Paula Reed - [Caribbean]

by Nobodys Saint

  “You do Spain great honor. Where in Ireland is her home?”

  “Ulster. To the north.”

  “I know Ulster. We will make arrangements through the English, then.”

  “There is a small complication. She is betrothed to a man in Jamaica.”

  Juan dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. “That is no complication. It simplifies things. I will send word to Port Royal.”

  “Perhaps a small complication,” Diego said. “She is very Irish.”

  “So?”

  “She is a Catholic.”

  “That is a good thing.”

  “Yes, a very good thing. So you can see why she might not be very happy with the arrangement. Her betrothed is English and a Protestant.”

  “Diego—”

  “If we could deal with the Irish government—”

  “Is there a contract between her family and this man? A dowry paid?”

  “There is, but such contracts have been broken, and her dowry is in my hold.”

  “We will keep the dowry, certainly. The contract cannot be broken by us.”

  “Perhaps you should read the letter her English grandfather wrote and speak to the woman. There was much enmity between the two of them, and I worry about the kind of man to whom she has been pledged.”

  “Diego, you have done it again, no? You have fallen in love with another Englishwoman.”

  “She is Irish, Don Juan.”

  “So you deny that she is English, but not that you are in love with her?”

  “I am not asking for this for myself.”

  “No, you never do, do you? Perhaps it is time you should. Have your parents choose some nice girl from Cádiz. Your father has good taste.”

  “And what of Mary Katherine?”

  “The Englishwoman?”

  “Irish.”

  “Part Irish. You say she has an English grandfather, and being from Ulster, she is entirely under English law.”

  “If you would only speak with her, Don Juan—”

  “I am a happily married man, Diego. I am not as likely as you to be swayed by a pretty face. I assume she is pretty.”

  “That is not why I am asking for your help.”

  “I know several suitable young women here, and I think your father would trust my judgment—”

  “I have no wish to get married,” Diego said. Not to anyone but Mary Kate, and that was impossible. Perhaps this situation was not so very different from the last time Diego had begged a favor of Don Juan. He was once again trying to grant the heart’s desire of a woman he loved but could not have. Suddenly the thought of a bit of tarnish on his sterling honor did not seem so terrible. For the first time it occurred to him that honor may actually have made him weak.

  “It would make your life and my job easier,” Juan continued. “You may be in the business of coming to the aid of England’s fair maidens. I am not. If this Mary Katherine is betrothed to a man in Jamaica, then we will arrange her ransom and she will be delivered to Jamaica.” When Diego would have protested further, Juan raised his hand. “That is the end of it. Where is she? On board your ship?”

  “No, she is in the cathedral with Father Tomás.”

  Juan smiled fondly. “The man is more soft-hearted than you. Doubtless she will win him over, as well. I will go there myself to meet her, after I send word to my wife that we will have a guest. What is her surname?”

  “O’Reilly.”

  “You may send Señorita O’Reilly’s belongings to my house in El Centro. I will give her your good wishes.”

  “I should go back and get her. She is expecting me.”

  “Have you seen Don Luis yet?”

  “Not yet. I thought to take care of María Cat—Mary Katherine—Señorita O’Reilly first.”

  Juan’s smile carried a hint of steel. “And she is taken care of. You have a duty to your employer, Diego, and it is not at all like you to confuse your priorities. Go straight from here to Luis’s office. I will take care of the Englishwoman.” His face softened just a bit. “It is for your own good. Will you be in Cartagena long? Perhaps I can arrange an introduction or two.”

  Before he could open his mouth to refuse, Diego felt himself engulfed in heat, and a wave of dizziness swept over him. Mother of God, not here, not now.

  “Diego? Are you unwell?”

  He looked at Juan, but his eyelids felt like lead and it was impossible to keep them open.

  You are in trouble!

  Magdalena was right there. Having a vision in front of Don Juan would get him into serious trouble.

  “I am fine,” he gasped.

  “You are not fine. You are as white as a ghost and sweating!”

