by Lynne Hinton
Raymond didn’t answer.
“Tell me that you care more about her and Alexandria than that?” George asked. “Tell me that you’d put up more of a fight for them than that?”
“What do you want me to say?” Raymond asked, shrugging. “Did you see what I did to her? Do you know what I am capable of? She’s better off.”
“With a man who lied to her about being married? A man who had two children and a wife and pretended he was in love with her? A man who got her pregnant and then when she left never even tried to find her, never even wanted to make sure she was okay?” George ran his fingers through his hair, a habit when he was anxious. “She’s better off with him?”
Raymond slid down onto the sofa. “I don’t know if I can ever be with anyone,” he confessed. “I’m not the man she wrote letters to, the man who wrote letters to her. I’m not the man she fell in love with. I’ll never be that man again.”
“Then be the man you are,” George argued. “Yes, you’ve changed. Yes, you’ve seen and experienced things that have made you different, but that doesn’t mean they have to make you less than who you were before. These things, this war, doesn’t have to make you worse. We break and we heal. We lose and we find new ways to open our hearts. We hurt, but we get better.” He hesitated. “Show her the man you can be. Show yourself the man I know and the people of Pie Town know that you can be.”
Raymond closed his eyes.
Father George waited.
“I’m not sure I know who that man is” was all he could say.
THIRTY-NINE
Malene was worried. Since Trina had left for Texas, nobody had heard from her. Father George had taken off; apparently he had left town without telling anyone, missing a church meeting, and no one had seen him. Roger had returned once again to the Silver Spur to try to talk Gilbert out of pressing charges and give him the money collected from the people of Pie Town to pay back what was taken. And one of the FBI agents, Agent Williams, kept hanging around the diner, where Malene was planning to talk to a news reporter from Albuquerque who was covering the story of the arrest of Frank Twinhorse.
She wasn’t sure that Agent Williams knew about the interview, and she hoped she could meet the reporter out in the parking lot and go somewhere else before he had the chance to figure things out. She didn’t really want to give him the opportunity to say anything, make up some bogus story about what he believed about Raymond and Frank; she wanted the full attention of the reporter.
She planned for the story to be about Frank Twinhorse, the upstanding citizen of Pie Town, the well-loved and well-respected business owner who had no prior criminal record and who was being held without proper cause. She intended to make sure the reporter knew about the unsubstantiated charges and the illegal detention, and she didn’t want an FBI agent present while she was giving her take on what was happening. “Let the reporter speak to someone in Albuquerque, not to the agent who’s been harassing everybody in Catron County,” she thought to herself.
Malene didn’t like Williams, and it wasn’t just because of the things her husband had told her about him. She knew he had bungled the drug bust in Datil. She knew he thought Raymond Twinhorse was guilty of dealing drugs and that he saw no wrongdoing in keeping Frank locked up. She knew that he thought the older man was guilty as well. She had lots of reasons not to like the lawman; he was rude and insensitive, and he kept showing up at the diner and the church, filling up the entire room where he sat watching everyone. There were plenty of reasons not to like Agent Williams, but the main reason Malene had lost all charity for him was the way he treated the people of Pie Town. He used every opportunity he could find to belittle the citizens.
She had heard him on the phone calling the protests about Frank “a horde of hicks raising a stink for some Indian” and talking about their concern for Raymond as “a waste of time and emotion on a drunk and a junkie,” so convinced was he that the young man was guilty of both robbing a bar and being involved in drug trafficking. Agent Williams kept hanging around Pie Town asking the same stupid questions of everyone, questions like, “You heard from Raymond Twinhorse?” “You know where that boy liked to hang out?”
He harassed every person he ran across in Pie Town. And that day it had been no different. He had already spoken to Francine, making all kinds of threats against her and Bernie if she was keeping information about Raymond’s whereabouts from him. And ever since Malene had stopped by the diner after work, Agent Williams had been staring at her, listening to every phone conversation she had and watching every email she sent while she tried to get protesters ready for the trip to Albuquerque on Frank’s behalf. He had overheard Roger tell Malene to call him if Father George contacted her, and Malene knew that Agent Williams remained convinced that Father George would be the one to lead the FBI to Raymond.
When George did call her on her cell phone just after the news reporter pulled into the parking lot, and just before she could explain that they needed to find a better place to talk, she did everything she could to keep Williams from knowing it was George on the other end.
“Malene here” she answered the phone.
“It’s George,” he replied.
And she immediately glanced around the diner. Agent Williams was watching the reporter, who was sitting in his vehicle in the parking lot, apparently talking on his phone. She turned around in her chair at the table, her back to the agent, hoping he wouldn’t figure out who the stranger was or realize that she was talking to the priest. She knew it was a lot to hope for.
“Where are you?” she asked, talking as softly and as hurriedly as possible, glancing out at the parking lot. “We were about to send somebody to search for you!”
“I had an errand to run,” he replied.
“An errand?” she asked.
He didn’t explain. “Has anybody talked to Trina?” he asked, not really expecting good news after the messages he had heard on Frank’s phone, the messages from Francine frantically trying to get Raymond to talk to his girlfriend.
