It's About Time We All Helped to Free the Friedmans!!

Jesse Friedman, who served 13 years in prison for a crime he didn't commit, is now awaiting a decision that could overturn the conviction. Please take a few minutes to acquaint yourself with this story and please consider visiting the website, Justice for Jesse, where you can sign a petition supporting Jesse's case. A video explaining the case is available on the Huffington Post. 

My friend Elaine Friedman is a petite, sweet-tempered woman with a blunt pixie haircut and a rolling Long Island accent that spills over into delightful squeals now and then.  She is soft spoken and kind-hearted and she's suffered terrible heartache.

Her first husband, Arnold, and her son, Jesse, went to prison in 1988 after authorities found them guilty of molesting children in an after-school computer class held in the family basement. The "crime" -- which never went to trial -- was a huge sensation in Long Island in the 1980s. Some time later, director Andrew Jarecki made a documentary film called "Capturing the Friedmans" which brought the family's dysfunction to the big screen. The film was nominated for an Oscar in 2003.

One night in July of 2003, Elaine and I drove to a theater up in Williamstown, Massachusetts to see the movie together. Until that night, Elaine had not had the courage to see the movie in a theater. To say that the movie was disturbing doesn’t begin to describe the whipsaw of emotions I felt that evening as Elaine and I watched the tragic and horrifying details of her family's misfortune splayed before us.  The movie incorporates extensive video footage that Arnold shot of the family all through the years.

One of the main reasons that Jarecki made the film was to help Elaine's son Jesse. There was never a single bit of evidence to suggest that Jesse, who was a teenager at the time, molested anyone. He has maintained his innocence all along, and now Jarecki is leading the fight to have Jesse's verdict reversed.

A review of the case is underway by New York's Nassau County District Attorney, Kathleen Rice; as Jarecki points out in a piece on the Huffington Post, the current DA's review follows a 2010 ruling by the Second Circuit U.S. Court of Appeals that evidence in the case was "extraordinarily suspect," and that there was "a reasonable likelihood Jesse Friedman was wrongfully convicted." The DA convened a committee to review the case and included on that panel Barry Scheck, director of the Innocence Project. 

Jarecki has provided the DA's office a ton of new evidence supporting Jesse's innocence. Indeed, he tracked down and interviewed numerous individuals who were supposedly molested by Jesse and his father in the computer class. Now grown men, they deny ever having been touched by either of the Friedmans. In one case, Jarecki notes, a successful doctor in his 30s told him: "As God is my witness and on my children's lives, I was never raped or sodomized, and I never saw a kid sodomized or molested. And if I said it, it was not because it happened, it was because someone else put those words in my mouth."

It now appears as though overzealous authorities  made it their duty to convince the boys to say that they had been molested.

Jesse is out of jail now, but he still lives with a fiercely negative stigma: under Megan's Law, he is classified as a Level III Violent Sexual Predator.

I've met Jesse and he is soft spoken and kind, much like his Mom. I hope you will visit Justice for Jesse, and sign the petition that could finally set him -- and his mother -- free.

Cain and Abel and the Boston Brothers

As I contemplated the events of the week this morning, I found my mind going to strange places.

First of all I kept seeing the face of the younger brother lying in some hospital bed in Boston. He has the face of "an angel," according to so many accounts by former friends and acquaintances, school chums and some of his family members. Or it's the face of a demonic fiend, a ruthless criminal, according to authorities and so many news reports and quotes from the deeply traumatized people of Boston.

And yet, on this Sunday morning, I realize that I am not thinking of this young man with hatred. I keep going to that hospital bed and seeing what amounts to a lost soul, a person, yes, who committed one of the worst atrocities our nation has known, but at the same time, a person who may have been unduly influenced by an even bigger lost soul, his older brother.

Perhaps I am finding myself in this ambiguous place because those first grainy video photos of him shocked me because for a couple of moments the young man vaguely reminded me of my own 23-year old son. Both young men are dark, handsome, tall. That connection evaporated quickly and like so many millions of others this week, I hated the younger brother to his core. I wanted more than anything in the world -- and perhaps more than for any crime I've ever heard about -- that the two men would be caught quickly and brought to the full weight of justice. My own daughter and son-in-law were in lockdown all day Friday in their new home on Beacon Street, days after  witnessing the runners go past their front door.

