One Step at a Time

With a warning glare from the curator, I allowed the last tour group for the morning to walk around the chapel unattended. I disappeared between the out-of-towners snapping pictures of the chapel to upload to their Facebook accounts and the students from the nearby community college (in a former house of worship, I prayed some of the cute guys were at least eighteen—I had just turned twenty-four) at least feigning interest for participation points. I had honestly tried to hang in there with that job, but the combination of my curator’s obsession with making his tour guides follow a strict scripted speech and people’s inability to appreciate a Gothic church in the middle of the desert, I kept applications to museums in Albuquerque in my locker. I soaked the image of Our Lady of Light chapel and its Miracle Staircase even deeper into my skin; the only miracle I would have believed in then would be a reason to stay.

Two people from the group were brave enough to approach the staircase. A young man, who appeared to be about thirty, examined the back of the staircase and certainly the spiral itself—marveling at its lack of a center support. He took particular notice of the wood, and when he breathed the scent of it in, his eyes softened and he looked longingly at the design of the staircase. The younger, a woman I guessed to be in her mid or late twenties, couldn’t help but look the staircase from top to bottom. The way she tilted her head back to absorb the memory of the staircase allowed light from the stained glass window to illuminate her youthful green eyes, filled with wonder. She ran her hands tenderly against the polished woodwork, reminding me of the intimate touch of a lover. I glanced at my watch—quarter till noon. The curator was in the back blessing the bottle of whiskey in his desk about then.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” I asked, coming to them. “I see you’re both just as taken as I am by our Miracle Staircase.”

“It is a miracle,” the man said standing back from the staircase. “The design is unlike any I have ever seen. Whoever figured out how to make this kind of staircase with no support or nails must have been the best master carpenter to walk the earth.”

“Or not of this earth if Saint Joseph did it,” the woman said looking at the man. Then she turned to me with a smile. “Or at least that’s how the story goes.”

“No need for me to lecture?” I asked.

“That’s my job,” the man said amusedly.

“Oh, so you’re Joseph Destry from the university,” I said trying to sound professional and offering my hand to him.

“Professor Destry, but who’s counting,” he said with a gentle but worn smile. He took my hand but he quickly let it go and didn’t even try to squeeze. “This is Veronica Mason, one of my top students.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said, taking my hand and shaking it heartily. “May I ask one favor?”

“Please,” I said.

“Is it alright if I climb the stairs?”

“Veronica, I’m not so sure you should,” Joseph said.

“I’m pretty sure it can support me,” she said, coming closer to the first step.

“It’s a piece of history, and I don’t even know if it’s allowed—”

“I just asked her.”

“You didn’t let her answer.”

“Don’t worry it’s about twelve,” I mumbled

“I’m sorry?” Joseph asked.

“Nothing. Go ahead, it’s fine.”

Veronica’s smile grew bigger as she turned from me and began to walk up the stairs as if she would wake a sleeping child. She continued to run her hand against the wood, and I noticed that Joseph watched her very closely as she ascended. She turned away sharply and disappeared behind the first spiral.

“Very eager to learn, isn’t she?” I asked. “It’s refreshing to see people actually excited about history.”

“She is,” he said. “I think most of my favorite discussions in our history classes are usually when she’s there.”

“Ahh!”

“Veronica!”

“I’m just kidding, professor,” Veronica said with a laugh, hanging over the railing.

“Veronica,” he said, turning to face the staircase with his back turned to me. “This young lady is sticking her neck out for you! Be careful!”

“Ok, Joe,” she said, continuing her ascent. Her facial features softened this time as she made her way around the next spiral. He turned around and dropped the caring face and stood up a little straighter to appear more professional.

“I don’t want there to be a legal incident with the chapel or the school because she fell,” he said.

“Fell from what?” I asked. He smiled nervously.

“The stairs, of course.”

“Of course,” I said wryly. He turned his back to me again, looking at the staircase and also following Veronica’s path up the thirty-three steps to the choir loft.

“You’re really fascinated by the staircase too, huh?” I asked. “You certainly notice things she doesn’t.” He sighed wistfully and put his hands in his jeans pockets.

“I used to be a carpenter,” he said. “It was to help pay for college at first.”

“What happened at second?” He balled his fists in his pockets.

“Life happened. I got my degree. I had to move on.”

“Did you really?” We watched as Veronica neared the top of the staircase.

“It wasn’t completely without regret,” he said softly. “This has been an especially special semester.” This time, it was me who smiled.

“Why don’t you go up the staircase too?” I suggested. “I bet you could appreciate the architecture a lot better if you experience walking this staircase.”

“I don’t know, the curator told me when I called that he didn’t want us—”

“Come up here! The view of the church is spectacular!” Joseph bit his lower lip before answering.

“Alright. But it’s just so I have something interesting to lecture about on Monday.”

“And to keep her from falling,” I said. “Assuming it’s not too late.”

“It’s never too late,” he said.

“Of course.”

At the start, Joseph took careful steps, like he feared the wood would give out underneath him. Once he began to climb higher, he walked to the rhythm of the creaking wood under his boots. After the first spiral, he stopped and looked at the railing, judging if it was safe enough for him to even touch, and I walked directly under the staircase to watch them. Once his skin made contact with the wood, he was one with the staircase, climbing higher and higher towards heaven. Veronica waited for him, still holding the railing when he got to the top step.

“That’s the most beautiful and extraordinary staircase I have ever come into contact with,” he said to her. “Nobody I ever learned carpentry from would have been able to do what this carpenter did.”

“Maybe you could have,” Veronica said, facing him with a full smile. He straightened up again.

“It’s getting close to time, we need to head back to the bus—”

Subconsciously, I felt the same tingle in my back as he did when he began to fall. In a split second, he yelped in pain and let go of the railing. Before he could fall completely down, however, Veronica was able to rush forward quickly enough to wrap both of her arms around his torso and pulled him to her body in order to help him stand on his own feet. They hugged each other tightly and closed their eyes, trying to convince themselves that the worst hadn’t happened. Once their breathing had returned to normal, Joseph slowly opened his mahogany eyes and looked at her.

“Miracle staircase, huh?” he said. “I thought your Jesus was supposed to cure the handicapped.” She looked at his hands and rubbed them. He hissed in pain but eventually her rubbing gave him some relief.

“I think that depends on your definition of a miracle,” she said. He finally allowed himself to smile at her.

“I see.”

“If you were blind before this, then that would be a miracle.”

* * * *

Later that afternoon when Joseph and Veronica left with the class, I was inspecting the staircase again, making sure there was no trace of their journey on the steps. As I admired the staircase, I squinted. Even though I had needed reading glasses since I was six, I could see something very small engraved in the wood underneath the thirty-third step where Joseph had nearly fallen. I stopped our custodian from leaving for the day and asked him to let me borrow the special ladder he had; it was a regular fold out ladder, but on the top were more rungs that allowed the climber to reach especially tall heights, like when it was time to refurbish the crucifix. Once under the step, I was close enough that I didn’t want or need my glasses:

“Whoever clings to me, I will deliver, SJ,” I read aloud.

“What the hell are you reading?” the curator demanded, the sight of a ladder making him dizzier than usual for three in the afternoon.

“There’s something carved at the bottom of the thirty-third step!” I said. He squinted before huffing.

“You and your generation and your weed smoking ways,” he said. “Now get down here and Windex the windows!” I had been working there for about six years at this point and had shown hundreds, if not thousands of tourists this staircase; why was it only when Joseph nearly fell that I noticed this carving?

Sighing and grabbing the Windex, I realized Veronica was right; your definition of a miracle does matter—especially after I when I threw away the applications in my locker.