I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
Traveling this world below
There is no sickness, no toil, nor danger
In that bright land to which I go.
“People don’t understand you,” Simon Fiacco said plainly as he and Angela Costanzo walked to the milking barn on Angela’s family’s dairy farm in Milledgeville, Georgia.
Angela blushed a little. “What do you mean Simon?”
“None of the workers on the farm seem to get you, but I do.”
“What do you get about me?”
“You seem like a stranger in this land, just like me.”
“Yeah, I believe I’m a stranger and I have my sights on a place bigger than this world.”
“Why do you feel like a stranger?”
Simon took Angela’s elbow, and said, “Because I see things different than others. I might only be 18 years old, but I know enough to believe God provides for all our needs.”
Angela brushed his hand off her elbow, darted her dark brown eyes at Simon, and said, “Simon, that’s not appropriate. I don’t know you. And if my daddy were still alive and running this farm, you wouldn’t be acting that a way towards me.”
Simon’s jaw tightened. He looked away. His right foot shifted back toward the open pasture, toward nothing, toward a choice he could’ve made. Then he smiled.
“Don’t worry, I’m just being friendly. Your daddy and me were friends. He always gave me the biggest responsibilities on this farm.”
“My daddy gave you those responsibilities ‘cos your papa was always too drunk to do them.”
After milking the cows, they returned to the house, in silence. Simon went down to the laundry room and Angela entered the kitchen.
I know dark clouds will gather ‘round me
I know my way is hard and steep
But golden fields lie just before me
Where God’s redeemed shall ever sleep
Mrs. Costanzo sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee and told Angela that she decided to let the Fiacco men go.
Angela left the kitchen knowing Simon would find out soon. She walked out to the front porch and sat on its top step facing east and prayed, “Jesus, I surrender myself to you, take care of everything.”
Simon threw open the screen door and interrupted Angela’s prayer.
He sat on the porch swing eating an apple with his knife staring at the back of Angela’s head.
“Hey … Simon,” Angela said.
He stepped onto the top step and sat next to her while eating his apple.
“Don’t come any closer Simon.”
“I’m just being friendly. I can’t help it, it’s the way I am … it’s my character.”
“Don’t say, ‘it’s the way I am, it’s my character.’ That shows your lack of character.”
Simon leapt off the porch steps so that he was facing Angela, threw the apple into the front yard, and held his knife against his right thigh.
“Nobody’s ever talked to me that a way Angela. Don’t you like me?”
“I like you enough to tell you to stop blaming your nature. God made you better than that. Act like it.”
“Yer so uncharitable.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean ya should act more kindly to a man like me.”
Angela nearly burst into laughter and said, “You act like a boy and my heart belongs only to God.”
“Now Angela, I’m a man. I know you might not see it now and all, but I know you’ll see that I’m a man and I’ll show you what true love is.”
“Simon, I know loving ourselves as we love others is love and wanting the best for the other person is love. I want what’s best for you, according to God’s will. What you’re doing is not God’s will.”
Simon paced … his breath and hands stilled, then he grabbed Angela’s arm, jerked her off the porch and spun her around so that he was behind her and he placed his knife against her throat.
Angela yelled, “Stop!” Simon refused.
He dragged Angela towards the shaded area of the house. Simon threw her to the ground. He was on top of her, trying to kiss her, trying to remove her jeans.
Angela screamed, “No, it’s a sin, God will not allow it! I’d rather die than allow you to do what you want to do!”
Simon began stabbing Angela with his knife. The first blow stunned her. By the third she understood. She didn’t scream again. She prayed. Simon stabbed her fourteen times, dropped his knife and ran away.
I’m going there to see my Father
And all my loved ones who’ve gone on
I’m just going over Jordan
I’m just going over home
Mrs. Costanzo saw out of the kitchen window Angela laying on the ground and ran to her. She screamed, “Angela! My baby!” Workers ran over to Mrs. Costanzo and Angela. Miguel carried Angela into the house and made her as comfortable as possible. After calling 911, Mrs. Costanzo came to Angela’s side.
“Angela, who did this to you?”
“Simon.”
Mrs. Costanzo got up, ran to phone the sheriff. She told him that Simon Fiacco stabbed her daughter.
Mrs. Costanzo came back to Angela, clasped her hands, and began praying for her. As Angela lay bleeding, the woodpeckers tapping their messages on the oak trees, and the jays singing, “Pretty bird, pretty bird.” Angela heard God’s still voice, “Forgiveness, be not afraid.” She whispered to her mama, “I forgive him.”
In the ambulance, Angela prayed the Our Father, and the rosary.
Angela lost a lot of blood.
At the hospital, she asked, “May I have some water?”
“It’s too dangerous to give you water,” the doctor said.
Angela’s intestines were pierced. Water would make matters worse.
A priest gave Angela her Last Rites. She received the body of Christ and the priest showed her a crucifix and said, “My child, remember that Jesus was very thirsty on the cross as he suffered his torture, will you offer up your thirst to Jesus for the salvation of sinners.” Angela whispered, “I will Father, I forgive Simon and I want him in heaven with me forever.”
Angela consciously endured the pain of the doctor spreading her wounds wide.
“Angela, think of me in paradise,” the doctor said.
“Well, who knows which one of us is going to be there first.”
As tears streamed down his eyes, he heard Angela whispering, “Into Your arms I commend my spirit.” And she died.
Mrs. Costanzo told the court, “Sentence him long enough to help him repent.”
The judge sentenced Simon to thirty years in prison.
Simon spent thirty years pacing in his cell. On the day of his release, he finally saw them; fourteen daffodils growing from the eastern corner. He had walked by them a thousand times never seeing them.
He stopped, bent down, and reached toward their fragile stems, trembling.
Angela had picked daffodils the day before … before he killed her for nothing.
The unbearable weight of mercy and grace crashed upon him. He fell to his knees, and prayed.
When two prison guards arrived at Simon’s cell to escort him out, he was sobbing.
“Fiacco, you alright?”
“Yeah.”
Simon left prison and boarded a Milledgeville Greyhound. He had to make two stops.
He walked up the Costanzo’s porch steps and knocked on the screen door.
Mrs. Costanzo came to the door.
“Simon, I was expecting you, come in.”
“Thank you, mam.”
Mrs. Costanzo led Simon into the front room. She sat on the couch. Simon sat in a chair facing her.
“How ya getting on, since your release?”
“I’m getting used to it. Listen, Mrs. Costanzo, I want to ask your forgiveness for what I done to Angela.”
Mrs. Costanzo paused … looked into Simon’s eyes.
“Well, Simon, Angela forgave you and if she forgives you, then I must forgive you too.”
After a brief conversation, Simon left.
He boarded a Greyhound to Hapeville.
Simon arrived at the Franciscan friary at night. The moon was full and bright. A swarthy complected friar met him at the door. The friary smelled of wood smoke and fresh bread. The friar wore a brown robe with a white cord around his waist and a rosary dangled down his right thigh. He led Simon to a modest kitchen where a round loaf sat cooling on a wooden table. He cut two thick slices, set them down, and poured two glasses of water.
They sat.
“What brings you to us, brother?”
Simon turned the bread in his hands.
“I don’t know. I did something bad a long time ago, I killed a girl for nothing. I was a boy then, I thought I knew who I was. After thirty years in prison, I don’t know who I am. All I know is I’m not that person anymore.”
The friar nodded and said nothing.
They talked into the early morning. The morning sun shone through the window. Simon didn’t think to leave.