But what happened when you came to his bed?”
“He had a ribbon”, said Tommy, the tiny boy of eight that slept in the bed next to Ike’s. “And she took it.”
“Did she?” said sister Ruth and looked at Ike, who nodded violently.
“Sister?” she said, looking at sister Renata. “Is it true? Did you take a ribbon from this boy?”
“He must have stolen it from one of the girls!” objected sister Renata.
“First murder, then theft!” said sister Ruth, who was coldly furious by now. “Do you have any other unprovable accusations against him?” She turned to Ike. “You didn’t steal the ribbon, did you?”
He shook his head.
“Well, then that’s settled”, said sister Ruth and turned to her colleague. “Now will you give it back?”
“You can’t believe him, his clearly mad!” shouted the other nun.
“Another accusation!”
“What would he do with a ribbon anyway?”
“He keeps it under his pillow”, said Tommy. “He’s kept it there for as long as I have lived here, and when he thinks everyone is asleep he takes it out. Sometimes he cries when he holds it.”
Ike looked at Tommy so angrily that the younger boy hurried to hide himself under his blanket. Sister Ruth looked at sister Renata, and she felt full of something strange, something that had never been a part of her before.
“Give. It. Back.” she repeated.
Sister Renata stared at her for a split second and then opened her hand. Inside it was a pale blue ribbon, and sister Ruth took it from the other nun’s motionless hand and gave it to Ike.
“Here you go, my little lamb”, she said.
He sobbed as he took his beloved possession back, and then he surprisingly threw his arms around sister Ruth’s neck and buried his face in her veil. Sister Ruth almost tumbled; the boy was only an inch or two shorter than herself. Then she felt a warm tenderness rising inside her. She hadn’t been hugged for many, many years. She put her arms around Ike’s chest and rocked him slowly.
“Dear child”, she mumbled. “Dear, dear child.”

“You were magnificent!” said sister Martha enthusiastically the next time the two of them met on their own. “I’ve never seen you like that, it was like a miracle!” She raised her hands as in prayer. “Ruth O’Reilly, the wild animal defending her cub! Hallelujah!”
“Don’t joke about this!” said sister Ruth, who was very unhappy. “Anger is a mortal sin!”
“Don’t be silly!” said sister Martha, who was laughing wildly. “She had it coming! Oh, the look on her face… What’s next? Are you going to take on Joanie? I do wish you would, she could need a good calling down.”
“Oh, Martha, you’re so…” Sister Ruth shook her head. “Why did you even become a nun?”
“What?” Sister Marta looked puzzled, and sister Ruth shrugged.
“Well, anyone can understand why I did. A meek little thing that never got married… This way I get children, and companionship with other women - even a husband in God. But you! You don’t have a nun’s temper, and you must have had dozens of admirers.”
“I did”, said sister Martha. “But I didn’t want any of them.”
She sat silent for a while, and then started to speak. She seemed absent-minded.
“The priest in my home town always had very dull sermons. And when they weren’t dull they were simply outrageous! And yet I liked going to church, because the rest of the mass was like magic to me. The clothes, the incense, the beautiful Latin phrases - I found them beautiful even though I didn’t understand them. So, as soon as I learned how to read I found myself an old King James’ Bible and tried to figure out if it was the sermons or the magic that was truly Biblical. You know what I found?”
Sister Ruth shook her head, and sister Martha recited dreamily:
“‘Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, according to thy word: For mine eyes have seen thy salvation, Which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; A light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel.’” She smiled. “I was just a little girl, it could as well have been Latin. But I loved it. And I loved many parts that I understood, too. Zacchæus who climbed a tree to get a chance to see Jesus; Rhoda who was too glad to remember to open the door for Peter; Ruth who followed her mother-in-law to a strange country. I remember the chill I got when Moses dared to stand in front of the man who raised him and say ‘Let my people go’. And when I grew up, there were simply no men that could compete with that. They were… their poetry was never as passionate as ‘Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed among the lilies.’ I fell in love with God. And because I fell in love with him, I fell in love with his creation, his people. Maybe I don’t always seem serious, but I don’t think God is afraid of laughter. I think the devil is, because laughter diminishes him to what he is: a low, powerless creature that the love of God can conquer anytime.”
Her eyes glittered, and sister Ruth sighed.
“That is so beautiful! I do envy you. Somehow you’re always better than me in everything.”
“That’s not true.” Sister Martha took the other woman’s hand. “I may have the beauty of Psalms, but you have the love of Luke’s gospel. Like him, you love the little people. Kids like Ike. He hugged you.”
“He did”, said Ruth, and felt one of those stupid tears coming down her cheek.
“Now you know what love is. It hurts, but it’s worth the pain. “ Sister Martha smiled. “I would say you have a child now.”
That really got the tears to flow. Sister Martha looked slightly amused, but how could she know? All sister Ruth ever wanted was children, but to get that she needed something she never managed to get - a man.