  Enrique and his friends are talking to the bishop.

  “I think that I should leave.”

  “Nonsense. You look as though you are about to faint.”

  You must win the bishop over. Enlist Father Tomás’s aid. Above all, you must not go before the Inquisition.

  He wanted to remind her that Pablo had told him to trust the Church, but he was afraid that he might speak out loud in front of Juan.

  “Diego?”

  “I am fine.”

  “Open your eyes. Look at me.”

  Pablo loves you, but he loves the church more. He has to; he is a priest. He means well, but he is wrong in this. Talk alone with Father Tomás. He knows when to obey the Church and when to stretch the rules.

  Could she read his mind, then? Certainly.

  He opened his eyes and looked into Juan’s worried face. “I have to go back to the cathedral.”

  “Let her go, Diego. She is making you sick.”

  “Not for Mary Kate, Don Juan. I must speak to the priest. I think I am in trouble.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Father Tomás’s curiosity about the whole of Mary Kate’s story would have to wait. She was back on the floor of the church, rosary in hand, softly mouthing an “Our Father.” He would also have to tell Diego to return for her later, as she would be at prayer until dinner. Beginning sunrise tomorrow she would fast until she took communion at evening mass. This young woman had a great deal for which to atone.

  Still, he liked her. She had such spirit, such vitality. And for all that she was prone to sin, she was earnest in her desire to make up for it. A ledger book of sins! And so carefully kept. He rather preferred her kind above the more priggish and nearly sinless among his flock who could be scornful and smug. He supposed that was what had always made him a good priest. He hated sin, as he ought, but he had a genuine fondness for sinners. The bishop had chided him more than once for being too soft.

  Although Father Tomás was looking directly at Mary Kate, he did not see either of the two women who sat in the pew just behind her.

  “She’s on a ‘Hail Mary’ now,” Magdalene urged. “Talk to her.”

  “I am,” the other Mary said.

  Magdalene glared at her. “You are not.”

  “One can communicate with them without actual words, you know.”

  “We need something big. You need to make an impression on her. Diego will be here any minute.”

  “Have you learned nothing from the fiasco you’ve created, Mary Magdalene?”

  “Mary, please! If he goes before the Inquisition, you know what will happen.”

  “They will not burn him. He is a Catholic.”

  “They’ll whip the skin from his back and sentence him to slavery!”

  “Well, you finally did one thing right. You told him to come to Father Tomás. If anyone can help him, it is Tomás.”

  “If anyone can help him? You can.”

  “I am trying, but you are being very distracting.”

  A simple Aztec man in Guadelupe, Mexico the Blessed Mother would appear to, but heaven forbid she whisper into the ear of an Irish girl in Cartagena! Magdalene tried hard not to seethe.

  “Oh, my Jesus,” Mary Kate continued, “have mercy on us. Forgive us our sins. Save us from the fir
es of hell. Take all souls into heaven, especially those most in need of thy mercy.” Diego is in need of thy mercy, she thought. He needs your help. She didn’t know why Diego had suddenly intruded upon her prayers. He wasn’t half the sinner she was. She was the one who had thrown herself at him, with every intention of giving him her virtue. It was he who had resisted for them both.

  She needed to remember everything she could that showed his unimpeachable devotion to the Church, though for the life of her, she didn’t understand why she had such a strong sense of urgency about it. Maybe it was to help her see how truly shameful her behavior had been. She remembered every criticism he had made of Protestants, including his assurance that killing a Protestant pirate was no great sin. She knew he had gone to church in Havana, almost as soon as they had arrived, and he had certainly hastened to bring her to church here. And his brother was a priest. All these, coupled with his iron-clad honor, were proof of his innocence.

  Innocence of what? What a strange thought.

  She was distracted, that was it. With a deep breath, she forced her thoughts back into line, concentrating on the Visitation, the second joyful mystery. “Our Father, which art in Heaven…”

  His dreams were harmless. They had saved her life and the lives of Diego’s crew.