“No,” Malene answered. “I guess she’s gone to Texas. Nobody’s seen her all day.” She turned back to see Agent Williams. “Of course, the FBI is here. Maybe I can make the suggestion and they’ll go look for her.”
“They’re there?” George asked.
“Only the rude one,” she replied, turning away from Williams. She thought he had ordered dessert and was no longer paying attention to her. “I really need to talk to Roger,” Father George said.
“He’s in Datil,” she said. “He thought he could talk Gilbert into dropping the charges. Oris collected two hundred dollars to pay him back for the money he’s missing.” She noticed the reporter starting to get out of his car.
“Does he have his cell with him?” George asked.
“Sure, do you need the number?” Malene knew it by heart.
“Thanks, yes.”
As Malene called out the number, she could hear George reciting it to someone else, someone, she assumed, who was writing it down.
“Where are you?” she asked, wondering where George had gone and who was with him.
He cleared his throat before answering. “I found Raymond,” he replied.
“What?” her voice was raised. She glanced around and didn’t see Agent Williams sitting where he had been before. She turned and could see that the reporter was still in his vehicle, back on his phone.
“Look, don’t let the FBI hear you.” George tried to quiet her. “I figured out where he was and found him this afternoon. He wants to talk to Roger before the FBI gets to him.”
He continued. “I don’t want you to get in trouble, so I’m going to hang up and call him. But if he calls you first, let him know I need to talk to him. I’ll have my cell phone with me in the car. You’ve got that number, right?”
“But where are you now?” Malene asked. “And is he okay?”
She was waiting for an answer when she felt the phone being grabbed from her hands.
&nb
sp; “Raymond’s fine” came the answer. “He’s been out near Techado all week, and he doesn’t know anything about any drugs.” He paused.
“Malene? Are you still there?”
Agent Williams had the phone and had heard enough to know that Father George was with his fugitive. “You need to stay where you are,” he instructed the priest, and then heard the phone disconnect.
He held the cell phone so that he could read the screen and smiled. He turned and showed it to Malene, and she read the information about the number that she had entered into her phone when she first purchased it: FRANK’S HOME.
That was all Williams needed to know. He handed Malene the phone and headed out the door, leaving her shaken in his wake.
FORTY
By the time Williams had arrived at Frank’s trailer with at least six other agents in tow, Raymond had gotten out of Pie Town and was driving toward Datil. It was dusk, and Father George was alone, waiting inside the trailer and expecting the worst. He had never been arrested before, and he didn’t really relish the thought of having it happen right then, but it was the way, he believed, things had to be.
Remaining at the trailer had been his idea. George had reached Roger and told him that he was with Raymond. The young man wanted to talk to the sheriff and get the mess cleaned up. He wanted to get his dad out of jail, and he wanted to figure out the best way to talk to the FBI agents.
Roger was the one who suggested to George that they drive as quickly as possible to Datil, to the Silver Spur, where he would wait for him. He said that he would talk to Raymond and to Gilbert, and then call Agent Cochran, who he thought was in Albuquerque. He explained that he believed Cochran was fair and would be the best person from the FBI to see.
When George had put Roger on hold and told Raymond the plan of action, Raymond had asked the priest if he would drive him to the bar. And that was when Father George had the idea that Raymond should go alone and that he would wait at the trailer for Agent Williams to arrive. That way, he realized, there would be time enough for Raymond to get to the sheriff and do what they thought would be best. In a moment of clarity, George decided it was the right thing to do.
He would delay Williams in his search by being uncooperative while Raymond was given the time to get to the sheriff. And once the decision was made, neither Raymond nor Roger could talk him out of it.
“He’ll threaten you with everything,” Roger had explained when Father George got back on the phone, just a few minutes before Raymond left. “He’s going to be very angry,” he added. Later, when Father George heard Williams speeding down the dirt road with horns blowing and sirens blaring, it proved what Roger had said after finally agreeing to the plan: Williams liked a show.
Father George was listening carefully to the sheriff. “What are the consequences of aiding and abetting a fugitive?” he had asked, starting to feel a little nervous.
Roger had been silent a few moments before replying, “He’ll likely throw you in jail.” And then he had commented once again that trying to stall an FBI agent wasn’t the best idea.
“Father George,” Roger had said, “I don’t think you should do this. If you leave now, we should have time to make this work.”
There had been no response from George.
“If you stay, I’ll do everything I can to make sure you aren’t detained long, but I can’t guarantee anything, and I don’t know exactly what will happen after Raymond gets here. Right now, Gilbert is still planning to press charges. I can’t get him to change his mind or take the money. I’m hoping that if he gets to talk to Raymond, he’ll be convinced that something else happened, but I don’t know that for sure. So you see, Williams might still get to Raymond anyway. So think about it,” he had said.
Father George didn’t know what to say. The news that Gilbert wasn’t cooperating was not surprising, but it was also not what he had hoped to hear. He didn’t want to give Raymond that bit of information.
