When We Were Saints: Two Teens on a Spiritual Pilgrimage to Faith and Home

When We Were Saints: Two Teens on a Spiritual Pilgrimage to Faith and Home

Archibald Caswell could never please his domineering granddaddy Silas. Now with Granddaddy gone, Archie finds himself lost, confused, and wondering what Granddaddy could possibly have meant by his dying words: “Young man, you are a saint!” Clare Simpson knows exactly what Silas meant. She convinces Archie to dedicate his life to God, give up his possessions, steal his granddaddy's truck, and head north to the Cloisters in New York, where she and Archie secretly live after museum hours. For Clare, the journey is a return to the only place where she has felt happy and loved. For Archie, the pilgrimage leads him to a closer relationship with God—and a burning desire for home. "This deeply philosophical and psychologically complex novel will hold readers rapt."-- Publishers Weekly (starred review) "Nolan demonstrates again that she is a masterful storyteller . . . Highly recommended."-- VOYA (5Q--highest rating) "This powerfully written novel is outstanding . . . scary, gripping, and gratifying."-- School Library Journal HAN NOLAN is the author of several books, including Dancing on the Edge which won the National Book Award and Send Me Down a Miracle, a National Book Award finalist. She lives with her husband on the East Coast. Archibald Lee Caswell had named the still he and his best friend, Armory Mitchell, had built in the basement of his grandparents' home The Last Hurrah, in honor of Armory, who was moving with his family to Washington, D.C. He couldn't believe that a still they had made with their own hands would really produce any alcohol. That's why he agreed to the scheme when Armory showed him the instructions for building it. How could a few copper pipes, some scrap metal, a hose, and Armory's Coleman stove produce real alcohol? So Archie went along with the plan, and for a week the two of them carried the bits and pieces they had found for the still past the living-room windows, where his grandparents could have looked out and seen them at any moment, to the bulkhead and down the steps to the basement. But there they stood, to Archie's great surprise, facing each other with their first mugfuls of the homemade brew in their hands. They were an odd-looking twosome. Archie was tall for his fourteen years and lanky, but his freckled face and wide blue eyes still had the look of a little boy in them. Armory, also fourteen, was three inches shorter than his friend and built like a truck, with a voice that carried like a truck's horn. He had small dark eyes that glinted with mischief. Armory held his mug out toward Archie's and said, "Here's to our friendship. Long may it sail. Hurrah!" Archie clinked mugs with Armory and waited for his friend to take the first sip, but Armory said, "No, let's drink it together. Down the hatch in one big gulp." Archie sniffed the brownish liquid in his mug. It smelled like a toilet. "Are you sure we didn't overheat this stuff? The instructions said to keep..." "I know what the instructions 'said.' You were the one looking at the thermometer every five seconds. You tell me." Archie sniffed again and shrugged. "I guess it's all right." "You wouldn't chicken out on me now, would you, Cas? The last hurrah and all that?" "Have I ever?" Archie asked. Armory chuckled. "Well there was that cliff face you and your bike didn't seem to want to go down a while back." "I went, didn't I? And I beat you down it, too." "Yeah, on your face. What did you call that maneuver you did off the front end of your bike? The arc and splat?" Armory hooted and Archie shushed him. "My granddaddy will hear us." "He's gotta know we're down here. He'd be more suspicious if we were quiet. So come on"-Armory lifted his mug-"to the last hurrah!" Archie hesitated a second while the memory of the broken arm and ribs he had gotten from his ride down the cliff flashed through his mind. What's the worst that could happen this time? He lifted his mug and said, "To the last hurrah!" Then he and Armory drank the bitter liquid down, each in one long gulp. When they had finished, they looked at each other and laughed. Archie said, "Shh, he'll hear us." Then he laughed again and added, "This stuff's terrible. It tastes like we scraped the mold off these basement walls." He looked at the musty walls of the old basement and felt a sudden gripping pain in his gut. He clutched his stomach, and then the pain was gone. Armory turned back to the still. "Let's go one more round." "Are you kidding?" "Come on, Cas, it'll put hair on your chest." "More like my tongue," Archie said, feeling another sharp pain in his stomach. "This stuff's not sitting too well." "Of course not. You never drank before. You're inexperienced, that's all." Armory held out his hand. "Give me your mug, Cas, come on." Archie handed it over and wondered how he could get out of drinking another mugful. He didn't want to wimp out on his best friend on their last day together, but he didn't think he could keep another round d