The Songbird with Sapphire Eyes

by Anna Brentwood

  He cursed again. “Damn, Hannah don’t get all righteous on me. Fact is, ya didn’t want the kid. Nothing’s changed, I took care of him, he’s doin’ fine, end of story. Let’s face it, babe, you ain’t exactly winning prizes as mother of the year.”

  She gasped, unable to believe he could be so cruel. She momentarily gave up on Free who kept biting at her fingers refusing to go inside her cage. Still on her knees she wheeled around to face him, temper flaring. “And, who the hell are you, father of the year?”

  “Good enough. He respects me and understands he can’t live with me. Hell, he goes to school with some of the richest little bastards in the world. He likes his life. It’s a good life, better than I had and better than you did.”

  “You deceived me, kept this from me for over six years,” she hissed. “It’s not okay to arrange other people’s lives like cards in a game. I feel like I’m bleeding all over again and you expect me to just forget what you’ve done. Forget about my son’s welfare. I can only wonder what other lies you’ve told me, justified, what you told the poor kid, about me, about his mother?”

  Johnny tilted his head back and shrugged. “Nothin’. He knows he’s adopted.”

  Hannah raised her brow. “So, he never asked about his mother—me?”

  “Well, he thinks his mother’s dead.”

  “Dead?” The flash of his ring caught her eye. She wanted to throw something, to hurt Johnny like she was hurting. Instead she stood shaking, her arms crossed. She thought Johnny looked unmoved except for his tight smile. He strutted over to the bar and poured himself a brandy, and downed it in one hard shot.

  “I had to tell him somethin’. He ain’t a demanding kid, he’s quiet, polite and he don’t ask a lot of questions, unlike you,” Johnny’s voice was edgy.

  Her stomach flipped as she licked her dry lips, guilt swarming her mind. She’d failed her son, Ray’s son. She truly believed she’d be giving him a better life. A life with a real family. With a loving mother, brothers and sisters to play with. She felt sick inside. Furious that Johnny had done this, to the boy, to her and defended himself without batting an eyelash.

  “Which brings me back to what made you go to my office? I wanna know and I wanna know now.”

  She knew it was foolish to rile him when he was angry, but she was so angry herself she didn’t care. “I heard the office was fancy so I went to take a look. I found the papers by accident,” she lied. At his disbelieving snort, hands on her hips, she spat. “And, that isn’t what’s important. Stop trying to change the subject.”

  The nervous bird started flapping her wings. She screeched like chalk on a blackboard over and over. The shrill sounds made the tensions in the room arc.

  “Shut that goddamned bird up.” He yelled, pounding the bar. “Shit, Han. Maybe I should have told you, maybe not, but I did what I thought was best. I was lookin’ out for you. Stop twisting things around, or you’re gonna piss me off good.”

  She stared in disbelief, her mind racing, her heart burning with pain. He’d lied, deceived her, opened a wound she’d thought closed and with it, smoldering venom that would not be bandaged with poor excuses. Each year on the anniversary of Meg’s death, she couldn’t help but think of all that had transpired. And, though she knew she’d done the right thing, the best thing by giving her baby up, she still couldn’t help but wonder if he were happy. What he thought, felt, who he looked like, the color of his eyes. Things she didn’t want to think about but did. “So those trips you made upstate weren’t just business. How many other lies are there you won’t even admit to or apologize for?”

  Free started squawking. She bent again. She wanted to close the cage door, but the bird didn’t want to go. It was holding onto her fingers, its wings flapping madly.

  Johnny gazed down at her, his dark gaze unflinching, his temper on slow boil. “I won’t apologize for wantin’ to protect you, for doing whatever it takes. I’d destroy anything, anyone ever tries to hurt ya, take you away from me. I’d kill for you, Han,” he said flatly. “I’m bone tired. I came a long way. I don’t want to fight. I want a drink, want to lose myself inside ya and here you are, harping at me. Stop being unreasonable and fussing over that damned bird.” He ran his hands through his hair and humbled himself with as close as an apology he would ever make. “C’mon, enough theatrics, let’s go to bed now.”