“Leslie and Sheila are my absolute favourites”, said sister Bridget, who was marking some papers. “They actually do some thinking of their own, which is rare. Most of the children just do as you tell them. Nice and well-behaved, certainly, but not much spirit.”
“But you’ve got Buck Cross among your abecedarians”, objected sister Martha. “He’s my favourite.”
“Ouch, too grown up!” replied sister Bridget. “Almost like a man. They lose something in that age. But it’s all very well for you, you’re not the one who has to make ‘the cat sat in the hat’ look like a serious sentence.”
Sister Ruth frowned. She had always had very strong opinions about keeping favourites, but she didn’t feel that she had the right to object anymore. Ike was most definitely closest to her heart, and the only thing she comforted herself with was that he wasn’t in her classes, so she didn’t really have to stay objective. Restlessly, she moved towards the window and looked out to see what was going on. Everything appeared normal, but in a distant corner she saw Mitch Hartnell, the worst bully in the school, Roger Delacroix, who had been likewise until he left two years earlier (as mildmannered as sister Ruth was, she must admit to herself that she couldn’t wait for Mitch to leave, too), and two of Roger’s no-good companions from town. She couldn’t see what they were up to, but she was certain it wasn’t anything good. The older men looked drunk. At that moment, Roger stept aside, and sister Ruth almost lost her breath when she saw what was going on. Mitch was holding Buck Cross while the other three beat him up.
“What’s the matter?”
Sister Martha rose and stood next to her by the window.
“Good Lord!” she said when she saw the cruel assault.
“I got to stop them!” said sister Ruth and started to leave, but stopped when sister Martha said:
“Now, what is he up to?”, and then burst into a short, surprised laughter.
“What?” said sister Ruth and looked into the window again.
What she saw made her chin fall down, and there they stood, like two nesting-boxes. Because Ike McSwain had unexpectedly come to Buck’s rescue by
attacking Mitch. Mitch had to let go, and for a moment the two boys stood next to each other, while the bullies tried to figure out the new situation.
“Look at them!” said sister Martha, and there was admiration in her voice. “Back to back, like two ancient Celtic warriors.”
“Warriors beaten black and blue”, said sister Ruth when the bullies had gotten facts into their heads and took on both the smaller boys with renewed energy.
She hurried through the corridors and entered the schoolyard. There was by now a small crowd around the boys, but most of the kids payed no attention to the scene - the odds were to uneven to make the fight interesting.
“Stop that immediately!” shouted sister Ruth, but nobody listen to her.
Now, the O’Reilly family had been blessed with four boys, and Ruth’s brothers had taught her quite a few things that weren’t very proper for a girl to know. She had forgotten most of it, but not everything. Sister Ruth put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The sharp sound made the combattants halt. Sister Ruth grabbed Mitch and separated him from his victim.
“I want you to leave immediately!” she said to the drunks. Then she turned to the youngster she was holding. “You! Go to your dormitory, grab your rosary and start praying! You’ll need God’s mercy, believe me!”
“They started it”, tried Roger.
“Don’t insult my intelligence, young man! You can consider yourself lucky that you don’t belong to this school anymore!”
It was a funny scene. The nun was no bigger than the boys she defended, and much smaller than the men she reproached. But even if they had no respect for her physics, they actually did have some respect for her clothes, and obeyed her command. When she had seen them leave, she turned to the others. They were a sorry sight, bruised and bleeding. But she was too exhausted after the battle of minds to feel any pity.
“Anything broken?”
Ike shook his head. Buck rose and rubbed his shoulder.
“I think my arm is dislocated”, he said.
“Really?” This actually concerned her, and she hurried to take a look. The joint was a bit swollen, but it was in its place. “It’s just a sprain. Ask sister Elizabeth to put a bandage on it. We’ll talk about this later. You two…”
It was the first time that phrase was used about them. Maybe she had some hunch that it wouldn’t be the last, because she turned to Ike.
“Now, what did you do that for?”
He shrugged - he had no way of telling her. She sighed a little and shook her head.
“You’d better put a cold knife or something on that eye, or you won’t be able to use it tomorrow.”
As she left, Buck turned to Ike, and reached out his hand.
“Thank you. I owe you one.”
Ike shyly took his hand, but shook his head, shrugged and pointed at Buck’s wounded shoulder.
“Well, sure”, said Buck with a grin, “it didn’t help much. But I appreciate the try. Friends?”
Ike looked at him in astonishment. He hadn’t had a friend for as long as he could remember. Then he nodded, slowly. Without even thinking, Buck joined his hands in a simple gesture: <<friend>>. Ike raised his eyebrows and repeated it inquiringly. And that’s how it began.

Part 2

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