He felt more kindly toward her and smiled. ''I can put the night dispatcher to work when he arrives." He moved back to the desk and wrote down "Jennifer Blaine, 1984," then looked up at Sara, who was again beside the desk, watching him. ''Call me Sunday. He paused. ''Or are you expected to be in church all day?"
She smiled wryly. "Sheriff Lawson, I'm no nun, and the sisters aren't sticklers about churchgoing. Even the girls go to chapel only if they want to. When I was a student there, being asked to chapel was a privilege. Like a religious country club, or something."
''That's weird."
She smiled. "It is, isn't it? Maybe it's because the chapel is so small. I doubt anything has changed."
''You were in a home run by a bunch of nuns and they didn't make you pray?"
''Oh, we prayed. all right. It was all in Latin, so I never understood what I was praying about, but I had calluses on my knees. We all did. Latin class meant an hour of reciting a day. On our knees. It was hellacious."
"You must speak pretty fluent Latin, then. Or read it, or whatever you do with a dead language."
"Not at all. What little I understood. I've forgotten. What they taught was so archaic that even the English was nearly indecipherable." She extended her hand. cheeks flushing. ''I'm sorry for my behavior, Sheriff Lawson. I had no right to insult you."
''Apology accepted." He shook her hand.
"I'm sorry for being such a bother, too."
"It's no bother. Frankly, I'm becoming very curious about this missing file myself."
"Then your suspicions are aroused?" she asked hopefully.
He wished she'd quit trying to pin him down. "No, just an interest. That I don't remember this case bothers me, and that it appears to be missing from the files bothers me even more." He didn't add that he still thought Sara Hawthorne might be, to put it kindly, a little imbalanced. ''Once I read the report, we can talk about why you believe your friend's death was a homicide."
"And if you don't find it?" The sharp edge came back into her voice.
"Then we' II talk about that," he said, wondering if there were any Excedrin tablets left in his desk drawer.
"I guess that's the best I can hope for. Thank you." With that, Sara Hawthorne stepped briskly to the door, put her hand on the knob.
"Ms. Hawthorne?"
She turned. skirt flaring around her knees. "Yes?"
''Why did you come back here?"
''What?"
''If you hated it so much, why did you come back to St. Gertrude's to teach?"
She looked him in the eye. ''To find out who killed Jenny Blaine, and to see him brought to justice."
''That's what I thought." Crossing his arms, he gave her his most authoritative look. ''Don't go getting yourself into trouble. If you have suspicions, bring them to me."
"You think I can't handle myself?" she asked. holding his gaze.
"Not at all. But I'm afraid you might not be able to handle those nuns." He smiled, knowing she was the type that would rush headlong into something if she was told not to. "I'm not sure I and all my deputies could handle them, as a matter of fact."
She returned his smile. "Thanks. I'll be careful."
She left the room, and a moment later, he saw her get into a small white Sentra and drive away. She was going to be trouble, he thought. She already was, he amended. as he reopened the drawer for 1984 and grabbed an armload of files. His other deputy would arrive in about five minutes, freeing him to go home, relax, and see his son. He sat down at the desk and phoned home, but Mark wasn't there yet. Probably he was at Corey Addams's or Pete Parker's; either way, it was only four, and he wasn't concerned He left a message saying he'd be home at six, bearing pizza. Then he sat down and started leafing through the files, looking for the missing report.
Nineteen
"'Bye, Mark," Kelly called, as she and Minerva stood on the threshold of the cottage and watched the boy trotting up the trail toward Apple Hill Road. Mark raised his hand and yelled without slowing down, then disappeared into the thick forest.
"You need to go back before they miss you at the home," Minerva told her as they went back inside and sat down, Kelly in an easy chair, Minerva in her rocker by the stone fireplace.
"I know." She glanced at the grandfather clock in the corner of the cozy little room. It was just past four, and she had to be back by five-thirty. "I can stay a little while longer."
