Free In Her Day by Rita Mae Brown Page A

a shot doe, threw her hands over her head and ripped off a quavering, “Praise be the Lord.”
    Carole snatched the microphone from Luke’s paw and put the frosting on the cake. “Sister, this is the angel Carole speaking to thee now. Obey the message of the Lord, thy God. Save this nation from sin and destruction. I am leaving thee now, sister, to struggle with the Prince of Darkness and his servants. Sing along with me as my voice fades. No, no, down on thy knees, sister, don’t get up yet. As my voice fades, remember thou hast been touched by the Lord.” Carole, in a surprisingly spiritual voice, sang “Nearer My God to Thee” and as they turned the corner, there she was down on her knees, hands clasped toher ample bosom, singing the hymn, sweat running over her forehead.
    Hysterical with glee, sister and brother drove back home barely in control of the car or themselves. As they pulled in front of the run-down but clean house, Carole punched her brother in the arm, “Jesus, that was fun!”
    “I bet that woman starts a tent show right on that very spot.” Luke doubled over and said before he realized it, “Shit, I wish Margie could have seen that.”
    “Oh, hell, she’d of passed herself off as Virgin Mary.”
    “Yeah, I know.” Luke turned to Carole with tears in his eyes. She put her arms around him and kissed him gently on the cheek.
    The next day as Luke saw her off he vowed, “No more boozing, Sis. I’ll take care of the old girl. You come on home more often. I mean it.” He was as good as his word.
    On the long ride back to New York she thought of her brother and the price men paid for being men. She thought of Luke’s gentleness and sense of humor. He looked like a grizzly bear and used his fearsome image to ward off others from seeing what rested within him, an incredible sweetness. Of all three of us, Luke is most like Mom, she thought. Margaret tiptoed into her thoughts. Margaret, the dark-eyed, the imaginative, the shining imp as bright as a dragonfly—we Americans want happy endings and death denies us a happy ending. I’ve rejected death all my life but you, Margaret, true to yourself as in life, made me see how silly I am. It will come to me too just as it came to you, my adorable, big sister. Carole leaned against the window and saw the reds and yellows of the fall. The East Coast bedecked itself before wearing the subtle clothing of wintertime.Reeling from the impact of the color, Carole thought against her will for she no longer wanted to think, “She’ll never see this. Why? Why? I don’t understand it. I can’t understand it. Why should Margaret die? Why should any of us die? What a cruel joke. Well, I’ll live double. I’ll live for Margaret and me. I’ll live for every young and bright and laughing person cut down before her time. If there’s a secret of the dead come back to me and tell me, Margaret. If there’s a secret of life, oh tell me. Knowing or not knowing, I shall live, I will live, I must live. Life is the principle of the universe. Life!”
    Exhausted by this undisplayed emotion she fell asleep and did not awake until the conductor nudged her. “New York City, Miss.”
    When Carole drowsily collected her luggage and trudged out of the hissing train she saw, to her surprise, a waiting Adele, arms full of flowers, books and records. That was one of the happiest moments of her entire life.
    Bumped by a woman with frizzy hair and silver stars painted all over her face, Carole crashed back into the present, astonished at her journey. She put her arms around her body more to convince herself she really was here in 1976 in this scene of colliding costumes, than to keep them out of the way. Yes it was the present, vividly so. No time in the past could have ever looked like this. As her fingers grazed her rib cage she realized how finely made she was. For one second she could trade places with Ilse, sensing what it must be to touch these ribs, the muscled abdomen, the