An Unspeakable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries)

by Judith Campbell

  “Is there something I should know?”

  “I don't know for sure yet,” said Olympia. She was tapping the pencil on the edge table beside her and looking at her watch. “But if or when there is, I'll call you.”

  Olympia knew that for the moment, anyway, it was best to say nothing until she knew more herself. Then she looked over at the number she'd scribbled on the edge of the napkin and reached for the phone a third time. From how they described her, the unconscious woman in the ICU was almost certainly Bridget, but they couldn't release any further information to Olympia because she wasn't family.

  It was well after nine, and Olympia was out in the kitchen feeding the cats when Jim finally called. His voice was strained, and he sounded exhausted.

  “There's been a fire, Olympia. Terry O’Mara's dead, and they're saying it might be arson, and we can't locate Bridget.”

  “I know,” said Olympia, “I saw the story on TV and called the rectory. The housekeeper let it slip. Does Margaret know?

  “That's where I've been. Her daughter Eileen's with her, but she wants both her daughters.”

  “Have you told the police where they are?”

  “Of course not. Sister Myra's with them, so they're in good hands. Do you know how to get in touch with Bridget? She needs to be told.”

  “I think I have some more bad news, Jim.”

  “You can't be serious.”

  “I'm afraid I am. There's a comatose Jane Doe in a Cambridge Hospital, and I'm almost certain it's Bridget. The description fits. They found her in a church last night after what appears to be a suicide attempt. When I called the dorm to see if she was there, the residence director told me that she hadn't seen her since noontime on Saturday. But she told me her roommate found Bridget's purse hidden under a blanket in their closet.”

  “Holy Mother of God! Do you know where they've taken her?”

  Olympia stretched the cord as far as it would go, and managed to catch hold of the napkin with the phone number on it. “Not exactly. It's a hospital in Cambridge. There was a number to call if anyone had information. I called and described Bridget and told them who I thought it was. I said she'd been staying with me because of some serious personal problems but had recently gone back to the dormitory.”

  “What did they say?”

  “Of course they wouldn't tell me where she was, but they took everything down and thanked me. Then I asked if she was going to make it, but the person who took my call only repeated that the girl was in grave condition. I suppose I could call back and offer to go and identify her. Maybe if you called and told them you are her priest?”

  “I can try. Priests have privileges. What's the number?”

  Olympia eased herself up onto one of the kitchen stools and read the number to him.

  “Uh oh,” said Jim, “I've just remembered something. I have a letter from Bridget I was supposed to give to her mother when I saw her, but in the confusion I forgot. She gave it to me when she was here on Good Friday. Maybe there's something in it.”

  “Get the letter.”

  His voice was breaking when he returned to the phone. “You were right, Olympia. I don't know if I'm going to be able to get through this. It's bad.”

  “Try, Jim, take your time.”

  Dear Mam and Eileen,

  Please don't be mad. There was no other way and now my father can never hurt anyone again. I can't live with what he did to me and what he was doing to you. I love you and Eileen too much to ever tell anyone what happened. What I have done will take care of things and no one will ever know what he did to me unless you tell. Ask Father Jim to say a mass for me. I'm at peace now. I love you.

  Pray for me,

  Bridget Mary

  “Sweet Jesus, Jim. What do we tell Margaret?” Olympia was shaking.

  “We can't tell her anything unless we know for sure the unidentified young woman really is Bridget. Give me that number again. I'll call, and when I find out where she is, you can come and meet me there, if you want. I know it's late.”

  “I'll be there. I know damn well I'm never going to be able to sleep if I don't know, and maybe not even if I do. Call me right back.” Olympia knew it was going to be a long night. She leaned back in her chair, thinking she might do some deep breathing exercises to calm herself before setting out when she saw the open diary on the table beside her. But I closed it when I put it down. Olympia reached for the diary.

  * * *

  Wednesday, May 30, 1860

  I am deeply troubled in my heart. Something has happened, the full nature of which I cannot recount even in the privacy of these pages. It will take all of my courage and resolve to stay the course which I have chosen for myself, but in faith, there can be no other way. I can only trust that history will judge me kindly when the truth is told.

  The road ahead will be very different now, but I am convinced I will find my way.

  More anon, LFW

  * * *

  Olympia looked at the open book in her lap and shook her head. Oh, Leanna Faith, what are you trying to tell me, that my road ahead will be very different now, and somehow I will find my way? I just hope to God you're right.

  Twenty-Three

  “Are you sure I can't make you another cup of tea, Margaret?” Sister Myra was hovering. “Maybe get you a sweater for your shoulders?”

  “No, thank you, Sister, I've had two cups of tea already, and I'm not cold. I know you want to help, but I just need to sit and let my thoughts settle. Eileen will be back in a minute, she just went upstairs to get some Kleenex. We'll need to start talking about arrangements. Father Jim said he'd go and get Bridget.”

  The nun smiled kindly at the woman sitting in front of her. “Well, if you need anything…”

  “Sister?” Margaret glanced over to the door.

  “Yes, Margaret.”

  “I don't feel anything about Terry. Is that bad?”