But this morning I am finding it harder to hate Dzhokhar Tsarnaev. My mind oddly enough crawls toward the Torah, the Hebrew Bible, and thanks in part to John Steinbeck -- and his novel, East of Eden -- to the story of Cain and Abel. East of Eden, the title, is taken directly from the Bible. Indeed at one point Steinbeck suggested to his publisher that the book should be entitled Cain Sign.

Steinbeck wrote an accompanying book to East of Eden, called Journal of a Novel: East of Eden, which documents his thoughts as he wrote the novel.  Steinbeck's editor and long-time friend, Pat Covici, told Steinbeck that he wanted him to deliver the manuscript in a box, so Steinbeck went to great lengths to construct a mahogany box. On top of the box he engraved four Hebrew letters, which spell out the Hebrew word, "timshol," literally translated as "thou mayest," suggesting Steinbeck's core belief that human beings, endowed with free will after the fall from the Garden of Eden, are continually faced with moral responsibility in the form of choice between good and evil.

Indeed, as Terry R. Wright notes in his 2007 book Genesis of Fiction, the notion of choice "might be the most important word in the world. That says the way is open. That throws it right back on a [wo]man. For if 'Thou mayest' -- it is also true that 'Thou Mayest Not.'" 

What has all this got to do with the Boston bomber?

Everything. Unequivocally, the bombers chose wickedly evil. But that leaves us asking how should we should choose to respond (aside from the full weight of criminal prosecution.)  We leave it to police authorities and the courts to mete out his punishment, but how do we talk about him, how do we feel, what should we think?

I was drawn today to open the Torah, to reread Chapter Four, Verse Ten, the passage that lays out God's punishment of Cain for slaying his brother Abel.

"Then He [God] said, 'What have you done? Hark, your brother's blood cries out to me from the ground. Therefore, you shall be more cursed than the ground which opened its mouth to receive your brother's blood from your hand." God curses Cain to "become a ceaseless wanderer on earth."

Cain replies "My punishment is too great to bear! Since You have banished me this day from the soil, and I must avoid Your presence and become a restless wanderer on earth -- anyone who meets me may kill me!"

It is the Lord's reply to Cain that perhaps is most instructive: "The Lord said to him 'I promise, if anyone kills Cain, sevenfold vengeance shall be taken on him.' And the Lord put a mark on Cain, lest anyone who met him should kill him. Cain left the presence of the Lord and settled in the land of Nod, east of Eden."

It is this notion that the world's first murderer, Cain, is marked, and in being marked, he is forever a lesson to us in the ultimate choice between good and evil. As one commentary notes, "his mark is not a curse, but a protective sign of God's enduring care.

Amidst our desire to punish him, and our curiosity about how this boy went so bad, there ought to be some thought that we should refrain from "killing" the bomber with each one of our thoughts. Rather the Bible's instruction would seem to be that we should just be reminded once again of what Steinbeck wrote in East of Eden, that "We have only one story. All novels, all poetry, are built on the never-ending contest in ourselves of good and evil. And it occurs to me that evil must constantly re-spawn, while good, while virtue is venerable as nothing else in the world is."

Instead of hating the bomber, it's better that we focus our "lovingkindness" (a Buddhist concept of loving all living beings) on the many suffering families, the myriad heroes who came to the aid of bombing victims on the scene, and the authorities who waged an extraordinary search to catch the bombers before they could wreak any more destruction. 

Rather than hating the bomber, it seems better to me that we should love the lesson about choice that he so painfully teaches.

Chapter 66: Sister Mysteries "Please Don't Let Me Hang"

When I open my eyes, Teresa is standing beside my bed in the convent. My mouth is as dry as the sheet that covers my straw mattress, the mattress that prickles the skin of my back.

Teresa is crying, her face as wet and pink as a ham. 

