Making Angels Laugh Page 5

  Patrick laughed.

  “Just go and have a good time,” Janet instructed. “I wanted to find you a longer cruise, on something other than a floating city, but your sons and their wives couldn’t get that much time away from their jobs and none of them wanted the work of learning to sail. You need a break. You need some time to decompress and relax.”

  “Should I even look at what you bought me to wear on the cruise?” Rita asked on a sigh.

  Janet chuckled.

  She felt her stomach clinch. “Tell me that the clothes are modest. Please.”

  Janet nodded. “They are modest. Mostly slacks, longer skirts, and casual shirts, one set of Capris, the obligatory dressy dress for formal night, and a couple of floor length skirts and nicer blouses that you can mix and match for dinners. The colors are a brighter than your customary black, but they’re relatively sedate; blues, whites, browns, greens, with no prints, no patterns. Nothing about the clothes is immodest. There is some bling on the formal dress. There is a bathing suit—one piece, conservative, with a long cover up. You’ll be comfortable. You’re sharing a cabin with your mother, by the way. That’s how Irina Danielova wanted it.”

  “I don’t mind sharing a room with Mama.”

  “Are you sure you aren’t angry?” Patrick asked.

  “No, I am not angry. But I really don’t want to go to that reunion. There aren’t but three people that I really have any interest in seeing from my class.”

  “Go, see them. Then have fun rubbing the rest of their noses in it,” Patrick said. “You are a world class cardiologist with a successful practice; the mother of a doctor, a lawyer, and a priest; the grandmother of five, soon to be seven, adorable kids. You have a good life. Better than most of theirs, I’d wager.”

  Rita sighed heavily. “I’m a lonely old widowed woman who is a workaholic. So much a workaholic that my practice partners and my children have conspired to blackmail me into taking the first vacation I’ve had in eleven years.”

  “Thirteen, since your last real vacation before Andrei… passed…but who’s counting,” Janet corrected. “We’ve been in practice together here for eleven years. You haven’t taken as much as a whole day off just for yourself in all that time, not even for Pascha and Christmas, except for conferences you’ve gone to, and you were often the keynote speaker at those, so that doesn’t count as vacation time, just as a slightly different kind of work.”

  “You’re forgetting about the weeks I left you stranded to go help Borya and Sonya after the triplets and twins were born.”

  “I am not forgetting about those times at all. In my book, that doesn’t count as time for yourself, as you came back more exhausted than when you left. You could have used a vacation after returning from each of those visits to your son and his wife and their children,” Janet said.

  “I don’t know how Sonya manages. I have no idea how she will manage having seven children under the age of five. It was hard enough for me and Dryusha to raise our three boys, and Svetlana, for the short time we had her with us, in spite of the fact we had a household staff. One set of twins was enough for us. I really can’t begin to imagine how she stays sane with triplets and twins, and now with the new set of twins coming on top of them.”

  “No, I can’t imagine that either. But Father Boris would probably say that God provides and take it very much in stride.”

  “He would indeed,” Rita replied, sighing. “As would Sonya. So, for them, God has provided. At least, they have accepted the twice weekly maid service I contracted for them to have as my Christmas gift to them three years ago.”

  “You need to take this time off and just relax,” Janet replied. “You’ve been working too hard.”

  “You haven’t taken much time off, yourselves.”

  Patrick said, “That’s why we’re taking six weeks, beginning the fifteenth of December, flying to Sydney, then going sailing around Australia; just the two of us, and the crew members, on a seventy-two foot yacht. Sailing, scuba diving, snorkeling, just relaxing and having a good time. It will be the height of summer there. And we’ll get away from all the snow and cold.”

  “You always liked sailing. I would think that kind of sailing would be a good deal different than your Sunday afternoons out on the lake,” Rita replied with a smile. “Have a great time.”

  “We won’t go unless you take your time first,” Patrick said.

  “Janet made that clear. Thus the extortion charge.”

