The Stigmata by Elizabeth Egbert

Merrill was late again for lunch. She never used to be late, but now she never seemed to be where she needed to be on time. It made me awfully mad because we only had half of an hour between our Bible study lesson and afternoon confession, which would then be then promptly followed by mathematics and finishing classes, so I never had time to chat with her anymore. Merrill finally came rushing in at half past with a towel in her hand.

“Did Father Brian keep you again?” I asked.

“Yes.” She answered, winded.

“You must have been very, very bad. You already met with him earlier this week.”

“Yes.” She replied again, this time wiping what looked like sweat off of her face, but they could have been tears. I couldn’t really get a good look at her face because she was squirming so much.

“What on earth did you do that was so naughty?” I asked her, so curious to know what had kept my very best friend.

“I…I can’t tell you. Plus I don’t want to talk about it right now.” She answered. I started feeling a little bit scared for Merrill because she must have been very bad and sinned against God. I didn’t want Merrill to go to hell. I wanted to live forever with her in Heaven where we could play harps and eat grapes all day. But as Father Brian always says, bad little Irish girls don’t go to heaven, they go to hell to live with the Prince of Darkness forever and they have to eat fire for breakfast, lunch and supper.

Merrill had been different since we turned eight this year and went off to boarding school. Things weren’t like last year when we were seven. Seven was fun. At our old school, we would pick the dandelions for Mother Margaret and Father Richard and draw pictures of Jesus with the children. But this year was different. We had harder lessons and Merrill was not as happy. We don’t pick dandelions anymore for our new headmaster, Father Brian, and Merrill is always being called into speak with them because I supposed she’d been very naughty. Last year Merrill wasn’t so naughty. She never had to speak with our old headmasters. Last year, Father Richard loved Merrill and me, but mostly Merrill. He would call us into his office and give us sweets and tell us how much Jesus loves us and that Jesus’ love is something to be shared with the world. Maybe Merrill forgot that she needs to share Jesus’ love.

I grew tired of picturing such grim things about what Merrill would do with Satan were she to go to hell, so I gave our conversation a head start. “Well, never mind Merrill. I don’t care if you were bad and if Jesus doesn’t love you anymore because I still love you. Now tell me, what did you think of Penny’s Easter gloves?” Penny had dirtied her pretty white gloves she was to wear to Easter Sunday earlier in the week.

Merrill started talking right away, “Father Nicholas was positively furious!” Merrill squealed and she did one of her impressions: “If I catch you one more time, young lady, rough housing in the mud, you’ll be scrubbing the crucifix all week.” Merrill made her belly big like Father Nicholas and stomped around like he always did. “Do I make myself clear?” I was mad at Merrill for being late, but she always made up for it with her delightful stories. We finished our lunch and walked to our next lesson. I hoped Merrill doesn’t go to hell for ever and ever.

Afternoon lessons and supper always finished so quickly here. We were very busy little girls and boys and before I knew it, it was bedtime already. I hated going to bed right when the sun sets. Father Brian had told us that God loves his children well rested. Father Brian also said that the sun is God’s way of telling us when He wants us awake and when He wants us asleep. So it goes that we were in bed at dusk and awake at dawn. Father Brian goes to the girls’ quarters to supervise our bedtime routine. He says that it’s important that none of the naughty, sinful boys sneak into our chambers and see the girl parts God has given us when we change intro our nightdresses. Father Brian is very strict but he says it’s because of God’s love that has contaminated him and all he wants to do is make sure all of the good little girls get into Heaven. I think Father Brian does a very good job of making sure that all of the good little girls get into Heaven. I heard that he can talk with God directly and that sometimes they have afternoon tea.

The bedtime routine was usually the same; Father Brian made us all take off our dresses at once and fold them while we’re in our undergarments. The quicker we folded our dresses, the quicker we get to put on our nightdresses. Father Brian inspected each of our dresses to make sure we fold them properly. I was very proud that I did a good job folding my dress.

“You there!” Father Brian came over to Merrill’s bed as she shook from the cold and out of nervousness. “Girl, your mother isn’t here to fold your dress for you anymore. Do you think you’re too good to fold your own dress?” He screamed at Merrill.

“No, Father.” Merrill squeaked.

Father Brian slapped Merrill across the face so hard that it made such a smacky sound I jumped. I grabbed my cheek to protect it from Father Brian, but then I felt foolish; Father Brian told us that he would protect us and I suppose it’s silly to want to be protected from those protecting you. He continued yelling at her, “What would the Lord say if he saw such a messy girl? Saint Peter surely would not let you into Heaven.” All of the girls in the ward looked at Merrill the Sinner; we all silently agreed that the Lord would not want messy little girls in Heaven. Surely the Christ Child always folded his clothing properly. I tried to be as Christ-like as possible and I straightened out my perfectly folded dress that was now sitting on my bed. I wished that sometimes Father Brian would notice how nicely I folded my dress.