Sniffling, she turns away so that I won't see her cry but of course I know full well because she is using the bottom half of her white apron to wipe her eyes.

"Will you come with me today?" I whisper out of my cottony mouth. My heart drums inside my chest.

Teresa nods. "Of course." She sets the back of one hand against my cheek. Her own cheeks are glistening in tears.  "It's all his fault," she says, sniffling, wiping her eyes again with the apron. "If it weren't for Father Ruby, Mother Yolla would let you stay here she would protect you I just know sh..."

"Shhhhh," I lift my hand to stop her speaking.  I shake my head. "It's too late for that. It's too late." I push the covers back, I stand

I stand convicted of a crime I didn't commit, I will hang

if I return but return I

I don't stand instead

I sit on the bed for a moment thinking I have no choice but to go back today

I stand up, my stomach quaking. Señora told me to take the missing pages of my journal to the authorities so I will

"I will fix you anything you like for breakfast," Teresa says.  "I baked corn muffins but I'll make you..."

"Nothing, I couldn't possibly eat." I shudder. My eyes meet hers. "I am so..." I am about to say frightened but if I say the word, then it will just hang there in the air scaring me further. Instead I try to think what I want my last meal

"Fix me a cup of oatmeal please?"

She nods and leaves the room and I sit back down on the bed. Somehow I have to dress I have to
I must get in the wagon and go back to jail.

I slip the dress that Arthur bought me over my head. Soft calico little blue flowers red hearts soft cotton sleeves covering my elbows. Ever since I was arrested, I haven't been allowed to wear the habit I wore

just like Teresa wears today, the two of us once glued together

no more.

Soon I am in the kitchen where Teresa is stirring oatmeal on the wood stove. The corn muffins she baked earlier smell so pleasing that I lift one to my mouth and take a small bite.  Teresa begins lifting the oatmeal into a bowl. I sit down at the table and stare into oatmeal this is more than a cup, this is a whole bowl, I feel I may throw up

Teresa sets a cup of coffee in front of me. 

Arthur enters the kitchen, clutching the brim of his hat. "Good morning ma'am," he says, his dark eyes opened wide. "I was hoping I'd find you here in the kitchen."

I nod. "Yes," I say trying for a smile, but not succeeding.

Clearing his throat, Arthur drops his gaze to the floor. "You know that..." he starts, and stops and starts again, "that if you...I mean, if you have any inclination to....uh...go or leave without..." here he shrugs, nods. "God knows I would take you wherever you wanted to go, anywhere that..." His voice trails off.

"No," I say, emphatic. Again I try for a smile but nothing at all happens on my face. I push the bowl of oatmeal half-way across the table. "I must do what Mother Yolla says." And in that moment I realize that I am willing to go back to jail not because of what Mother Yolla has said -- that she cannot protect me --

[CHAPTER 63 lays it out bare]

but because of what Señora said when she woke up out of the coma last night

I KNOW SHE WOKE UP I KNOW SHE SPOKE TO ME I SWEAR SHE SQUEEZED MY HAND SHE WOKE UP

[READ IT FOR YOURSELF IN CHAPTER 64]

Arthur fingers his hat, the brim stained.  His eyes are pools. He says nothing, but stares at the floor again.

I turn to Teresa at the sink. "I think we should go right now, because I can't stand it another minute."  Poor Arthur just stands here, he would do anything to have me say that I would go somewhere anywhere with him I could never go I could never marry Arthur so how could I go anywhere but where

I have to go back and face it, the crime for which I'm not guilty

Teresa isn't sniffling but she when she speaks now her voice is raspy. "We must stop by the lawyer's office first, he should be there to escort you."

"I'm not sure that is necessary." I take another small bite of the corn muffin.

"Please Renata, you've got to listen to me on this." Teresa's expression is fierce.

I inhale. "It won't make any difference, he is so ineffectual I don't see..."

"PLEASE RENATA." Teresa steadies her gaze on me. "We've got to. We will need all the help we can get."

"And please if you would, let me take you in my wagon," Arthur says. "Please ma'am, I beg you just to let me do just this one thing."