For the last hour or so, Minerva had told Kelly and Mark stories about Moonfall's early days. She described Jeremiah Moonfall and his family in such detail that it seemed like the old woman had known them firsthand.
Though Kelly had heard the stories before, she never tired of them. Maybe it was simply the stories she loved, but it was probably because Minerva always made her feel like she was worth talking to, and that was something that didn't happen very often.
Today, the old woman told some new stories, these about the town's second most influential settler, Reverend Tobias Lawson. Kelly hadn't dared ask many questions, but Mark's last name was Lawson, and she knew from his questions that Tobias must be his ancestor. He'd gotten really excited when Minerva had said that Tobias's son had married Jeremiah Moonfall's daughter and had asked if that meant he had Moonfall blood in his veins. Minerva had laughed and said yes. When Mark left, he said he couldn't wait to tell his dad. Minerva had laughed at that as well, then told him to tell his father to stop by and visit with her soon.
Kelly and Minerva now sat in comfortable silence for long minutes, as they always did when she visited. Only the soft creaking of the old lady's rocking chair broke the silence.
Kelly had first met Minerva by accident, about a month after she'd arrived at SL Gertrude's. It had been a quiet Sunday morning, the first time she'd ever dared to sneak off the grounds.
She had crossed the creek and had immediately felt lighter, safer, in a way she couldn't comprehend. She could only think of it as a weight being lifted from her shoulders. She had followed the sounds of water to the Falls and stood on the bridge spanning them and looked down on the bubbling white water and the pool beyond that remained clear despite the ripples from the Falls. Kelly knew nothing of the town, nothing of anything except dark. depressing SL Gertrude's, but she was now so happy, so tranquil, that as she watched the water and listened to its powerful roar, she could only think that she had found an enchanted place, a forest out of a Disney cartoon where birds sang and a princess slept, awaiting the kiss of her prince.
Time stopped for her until she sensed that someone stood next to her. She jerked her head to the left, scared that one of the nuns had followed her, but instead she saw a tall, elderly woman in a dark blue dress and a white knitted shawl calmly standing beside her, watching the water. Kelly took a step away.
"I won't hurt you, child." Her blue eyes were sharp and clear, but kind, and her high-cheekboned face seemed regal despite her wrinkles. She looked about a million years old. ''My name is Minerva Payne. What's yours?"
She swallowed. "Kelly Reed."
"You are from that place." Minerva nodded toward St. Gertrude's.
"Yes." Kelly hesitated. "You won't tell, will you? I'll get in trouble."
The old lady's smile broke her face into a thousand pieces. "No, of course not I'd do nothing to help those ... women." She practically spat the last word.
"You don't like the nuns?" Kelly asked hopefully.
"And they don't like me." Minerva cocked her head, studying Kelly. "You mean they haven't warned you about me? About this place?"
"I haven't been here long," Kelly said uncertainly. "We're not supposed to leave the grounds, and the nuns talk about 'evil influences' and stuff, like if we wander off, we might get kidnapped. Some of the little kids say that there's an old witch who bakes you into pies, like in 'Hansel and Gretel.' " She looked up into Minerva's face, studied it thoughtfully. ''But that's ridiculous, isn't it?"
''This is Witch Falls," she said, gesturing at the water below them. "And we're in Witch Forest I live he
re." She chuckled. "You look like a smart girl. Can you guess who the 'old witch' is?"
"You?" Kelly had guessed the moment she'd spoken, but thought it was too impolite to say so. ''That's hard to believe."
"Bosh, child. You know as well as I do that it's an easy thing. You don't need to watch what you say around me. Don't I look like a witch?"
Embarrassed, Kelly shrugged. "Well, you don't have any warts."
Minerva laughed heartily. "None that you can see, at least. You mentioned 'Hansel and Gretel.' Have you been to my shop?"
"I haven't been anywhere except St Gertrude's and here."
''I own a bakery called The Gingerbread House. I live in Witch Forest and I'm as old as God ... or at least, Lucy Bartholomew. Have you met her?"
"The Mother Superior? She's as old as you?"