“You saw what Frank is facing. It’ll be the same for you.”
There had been such a long pause that George almost thought Roger had hung up the phone, but then the sheriff spoke his final words. “Think about it before you make this choice. You can get Raymond to drop you off somewhere or you can walk along the creek bed, over to Bernie’s, and take one of his vehicles back to the church. They probably wouldn’t find you out there, and we’d still have time to figure this mess out. You have to consider the fact that making the decision to stay and face Williams will cost you.”
And George knew Roger was talking about his relationship with the diocese, his standing as a Catholic priest.
At that point, he had glanced over at Raymond, who was waiting there beside him in the trailer, so broken and lost, so misunderstood, so determined to do the right thing, and while studying the boy, Father George had made his choice. He had put the phone down, sent Raymond to the car, and began preparing himself for what lay ahead.
He had already done a few of the things that Roger had told him to do. He had deleted the messages from Frank’s voice mail and tried to get rid of anything that could show that Raymond had been there recently. When he hung up from the call to Roger, he had given Raymond information about his cell phone, which was in the car, and the clothes Raymond had been wearing to take with him to Datil. He wanted there to be as little evidence as possible that Raymond had been in the trailer.
And then, after explaining to Raymond that the keys were in the glove compartment of the car and that it would be safer and quicker for him to avoid Highway 60 and head south on the forest road to Aragon, then east on Highway 12 to Datil, he had sent the young man on his way. He then gave Raymond Roger’s number and told him to call the sheriff when he got closer to the Silver Spur. All George knew was that Roger was trying to convince Gilbert to drop the robbery charges and working with Agent Cochran to try to figure out where the rumors of drug dealing had come, and that they were both working on getting Frank released before some big rally was held in Albuquerque.
Looking around the trailer, the priest awaited his fate. Nowhere in Frank’s home could he see any harmful evidence that Raymond had been there. He knew that if the FBI found any fingerprints of Raymond’s, he could argue that they had been made long before lightning struck and everything came unraveled in Pie Town. He wasn’t sure exactly what story he would tell about where he had been, what he had said to Malene on the phone, or where his car was, but he knew he had to come up with something.
Checking his watch and waiting for Williams, he thought that he probably had time to make a phone call if he wanted to, but then decided there wasn’t anyone he wanted to call. He wouldn’t really know what to say to his mother, with whom he actually had little contact. His father was dead, and he had no siblings. Of course, there was the diocese in Gallup, George realized, but why would he want to call his superiors? Besides, he wasn’t sure what he would say to them.
Father George knew that Roger, in speaking of the costs involved in his decision, was referring to his professional standing as a priest in the Catholic Church. However, since returning to Pie Town and rebuilding the community church, his relationship with the diocese had not been a very strong one anyway. The strain had begun when he was sent back to Catron County and given permission to rebuild the church, but offered no financial or contractual assistance.
George had been told not to expect any help, but once the building began, he had hoped there might at least be some assistance from the diocese with the required permits and county licenses. The diocese had been firm, however, in providing no help at all. And even though Father George had claimed that he didn’t want or need that help and that his superiors’ decision was not troubling for him, he knew there were a few hard feelings. Therefore, when the first service was held in the church and his superiors called to make arrangements to be in attendance, Father George had offered no invitation. “It was a community project,” he had told the secretary in the office at Gallup, who was calling to secure th
e date, “and it will be a service only for the community.” That had created a very chilly relationship with the Gallup Diocese.
George was also well aware that all the other local priests had heard of or spoken about his unorthodox ways—how he didn’t wear the proper attire, how he cavorted with women, and, worst of all, how he offered Communion, the sharing of the Elements, to Protestants. He knew reports had been filed.
Father George Morris had not yet been cast out by the Bishop, but he had remained as far out on the periphery of the Church as a priest could be. He was sure that once an arrest was made, once he was accused of aiding a suspected drug dealer, searching for and finding him without giving proper notification to the authorities, turning over to the boy the car that had actually been a gift from the diocese, and lying to officials, any semblance of a tie he had with the Catholic Church would be severed immediately.
He heard the cars screech to a halt outside the trailer. As he calmly sat on the sofa, he remembered the story of the fugitive and the minister and thought about how sad that story had always made him. He recalled the meeting at church and the way the people of Pie Town had rallied around Raymond and Frank, refusing to believe that Raymond was guilty of robbery, refusing to believe that he was involved in drugs, refusing to allow FBI agents to force them to turn in one of their own. He took in a few deep breaths. Bolstered by the resolve he had seen in the people of Pie Town, he was proud to be a part of the community. He thought he should pray, for guidance and wisdom, and try to recall any appropriate scripture, but all he could think about was what Raymond had said before he left.
“Raymond Twinhorse.” The voice on the loudspeaker sounded to George like Agent Williams’s. “We know you are in there, and we have the place surrounded. Come out the front door with your hands up now.”
For the longest time, Raymond had stood outside the door of the station wagon before driving off, just watching the priest. It had seemed as if he was offering some prayer or blessing of his own, and George was about to hurry him along when the young man finally spoke.
