Rickman nodded and shut the door behind him.
“I’m sorry to interrupt you so early in the morning, Captain Ransom,” said Jessie, “but we need to talk.”
Ransom sighed and walked around his desk to his chair. “What can I do for you, Jessie?” he said.
“You know who I am?”
“Let’s just say I’ve recently come to know who you are. There are several of you up there now, aren’t there?”
Jessie ignored the remark and came right to the point of her visit. “I want you to arrest Jack White,” she said bluntly.
Ransom slowly reached into his desk and pulled out a stick of gum. He offered Jessie some, but she refused with a shake of her head. He popped the gum into his mouth and put the rest back into his drawer. Jessie thought that Ransom was stalling for time.
“I know you don’t think he did anything wrong,” she added.
“And how do you know what I think, miss?” said Ransom, sounding irritated.
“Because you haven’t arrested him.”
Ransom sat back in his chair, locked his fingers together, and shook his head. “And what should I have arrested him for?” he asked.
“For murdering my friend Sue Ellen Hartley. And he probably killed… .” She remembered that Ransom knew nothing about Ziggy’s death on the hill and that she needed to keep it that way.
Ransom leaned forward, intrigued by Jessie’s failure to finish her last sentence. “Go on,” he said. “And probably killed whom?”
“A rabbit. There are rabbits all over the hill. A pretty white one with a black nose was my favorite, and I haven’t seen him since right after Jack White came.”
“I see,” replied Ransom. “And tell me, Jessie. How long have you been living on the hill? Where are your parents?”
She didn’t answer but lowered her eyes down to her shoes to avoid Captain Ransom’s searching gaze.
Ransom waited a second or two. “Think about it, Jessie. There isn’t one iota of evidence that this man’s committed a crime. I certainly plan to question him. I want to give Mr. Hartley time to properly mourn. But Jessica, people aren’t arrested without at least some proof of guilt to back it all up.”
“What about the funeral?”
“What about it?”
“Look at what he did at the funeral!”
Ransom walked around his desk and sat on its front edge. “Jessie,” he asked, “are you saying that I should have arrested Jack White for a lack of scruples?”
“What are those?”
Ransom smiled, opened his office door, and turned back to Jessie. “Scruples mean a sense of right and wrong. Now I’m not saying Jack White was right to do what he did. I do believe that the man is a bit on the ‘not-so-there’ side.” As Ransom said this, he put his index finger up to his temple and made a circling gesture.
“All the more reason for you to arrest him, Captain!”
He shook his head and pointed to the door. “Come on, Jessie, let me walk you out.”
The two left the police station without saying another word to one another.
When they reached the outside, Ransom asked whether Jessie would like him to accompany her back up the hill. She was still very untrusting of men and didn’t like being around them alone without knowing that someone else was nearby to help her in case the need arose.
“I’m fine,” she said, and began to walk away.
He watched her as she descended the steps of the police station and proceeded to the corner. Just as she was about to cross the street, Jessie turned back to the Captain. She was about to say something but quickly closed her mouth. Jessie motioned for Ransom to come to her.
“Please just tell me one thing,” she said.
“If I can,” Ransom replied.
“Just tell me whether you even suspect him.”
“Jack White?”
“Yes, Jack White. I mean, he’s been mean and nasty ever since he came on the hill.”
“Oh? How long ago was that?”
“July, I think.”
Ransom paused. “I didn’t realize…” then stopped and shook his head, telling Jessie to never mind.
“You must know that Billy Norwin could never have done that to Sue Ellen.” Jessie continued. “Not… .” She paused, not wanting to say the word “rape.” She continued, “Could never have done what happened to Swell. Could never have killed her. And Billy certainly would never have done anything to hurt me. I know that for a fact.”
“We don’t suspect Billy Norwin,” Ransom said flatly.
“You don’t?”
The Captain put his hands on her shoulders, which Jessie shook off immediately. Ransom apologized and bent over to get closer to Jessie’s face. “Were you hurt by someone too, Jessica?” asked Ransom.
Jessie knew that she had told the policeman more than she should have. Father Poole had made it a point not to involve the authorities, so Ransom was completely unaware of Jessica’s rape.
“I just meant that Billy would never do anything to hurt me.”
“No, you didn’t. Talk to me. I want to help.”
Jessie was now trembling, and Ransom took this as a sign that she was covering up something. Before he knew it, Jessie had thrust her body forward and vomited all over his shoes. She stood upright but began swaying. Suddenly Jessie collapsed into Ransom’s arms. He immediately kneeled down and laid her gently on the sidewalk. Within minutes Jessie awakened to find herself on a table in a doctor’s office with Dr. Honigmann and Captain Ransom gazing down at her.
Father Poole was awakened by a knock at his bedroom door. He got up slowly and put his spectacles on to see his way. He opened the door to find little Charlie Ryder standing on the other side. “Good morning, Charlie,” Father Poole mumbled.
“Morning, Father Fin,” said Charlie. “Sorry to wake you, but the phone in your office has been ringing off the hook for the last ten minutes. I’d answer it, but I know you wouldn’t want any of us kids in there without… .”
