The Passion of Mary-Margaret by Lisa Samson Page B

be almost there before most of the town would spy you.”
    â€œExcellent thinking!”
    â€œI ain’t as dumb as I look, sister.”
    â€œYou don’t look dumb at all, Shrubby.”
    Amazing how life can beat down a man, isn’t it?

AS I WAITED FOR SHRUBBY, I COULDN’T HELP BUT STARE OUT at the light and whenever I do that, I think about Jude.
    One time when I was fourteen years old I stood out on Bethlehem Point, the spike of land jutting into the cool gray waters of the Chesapeake where I usually park my lawn chair, and I watched, as usual, the light swing round and round in the lantern of the lighthouse. Jude stole up behind me and poked his index fingers into my sides. I jumped. “Why do you always do that?”
    He grinned, then threw himself on the ground. I lowered myself, first laying down a towel to keep my school uniform neat.
    â€œSneak out again?” he asked, pulling out two penny candies from his jacket pocket.
    â€œYou know I did. It’s so hot in my room.”
    He held out a peppermint and as I moved to take it, he snatched it back. “I want to put it on your tongue.”
    There came that dirty thrill again.
    But I really wanted the candy. So I held out my tongue. He just dropped it on there, the flesh of his fingertips failing to come in contact with my tongue.
    â€œThank you,” I said.
    â€œI just wanted to look at your tongue.”
    â€œJude!”
    He laughed. “One day, Mary-Margaret, you’re going to get the real scoop on me. You won’t just think of me as the youngest Keller boy.”
    â€œI’ve heard the real scoop.” Boy, did I! He’d already done it with three girls. For certain. Probably more.
    â€œThen why would you let me put candy on your tongue?”
    I refused to answer.
    He leaned back on his hands, crossing his legs at the ankles and jiggling them. “One day”—he pointed to the lighthouse—“I’m going to row you out there and I’m going to make mad, passionate love to you on the floor of what used to be my parents’ living room.”
    â€œI’m going to be married to Jesus.”
    â€œJesus may have other plans.”
    â€œJesus never has other plans.” At least not for me. I would make sure what happened to my mother didn’t go unredeemed. Jesus said I was his bride. It all made so much sense.
    â€œMark my words. Someday. I know these things.” He tapped his temple,
leaned forward, and kissed me full on the lips.
    â€œYou sound like my Aunt Elfi. She knew things too.”
    â€œYeah, but she was a nut.”
    I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and get behind me, Satan. I would not let the Deceiver steal me from my calling. However, I did wonder what a baby made by myself and Jude Keller would look like. But then, so did every other girl at school.
    His eyes twinkled. “Yep.”
    You see, I told Jude all about my life and he told me about his. Every little thing. At least I thought so at the time. Some he didn’t go into great detail over, and those items, I always followed up with Sister Thaddeus for corroboration. She seemed to know everything.
    Apparently not as much as Jude, however.
    â€œI’m going to be married to Jesus,” I said again.
    But my lips burned like I’d been kissed by an angel. And I wiped them off again.
    â€œYou can keep doing that, Mary-Margaret, and you’ll still feel that way.”
    â€œDo all the girls feel that way when you kiss them?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œBecause I don’t care a thing about them .”
    I took his hand in both of mine. “Jude, it’s hopeless.”
    His eyes soaked up the autumn sky and he knew I was right. We both knew. “I’ll take my chances,” he whispered.
    My heart broke for him.
    We loved each other. In such different ways. And I would break his heart. Again and again. Until he finally left Locust Island.