I study his weathered face, his frown. This is a good face a good man one that I could never marry I am devoted to doing holy work no matter if the nun's life is over for me forever.

"Alright," I say, inhaling. "Alright. But let's just go." 

Teresa unties her apron. "I'm ready, I'll be outside."

I stand and go to my room and kneel beside my bed. I carefully lift the straw mattress and dig deep into the straw where the missing journal pages lie, just where I hid them, so many months ago so that I could protect Señora because she wasn't going to get any trial at all, being a Mexican woman who could speak hardly any English

[READ THE MISSING PAGES IN CHAPTER 65 WHICH TELLS HOW ANTONIE DIED HE WASN'T MURDERED

WELL MAYBE TECHNICALLY HE WAS BECAUSE HE WAS ALIVE WHEN WE DISCOVERED HIM IN THIS WARM POOL OF BLOOD]

I would say that

he wished himself dead.

Señora begged me when she woke from the coma last night she said

[IN CHAPTER 64 ]

Señora spoke in Spanish 

[and I cannot say it myself 

sp I had to go on the Internet and get one of those English to Spanish translations:]

Tome la revista páginas tomar ellos les muestran a las autoridades por favor, Renata que todos conocemos, se me que terminó Antonie, he mantenido la hoja hice el final cut y él venció en un charco de sangre en mi regazo,

["Take the journal pages take them show them to the authorities please Renata let them show the whole world so they know that it was me who finished Antonie, I held the blade I made the final cut and he expired in a pool of blood in my lap]

As we prepare to leave, I see Mother Yolla standing in the courtyard. She seems frozen, a dozen feet away. As Arthur helps me up into the wagon, she is as still

as a statue, she looks so tired, so sad, her face is pale, she looks so much older than she

just stands there watching, she doesn't wave we don't wave back not

able to protect me, Father Ruby forbid her from letting me hide in the convent.

Arthur snaps the reins the horse bolts forward and the three of us, me in between Arthur and Teresa bounce on the rutted path leading to the dusty road.

We are headed back to the jail, to the courthouse to deliver me, to deliver the missing pages of the journal to try to convince them
some
HOW? SOME WAY
HOW I AM NOT SURE HOW CAN WE POSSIBLY
WHAT CAN ANYONE SAY TO CONVINCE THEM
=======

that I

don't deserve to hang.

The Mighty Milo Comes to Visit!

While my daughter Lindsay is traveling for the next two weeks, I am the lucky one who gets to care for her dog, MILO. What a dog he is!

Milo is a Havanese, a breed from Havana, Cuba (their national dog) trained to be circus dogs. Our little Milo runs in perfect figure eights in the backyard and stands on his hind legs for treats.

Wikipedia notes that the Havanese breed is "highly adaptable to almost any environment, and their only desire is to be with their human companions."

That's for sure. Milo adores Lindsay, but if she is not around, I will do as her caretaker. 

Sweet and cuddly, sturdy, smart and devoted, he is the best dog in the world, or at least, in my world.

We love you Milo!

]

"Mom, what tune would you like me to play?"

At Christmas, he becomes a tiny reindeer!

Chapter 64, SISTER MYSTERIES "In Which I Turn Into Renata"

DEAR MARY U HEARD WHAT MOTHER YOLLA SHE SAID she is going TO YIELD ME UP TO THE AUTHORITIES SHE SAID SHE WILL TURN ME IN, NO MATTER THAT I WILL BE HANGED MOTHER YOLLA SAID SHE CANNOT PROTECT ME SHE HAS TO THINK ABOUT THE CONVENT MOTHER YOLLA DOESN'T LOVE ME ENOUGH TO SAVE ME

my mother loved me enough BUT her anxiety was so great that I MUST NOT HAVE FELT IT she never gave me the unconditional love that I craved Mary

Mary MARINO my therapist says that I have to give it to myself that I have to reparent my

MOTHER YOLLA SAYS SHE CANNOT RISK THE REPUTATION OF THE CONVENT MOTHER SAID IN SO FEW WORDS THAT SHE WOULD RATHER SEE ME DEAD HANGED HANGED HANGED HANGED THAN TAKE THE CHANCE TAKE THE CHANCE SO NOW

