They climbed higher still. As they continued, Father Poole pointed out all of the tricky spots, dead ends, alternate routes, shortcuts, and most scenic ways to the top, just as Ben Benson had taught him four years earlier. They had nearly reached the halfway mark of the highest point that Ben and Father Poole had ever thought it safe enough to ascend.
“We’re nearly there!” the priest shouted up to Jonas, who with every step he took and every branch he passed was feeling calmer and calmer.
“What we gonna do when we gets there?” asked Jonas in an excited voice.
Father Poole laughed and replied, “We’re going to thank this old tree for giving us the most splendid view in New Hampshire! We’re going to see what beauty God created and then give Him thanks for such natural wonders!”
They cut to the left to avoid a branch that had been badly damaged when Father Poole and Ben Benson had climbed the maple after one of their porch all-nighters. Poole had stood for one second too long on this branch that couldn’t support his weight. It snapped loudly, causing Ben to cock his head. He saw Phineas hanging by a branch just above the priest’s head. To Benson he resembled a dead rabbit hung up and ready to be skinned.
Father Poole thought of telling Jonas about that frightening episode, which was his most terrifying trip up the maple, but decided against saying anything that would alarm the boy, even if the outcome was that Father Poole had swung his legs up, locked them around a stronger limb, and descended safely from there.
The man and boy finally made it to the tree’s highest possible point. Beyond that the branches appeared too thin and weak to support the weight of anyone older than a toddler. They found a seat on Father Poole’s usual branch, which he deemed the highest of the thick limbs. At once Jonas marveled at the blue Atlantic, which now didn’t seem as far away as he’d once believed. He had glimpsed it that first morning when he had gone outside the rectory with Jessica to play, but he didn’t know then that it was the ocean.
“Sho do look big, don’ it? That’s the biggest thing I ever seen.”
The remark, strangely enough, reminded Father Poole of the biggest man he’d ever met, Ezra Hodges, a man who was an entire foot taller than Phineas and nearly twice the size of Jonas. The priest didn’t think that fifty feet up in a tree was the right place to tell Jonas that his parents were dead, but at the same time he knew that it was wrong to keep the news from the boy any longer.
“Har’ ta believe a place so nice as this got so much bad pain,” Jonas said, sounding mournful. “Pretty but lots o’ pain, don’ you think?”
Father Poole put his arm around Jonas’s shoulder and knew that it was time to tell him. He had a right to know, and Father Poole swore to himself that as long as Jonas needed him he’d be there.
The priest told Jonas that his parents were dead.
While all of this was taking place, Zachary Black was watching the two of them from the window of Jonas’s room.
“Did you hear me, son?” Father Poole asked. “Your parents are gone. They’re with God now.”
Jonas stared out toward the ocean, apparently deaf to the priest’s words. “My mamma told me dat rain done made da ocean. And dat rain is God’s tears,” Jonas said. Father Poole didn’t respond. “You believe dat, sir?”
The priest removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and dabbed at his tears. “Yes,” Phineas replied, “I think I do.”
Father Poole felt the boy’s arm around his neck and a pat on his back. Jonas was now comforting him.
“God got lots to be sad about,” said Jonas. “Das why der so much water in da world.”
They embraced for several seconds, during which interval Jonas removed his other arm that had been crooked around one of the smaller branches. Before Father Poole could catch Jonas, the boy fell backwards as his legs flipped upward. He tried to grab the lad’s ankle, but Jonas fell fast and landed on the next thick branch, which broke his fall about three feet below where they had been sitting. But that wasn’t the end of it. Jonas’s fall had caught him completely by surprise. Being inexperienced in such things, he didn’t seize the limb in time and so turned on his side drunkenly and fell again, this time another four feet.
Hastening to descend from the tree, Phineas screamed frantically, “JONAS! GRAB ONTO SOMETHING! ANYTHING! HOLD ON! I’M COMING! YOU’LL BE ALRIGHT! JUST TRY TO FIND SOMETHING TO HANG ON TO.”