  “How dare you,” she screamed, eyes blazing. “Bed won’t make what you did okay. Don’t you get it? All this doesn’t matter if I can’t trust you. If you aren’t the man I thought you were, we aren’t what I thought we were.”

  “So what’re you sayin’, Han?” His eyes took on a dangerous sheen.

  “I want you to leave. Go! Go to that fancy office of yours. How dare you stomp on my heart and twist it in knots and casually mention how you feel, what you need…bed,” she spat frustrated, face flushed. “I need time to think, time away from you.”

  He arched a brow at her. His face paled and went taunt, his neck corded. “You tellin’ me to leave my own home, refusing me my rights?”

  “Yes. I can’t be with you tonight, not after…not until I figure out what I feel. I can’t do that with you here.”

  Rage and anger boiled up inside him. A fury like he’d never felt before. She was telling him to go, rejecting him. This woman that he owned as surely as he did the very floor she was standing on, the clothes on her back, the roof over her head. The damned bird was screeching so loud it was driving him crazy. Hannah’s blue eyes were wide, fixed on him. She gasped when the little bird took off, flapping its wings. It bumped along the ground, bouncing as it tried to fly. She tried to get it, but he beat her to it.

  He caught the bird, felt its little heart beating fast as he held it in his hand. Hannah ran over to him, hands outstretched, but he held it away from her. The bird was scared, shivering. He could feel its heat; see its dark eyes opened wide.

  “Be careful, don’t hurt her!” She was screaming at him. Raising her voice.

  He wanted to hurt her, to show her who was in charge. “You think you can tell me what to do, Hannah?”

  “Yes—no, Johnny...” She reached for the bird again. “Stop, she’s scared. Give her to me.”

  With his free hand he slapped Hannah’s away, hitting her face, her eye. The harsh imprint of his hand immediately became evident. Holding the trembling bird, he shouted, “Well, ya can’t tell me what to do! This is mine, you’re mine. I own every fucking inch of you, all of it and you tell me to leave just because you don’t like something I’ve done for you, always for you?”

  “Fine, I’ll go instead,” she cried, hand on her face. “But, don’t hurt Free, please, Johnny.”

  “Free, what a joke,” he grunted. “Your stupid ideals disgust me. You ain’t going anywhere—ever.” To further make his point, the control he prided himself teetering, he told her how it was, how it would be, holding and shaking the terrified bird in his hand the whole time.

  She glared at him and yelled, reaching. “Johnny, give that poor bird to me now.”

  The bird bit him, hard. “Ouch, goddamn.” Johnny saw red.

  He broke its neck with one quick twist and slapped it into Hannah’s outstretched hand. He watched as she looked down at the warm, limp body and stared back at her hand in horror and disbelief.

  “No, no, damn you, damn you, Johnny.”

  She started crying and that he couldn’t hear. He grabbed his coat, his gun and his hat. “I’ll be back. And when I return, I expect things to be back to normal. Got it?”

  She was sobbing hysterically. “How could they ever be normal again? You just killed a helpless little creature over…I feel sick, disgusted by what you’ve done.” Her right eye swelling she knelt gently to lay the tiny bird back into the cage. Her eyes brimmed with tears. “How could you be so cruel? How can you expect me to forgive this knowing you lied to me, that my son is alone and sad.”

  “He ain’t sad. He’s fine, content and he ain’t alone. He has more people a
round him than he knows what to do with. He’s got everythin’ a kid could want and more than you or that farmer could ever give him.”

  “And, how do you know how he feels? Did you ever give him any choice?”

  “Do any of us have any choice of who our folks are, who we belong to? Besides, it ain’t your problem. You gave him up. You aren’t the motherly type and you are not starting now. Make believe you don’t know. Forget about it.”

  “I can’t,” she sobbed, hating him in that moment, wondering who this man she’d loved and trusted really was. She stood, refusing to cower despite the pain his last words brought. “What if I can’t forget about it? Would you give him over to a real family if that’s what he wants?”

  He walked to the door and pointing his finger at her, sounded disgusted, angry. “What I take care of, I keep. What’s mine is mine. And, like it or not, he’s mine and so are you, Han. It’s just that simple.”