Minerva nodded. "She has ways of hiding her age.''
"I hate her. She really is a witch. A mean old witch."
''Who told you witches are mean, Kelly?"
She shrugged. "They're always mean, like in 'Hansel and Gretel,' and 'Snow White.' Everybody knows that." Suddenly she felt foolish. ''But there's no such thing as witches. Even if Mother Lucy seems like one."
"There are witches, Kelly, good and bad and in between. But Lucy and her sisters are something else."
''They're a bunch of monsters," Kelly supplied.
Minerva Payne nodded, smiling. "You'll get no argument from me."
''Do you know Mother Lucy? Have you been to St. Gruesome's?" She said the nickname with relish, her fear gone. Anyone who didn't like Lucy couldn't be all bad.
"Yes, I know her, but don't worry, dear, she's no friend to me. And I haven't been to St. Gruesome's in years. Not physically, at least," Minerva added, with a wink. "Now, would you like to come to my cottage in the woods and have a fresh cherry tart? I promise not to bake you into a pie afterward."
Kelly nodded and accompanied Minerva to her house, which turned out to be a wood and stone cottage that might have been designed by elves. The fireplace was huge, and cemented in among the smooth, rounded creek bed stones were pieces of driftwood and rocks coated with natural quartz, amethyst, and moonstone, among other gems. The floor was golden oak, polished within an inch of its life, and the braided rugs were bright and clean. There were shining copper pots and pans in the kitchen, a wood-burning stove, and another small fireplace, this one with a spit and an honest-to-God black iron kettle. The open shelves were filled with mason jars of fruits and vegetables from the garden, along with jars of herbs and oils, many of which Kelly couldn't identify. Candles and hurricane lanterns filled each room; there was no gas or electricity here, though there was running water. The walls were decorated with all sorts of brooms, made by Minerva herself, and ornamented with dried flowers and herbs.
That first time, before she left, Kelly told Minerva that she wished she could live in the cottage with her forever. The old lady smiled sadly and told her that she could at least visit whenever she wanted. Kelly accepted that without question, and came to see Minerva whenever she could, but always on Sundays, when the nuns disappeared into the chapel with their favorite students, like her roommate, Marcia, and her stuck-up friends.
"Minerva?" she asked, breaking the silence.
''Yes, dear?"
"Why did you bring that boy here?'' Though she had liked Mark Lawson, she was a little jealous, and ashamed of it.
"I thought you might like to meet him."
The jealousy fled instantly. ''Really?"
"Yes. That, and more. He is in danger and needs help from me and from you."
"From me? What kind of danger?"
"Yes, from you. He needs your friendship. As to the danger, we'll come to that at the right time. It's just important for now that you be his friend."
Minerva's habit of being mysterious drove Kelly nuts. "He must have lots of friends."
''In his way, he is like you, Kelly. Yes, he has friends, but he's different, like you. His friends are afraid of me, just like the rest of the children in town. The bold ones dare one another to come into my store, but most stay away, just as they stay away from St. Gertrude's. Mark is different. He's not afraid, and he's interested in unusual things."
''Like what?"
Minerva smiled. ''The things you see here. Herbs, oils, the things one does with them."
"What do you do with them?"
''I've told you before, I cook with some and heal with others. I'm an herbalist. I've told you all about herbal medicine."
Kelly leaned forward. "But what else do you do with them?"
"That's all."
"I know it isn't."
"You're too smart for your own good, Kelly. It's too dangerous for you to have that knowledge right now. When the time is right- "
"You've told Mark, haven't you?"
"Just a little. It's not dangerous for him to know these things."
"Then why is it for me?''
"Because of the nuns. It's dangerous for you to be here. If Mother Lucy found out you were visiting me, I shudder to think of your punishment It would be far worse than if they found you in town. But if she thought you knew ... "
"Knew what?"
''You are right to hate Lucy and her sisters, and you are right about the forest on St. Gertrude's property being different, being scary. It's a cursed place."
"How can a church be cursed?"
