Quirk: Read Outside the Lines

The Relic

Angel opened the door. The lingering scent of horse manure from the work boots on the porch made her nose twitch. Her smile lapsed. Instead of the letter carrier, a man stood. His broad grin highlighted chapped lips and a chipped tooth. It was summer 1961 in Buttermilk, Kansas, and he appeared hot in his black suit. His dank odor perfumed the air, confirming the fact.

Single and on a farm where she had few responsibilities, Angel should have been excited to see a man but deflated. At twenty-three and considered an old maid, she understood a most important lesson: life was not kind. She'd hoped to remedy that by applying to an all-women's college and was waiting for an acceptance.

"Can I help you?" She turned her head to the left to hide the scar that ran down the other side of her face, red and puckered, leaving her blind in that eye.

"Are you the lady of the house?"

"That would be my mother. She's out until later today. You can come back tomorrow."

Her mother had once said Angel had been a beautiful baby, but after the accident, people, boys especially, shied away. She didn't remember the mishap much but clearly recalled it was the day her dad left them on this huge old farm in the backwoods. An 8-karat gold Submariner Rolex, the same one Angel's mother had bought him to celebrate their first anniversary, had been his parting gift. Dear ol' dad had dumped it on Angel's dresser the night he up and left. She wore it to remind her of him and the lesson it instilled.

"Wait." The lanky man extended a hand before she could close the door.

"I can't help you."

"You look like a woman of god."

"I'm nothing of the sort. I'm an atheist."

"Is that 'cause of your face?"

She couldn't help the blush that spread. "It's from my studies. Religion is an opioid for the masses to suppress rebellious behavior."

Even after the accident and her father abandoning them, Mother never stopped extolling their luck. She'd been wealthy prior to the marriage and shielded Angel from the worst bullying with private tutors. But this only alienated her further. The housekeeper, the field hands, and their children avoided Angel because she was disfigured and smart. A bad combination for the chunky, disfigured child.

In rebellion, she now studied philosophy and the sciences, continuing without a tutor when she'd turned 18. It was the only thing to live for, but philosophy, art, and science mattered little on the farm in comparison to home-grown wisdom and never-ending humility and kindness. She had nothing in common with the good, old country people who surrounded them. And now, one was at her door.

"Ma'am, miracles exist. I might be a country boy, but this I know for sure. Honest. If you let me in, I'll show you."

The use of ma'am irritated her. "Do they?" She'd school him. She'd read the bible, but also Plato, Descartes, along with Camus and Sartre. "Why don't you come in and tell me more about it." She led him to the kitchen. "Tea? I know it's hot out for May, but I always start my mornings this way."

"I'd love of cup." He opened his battered black case and looked up at her with innocent, sheepdog eyes and a sincere smile. "I accept the Lord, and he has given us a miracle." He pulled out a cross. "This has been blessed by the Pope. People have seen its power."

Kettle on the stove, she sat across from him at the table. "I don't believe in miracles. Is there any proof for them?"

"Let me show you." He stood and came close. He pressed the cross on her cheek against the scar. No one had ever been brave enough to touch her, especially there. The wood, cool against her heated skin, felt intimate. His hands moved to her shoulders, warm and large and loving, and then down her arms. He grabbed one of her hands in both of his, and their eyes met. "Do you believe in miracles?"

"No." The word slipped out in a whisper.

The kettle erupted in alarm. For a moment, he refused to release her hand as she pulled away.

Angel skipped to the stove and moved the kettle from the burner. When she turned back, the man had packed his case and stood at the door. "Sorry, no time for tea. It's too hot, and I have many of your neighbors to meet and introduce to my miracle crosses. Have a nice afternoon ma'am." He sauntered into the sunny morning.

Not sure what to make of the encounter, Angel slumped into a chair. And realized the Rolex she once wore was gone.