“Now girl.” Father Brian said in a quiet but powerful voice, “To repent for your sins, all of the girls will put their day dresses on again and you shall take each and every dress off of every single girl and fold it for her. But you must do this without your undergarments on. You must show your naked, sinful body to the Creator and He will decide if you are forgiven.”

Merrill wept silently as she fully disrobed and we all put our day dresses back on again. Father Brian watched her repent. He started smiling in a funny sort of way; he didn’t look happy or excited. His smile was (was) one I have never seen it in any of my classmates or teachers before. It must have been a smile of thankfulness that he felt towards God for giving him the chance to help little girls get into Heaven.

#

The next day Merrill was late to our Latin lesson. Her hair was all messy, like she just awoke and her shirt wasn’t properly tucked in. She looked like she had a stain on her cuff, maybe from the raspberries we ate at lunch, or a nose bleed. “Merrill!” I hissed as quietly as I could when she sat down in her seat next to mine, “What happened? Why are you so late? Were you naughty again?” Merrill nodded. “Merrill, what did you do that made God and Father Brian?”

“I’m not supposed to talk about it.” She quieted me.

“But what could you have possibly done this time? I was with you all morning and you were on your best behavior! You didn’t even pass me one note during class! Your lessons were all memorized and you knew the multiplication table by rote up to seven, that’s higher than anyone in the entire class!” I was so jealous when I admitted this because I knew almost all of the sixes by rote, but Mother Wendy didn’t notice how hard I practiced the sixes. She spent all of her time praising Merrill for knowing all the way up to seven times nine equals sixty-three.

“I know, Emmi,” Merrill told me stubbornly, forcing me to quit thinking about how dumb I looked compared to her “but I’m not supposed to talk about it. Father Brian told me so. Father Brian said that if I told anyone God would be so angry with me and I would never make it into Heaven! And I don’t want that!” I didn’t want that either. I figured that whatever it is that Merrill is doing, God was angry enough with her. It wouldn’t help if her best friend on Earth is angry at her, too.

“But at least tell me,” I started, “you can be as naughty as you want and never, ever tell me, but what is it that you do that makes you late? Do you have an extra confession? Do you have to sit and pray with Mother Sadie? Oh, does Father Nicholas make you polish the crucifix?” I thought that all of my ideas seemed to be dreadful punishments, enough to make any little girl stop her bad behavior. I should be a nun I was so good at thinking up things for bad little girls to do.

“No,” Merrill said, “nothing like that. It’s different. Well, I guess it’s sort of like a confession with Father Brian, but, well, it’s not like a normal confession. It’s special.”

Special confession? I wanted a special confession, too. Merrill always got everything special. First she’s Father Richard’s favorite and every other teacher’s favorite and now she gets special confession? My face felt so hot I thought my cheeks were going to burst and I was going to start crying harder than I ever cried right then and there. I knew that whatever Merrill did to deserve being punished was bad, but I couldn’t help feeling so jealous. Why did Merrill get a special confession and not me? I always fold my dress neatly and do my studies. I had all of my lessons in on time and Mother Sadie said that my reading rate was progressing much quicker than the other girls. Father Brian didn’t ever scold me like he scolds Merrill. If anyone deserved a special confession, it’s me. I hated regular old confession. It’s boring and stupid. I deserve to do a special confession.

I tried to figure out a way that I would get special confession, too. I thought that if I’m good and I don’t get special confession then I should misbehave and then maybe someone would notice me. So after Latin, during handwriting, I was good the entire time, except for when Father Brian came in to check up on the class. I spilled my ink all over my paper; I pretended it was an accident, but really it was on purpose. I didn’t even say excuse me. Father Brian merely came over to my desk, slapped my wrists until I cried and made me clean up the spilt ink. He didn’t say anything about a special confession to me though.

I didn’t understand what it would take to make me bad enough to have a special confession and have Father Brian pay attention to me for a change instead of dumb old Merrill. It seemed like Merrill didn’t even do anything bad and she still got to have special confession. I thought up all of the awful, rotten things that I could do to make Father Brian punish me.

Later, during suppertime, I refused to eat my potatoes, hoping again to be bad enough to have a special confession. Unfortunately, Mother Sadie just opened my mouth and shoved the potatoes in there, gave me a slap across the cheek and I had no further punishments. I didn’t understand how it was that I could have been so bad and still not be able to do a special confession.