''There are many kinds of churches. Listen, child, and remember. The old god becomes the new devil. The god of the wood, Pan, had many names, and those we call pagans worshiped him as the embodiment of nature. The nature god was usually depicted with horns and hooves. Does he sound familiar?"
"The devil, right?"
"That's right. To the people who worshiped the old gods, nature was most important The god of nature was believed to control the crops, the weather, birth, and death. When the Christians came along, they had to force the pagans to worship their god instead. So they built their churches on the pagan's places of worship, but the pagans still had a laugh or two. They sculpted their own gods into the ornamentation of the churches. The Green Man-Pan, Cernunos, Robin of the Wood, or Loki, whatever you wish to call him-is a prominent figure on older churches, and while the pagans pretended to worship the new god, they secretly worshiped the old. He had leaves for hair and vines growing from his mouth, but they left off the horns and hooves, since that was what the Christians recognized and vilified. That is how the witches-the pagans who were wise in the ways of herbs and healing-came to be considered servants of the Christian devil. They had nothing to do with Christianity, though. Witches never worshiped Satan or the Christian god. They were victims of fanatics. Satanists are Christians who’ve decided to rebel against their own god."
Kelly shivered. "Are the gargoyles on St. Gruesome's old gods, too?"
"No, dear, not at all. “Those are guardians, demons thought to keep evil away, though they are really evil personified."
"That doesn't make sense."
"Religion rarely does." Minerva smiled. "You're going to ask if there are green men on St. Gruesome's, aren't you?"
"Yes. I've never seen any, but I hate to look at those gargoyles. It always seems like they're looking back."
"There are no green men on St. Gruesome's. The land once belonged to Pan and his ilk, under the names the local Indians gave to the nature spirits, but it is defiled now. It is cursed."
"By God?"
“That depends on what you believe God is."
Kelly hesitated. ''I don't know. I kind of like that thing John Lennon said about everybody being God. It's like the good thing that's in people, and it's all the same."
"You have a pagan soul, but that's why you're here. You are searching."
"What do you believe?" she asked, more confused than ever.
"Like you, I think God inhabits all things, but I don't necessarily think God is always good. To the Christians, God and the Devil are opposites, and they are always at war, good versus evil. I'm not so sure
that they aren't one and the same. The worshipers of old thought that the gods had three faces and that the face could change according to whim or need. Good, evil, and indifferent, if you will."
Kelly nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. I mean, all those paintings old Sister Lizard does of the martyred saints. How could a loving god do things like that to people? It seems like a real ego-trip, even if you are God, to make people suffer just to prove how faithful they are."
"It does, doesn't it?"
''How can St. Gertrude's be cursed, though? I mean, Catholic nuns are supposed to be good."
"Do they seem good to you?"
"No. They're horrible."
"There's nothing wrong with most Christians, Kelly. Christianity is no different from any other religion; its adherents try to follow the same Golden Rule that has always been important to humanity. The credo to do unto others as you wish them to do unto you is sacred and central to every positive belief system, be it pagan, Buddhist, Christian, or any other. It is one of the few true rules of this universe. When you take away all the dogma, we all have the same god. You just have to watch out for the fanatics. And there are fanatics on both sides of every religion. Just as there were good witches, there were evil ones. They chose to be. It is the same with Christians and the rest of them. Whether or not good and evil are separate or opposite ends of the same thing, ultimately, does not matter. We make the demons and the gods fit the image we desire."
"But how can Catholic nuns be evil?"
"What makes you think they're Catholic?"
"Nuns are always Catholic, aren't they?"
"Not necessarily, and don't even think of talking about that with anyone but me."
"What are they, then?"
"Enough for today. I've talked more than I should, and you need to get back before you're missed." Minerva stood and walked to an oak hutch in the small dining area. Opening a drawer, she took something out and came over to Kelly. "I have something for you." She opened her hand to show her a thin leather thong with a small cloth bag on the end. " Inside are some of those herbs you're so curious about. I want you to wear this amulet all the time. It will help protect you."
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