WHAT THE

WHAT THE

WHAT THE

What am I to do

WHEN YOU ARE AT THE END OF YOUR ROPE MARY WHEN YOU HAVE NO MORE  HOPE MARY WHAT DO YOU DO YOU AAAAAASSSSSSKKKKKKK MARY, DIVINE MARY FOR HELP I DON'T WANT TO HANG I DON'T WANT TO DIE I WANT TO LIVE AND GIVE OF MYSELF TO GOD AND OTHERS AFTER ALL I AM A DEVOTEE I AM A a good nun A GOOD NUN, I HAVE GIVEN MYSELF HEART AND SOUL TO GOD, I HAVE BEEN A NUN FOR SO SO LONG AND NOW

No, it has not been long at all I have just become the nun, just now, just just just now I have turned

into

WHAT

WHO?

IF I RUN IF I RUN I CAN'T RUN AWAY FROM MYSELF AND MY DUTY ANYMORE I CANNOT CANNOT WHERE WOULD I GO SAN FRANCISCO? ARTHUR SAYS HE WILL TAKE ME BUT WHAT WOULD I DO MARRY ARTHUR MARRY MARY

HELP ME MARY SHALL I RUN AWAY MARRRRRRRY ARTHUR

GOD I WANT TO BE A NUN, I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN A NUN, DEAR MARRRRRRRY

NO, I WOULDN'T CONSIDER MARRYING ARTHUR HE IS A DEAR DEAR MAN A GOOD SOUL BUT NOT A PERSON NOT FOR ME

MARY MARY MARY MARY HELP ME HELP SEÑORA HELP HER OUT OF HER DEEP COMA COMA COMA COMA COMA PLEASE HELP ME NOW I WON'T LEAVE HER I WON'T EVER EVER EVER LEAVE YOU YOU UNDERSTAND THAT BABY C YOU UNDERSTAND ME, I LOVE YOU MARY YOU LOVE ME TOO, 

My therapist Mary said I have to bring love to my fear and anxiety I have to envelope myself in love and when I do I will have Divine forces helping me to helping me helping

YOU HAVE TO LOVE AND CHERISH YOUR INNER CHILD, pick her up whenever she cries and cries and thinks you will abandon her you won't though you won't! I won't let you

MARY MARY MARY MARY YOU HAVE BEEN WITH ME UNITED WITH ALL THE ILLUMINATED SOULS HERE AT MY MEDITATION TABLE I HAVE FINALLY BEEN ABLE TO SPEAK TO SAY I WON'T EVER EVER EVER STOP LOVING YOU MARY MARY MARY MARY

I WON'T LEAVE SEÑORA

I am sitting here in the dark alone with her in the middle of the night holding her limp hand with one of my own and writing here in my journal with the other, weeping because I cannot leave I cannot run away anymore I must face the facts that I actually will die, I actually will hang I will die so maybe that is what Mary wants? Why Why DEAR GOD I did not kill my cousin I did not make my mother sick IT WASN'T MY FAULT THAT MY MOTHER WAS SO DEPRESSED AND ANXIOUS Dear Mary, I want to know what you want me to do WHERE DO I GO? what? I am finally listening finally hearing finally finally BUT YOU MUST SPEAK TO ME TELL ME WHETHER I SHOULD RUN? HOW? WHERE? DEAR MARY, THANK YOU FOR SPEAKING TO ME, YES, I HEARD YOU at the moment I thought I would die of the depression that it would just never end never NEVER I found Mary I found Mary the therapist and she spoke to me over the phone and she told me to love my depression, invite her in, tell her -- your inner child -- that you love her unconditionally, invite the depression right into your heart and soul right into your laptop where you are writing now and when you do you will have the whole of the Infinite you will be sad you will be happy but you will know how to respond to your deepest feelings you will have a partner in the NUN YOU WILL FINALLY UNDERSTAND THE BIG PICTURE THAT YOU ARE HER AND SHE IS YOU AND BOTH OF YOU NEED TO GO FREE you thought you were going back in time to save the nun but along you were saving your own self you must understand you must write no matter what no matter who reads who reads you need just like you need to breathe you need to