#

A few nights later, after Father Brian had made sure that none of the boys saw us changing into our nightdresses, Merrill snuck over to my bed and crawled under the covers with me, like she sometimes does. “Emmi,” she whispered, “I have to tell you something. I just have to tell someone. But you cannot tell anyone or else God and His Holy Angels will be angry with me.”

“Merrill!” I scolded, I’ve been angry enough already with her because lately she’s been getting more and more special confessions. I didn’t think that she should get to have special confession and sin in front of God, plus I wanted to say no to her because no one else in this school ever seemed to. “If God doesn’t want you to share this with me, then maybe it’s best you didn’t.” I thought for a minute and my curious ears got the best of me, like they always do. “But maybe He wouldn’t mind if you told me just a little bit, just enough so that I can help you.”

I turned my back to Merrill and said, “Well?” I could tell that I had hurt her feelings, which is sort of what I wanted to do, but she’d never understand why. She was always the one the headmasters favored, Father Richard at our old school, and then Father Brian. Some of us have to work really, really hard to get into Heaven and it seems like she’d automatically get in because the headmasters give her so many opportunities to talk to God. Maybe now, with my back turned to her, she would get to see what it felt like to not be someone’s favorite. She started tugging at my nightdress and whispering my name. I felt something warm and wet on my pillow and I checked to make sure that my nose wasn’t leaking. But it was Merrill. She was crying. Even though I was still angry at Merrill and incredibly jealous, I was still her best friend. Besides, I was awfully curious about what she wanted to tell me that was so secret. Maybe I would find out what it was that made her so naughty and I could try it so that I got special confession.

I turned around to face Merrill again. She started to talk. “Sometimes...sometimes Father Brian says I’m bad. Not that I’ve done anything bad, but that I’m bad and I need to be cleansed because I am rotten and dirty on the inside. He says that if I tell anyone how he cleanses me, the cleansing won’t work.” She started crying like I’ve never seen her cry before, not even when her dog, Emmanuel, died. “Emmi,” she sniffed, “am I rotten on the inside?”

Before I could answer, we heard footsteps. We would have recognized these footsteps anywhere. These were footsteps that meant time to shape up; these were Father Brian’s footsteps. Sometimes Father Brian came to check on the children during the night, to make sure that we were all sound asleep. Of course Merrill and I were not, and I knew that we would get in trouble and I was almost thankful. Maybe after Father Brian saw how bad I am I would get a special confession too! Merrill leapt from my bed and darted over to hers, and Father Brian saw.

“Come, child.” He said coldly to Merrill. There was something in his voice that wasn’t warm, but it wasn’t stern as the other priests are when they are about to punish a child. It seems that this voice fit perfectly with his queer smile, the smile he gets when he watches the girls take off their day dresses and put on their nightdresses.

I couldn’t stand it anymore. I wanted to at least witness a special confession, even if I didn’t get to take part in one. I decided to follow Merrill and see what it would be like to be her. Father Brian grabbed Merrill by the forearm and led her out of the ward. As soon as I knew that there was no chance they would turn around and see me, I leapt out of bed and tiptoed behind them, but even if they did see me, it might even be okay. I followed the pair down hallways and corridors, up and down twisty-turny stairs that I never even knew existed here. I was completely lost, and there was very little light to see. Father Brian led Merrill into a dark, dank room below a chapel which I’m positive I’ve never seen before.

In the middle of the room candles flickered. They were the only lights. It was like Christmas Eve. I scurried up a flight of rickety old stairs into the rafters of this basement room, making sure that no one saw me. I nestled into a little space behind a large wooden support beam and I watched Merrill with the headmaster.

Father Brian let go of Merrill’s hand and asked her if she wanted to confess anything. “What do I have to confess?” Merrill asked. “I just confessed this afternoon.”

“Don’t talk back, you little demon.” He roared. “You know what you did wrong. I saw you during your Latin lesson this afternoon. You were talking and you were bad.” I was hardly breathing. Merrill was talking during our Latin lesson! She was talking to me! And now she was being punished for it. Why wasn’t I being punished and given the opportunity to get into Heaven? I was talking too. I was outraged. I saw that strange little smile come across Father Brian’s face, the smile he gets when he’s saving little girls from Satan’s grasp.

Merrill started crying, “I was only asking a question, Father.”

“And then you lied about it just now, didn’t you? You bad, bad little girl.” He answered. “You know what we do with bad little girls who laugh in the face of God, the Creator, don’t you Merrill. You know it very well.”

Merrill started wailing. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“Confess to me.” Father Brian said through his smile.

“Forgive…” Merrill could hardly get the words out she was crying so hard. “Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.”

“Yes my child, tell me you’ve been bad.” Father Brian said as he lifted up her nightdress and stared at her. I’ve never been to a special midnight confession before. I’ve always had my confession during the day in the boring old booth. I didn’t quite understand what Father Brian was doing, or why, but maybe this was just part of what a special confession is. I didn’t quite understand what Father Brian was doing, but as he always says, ‘the Lord works in mysterious ways’.