“Yes, yes,” Father Poole answered impatiently, checking his pocket watch. “I’ll go down. Please wake your brothers up and let them know breakfast should be ready soon. Then run over to the Benson house and tell your sister if she’s not here already. And please knock on Mr. White’s door to make sure he’s up. I want him to do some errands in town for me this morning.”
Charlie watched as Father Poole went downstairs. As the priest did so, the boy said to himself, “Knock on Mr. White’s door?” and gulped loudly.
Father Poole heard his phone ringing as he arrived at the first-floor landing. Within ten seconds he was in his office and on the phone.
“This is Captain Ransom, Father Poole.”
Father Poole’s heart jumped into his throat.
“I was wondering whether you’d stop by Dr. Honigmann’s office. We have someone here who I think belongs to you.”
“Belongs to me?” asked Father Poole.
“I have to tell you, Father, that I found out who this girl is thanks to Hartley. When I went up to interview his daughter after her attack, Jessie’s name was mentioned often. You’ve kept a big secret from me, Father. Have you adopted her legally? Perhaps the Catholic Church now allows altar girls. Shall we call the Bishop?”
Father Poole knew that another bribe would be in order and rummaged through his desk for the twenty-dollar bill he’d put there a few days earlier. It was gone.
Phineas arrived a half hour later at Dr. Honigmann’s office, believing the urgency to concern less Jessie than Ransom’s need for an additional bribe. Father Poole had checked his ledgers before leaving, and his financial situation was not good. Ever since the sale of the Keats home, he had spent nearly every penny of the proceeds, with a few hundred dollars unaccounted for. What’s more, to keep Jack W
hite satisfied the priest had upped the stranger’s wages from ten to fifteen dollars a week. All of this, added to the cost of feeding and clothing eight children, was beginning to make his purse strings snap.
The worst part was that Phineas shouldn’t have been put in such a precarious financial bind. The archdiocese, under the right leadership, would have granted these children asylum and seen to it that St. Andrew’s was given enough each month to meet the basic needs of all who lived in the rectory. But with no support from Bishop Ramsey there was little if any hope of gaining legitimate status on behalf of the Benson Home for Abused and Abandoned Boys. And now, with no money to buy Ransom’s silence, Father Poole’s future at St. Andrew’s was in serious question.
Upon Phineas’s arrival Dr. Honigmann gave the priest a warm handshake. “We’ve got a problem,” said the physician. “The girl is with child.”
Father Poole’s reaction was slow and deliberate. He walked toward the door behind which Jessie was getting dressed after her examination. “She’s pregnant?” he asked.
“I’m afraid so,” answered Dr. Honigmann. “Do you know her to be sexually active?”
Having raised Jessie with a sense of morality, Father Poole knew that she would never do anything to shame herself or St. Andrew’s. He knew that the pregnancy had to be a result of her assault, and as that unavoidable conclusion dawned on him he sank his face into his hands and began to weep. “How long?” asked the priest after he had recovered his composure.
“A little more than two months. I’d gauge it at about ten weeks.”
“Where’s Ransom?” asked Father Poole, wiping his nose.
“He left a few minutes before you arrived. I told him that the girl was weak and needed rest and that I’d wait with her until you came to collect her. I also told him that you and I go way back and that you are a man to be trusted.”
“So he doesn’t know she’s… .”
Honigmann closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.
“Thank God for that,” said the priest. Father Poole circled the room a few times in deep thought and then came back to the subject of the police officer. “Why was Captain Ransom hanging around here?” Phineas asked.
“He brought the girl in. She was with him when she collapsed.”
“Collapsed? Is she… ?”
“She sustained no visible injuries from her fall. The Captain assured me that he caught her before she hit the pavement, so I believe she’s going to be just fine.”
“Can I see her?” Phineas asked.
“Certainly,” replied Dr. Honigmann, letting the two of them have their privacy.
Father Poole wanted to hug Jessie, but he knew that she wouldn’t be receptive to his physical approach. Instead, he stood in front of the closed door and barely made eye contact. He waited for her to speak, observing how she was in a state of shock after hearing the news that she was carrying the child of a psychotic.
More uneasy than ever from the lack of communication between them, Father Poole said: “You know, it seems a great tragedy when two people who are as close as you and I can be as quiet as we are. That tells me… .”
Having heard this sermonette dozens of times, Jessie anticipated where it was headed. “Because we seem,” she ventriloquized, “as if we have nothing special to share with one another.”
“That’s right,” said the priest, “and I think you do have something special to share with me.”
Jessie waited to answer. “It’s sad, Father Fin, but I hate what’s inside me.”
“Do you mean to tell me,” responded Phineas, “that you have no intention of giving birth to this child? Abortion is murder, not to mention illegal.”
Jessie hopped off the examination table abruptly. “I can always jump off the rectory roof,” she said angrily, putting on her coat and shoes.
“JESSIE!” Father Poole exclaimed.
She froze in place and began to button up her coat.
“What can I do?” he asked softly. Although she said nothing, Phineas understood what she wanted and, unbeknownst to Jessie, knew he could help her. “Jessie,” he said mournfully. “I can’t… .”