  Well, of course they were harmless. Why were her thoughts drifting so? She needed to focus on her rosary and her penance.

  She sneaked a peek at Father Tomás through her lashes. He was watching her, and when he saw her look at him, he crossed his arms and shook his head. She snapped her eyes closed. “…hallowed be Thy name.”

  The door from the street into the cathedral swung wide open, and Mary Kate’s head swiveled around at the intrusion. Her eyes were unprepared for the dazzling light, but she immediately recognized Diego’s silhouette in the doorway. Another man, considerably older, ran up the steps from the street behind him.

  “Padre,” Diego greeted Tomás. He sounded breathless, as though he had been running.

  Tomás switched back to Spanish. “What is wrong, my son?”

  “I have to make my confession.”

  “Now?” Tomás asked.

  The bishop, Enrique, and a trio of crewmen emerged from the hallway between the private offices and the sanctuary, and Diego patted Father Tomás’s arm. “Yes, right now.” He turned his back to the little group just entering and ducked into the confessional.

  Tomás shrugged. He rather imagined that Diego wanted to get his sins off his chest and begin penance as soon as possible, given that he must have realized Mary Kate’s confession was a prologue to some of his own. As the priest slipped into his place in the confessional, he heard some commotion in the sanctuary beyond, but he dismissed it. If the gentlemen outside had the ear of the bishop, surely they had no need for a lowly priest like Tomás.

  Diego’s heart pounded so hard it seemed it should echo off the tight walls surrounding him. He took a deep breath. It was hard to ignore the muffled voices filtering into the booth. He was safe in here. No one would interrupt him in confession. He quickly made the sign of the cross.

  “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been ten days since my last confession. I have had lustful thoughts.”

  “Have you acted upon them?”

  “No! Yes! Oh, somewhat, but not so much.”

  “And?”

  “That is all. I think. I do not think the other is a sin. A sin is intentional, is it not, Father? I do not invite this other thing. No matter how hard I try to banish it, it plagues me. Maybe it is a sin to banish it. Maybe it was a sin not to speak of it sooner.”

  “What are you talking about, my son?”

  “I have visions, Father!”

  “Visions?”

  “Of Saint María Magdalena.”

  “Magdalena?” The priest’s voice was filled with shocked disbelief.

  “I swear it is so. She has visited me a number of times in the last three years.”

  “Tell me about this.” Tomás could not decide whether he felt fear or joy, but whichever it was, it raced through his aging body.

  The voices outside the confessional had grown louder, and Diego could hear Mary Kate’s lilting protests, a mixture of Spanish and English that he doubted anyone she was talking to understood. Mother of God, to have his men speaking ill of him before Juan Gallegos. It was too much to bear!

  “Diego?”

  “Yes, Father. I am sorry. Those men out there—I think they are telling the bishop I have been in an alliance with dark forces.”

  “You, Diego?”

  “They think I am.” Diego ran his hands up over his sweaty forehead and through his hair. “And I do not know! Perhaps they are right!”

  “I know you, my son. You are a good man.”

  Diego remembered the dream and swallowed hard. “She came to me first when I was sick. When my captain had died. She told me no more men would die of the fever that had swept us, and that I would face difficulties. She said I could not always have what I wished, and I would have to wait to play the hero.”

  “Did you know what she meant?”

  “Not then, but then I was defeated by Captain Hampton, and I met and fell in love with Faith Cooper.”

  Geoffrey Hampton. Tomás remembered both the pirate and his lady, Faith, well. He had counseled Hampton when he had been sentenced to death in Cartagena. It was Diego and his friend Don Juan who had saved Hampton’s life. Diego had insisted he was helping Faith because his uncle was married to her aunt, but he had later confided in Tomás that the relationship was deeper.

  “But as you know, Faith and I were not meant to be. Magdalena promised me another, a woman she said I would know the moment I saw her.” He took another deep breath and wiped more sweat from his brow. “Years passed. Sometimes I saw her in dreams. Sometimes I heard her voice. It has been she who has told me when pirates approached. She who has told me when to fight and when to flee.”