  Patrick took Janet’s hand. Rita felt a pang of jealousy and loneliness so intense that she had to look away.

  Not that she begrudged her friends any happiness, but she was lonely. Normally, life was busy, almost too busy. Living on the grounds of the clinic, she always had work to do.

  “Promise me that you will take the time off and go have fun if I go along with this birthday surprise you have orchestrated for me?” Rita demanded.

  “We will,” Patrick said.

  “Very well, if I’m going to be ready to leave when the car comes for me tomorrow, I better go see to things.”

  “You haven’t finished your dinner,” Patrick protested. “And you have to blow out the candles on your birthday cake. You can’t disappoint the staff.”

  He had a point. So she stayed through dessert, although she cut herself a bare sliver of the cake and left most of that on her plate.

  After coffee, Rita said, “Good night. I’m on call tonight.”

  “No. I’m taking call,” Janet protested.

  “No, you’re not. I won’t stand for it. You’ll be on duty 24/7 for the next six weeks. I’ll take call tonight. I can sleep on the planes, if necessary,” Rita said. “You two have a good evening together.”

  Then she left the conference room, stopping only to wish her staff members a good evening. Rita walked outside onto the grounds. Father Samuel caught up with her. “Do you want travelling blessings, after Vespers, Matushka?”

  “Yes, Father Samuel, and confession, if you have time.”

  “For you, I always have time,” he said.

  The prayers of Vespers floated over her. Weekday Vespers were lightly attended services, usually just five or six people and the priest. Saturday night saw more people at this service, as people came to prepare themselves for the Sunday morning Divine Liturgy. Rita usually chanted the psalms for an hour or two on Saturday evening while confessions were being witnessed, to cover the sound of people telling the priest their sins.

  She was always glad to be here. This chapel was an island of peace in the midst of a very busy life. It had taken nearly three years to refine her ideas for this chapel before she had taken her sketches to the architect. Previously, a room near her office had been used as a temporary chapel. But this was so much better, much more conducive to prayer. She didn’t regret spending even one dollar of the large cost of the chapel.

  After everyone else had left the chapel following their communal evening prayers, Fr. Samuel met her near the front of the Church at the brocade draped analogion that held an icon of Christ. She kissed the icon in reverence for Christ and stood with her head bowed. He began, “O God, our Savior, who by Your prophet Nathan did grant remission of his sins to the repentant David, and did accept the penitent prayer of Manassah; accept in Your love for mankind, this Your servant, Margarita, who laments those iniquities she has worked, overlooking all that she has done, forgiving her unrighteousness, and passing by her transgressions. For You, Lord, have said You have no pleasure in the death of a sinner, but rather that she should return and live; and that sins shall be forgiven until seventy times seven. For as Your greatness is incomparable, so is Your mercy immeasurable. For if You should mark transgressions, O Lord, who could stand? For You are the God of the penitent, and to You we ascribe glory, to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, now and ever, and to ages of ages. Amen.”

  Then draping his stole over her head and pointing to the icon of Christ, Father Samuel charged her, “Behold, child, Christ stands
here invisibly to hear your confession. Don’t be ashamed, neither be afraid, and hide nothing from me; but tell me all that you have done so that you may receive forgiveness from Our Lord Jesus Christ. Behold, his image is before us, and I am only a witness, that I may bear witness before Him of all you tell me. If you hide anything from me, you have double sin. Think carefully then, for since you have come to the place of the physician, don’t go away unhealed. What do you have to confess?”

  She sighed and blinked back tears. “It is unforgiveness, Father. You know that the family and Janet are forcing me to go to my high school reunion tomorrow. High school was a terrible time for me. There were three young men in my class who made my life a living hell. They tried several times to kill me, and nearly succeeded on their last attempt.”

  “How did they do that?” Father demanded, clearly surprised.

  “I haven’t come to confess their sins, but my own, Father.”

  “Help me to understand your pain?”

  She sighed. “Father, reciting their actions would only make it harder for me to forgive them.”