WRITE I MUST WRITE THE ENDING OF SISTER MYSTERIES PLEASE MARY I NEED YOU I NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO WHERE DO I RUN WHAT DOES A NUN DO WHEN SHE HASN'T KILLED HER COUSIN BUT SHE IS DESTINED TO HANG IS THAT WHAT HAPPENED BACK IN 1884? DID I DIE DID SHE HANG NO NO NO NO NO PLEASE MARY SHOW ME THE WAY TO FREE HER FREE ME SHE SAYS TO HERSELF

"What?" Is that what I think it is it is it is

"What?" I WHISPER.

Señora squeezes my hand.

"SEÑORA...ARE YOU...ARE YOU AWAKE?" I DROP THE JOURNAL BUT I STILL HAVE THE LAPTOP HERE AT MY MEDITATION TABLE I STILL SHE

DROPS THE JOURNAL AND NOW SHE IS BENDING OVER HOLDING HER DEAR DEAR SEÑORA'S HAND IT IS DARK THERE IS NOTHING SHE CANNOT SEE THE OLD WOMAN'S COAL BLACK EYES BUT SHE HEARS HER SPEAK, WHISPER SOMETHING CAN THIS BE A DREAM DID RENATA FALL ASLEEP DID I? DID I ? IS SHE HEARING REALLY HEARING

Señora speaks now in Spanish and I cannot say it myself I have to go on the Internet and get one of those English to Spanish translations:

Tome la revista páginas tomar ellos les muestran a las autoridades por favor, Renata que todos conocemos, se me que terminó Antonie, he mantenido la hoja hice el final cut y él venció en un charco de sangre en mi regazo,

"take the journal pages and show them to the authorities, please Renata

"Take the journal pages take them show them to the authorities please Renata let them LET ALL THE WORLD AND ITS ILLUMINATED BEINGS let all know it was me who finished Antonie, I held the blade I made the final cut and he expired in a pool of blood in my lap

my laptop. I am writing all of this at my meditation table where for 18 years i have been TRYING TO SOLVE THE SISTER MYSTERIES TRYING TO RESOLVE THE TIME TRAVEL NUN STORY

I am weeping now so delighted Señora is back, she is out of the coma, she is awake "YOU ARE AWAKE!" I hug her and my tears pour out onto her coffee and cream colored face, wrinkled and soft as a pillow.

"I will go get Mother Yolla and the others, I will get you some water, some tea, you must be so so thirsty," she doesn't answer but she squeezes my hand and when I turn I swear I see Mary the Virgen de Guadalupe, her sky baby blue veil where I tucked myself all those years ago when I had the chemo I had the cancer

I WILL BE WRITE BACK I squeeze her hand and she squeezes mine and I race out of the room and down the hall to Mother Yolla's room and knock once on the door and barge in because Señora is awake

SEÑORA SHE IS AWAKE I SCREAM I PULL ON MOTHER YOLLA'S SHOULDER

"What..what? huh?" Suddenly Mother Yolla is sitting up and out of the bed she and I race down the hall screaming SHE'S AWAKE SHE'S AWAKE SO ALL THE NUNS WILL HEAR and in seconds flat there are a dozen of us here in her room and it smells sour and fouled as if Señora has peed her bed but no matter she is awake

GO MAKE HER SOME TEA Mother Yolla screams and Teresa dear Teresa runs out of the room and Mother Yolla screams

LIGHT A CANDLE,

Mother Yolla has Señora's limp hand in hers and she must be feeling the squeeze

"She squeezed my hand, Mother Yolla, she squeezed my hand and then she spoke to me, she told me what to do she told me to take...."

Mother Yolla interrupts me. "Renata, her hand is limp."

"That can't be, she was just holding and squeezing and talking to me."

"Come here my dear," Mother Yolla is not angry, just tired very very tired. "Feel her hand my dear."

I do. I feel Señora's hand and it is warm and as limp as a dead fish.