“I’ve been bad.” Merrill whimpered as Father Brian put her on his lap. I’d never seen anyone sit so close to a priest before. I was so jealous of my best friend. I was upset that Merrill was crying when she was so close to God. I would have been rejoicing.

Father Brian did his special confession with Merrill. Merrill didn’t have to say any Hail Marys. She didn’t have to tell Father how long it had been since she last confessed either, which was my least favorite part of confession because sometimes I have to lie and say that I go to confession everyday when really I don’t. I hate lying to God. All Father Brian wanted Merrill to do was tell him about how she was going to hell because she was so bad, how Satan had stolen her heart and turned her into a wicked little girl. He kept adjusting Merrill on his lap; it must have been dreadful for poor Father Brian to keep adjusting a squirming little girl sitting on his lap.

“Now,” Father Brian said after what seemed like forever. He stood up and threw Merrill from his lap flat to the ground while wiping his hands down the sides of his pants, “beg for forgiveness. Get on your hands and knees and beg for forgiveness lest God never forgive you and you dwell with Satan forever.”

Merrill rose from the ground to her hands and knees and started moving her lips, but no sound came out.

“LOUDER” he screamed.

“I’m sorry to God and to the Baby Jesus who died for me.” Merrill whispered.

“Is this how you apologize to your God, or are you worshipping Satan? I’m just a bit unclear.” Father Brian roared. “Do you need to have the sin whipped out of you? Does your blood need to be cleansed and purified? Does it, child?”

I crinkled up my face into a tiny ball. I didn’t like the idea of blood. That was always my least favorite part of any services. I always thought about how much it hurt whenever I bled and I thought about how Jesus must be mad that we drink his blood. I certainly wouldn’t want anyone drinking my blood if I started to bleed, I would much prefer a bandage.

“Do you need to be whipped hard enough so that all of the sin drains free of your wretched, corrupt body?” Father Brian asked.

Merrill didn’t answer. She just looked at Father Brian with her big, black eyes. He hit her across the face so hard that she fell over all the way to the ground. I’d never seen anyone hit a girl like that except for once my father hit me so hard that I fell over because I refused to eat my dinner and instead I threw it on the ground. It hurt so much when Papa hit me that I didn’t stop crying until I went to bed. But Papa told me that I deserved what I got. Just like Merrill deserved what she got.

Merrill stood up with a new great big red mark on her face. I didn’t quite understand how this was getting Merrill closer with God and how Father Brian relieves Merrill of her sins by hitting her. The only thing I could think of was that the sin might fly out of her ears or mouth. I started to wonder what the sin might look like. Would it be like the smoke of a candle? Or maybe it would be like cheese. Maybe it would be black and red like Satan or maybe it would be white so that God would know that someone’s sin has just been relieved.

Before I could wonder too long about what Merrill’s sin might look like, I heard a loud smacking sound. Father Brian had hit Merrill again, this time on the other cheek. Merrill started bawling. I felt so angry and sad at the same time. Part of me wanted more than anything to be in Merrill’s place and to receive the Grace of God through Father Brian’s slap, but the other part of me couldn’t stop thinking about how much it had hurt that one time Papa slapped me across the face.

I wanted so badly to be a good Daughter of the Lord like Father Brian always told the girls to be, but I knew that I didn’t want what Merrill was getting. And maybe that made me the sinful one, not Merrill. I started to cry, but very quietly so that God and Father Brian wouldn’t hear me.

If this was what it takes to get into Heaven, then maybe I don’t even want to be there. How bad can Hell really be? Surely not worse than what Merrill is going through to get into Heaven. I heard stories about little imps dancing about with fiery pitchforks poking all of the gamblers and liars and adulterers. Maybe I could be an imp. I was awfully good at dancing, Mother Sadie told me during my dance lessons that I was one of the best in the class. And I would never, ever get cold if I became an imp. It seemed that in Heaven if all people are wearing are little white sheets, they would get dreadfully cold. And playing on stupid little harps doesn’t even warm a person up like dancing does.

I got so lost in thought that I didn’t even notice when Merrill left and Father Brian’s voice faded away. I had probably been sitting in the rafter for over an hour in the empty room. Then and there I came to a decision: if it takes what Merrill was going through to be good in the eyes of the Lord, then I would just be bad. Why try so hard to be good and then get rewarded by being slapped?

I climbed down the rafters into the middle of the empty room. I peeked around to make sure no one was watching, and I didn’t see anybody, not even God. I grabbed an old mop that was laying in the corner and pretended it was my pitchfork and started to practice my dancing.