  “It’s been forty years. I doubt anything you tell me will make things worse,” he urged, his voice gentle.

  She sighed. “Very well… They put a live rattlesnake in my desk. They pushed me down stairs. They incited a large and muscular boy from the special education classes to beat me which resulted in my suffering several broken bones and serious internal injuries. Then two years later, they set fire to our church, entering with gas cans while I was inside praying.”

  “I see,” he said, his voice controlled. She had shocked him. He was angry for her sake. “And no one came to your aid?”

  “The principal tried. I had three friends who stood up to the bullies and tried to protect me. But the ringleader’s father was the local sheriff, the boy’s uncle was the county prosecutor, and his grandfather was the circuit judge. The kid got away with murder. But that is neither here nor there. My problem is that I have never forgiven the three bullies. I never let myself think about those years, but I did today. I’ve been swamped with old memories. I thought I had moved on and put the whole period behind me. But as I have contemplated this trip, today, I realized that I still harbor hatred, even rage, toward these people, and have never forgiven them. I’ve carried that simmering rage for forty years, buried so deeply I’ve never examined it because I didn’t want to think about those years. I don’t even know how to begin to forgive them. That is dangerous for my soul. I need to put aside the weight of this burden…” Then her voice became small and ashamed, “Father, I am afraid that I will hurt one or more of them at the reunion if they act badly towards me.”

  “You have forgiven others for greater sins. You forgave the young man who killed your husband. What makes this different?”

  “Young Jameson was, and is, mentally ill, not able to truly know right from wrong. These people were just ugly and mean all the way to the bone. They knew right from wrong,” Rita said. “They just thought it was fun to hurt people.”

  “Do you think Our Lord forgave those who lashed him?”

  “Of course.”

  “The soldiers who mocked him with the purple robe and the crown of thorns, did He forgive them?”

  “Yes.”

  “The soldiers who made Him carry His cross even though He fell repeatedly under the weight of it after a sleepless night of beatings and interrogations, did He forgive them?”

  “Yes.”

  “The soldiers who drove the nails into His hands and feet, did He forgive them?”

  “Yes.” She couldn’t blink back the tears any longer. “That’s why I have come. I know that it is doing injury to my soul to hold onto this. I need to forgive them for the good of my own soul, if for no other reason. I feel so badly that I’ve never confessed this unforgiveness and rage. But I hadn’t thought about them for years, until today.”

  “Abba Dioscorus sat in his cell weeping when a young monk came to him asking him why he was crying. Abba said, ‘I am weeping over my sins.’ The young monk protested that Abba had no such sins to cry about. But Abba replied, ‘My son, if I were allowed to see my sins, three or four men wouldn’t be enough to weep for them’. Sometimes, we are blind to our sins. You are no longer blind to this one. And seeing it, you have quickly sought out healing for your soul. This is a good thing. The unforgiveness and rage has been a festering abscess in your soul. You have now brought it to light, have lanced it, and have cleaned it out. The healing begins now. It will be a tender area of your soul for a while. So, be careful, and deliberate, in your actions, particularly if you encounter the people about wh0m you had harbored such feelings. I know you will do your best.”

  “I still don’t know how to forgive them,” she said.

  “Remember, the words of Abba Zeno, ‘If a man wants God to hear his prayer quickly, then before he prays for anything else, even his own soul, when he stands and stretches his hands towards God, he must pray with all his heart for his enemies. Through this action, God will hear everything he asks.’ Is there anything else weighing on your mind?”

  “I was perturbed at Janet when she sprung this trip on me,” Rita replied.

  “You have forgiven her?”

  “Of course.”

  The priest said, “Our Lord and God, Jesus Christ, by the grace and compassion of his love to mankind, forgives you, Margarita, all your iniquities; and I, unworthy priest, by the power that is given to me, forgive you and loosen you from all your sins…” He placed his hand on her head and began to draw the sign of the cross while speaking these words, “in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.” He removed the stole from over her head and said, “Go in peace and pray for me, a sinner. Do you still want traveling blessings?”