Jonas’s second plummet brought him to a fatter limb surrounded by smaller branches. This cluster managed to cradle Jonas like a folded leaf. Father Poole reached him seconds later and grabbed Jonas just as he was about to fall again.
Phineas pulled the boy up to his chest and hugged him. Jonas, fortunately, was only shaken and had one or two scratches. “You’re okay” Phineas reassured him. “I’ve got you.”
Father Poole then noticed through the leafless branches a figure standing in one of the rectory’s upstairs windows. He knew it was Zachary. He quickly released Jonas and told him they needed to get down.
‘Take this,” said Father Poole, handing Jonas a handkerchief. “You’ll have a good cry soon, Jonas. Trust me, it’ll come. Just give it some time.”
After they had descended from the maple, the two walked over to the rectory’s two back doors, one that led to the kitchen and the other to a small room used by Argyle Hobbs as a tool closet. Father Poole knelt down and said, “You go inside and try to have yourself that good cry I was telling you about.”
“I don’ feels much like cryin’, sir.”
“I’m sure you’re in shock, that’s all. But it’ll come soon enough.”
“It’s jus’ dat… .” Jonas stopped and looked away into the distance, hoping to see the ocean.
“Just what?” Father Poole asked.
“I jus’ always knew my daddy would kill my mamma. An’ me too. I been expectin’ it, I s’pose.”
Now Father Poole understood why Jonas had not yet wept.
“That done make me a bad person, I guess, huh sir?” Jonas sounded ashamed.
“No, Jonas. It doesn’t make you a bad person. Not in the least. You’re simply a realistic person.”
Then, looking up at where he’d seen Zachary just minutes before, Phineas suggested that Jonas spend some time with Mrs. Keats, who was fond of children and always baked whatever anyone asked her to bake, provided that they shouted loud enough and could work out the charade for a favorite dessert.
“It smells like gingerbread,” said Father Poole. “Mrs. Keats makes the best gingerbread in New England. You go on, son.”
With Jonas now off to keep company with Mrs. Keats, Father Poole scanned the window where he had spotted Zachary. It was now empty.
With Sister Ignatius working at her desk outside Father Poole’s office, little Jessica with her, and both Mrs. Keats and Jonas in the kitchen, Phineas now had time to devote to Zachary, who appeared to be up to something. It bothered the priest that he couldn’t connect with Zachary. The boy seemed troubled, even dangerous, but none of that was more important to Phineas than trying to reach him emotionally.
He hates people, Father Poole thought, or just doesn’t trust anyone. I suppose I wouldn’t either if I came from his background.
Once inside the rectory Phineas began to climb the steps, hoping that Zachary wouldn’t be hiding. As he got closer to the second floor, the pleasant smell of gingerbread began to be replaced by the odor of wet paint.
Sister’s quiet room, Father Poole thought, but she was the least of his problems right now. And as he thought about her, he knew, perhaps more so than before, that the only nun at St. Andrew’s was also the only ally he had.
He knocked on Jonas’s door and, after waiting in vain for a response, anxiously opened it but only halfway. He stuck his head through the opening. Seeing no one, he closed the door quietly, twisting the knob all the way so as to no
t make any noise.
Phineas then walked toward Sister Ignatius’s quiet room, which doubled as Zachary’s bedroom when she wasn’t around. This time the priest didn’t knock. There stood Zachary, staring out the window that faced the front of the rectory. In his hands was his toy horse.
“Zachary?” Father Poole began.
The boy didn’t move.
He continued, “You have something you want to say to me, don’t you? That’s why you came into the church while I was praying. I suppose you didn’t want to interrupt me and I thank you for that. I noticed you left your sack behind. It was empty. I’d like to know what it all means. Can you help me out?”
Again there was no response.
“I’m afraid you’re going to leave,” said Father Poole. “I don’t know where you’d go. You said you don’t have anyone, so I assume that means you’ll live on the streets or drift from town to town. I can’t stop you. That’s for you and you alone to decide.”
Still no response.
The priest began to leave the room. Suddenly he heard a barely audible voice.