  “It's not for me to say, but you're here because he beat you and tortured you, and you left him because you'd finally had enough. That much hasn't changed. You stopped loving him years ago. You're going to be up and down like a rollercoaster for the next few weeks and months. Don't judge yourself. You didn't do it.”

  “I knew something like this would happen.”

  Even though she said she wasn't cold, Margaret was hugging herself and rubbing her arms as she spoke.

  “He was always falling asleep with a lighted cigarette in his hand. I'd be worried sick when I went to bed. I was afraid I'd be burned alive, and at the same time I was afraid to go check on him, afraid he'd wake up swinging. It was no life, Sister, and honestly,” she dropped her voice to a whisper, “I'm glad it's over.”

  “Father Jim didn't say how he died, Margaret. I suppose we'll find out soon enough.”

  The nun stood up as Eileen came back into the room. “Sit down, dear, let me get you a cup of tea.”

  Olympia was still trying to make sense of Miss Winslow's message when Jim called back to say that the unidentified girl had been taken to Cambridge City Hospital, and he had permission to visit her. “I told them I'd be bringing a colleague along. Where do you want to meet?”

  “Why don't I come in and leave my car at the rectory? There shouldn't be too much traffic on a Sunday night. Then we can go over to the hospital together.”

  In less than an hour Olympia and Jim were on their way. For a while the two sat without speaking. Olympia had “if only …” thoughts swirling around her mind. She couldn't tell what Jim was thinking, but the set of his jaw reflected his own private anguish.

  “Do you know why they suspect arson, Jim?”

  “You know he was a heavy drinker and smoker.”

  Olympia was watching for street signs. “Uh-huh.”

  “One of the firefighters at the scene told me they found several empty lighter fluid cans near the body. That's not for public knowledge, though. It appears he was home alone, drinking and smoking. I'm thinking that he probably passed out with a lighted c
igarette in his hand or dropped a spark into the papers on the floor beside the chair.”

  Olympia shivered at the hideous image forming in her mind. “Ugh. Then if that's the case, why do they think it might be arson?”

  “Something like that raises questions. They just don't for sure know yet. There's not a whole lot of actual fire damage to the house itself. It was mostly the smoke. That's how they discovered the fire. A passerby saw smoke coming out of a window and called the fire department, but it was too late for Terry. Good thing the downstairs apartment was empty.”

  Olympia thought for a long time before she spoke again. “Jim, you don't think Bridget might have gone back to the house after she left you?”

  “I have no idea. I told you she seemed preoccupied when she came and talked with me. Now I know why.”

  “But you don't suppose …” Olympia didn't want to finish the sentence.

  “Wait a minute. I do remember her asking me if a person committed a sin for a good reason, would God forgive them.”

  “Turn left after the light, there's the hospital. Follow the signs to the parking lot. What did you say?”

  “I told her that I thought he would.”

  “What then?”

  “She thanked me and left.” Jim pulled into an empty space and turned off the engine. “You ready, Olympia?”

  “As ready as I'm ever going be, Padre-mio. Let's go.”

  Bridget looked like a pale wax carving of a lost saint. She lay motionless, hooked up to a serpentine array of wires and tubes which in turn were connected to a battery of bleeping and flashing machines working to keep her alive. Jim and Olympia stood on either side holding her hands and whispering words and prayers of encouragement. Not moving from her bedside, they gave her name and what information they could to the attending nurse, who in turn updated them on her condition.

  “The good news is that she's made it through the first twenty-four hours, but in these cases there's always the danger of pneumonia setting in. At some point she aspirated some of the vomitus, but we are doing all we can.”

  Nurse Carol Gregorio called Olympia outside the room and told her that it was still uncertain whether or not Bridget would live, and if she did, whether she would sustain some brain damage. She looked in the direction of Bridget's bed and shook her head, “Poor kid, you wonder what drives them to this?”

  “You can go back in and talk to her,” said the attending nurse, “they can hear you even if they can't respond. Hearing your voices might help her hold on.”

  Olympia went back to the elevated bed and took one of Bridget's cool, limp hands in hers and looked at Jim. With his free hand, he made the sign of the cross over her motionless form and began to pray. When he finished, he squeezed her hand and spoke her name.

  “Bridget, it's Father Jim. Professor Brown is here with me. We're here because we love you and want you to live. I know you can hear me. God will forgive you for anything that's happened. You just have to trust him and trust me.” Jim then nodded to Olympia indicating that she say something to the girl as well.

  Olympia leaned closer and whispered, “I'm here with Father Jim, Sweetheart. Please don't give up. Choose life, Bridget, while you still can.”

  “Bridget,” said Jim, “We're going to go out of the room and talk with the doctors for a few minutes, but then we'll come back, and I'll pray with you again.”

  Olympia was reluctant to let go of Bridget's hand. She gave the girl a quick kiss on the forehead and a gentle pat on her shoulder, the way she had with her own children when she tucked them in at night, and then followed Jim into the corridor. She caught up with him at the main desk where he was speaking to the nurse who met them earlier.

  “Excuse me, ma'am, I'm Father Jim, the family priest, and this is Reverend Olympia Brown. Bridget has been staying with her. Can you tell us more about what's happened to her?”