  “Is that a round about way of asking me if I am still going on this trip?” she asked, humor in her voice.

  “Rather a poor one,” the priest agreed. “Let me get the holy water.”

  Fr. Samuel prayed over her and put holy water on her head in the shape of a cross to bless her for travel.

  Leaving the chapel, she walked across the commons into her small cottage.

  She walked over to the east wall of the living room, lit a candle and crossed herself, and kissed her icons. She lifted her hands in prayer, looked at the icon of Jesus, “Lord, bless Peter, Tim, and Greg. Bring them to communion with You. Grant me the ability to forgive them.” Then picking up her prayer book, she began to chant the service of Compline, bedtime prayers. The rhythm of the ancient worship, in the Church Slavonic of her childhood, calmed her as she looked into the eyes of the icon of Jesus, the Pantokrator, the Almighty. The ancient service flowed as a low chant from her lips and memory as she barely looked at her prayer book. Finishing her prayers, she bowed before the icons, kissed the icons once more in reverence for the holy persons they represented, and extinguished the candle.

  The suitcases sat there beside the sofa, as Janet had said. One big case, one weekender, and a hanging garment bag. All the bags were clearly tagged. Janet was always thorough.

  She opened the large suitcase and found the clothes as Janet had described. Maybe it was time to put away the black she’d been wearing, exclusively, since her Dryusha’s murder. But maybe just for the trip, and only because Janet had done this for her. She closed the case and looked in the hanging bag.

  Janet was right. This dress would have been something her late husband would have bought for her; strapless with a full, tea length, skirt, in green watered silk. Simple, elegant, not really formal. There was a matching shrug to make it more modest. He would have loved her in it. With the emeralds, it was certainly more of a dress than a dinner dance at the Legion Hall warranted. But she would be stunning in it. And it would also work for the cruise. Janet had excellent taste.

  Rita went to her bedroom to pick out the jewelry. Her late husband’s favorite gift to her on special occasions had been diamonds or diamonds with precious or semiprecious stones,
always custom designed sets made by a jeweler to one of Dryusha’s own sketches. In spite of selling most of their possessions after his funeral, she had been unable to part with these, or any other of the trove of family jewels. She hadn’t worn any of them since the day he died. She hadn’t even looked at them in years. She picked out five very different sets for evenings and both some simple gold stud earrings and a set of pearls for day wear.

  On her way back through the cottage, she picked up her prayer book and a folding diptych icon. Those went into the weekender bag.

  Her phone rang. The number was the charge nurse on the patients’ residence. “Doctor, Missus Edwards is showing signs of congestive heart failure, can you come?”

  “Be right there.”

  As she was leaving her cottage, Clint, the clinic’s mechanical and electrical maintenance man and sometimes chauffer, who was married to Rita’s nurse, Yulia, met her. “I’ve come for your bags, Doctor.”

  “Three bags are in the living room. Take them, please.”

  She had dealt with the first patient, then a second, and a third, before she returned to her cottage. Thankfully, nothing was extremely serious. It seemed that a “bug” was going around bringing on nasal and chest congestion.

  The grandfather’s clock rang, announcing the hour was ten. She plugged her phone in the charger, then sat down on the sofa to pack a travel purse. Inside went her wallet, passport, tickets, boarding passes, rental car confirmation, a travel toothbrush, a hairbrush and comb, a small packet of tissues, an e-book reading device loaded with the mystery novels that she was always buying and seldom had time to read, her piccolo in its case, a black wool prayer rope, a pen and a small notebook, an assortment of individually wrapped nut and fruit bars, and a pack of sugarless gum for the flights.

  She stretched out on the sofa and was asleep in moments. One trick that she had learned in her medical training was to grab sleep whenever and wherever she could.

  She awoke to the sound of her phone ringing at four a.m.. Again, the number was that of the charge nurse. And again, she was off to check on a patient.