  “But it is not simple,” she spat, her last spurt of defiance gone as he slammed the door. With bone chilling clarity she feared nothing would ever be simple again. She’d known Johnny could be hard, unforgiving and tough, but seeing him kill the bird with his bare hands tonight horrified her. She hated to see animals suffer and felt as trapped as her pet now lying still and cold in its fancy cage. It was clear Johnny would stop at nothing to justify what he wanted to do, or to keep what was his. Free, huh. She closed her eyes tight, feeling raw as she chuckled bitterly at the irony.

  Somehow she, who had cherished freedom above all things, had handed every aspect of her life over to a man; her problems, needs, dreams, career, money, trust and love. She’d made a mistake thinking she could handle Johnny, never taking his temper serious enough. She’d been too busy greedily grabbing with both hands at the life he offered, burying her head in the sand. Johnny’s constant involvement in his own work had given her the illusion she was free. She’d believed by having a career, by avoiding marriage that she was a woman in charge of her own destiny. Ha! The joke was on her. And, it didn’t feel funny. She gently cradled the tiny, inert bundle in her hands as she carefully wrapped it in a hankie. She wept for the little bird; her son; and for herself as she wondered what she should do and went out to dig a grave in the cold winter soil.

  “I can’t be with you tonight, not after…not until I figure out what I feel and I can’t do that with you here.”

  It was raining hard and Johnny was dog tired—exhausted. Two days of bust ass negotiations, four nights fulfilling obligations. He’d bought, sold and talked until his throat felt raw. And all he thought about after a hard day’s work was his woman, that she’d be home waiting and willing. Hannah was his haven, a breath of fresh air in a dirty, rotten garbage heap of a world and he craved her beauty with an intensity that couldn’t be denied.

  The gall of that dame! After all he did for her and had done.

  Taking his still packed valise, he’d driven most of the night pumped on adrenaline, tobacco and anger. He rarely second guessed himself, but Hannah’s accusations kept reverberating back and forth in his head.

  “How could you be so cruel? How can you expect me to forgive this knowing you lied to me, that my son is alone, maybe lonely and sad?”

  “He ain’t sad. He’s fine and content. And, he ain’t alone. He has more people around him than he knows what to do with. He’s got everything a kid could want.”

  “And, how do you know that? Did you ever give him any choice?”

  Choice, who the hell ever had a choice? Life was what it was and if you were smart, you made the most of it.

  The sun was starting to climb over the hill, beaming through the trees and splashing the dusky blue sky with vivid shards of orange and yellow. He yawned. He was too drained to be impressed by Mother Nature’s colorful show. He tamped out what must have been his thirtieth cigarette. He flinched when he glanced at his unshaven face in the mirror. It was stubbly, lined and tired. His blood shot eyes glowed with an almost unholy light.

  “Jesus Christ, I’d scare the crap outta the devil hisself,” he muttered, spotting a cheap motel and parking the car in front of the office so he could check-in. He needed to regroup, refresh and get some shut-eye. “I spoil her rotten and does she appreciate it—no.” He smoothed his hair back, adjusted his hat, still muttering as he got out of the car. Now he was talking to himself like a nut. The bitch made him crazy. “And, if it were anyone else, I’d plug ’em in the head and call it good.”

  Inside the empty chapel, head bent in dutiful obeisance and kneeling in a back pew, Johnny faced an impressive six foot statue of the virgin and her son. The sound of approaching footsteps on the hard granite and limestone floors drew his attention. He rose quickly, not wanting to be caught on his knees praying.

  In seconds, the doorway filled with a quiet figure clad in long layered skirts, wearing a large wooden cross. Her habit was as dark as the wise, intelligent eyes he remembered from earliest childhood. Even though she’d been grown and on her way to the convent by the time he’d turned eight, she was a calming sight and a smile tugged his lip. “Took you long enough Gabrielle…sister.”

  She’d always been graceful and seemed to glide on winged feet to reach him. She held her arms out for a hug, kissed his cheek. “It’s Mother now as well you know. Bishop McAuliffe called me out of morning vespers to tell me you were here.”