"But she was awake, I swear it. I felt her squeeze my hand. I know I did I did I did," and then I am caving in, I am sobbing uncontrollably now everything is caving in on me I am going to hang and my dear dear Señora is not awake now

Teresa arrives with the mug of chamomile tea and I am sitting in the chair beside Señora's bed crying and trying to understand and after a while after Mother Yolla rubs my back and holds my hands in hers Teresa she is my dear dear friend just like Nina, just like my dear friend Nina for whom I wrote this story started writing it in 1995 when Nina had cancer and I wanted to write something to distract her from her misery the misery that is chemotherapy and there it was, the birth of Sister Mysteries.

Sister Teresa hands me the cup of warm tea and later she puts me to bed like the baby I want to be there for BABY C Mary my therapist told me, invite your depression in like a baby, nurture her pick her up, just like a newborn, every morning climb out of your dark cave, tell her you will be there for her no matter how sad she is no matter what she says no matter what you tell her you will be there for her forever and then the universe will partner with you and

YES MARY IT IS STARTING TO HAPPEN when I meditated this morning I felt it I felt the universe open up

I take the cup of tea from Teresa and sip it just a few times and I'm saying to Teresa, "Señora told me I have to turn in those two missing pages from my journal I must show them to the authorities..." I am heaving and hiccuping and Teresa takes the cup of tea from me

and sits

on

the

bed

and says, "Shhhhhh, Renata, you've got to rest now, you've been up all night with Señora, get some sleep now, we'll talk about it later my

hear me Teresa hear me? She wants me to turn the pages of the journal into the authorities she wants me to show them to the world

IT'S TIME I PUBLISHED THEM RIGHT HERE ON THE SISTER MYSTERIES BLOG TO SHOW THE WORLD HOW SEÑORA WAS THE ONE WHO HELPED ANTONIE TO FINISH HIS LIFE SHE WIELDED THE KNIFE NOT ME NOT ME

"You've got to sleep now Renata," and she forces me onto my stomach and she rubs my back in big gentle circles her hands so strong i have loved her so long, I have been WRITING SISTER MYSTERIES FOR EIGHTEEN FUCKING YEARS AND HERE NOW HERE NOW

Here is CHAPTER 65 -- FINALLY THE MISSING PAGES OF RENATA'S JOURNAL, THE MYSTERY OF ANTONIE'S DEATH IS FINALLY RESOLVED!! It's about time it's about timeless it is a timeless story of freedom, a liberation story that is exactly what it is 

mine and Renata's together

Chapter 63: Sister Mysteries "IF YOU TURN ME IN I'LL HANG!!"

Dear Señora,

I shouldn't have waited so long to call Mother Yolla and the other nuns to your bedside.

I should have run at top speed to find someone who would get the doctor.

But I was afraid. That's a sorry thing to admit, Señora, but it's the truth. And by now, you know that's true of me. You know me so well. You know how fearful I am. 

I finally ran downstairs and found Mother Yolla, who immediately sent Teresa to get the doctor. She took the horse and wagon that Arthur had brought me home to the convent in just a day and a half before.

It took more than two hours for Teresa and the doctor to return. And in the end, it took Dr. Thacker only a few minutes to examine you.

We all waited outside the closed door. Soon the doctor opened the door and stepped into the dim hallway of the convent.

"I'm afraid that she has suffered a stroke," Dr. Thacker declared, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses and rubbing his eyes. "It looks to me as though she has slipped into a coma."

A collective groan rose up from the group of us at the door.

"Can you do something?" I begged.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid there is nothing possible," he said. "She may wake up, or she may not. It's out of my hands. For now, I suggest that you keep her company around the clock. Sit with her, make her comfortable, sing to her, and pray that she may get better."

"But how do we feed her?" I said. I know that in a modern hospital, full of the latest equipment, Señora would have a feeding tube to provide her nourishment. And intravenous fluid to keep her hydrated. But this is 1884, and there is no hospital except in San Francisco, a three-day ride away. Even if we got her to the hospital they wouldn't have the equipment to feed her.