  The nurse nodded and indicated they should follow her. “My name's Carol,” she said over her shoulder. “Let's go into one of the family conference rooms. It's quiet tonight, so we shouldn't be interrupted.”

  Once they were all seated around the table, the nurse explained that she was not supposed to give out any information to anyone other than immediate family members, but since they were clergy and known to the patient she felt she could make an exception.

  Jim looked relieved. “Can you tell me if the police have been here since she arrived?”

  “No, Father. One came in with the attending EMTs and left a number to call if she woke up or if we found out who she is.”

  Jim leaned forward. “So no one other than the staff on the floor knows she's been identified.”

  “That's right, Father, but we are legally required to notify her parents as well as the police. If you're her priest, then you must know where they live.”

  “Is there any way you can hold off notifying the police that she has been identified? The longer they don't know who she is, the more time we have to find out what really happened.”

  “What are you talking about?” asked the nurse.

  “Bridget O’Mara's father died in a house fire earlier today. The people investigating it think the fire might have been set.”

  “Surely they don't suspect Bridget?” Olympia looked horrified.

  “The first place anybody looks when there's a suspicious death is the family. We know now Bridget tried to kill herself. Murder-suicide is an ugly thought, Olympia, but it happens.”

  “I see what you mean,” said Carol, “but rules are rules, and I'm not the charge nurse. However, I'll do what I can. Bridget came in last night. She was here when the fire started and when her father died. She couldn't possibly have had anything to do with it.”

  Jim leaned closer to the nurse and lowered his voice. “Bridget's been staying with Olympia for the last month because of personal problems caused by family issues. The girl's mother is living in a battered women's shelter. This has to give you some sort of idea of the situation. Please, tell us what you can.”

  “I see what you mean.” The nurse fidgeted and looked toward the door before she continued. “From what the admitting physician told me, she did it late Saturday afternoon. It appears that she waited until the church was empty and then shut herself into one of the confessionals. She washed some Percocet and a quantity of aspirin down with alcohol, and then as she was losing consciousness she started throwing it back up. If she lives, that's what probably saved her life. The woman who found her smelled it, opened the confessional, and called 911.”

  “Then what happened?” Olympia was twisting the ends of her scarf into knots.

  “They brought her in about seven last night. We pumped her stomach and got out what we could and analyzed it. If she does live, it'll be a while before we know how much damage she's done to herself. She was in pretty rough shape.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “Keep visiting her, keep talking to her, convince her to live, and keep praying. She's got a long way to go, and right now there are no guarantees what she'll be like if she does make it. But I always say, where's there's life there's hope. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here.”

  “Thank you, Carol, you've been very helpful.” Jim stood and slipped a black leather case out of his pocket. “I'm going to go back in to her now.”

  “What's that?” asked Olympia.

  “Holy oil. I'm going to administer the Sacrament of the Sick to Bridget. We used to call it the last rites.”

  “Oh, Jim …” Olympia started to get up, but Jim waved her back down.

  “Catholics believe if they receive the holy sacrament before they die, all of their sins will be forgiven. If Bridget hears the words of forgiveness, it might be enough to make her want to live.”

  “Or make her give up. I hope you know what you're doing.”

  “I'm a priest. I have to do this. You can go in and talk to her after I come out. She'll either get better and try to make a new life cleansed of all her sins, real or imagined, or di
e in a state of grace.”

  Jim called Sister Myra from the hospital and learned that they'd called Eileen, and she was there with her mother. Jim, in turn, told her that he'd located Bridget and that he and a colleague were on the way over.

  “Why isn't she coming with you?” asked the nun.

  “It's a long story, Sister. The short version is that she attempted suicide, and she's in Cambridge City Hospital hanging on by a prayer.”

  “Oh, God, now what am I going to tell Margaret?”

  “I'll tell her everything once I get there. Just tell her I've located Bridget and I'll be there in about a half hour.”

  “What if she wants to know why Bridget isn't coming?”

  “Just tell her that it's best that Bridget stay where she is for now, and I'm coming over there because I need to speak with her about family matters. She'll likely think its funeral arrangements. It's an ambiguous enough message that I'm not actually telling an untruth.”

  “That makes sense, Father,” said Sister Myra.

  “Once I get there, I'll tell her what's happened and that I've seen her daughter, and I'll take her to the hospital tomorrow.”

  Mercifully, the traffic was light, and Jim wasted no time once he got onto the main road to Charlestown. As they drove Jim related more of what the police had told him when they first came to the rectory right after the fire. He explained that if the fire could be proved to be arson, not only Bridget, but Margaret, and maybe even Eileen, could be considered persons of interest in the case.

  Jim straightened up in the cramped seat of his well-kept black Corolla.

  “Family members are always the first to be questioned in a situation like this, and we know that all three women despised the man. Arson is a crime, and murder is a crime. Battered women have been known to snap and kill their husbands, and desperate young people, so desperate that they would commit suicide, think they have nothing else to lose. Murder-suicide is more common than you think. I don't believe for a minute that either of them had anything to do with the fire, but we may have a job convincing the police of that.”