“Then you may know someone who can.”
“But it’s murder.”
She approached Father Poole and put her face against his. “I WANT IT OUT OF ME!” she cried.
He paused for several seconds.
“If I do this for you,” replied the priest, “will you stop hating me?”
Jessie withdrew a few paces from the man whom she loved as her own father. “Father Fin,” she said, “I never hated you. I’ve been mad at you for more reasons than I can count, too many to go into right now.”
Father Poole took her hand in his and squeezed it, managing a smile, however forced it was.
Father Fin and Jessie were back on the hill by lunchtime. They didn’t sit down with us at the dining-room table, having returned just to get some things together.
“We can’t stay,” Father Poole announced. Anxiety began setting in for all of us. “I’m putting Mr. White in charge,” he added.
After the priest said this, Charlie Ryder ran from the dining room in tears. Father Poole disregarded the boy’s distress, shoving pieces of fruit from the table basket into his satchel.
“I don’t have time for nonsense, boys,” said Phineas. “Jessie and I are off to Portsmouth for something important. I don’t want any of you to give Mr. White a hard time, understand?” He rotated his head from left to right. “By the way, where is Mr. White?”
“Killing rabbits,” Lou said.
“What do you mean?” asked Father Poole.
“He said yesterday how rabbits were eating up the shrubs. He was going to kill them for it.”
“But the shrubs are dead now. It’s autumn,” replied Father Poole, counting the money in his wallet.
“I guess that was just his excuse for killing them,” I said. “I think he likes doing stuff like that.”
Father Poole shook his head as if to indicate that he didn’t want to hear any more. This indifference didn’t surprise any of us. We continued eating our leftover roast chicken and mashed potatoes. As they left the rectory Father Poole called out for us to mind what Mr. White said in his absence. The stranger must have been out in front, continuing his attack on the autumn bunnies, because within half a minute of Father Poole and Jessie’s departure in came the most unwelcome of people.
Jack White sat down and scooped up an oversized helping of mashed potatoes. As he ate, he snatched a large chicken breast off the serving dish. Still dressed in his Nazi uniform, he consumed nearly all the remaining food.
In a show of solidarity with his brothers and defiance toward Jack White, Charlie Ryder returned to the dining room and boldly sat opposite him. “He calls us ‘piggies,’ but he’s the one who eats like a hog.” the boy commented under his breath. Without knowing what hit him, Charlie fell onto the floor as Jack White kicked the boy’s chair out from under him.
Sitting side by side, Father Poole and Jessie began their journey to Portsmouth in complete silence. The bus ride from Holly was only twenty minutes, but due to the tension between them twenty minutes seemed like an eternity.
Father Poole took a cheese sandwich from his satchel and offered it to Jessie, but she declined it. She was still queasy and worried that eating anything, coupled with the rocking of the bus, might make her throw up again. The sandwich was not nearly enough to tempt Phineas, so he placed it carefully back into his leather bag and refastened the lock. He glanced over in Jessie’s direction several times but failing to get her attention, finally sat back in his seat and watched cow after cow and horse after horse along the New Hampshire countryside.
The bus arrived at the terminal in Portsmouth a little after 1:30 p.m. Because it was the last stop, everyone scrambled t
o get their things together and exit as fast as they could. Jessie was one of the worst offenders, pushing her way to the front of the bus and trying to stay as far ahead of Father Poole as she could.
Once off the bus Jessie looked around to see whether she could find any clues as to why Father Poole had wanted to take her here. This particular part of Portsmouth was run-down and derelict. With no other choice but to find Father Poole, Jessie walked back toward the bus door where the priest emerged as if the two had planned to meet at that precise moment.
“What are we doing here, Father?” asked Jessie.
“Patience, child,” he replied. “First things first. We’re going to visit someone from my childhood.”
Jessie frowned. “What?” she asked. “We came all the way over here just so you could… .”
Father Poole stopped her, however, with an upraised hand and just six words. “We’re here to see my father.”
They arrived at 35 Faulkner Street a short time later. Phineas couldn’t help but survey the façade of the house as they approached the walkway. Everything seemed so much smaller and older than how he remembered it, and the property as a whole had a neglected feel to it, as if it hadn’t been lived in for some time.
As they climbed the four stairs, the wood beneath their feet creaked loudly. For a moment Jessie was afraid that each step would be her last and that she would plunge clear through the stairs down to the crawlspace beneath the porch, where yet another perverted fiend would be lurking.
“You grew up here?” Jessie said, clearly repulsed by the decrepit and decaying appearance of the house.
“Yep,” replied Father Poole proudly. “I spent the first part of my life in this house. This is where I was born, where I was raised, and where I learned the meaning of life.”
Father Poole set down his satchel and rapped on the front door. He knocked so hard, in fact, that several loose pieces of paint leaped off the wood. “Pop?” called Father Poole. “Pop, it’s me, Phineas.”
Jessie had never before heard Father Poole sound so much like a human being. She also thought it strange that a Father, meaning a priest, would have a father, meaning a parent, of his very own whom he called Pop.
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