Dr. Thacker pressed his lips together and stared me straight in the eye. "She has to wake up to take fluids and food," he said quietly. "There is no other way to feed her."  He turned to Mother Yolla, and set one hand on the older nun's elbow.

"I know very little about prayer," Dr. Thacker said, his face pale and sad. "But I would highly recommend it in this case. And I will be happy to return tomorrow to check in on her again."

He turned to face Teresa. "Would you be so kind as to drive me back to town?"

As the two of them went downstairs, Mother Yolla gathered us in the hallway. "We will take turns sitting by her side," she announced simply. "Who will be first?"

Five hands went up including my own. Mother Yolla chose two of the other nuns, who promptly opened the bedroom door and disappeared inside.

"Oh but please let me stay too," I begged, pressing my hands together over my chest. "I might as well be with Señora since I won't be able to stop thinking about her for even a moment."

"No my child," Mother Yolla replied. "You'll have your turn. But first, I need to speak to you in private." She eyed me carefully, and there was something so direct and piercing about her facial expression that it triggered a flush of anxiety in my stomach.  I felt my mouth go cotton dry.

"Of course," I mumbled.

She motioned for me to follow her downstairs. We passed through the dining hall and out the door to the backyard. I thought we'd sit beside the hummingbird feeder, but she kept walking. We ended up in the very small chapel where the nuns are free to go for private meditation. I so loved this precious chapel, as it was built entirely of stone. Like the other nuns, I had helped to lay the floor, which was no more than California palm fronds covered over by heavy blankets. There was room for two small chairs but many of us chose to sit cross-legged in meditation.

Mother Yolla, a tiny woman, could enter the chapel without bending, but I had my father's height.

I followed her inside. She took the chair on the right. I sat in the left hand chair.

"Please my dear, face me if you will," she said quietly. As I lifted the chair and swiveled it around to face her, I felt my heart hammering in my chest. Our knees were almost touching.  The air in the chapel was fragrant with a mixture of mint and sage, as we regularly brought those plants into the meditation space.

Mother Yolla looked into her lap where she had one hand resting on another. She cleared her throat and looked up at me.

"Renata you know that I couldn't be more pleased to see you. We were all so worried when you disappeared." I nodded, nervously squeezing my hands together. What was she about to say?

"I...I am so sorry I caused you and the others so much distress," I said, my voice shaky. "I didn't mean to make my escape, it just kind of happened. And then there was no way to reach you or the oth..."

"Please," Mother Yolla said. She held up one hand to quiet me. "I understand that you did what you had to do."

"Yes, that's true," I mumbled.

"Sometimes we are forced to do things that we would rather not do," she said, gazing at me steadily.

I blinked. What was she coming to? What was she trying to say?

Again she cleared her throat. "This isn't easy for me. But I am going to have to turn you into the authorities.  I cannot jeopardize the rest of us here at the convent. If they were to find you here, we would stand guilty of harboring a known criminal."

I blinked again. My chin dropped to my chest. Tears welled up in the corners of my eyes. I sniffled.

"I am so sorry Renata, you know how I feel about each and every one of my novitiates. It kills me to do this but Father Ruby insists."

I lifted my head. My face bleached red. "So that's it, he's the one insisting." Mother Yolla stared into her hands.

"I should have known. He's the one who let Antonie take advantage of me. He's the one who insisted that Antonie was family, that I owed it to my cousin to do whatev..."

"PLEASE, no more!" Mother Yolla's voice was sharp and unforgiving. "I insist that you show respect for Father Ruby. He is simply abiding by the law of California."

I so desperately wanted to say more. But Mother Yolla was already standing. I stared into the large rosary beads hanging at her waist. "As you well know, Renata, I am not the final arbiter here. Father Ruby is in charge. And we must do what we must do, even if we are desperately unhappy doing it. So please please, please forgive me." She lifted one sleeve to cover her eyes. Her head fell forward and the edge of her veil brushed against my cheek. It had been almost a year since I'd felt the veil.

The next thing I knew Mother Yolla turned and rushed out of the chapel. I thought I heard her muffled cries as she fled.