  The admonishment was firm as the hug. He almost felt like a bad little boy in short pants again. She studied him with affection and curiosity. “You look troubled, il mio fratellino. When was the last time you took confession?”

  He shook his head. “It’s too late for that.”

  Her eyes flickered with amusement and love. “It’s never too late. Now that I’ve got you fidgeting like a nervous schoolboy, do you want to tell me why you’re here before your regular visitation?”

  “I was in the mood for a drive. I had some extra time and I—”

  “Gianantonio Gallo, must I remind you we’re in God’s house.”

  He laughed again. “Okay, Ga…Sis…Mother, geez, you nuns could give the boys lessons on intimidating folks.”

  “Enough,” she chided him, waiting. “What’s going on?”

  He paused and sighed. “I don’t know if I did the right thing not letting the boy be adopted by a real family. Maybe I should have—”.

  “Anthony’s a good child, not as reticent or solemn as he used to be, but very well behaved. He does excellent in his studies and gets along well with others. He’s thriving in school and I don’t have to tell you he’s a favorite with the sisters and special to me.” Taking his hand in hers, she patted it, assuring him in the way of family that she understood, that he was doing what was right, the best he could do.

  “I wasn’t sure.”

  “See for yourself. I’ll send for him. By the way, what do you think of the chapel? It’s our jewel and can now seat five hundred.”

  “I know. I asked if I could wait in here.”

  “How did you know it was finished?”

  “I got my sources.”

  She smiled, eyes alight and pointed to the classic stained glass windows, the two transepts projecting off the main alter and the arched hammer beam of the ceiling. “I know I shouldn’t be impressed by such worldly things, but it is such a blessing to be able to live and teach in such wonderful surroundings. And, I’m so grateful for all you’ve done to help make it possible.”

  Johnny fidgeted. “I don’t want no credit. I didn’t want ya to say where the money came from.”

  “I didn’t, but the Bishop knows and God too. Not to mention my transfer went through without question. So, I just want to thank you again privately. It isn’t only Anthony that benefits from your generosity.”

  “I’m just bribin’ the big guy in case I need favors later on.”

  She surprised him by chuckling.

  The stately French and English Gothic styled structures were situated on three hundred private acres of lush rolling hills and majestic trees
owned by the Catholic Archdiocese. There was a prep school, a seminary, two dormitory wings, a convent, a House of Formation, a gymnasium, a sports field, basketball courts and several smaller buildings. Benches and tastefully landscaped retreats peppered the grounds.

  It was a windy day, mild for winter. Coat blowing in the wind, Johnny tried to block the bright sunshine, tilting the brim of his hat to see the football field from his bench seat on the sidelines. Two teams of small boys wearing helmets and identical navy and white uniforms were playing, some guarding net, all holding sticks with a rope and leather basket on the end.

  “They’re playing field lacrosse. I’m afraid Father O’Neill is quite diligent about the boys playing rain, sleet or snow.”

  “That’s okay, but it looks like some namby pamby rich boy game to me.” Johnny grumbled. “What happened to games like baseball, kick ball, spike?”

  “They play those too,” said Mother, nonplussed. “Anthony does exceptionally well with this game.”

  Impressed in spite of himself with the fast action of the game Johnny couldn’t tell which one of the boys, ranging in age from six to eleven was Anthony, but found himself rooting for one team, then another. He punched his fist into the air with gusto when the losing team scored the final goal, one little sprite dodging past the guards to win the game for his team.

  “I see Father O’Neill now. I’ll go talk to him and get Anthony.” Gabrielle started off. “Are you sure you wouldn’t be more comfortable meeting him inside?”

  “Nah, I just want to see how he’s doin’. This is good enough.” He told her goodbye, sat down on the bench and wondered what he’d say to the boy.

  He turned, breathing in the cool, clean air and waited. The turrets, large windows and arched columns of the school buildings were set like gems in the rich greens and rolling hills of the countryside. He almost wished Hannah could see it but he didn’t want to stir up that hornet’s nest more than it already was stirred. The important thing was that it was obvious how much better off Anthony was here, being well cared for, being given opportunities few kids ever were given. Better than any family that might have adopted him could have given him. Better than what they’d both had.