“I heard everything.” Zachary muttered.
“Sorry?” said Father Poole.
“What you and that police fella were talking about. I heard it all.”
“You were spying on me, you mean?”
“I mean, I know what that fella’s making you do. I want you to know I don’t hold with it, Preacher. You’re here to do some good. He’s a shitty man, that copper is.”
Father Poole didn’t react to Zachary’s profanity but simply said, “Why did you give me your sack, Zachary? What did it mean?”
“To show you I ain’t gonna leave. I’ll stay, Preacher, and I’ll change. You’ll see. I’m gonna be different. If you want me, that is.”
More than anything Father Poole wanted to embrace Zachary, but given the boy’s antisocial behavior thought better of it. Instead, therefore, he simply extended his hand. Zachary accepted it and shook hands with the priest.
Over the next few weeks Zachary was true to his word. He pulled his weight, helping out around the rectory with various tasks. He assisted Sister Ignatius in her drafting of Father Poole’s correspondence with the bishop, community leaders, and parishioners by reading the scribbled notes aloud while she typed them out. He replaced the tubes of the rectory’s only radio; a task he’d learned awhile back when his own radio had malfunctioned. In the bitter mid-December cold he also helped Argyle Hobbs to set up the Nativity scene in front of the church. Zachary even appeared to be more tolerant of Jonas. Although the two still weren’t sleeping in the same room together, they both learned how to assist at Mass and became Father Poole’s altar boys, something St. Andrew’s had never before had. Within the walls of the sanctuary it seemed to Phineas, Sister Ignatius, and Mrs. Keats that the two were becoming fast friends, yet outside the church the boys never said one word to one another. They didn’t play together, and at meals they sat as far away from each other as possible.
Zachary simply watched as Father Poole grew closer with Jonas and Jessica. When Phineas and Jonas climbed the tree together, he would walk away on his own. The maple was something that Zachary always avoided, and he had his reasons. Perhaps it was a symbol of an affinity between plant and animal, which Zachary, who once loved to destroy vegetation, could never understand. Or maybe it was much simpler than that. The maple had always represented a union with those who climbed her. It was during those moments of bonding that Zachary could never take part.
Who cares about climbing up a dumb old tree anyway? thought Zachary. There ain’t no more birds in it. And even when they come back in the spring, I still won’t need to climb it. I’ll always have my slingshot.
By now Jonas had become so confident in climbing the tree that he could ascend just as high as Father Poole, and even do it blindfolded. Jessica, meanwhile, would stay at the bottom and watch.
On the church front the thirty or so parishioners had heard through the grapevine, courtesy of Sister Ignatius, that the two boys were orphaned Catholic children from Exeter who came every weekend to help out at St. Andrew’s. No one thus questioned why a black boy and a white boy who closely resembled a rat were at the church. Because he lived much of his childhood as a recluse and because not many Catholics lived in Holly, Zachary went undetected by any of Father Poole’s flock who might recall having seen the boy about town once or twice.
About a week before Christmas, Zachary came out of his room, which had finally been furnished with a small bed, and observed Father Poole walking out of the only closet in the hallway on that floor. He saw the priest take from his pocket a large key and lock the door. Zachary had seen him do this once before and had stayed in his room, peeking into the hallway to see what the priest was up to.
This time he walked up to Phineas, more friendly than usual. “What’s in the closet, Father Fin?” Zachary asked, using the pet name that he had invented for Father Poole, which the priest loved to hear both Zachary and Jonas call him. In fact, within the last week Argyle Hobbs had begun using that appellation.
I’m, uh…,” began Phineas, at a loss for what to say. “There’s a secret inside here, Zach.”
Zachary had allowed everyone to start calling him this, as they were all becoming less formal. They now were Father Fin, Sis, Zach, Hobby, Jones, and Keatsie, yet Jonas always referred to Zach as Zachary, and the same went for Zachary, who even just days before Christmas didn’t care to befriend a Negro.
“A secret, you say, Father Fin?” Zachary answered. “And would this secret have anything to do with Christmas?”
