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PART III
GLADYS

82

CHRISTMAS EVE dawned with Marina still detached. Neither here nor there, neither sad nor happy, she simply observed. No one noticed. She was acting no differently from usual. It was her preferred way of existing. No happiness meant no pain.

Family members who had arrived from out of town didn’t know who she was other than the long-lost grandson’s new wife, but they had been kind in the way one was to a guest in someone else’s house. All the children saw Marina as just another boring adult.

Their traditions were completely at odds with the ones she’d grown up with: There were wrapped presents piled high for all the great-grandchildren (and there were many). There were envelopes of cash amongst the tree ornaments and in the pine boughs for the grandchildren (there were many of those, also).

The day was festive. Supper was comprised of a buffet of canapes and finger sandwiches; breads of all types; delicious punches, mulled wine and cider and wassail; and cookies and cakes and candies. The myriad children were excited and rowdy and utterly thrilled they were allowed to stuff themselves with candy until they were sick.

Then they went to Midnight Mass.

Marina had been to mass several times since she’d arrived.

The cathedral was as magnificent in its own way as the Midland Theater was. Services were not loud and raucous like Pentecostal services and not quiet and dignified like Mormon services.

It was a solemn theatrical performance.

The choir was angelic. The small orchestra and organ were glorious, playing what she had learned was good music, not the stuff the church band played for praise worship, which now seemed cheap and sleazy. The ritual with the altar boys and priest in robes walking down the center aisle swinging the incense chambers was enthralling.

It was all so … important. The beauty and calm of the ritual soothed her.

The priest was old, kindly, and very wise. He gave sermons that were practical in nature, which Marina appreciated and enjoyed insofar as she could. How to serve one’s fellow man. How to settle differences between people. How to love others as Jesus loved them. It was quieter than Father preached. It was more polished and certain than how Bishop Albright or any of the Mormon churchmembers preached. None of it was anything different from Bishop Albright’s Two Rules Sermon, but it was ever so much more.

Father was a seasoned huckster who traded on his charisma. Bishop Albright was a veterinarian who hated preaching. This priest was perfect for the way Marina thought.

But Midnight Mass was something else entirely.

For the first time since she’d arrived, Marina felt something stir within her, elbowing her detachment aside. The music was more grand than ever, the orchestra and choir twice as big singing carols of hope, the huge Christmas tree and garlands and lights breathtaking. The pews were packed and then some, which Marina found oddly comforting. The procession was the same, but it felt like more.

She listened to the liturgy carefully. She knew the Christmas story of course, but this was lovely, intertwined with the priest’s normal down-to-earth advice on forgiveness and repentance.

She hoped God—whichever God, evangelical, Mormon, Catholic—didn’t expect her to forgive and she couldn’t think of anything she needed to repent of. She did have guilt that she didn’t want to repent of allowing Trey to beat Mother, but she could live with that guilt.

“When one suffers from others’ misdeeds, explanations are given like ‘It happened for a reason,’ but does it? Does everything happen for a reason or is it all just life? Luck? Fate? As I sit and ponder these things with God, he directs my thoughts backward. Would I be this if I hadn’t done that? Would I be there if someone else had been here?

“The answer is no. The answer is always no, because each act, whether we are the actor or the acted-upon, changes us. We cannot go back to undo it. If the answer is always no, then does it matter if it happened for a reason or not?”

Yes, it mattered!

She had prayed for rescue. The Jewel Tea man rang the doorbell.

She had prayed for refuge. The Dunhams welcomed her with love and warmth.

She wanted to know if there was a god and if so, if he had heard and answered her prayers.

“The only thing that matters is how you act in response. React. Think about that a moment. When we act, we are the person in control. When we react, we are ceding control to someone who has acted upon us.”

Control.

Marina had never been in control of anything except her cleaning schedule, then the home Trey had given her to do with what she would while he went to 1520 Main and controlled her.

Marina hadn’t known what to do with herself. She cleaned. She cooked. She sewed. She read. She went to the Albrights’ to learn how to take care of a baby (truthfully, she was a good baby). Then Trey had hired her tutor, which meant she couldn’t even go to Kresge’s because Marina had to abide by her tutor’s availability. Dot resented that so much she didn’t even want to talk to her. Then Trey had abruptly fired her tutor but hadn’t hired another one, which meant she could go to Kresge’s again—but Dot then had to help at the veterinary. And then on Tuesdays and Thursdays, they had nothing to speak of because Marina wasn’t at school so she didn’t know the latest gossip and Dot was still hurting over Gio, so she didn’t want to hear about Marina’s life because to Dot, Marina got the better end of the deal.

Dot was in control.

Trey was in control.

Marina had never been able to control her life, to choose her path, even if she’d known what that path was. Her path was always going to be the parsonage and taking care of Mother. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t unhappy because she didn’t know what could be until Trey had stepped into her life.

Then someone else controlled her by drugging her.

She sighed and wondered what this priest would say if she told him her troubles. Certainly he couldn’t say she had the opportunity to act and not react.

Except … firing Miss Stanley.

It had felt good. Right. Marina missed her sessions, but if she had any energy, she’d still be angry over the woman’s meddling—over which Marina had had no control.

“ … cannot act at all, however, until we are secure in the know­ledge of ourselves. Who am I? Why am I here? What do I believe? Why do I believe that? Where am I to go? What am I capable of doing? What am I to do with those capabilities? The answers to those questions are the lamp posts guiding us on the dark path of forces that require us to react.”

Who am I?

Marina Leigh Scarritt Truesdell, but those were just words. Her entire life was a lie. She wasn’t anybody. She might as well have no name.

Why am I here?

She had no idea.

What do I believe?

Nothing.

Why do I believe that?

Not applicable.

Where am I to go?

Marina’s brow wrinkled. That was different from the other questions. The other questions were what had been. This required an answer as to what would or could be, but were dependent upon her previous answers.

Or were they?

She didn’t know. No one had told her to go anywhere until she turned up in the family way, only where not to go.

What am I capable of doing?

Housework. Sewing. Cooking. Reading.

Dressmaking.

Now, unlike when she was living with the Albrights, she had the money to do that and she would not have to care for a child at the same time.

I’m sure you’d make a crackerjack lawyer.

She shooed that away immediately.

What am I to do with those capabilities?

That was too much thinking, so she stopped.

“ … beseech you to think of not why something happened. It is God’s will that you become the person you will become for that thing having happened … ”

I married a fucking lawyer!

“ … goal to act and not react, and then, only then, once you have made peace with that which has happened, which you cannot change and does not matter, you may be able to discern God’s will for the direction of your life.”

Marina still didn’t know if there was a god, but she had prayed to him. By herself. With no one’s permission. Instead of being struck down by lightning for her arrogance, she had gotten what she had prayed for.

Then she realized though praying was a reaction to what was happening to her, it was also an act because she decided to approach God directly after having been taught one did not do that. She supposed it might be her first act of rebellion against her upbringing.

“ … does not matter, as all these things are for our benefit, to mold us into the children God wants. Therefore, forgive as Christ our Lord forgave. Acknowledge that in offending against us, we are better people and that it does not matter why and since it doesn’t, forgiveness should be the easiest thing in the world … ”

The priest was old. Kindly. Plain-spoken. His sermons comforted Marina.

But he was wrong. It did matter. It always mattered. There was never a reveal where the murderer’s motives were left unsaid.

“ … merely to satisfy our curiosity.”

Marina’s mouth twisted. If one’s curiosity was not satisfied, could one learn from the experience or use the knowledge in future situations?

No, Marina decided, this priest, no matter how wise and learned, was wrong.

82

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