  “You have seen her?”

  “Yes, I have. One time—one time was different. I saw her so clearly. Forgive me, Father. Please forgive me. I swear I did not invite this dream. I had never had such thoughts when awake.”

  “What thoughts?”

  “She came to me in her shift, in the mist. She looked like—like what she had been before she became a servant of the Lord. She was beautiful, and I lusted, Father. God help me, I lusted. I tried not to, but she was so beautiful. She had long, black hair and the very palest skin, and eyes as blue as the sky. And though she spoke Spanish, it was odd. Her accent—I could not place it at the time, but later I realized it was Irish.”

  Tomás swallowed hard. He could hardly take in the tale Diego poured out in a great rush.

  “A few weeks ago Magdalena told me to hide half my men below deck and to lure a pirate ship. She promised me victory, as always, and victory I achieved, but on board that pirate vessel I found a woman who was the very image of my saint. She wielded a sword and saved my life.”

  Tomás made the sign of the cross. “Mary Katherine.”

  “I thought she was the one, but then I discovered she was an English subject and betrothed to another. I thought I had misunderstood. She was not what I expected.”

  In spite of the alarm he felt at Diego’s strange story, Tomás had to smile. He had no doubt Mary Kate was the last thing Diego Montoya expected. If anything, he took it as proof that Diego truly was communicating with the redeemed sinner Magdalena. Mary Kate was perfect for Diego. She would keep him from becoming one of those self-satisfied snobs Tomás despised.

  “So I began to doubt. Now, I am not at all sure who it is that I have been following. A saint would not tempt me to fall. She would not appear to me in the guise of a temptress in a dream and then torment me with my dream in the form of flesh!”

  “Have you fallen, my son?”

  “No! I—I have kissed her. And I have touched her. I have not been entirely chaste, but we have not committed the sin of fornication, I promise!”

 
; “And none of this has weakened your faith?”

  “Never!”

  “Then perhaps your saint does not tempt you in order to make you fall from grace. Perhaps she only tempts you to fall in love.”

  “Then you think she is real, and she is who she says she is?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I do not know!” There was tremendous relief in speaking so openly. Diego felt as if he could not tell it all fast enough. At the same time, his heart continued to race and he was bathed in sweat. He was acutely aware of the voices in the sanctuary.

  Pablo had been torn between loyalty to his brother and loyalty to the Church, but it seemed to Diego that Father Tomás would have no such divisions. Whatever counsel he provided, Diego could trust him as God’s emissary.

  It occurred to Tomás that sometimes he hated being God’s emissary. Atheistic pirates, visionary sons of Spain, what next? And with never a clear, straightforward answer provided by the One he served. He supposed the answer should come through the bishop, but nearly five decades in the priesthood had done little for Tomás’s faith in Church hierarchy.

  So, María Magdalena, he thought, might I convince you to pay me a call?

  “Do not even think about it,” Mary’s firm voice proclaimed in a realm beyond Tomás’s perception.

  “That was a direct request,” Mary Magdalene protested.

  “And mine was a direct order.”

  “I don’t like you very much sometimes.”

  “Father?” Diego asked.

  “I am thinking,” Tomás said. “Those men outside, they know of these visions?”

  “No! No one knows of them but my brother, Pablo, who is a priest in Cádiz.”

  “Then what can they have told the bishop?”

  “They are suspicious of my good luck, and when I have a vision, I can seem a bit strange.” He thought of how he had acted in front of Mary Kate and knew that “a bit strange” hardly described it.

  “Perhaps they have not told the bishop their suspicions.”

  “The last time I heard Magdalena was in Don Juan’s office half an hour ago. She told me they were here, talking to the bishop. She told me to come to you.”

  Somehow, Tomás could not bring himself to feel gratitude for Magdalena’s faith. Not unless she would visit him, too, with some answers.