“Perhaps.”
“Then you can tell me, Father. I’m good at keeping a secret.”
“Normally I’d agree, but it’s never a good idea to let someone from whom you’re keeping a secret in on it.”
Zachary thought for a second and then knew exactly what Father Poole meant. “Alright, Father Fin,” Zachary replied. “Say, that’s some key. Ain’t I seen that key ’round here somewhere before? I know! That’s the master key to all the rooms, ain’t it? What are you going to do with it? I mean, it sure is big, too big to keep in your pocket without its becoming a nuisance. Now maybe you should be putting it somewhere, like under the rug or in a vase. My daddy used to keep the key to his gun drawer under the rug in our living room.”
Zachary was right. It was the key to all the locks on all the doors in the rectory, including the lock to Father Poole’s bedroom. And Zachary was right about its being too big to carry around. Father Poole had never kept the key on him for that very reason.
Zachary backed up and skipped down the stairs’ first three steps. Then he stopped on the fourth step and stomped lightly, softer and softer, as if to signal that he was almost downstairs. He then heard Father Fin upstairs walking away from the closet door. Zachary tiptoed back upstairs so as not to be heard. He approached the top step and turned his head to the right, where he saw Phineas place the large key over the doorway that led up to the second set of stairs to the priest’s bedroom.
“YOU DID WHAT?” Sister Ignatius shouted, while she and Phineas were alone in his office. “How could you? With what money?”
“SHHH! I don’t want the boys to hear,” replied Father Poole.
“How could you have bought twenty dollars worth of toys?” she retorted. “Where did you get the money? From the past few months of collections?”
“Sister, sit down.”
The two of them sat on the faux leather couch near the far wall of Father Poole’s office. “These boys,” he began, “probably have never had a nice Christmas. And I realize that Christmas is more about the spiritual than the commercial, but these two deserve a little more, I think. Besides, I got a few things for Jessica as well. She’ll have a merry Christmas along with Jonas and Zachary.”
Sister Ignatius folded her arms as she alway
s did when becoming cross.
“Sister, think of the misery these two children have endured,” said Father Poole. “We are their family now. We’ve got to do everything we can for them.”
“But don’t you think we’re already doing that, Father?” she replied. “We’re paying blackmail each month to keep the cops from blabbing. We’re going through twice as much food with those two, and people are starting to ask questions. Why, just yesterday Mrs. Bainbridge came up to me in Mason’s General and asked how long the two of them have been orphaned. While I scrambled for an answer, she narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and acted as though she were Sherlock Holmes about to denounce a suspect.”
“We just have to be careful about what we say,” replied the priest. “Perhaps we need to sit down again, just the two of us, and hatch out a history of the two boys to avoid contradiction.”
“Father, this is getting too complicated.”
“I think we’re doing a fantastic job.”
“And I will ask you again, since I believe I have a right to know. I do keep your books, after all. WHERE DID YOU GET THE MONEY FOR THOSE GIFTS? We’re strapped as it because of the five dollars we have to hold aside for Ransom each month, and that doesn’t include the initial ten dollars in bribery to the son-of-a-bitch!”
Father Poole got up from the couch, walked behind his desk, and thought for a minute, mulling over a revelation that would surely change the way Sister Ignatius and anyone else for that matter would think of him.
“You’ve noticed,” he broached, “how the collection plate has been especially low lately?”
Sister Ignatius knew what he meant without his having to say it, yet she was incredulous. “You’re siphoning from the collection? I can’t believe that!”
“What do you want from me? This hasn’t been easy for me either, Sister. I’m trying to make this a home for three children. I have to give into corruption to do it. I feel like such a hypocrite. I have to prepare sermons about honesty, integrity, and the right path to salvation, while I remind myself every day that the ends justify the means, even though every fiber of my being has always told me that that’s not a good enough reason. I’m a hypocrite, Sister. Our bank account indicates that it’s the lowest it’s been since I was appointed to St. Andrew’s! And then I noticed that last week’s collection was five times what we usually take in.”
Embracing Darkness Page 28
