Too tired and too sad to move, Josie thought she would sit that way until dawn but suddenly she was alert. She heard something inside the house that wasn’t right. It could have been the house settling, or Max moving with his dreams, but the danger of Molokai was fresh in her mind and she was on her guard. Slowly, she got to her feet.
Emily and Amelia were at one end of the house and would be of no help if somehow trouble had followed them. Stephen was sleeping on the couch in the den that was close to her bedroom. To reach him and her gun, Josie would have to go through the living room, a big and open space that would leave her vulnerable.
Knowing she had no choice, Josie stepped into the kitchen. She went past the kitchen window. The backyard was no more than a patch of cement, two flowerbeds and bougainvillea clinging to the wall so there was nowhere for anyone to hide. No one was out there.
At the end of the counter, she drew a knife from the block, scooted around the refrigerator, and put her back up against the wall so that she could see the entire living room. Carefully, she edged into the middle of the room and crouched near the sofa for protection but there was no need for caution. There wasn’t an intruder in her house; there was a ghost.
Emily stood in the dining room looking like a child with the pants of her white pajamas covering her feet and the sleeves of the top reaching to her fingertips. Josie walked across the hard wood and up the three steps that led to the entry and the dining room beyond. Max didn’t move. Emily didn’t either. Josie put the knife on the table.
Standing shoulder to shoulder with her mother, she looked at what had caught Emily’s attention: the hula girl plates hanging on the wall. When Josie was little her mother told her they were precious because they reminded her of a happy time. When Josie was older, those plates had saved her life. She could still see the cracks where she had pieced one plate back together after it had fallen off the wall during her struggle with Linda Rayburn. She had ripped into Hannah’s mother with one broken piece because there was no choice. Josie had glued the shards back together because that plate symbolized her life and heart: both were almost broken, both were now pieced back together, and both were stronger for all of it. Standing there with Emily, Josie knew she had been wrong to attach so much meaning to them. These were just cheap plates that her mother had fancied when she was whole. Nothing more and nothing less.
“Come on, it’s late.”
Josie took her mother’s arm, but Emily didn’t move. She turned her head and smiled a glorious smile. She said: “Do they belong to you?”
Josie was too tired to get her hopes up that Emily was remembering but she smiled back nonetheless.
“Yes. I used to love them.”
“I love them, too,” Emily whispered.
Josie turned Emily so that they faced one another in the dark. In her hand was the velvet box. She took the thin gold wedding band out and then tossed the box on the dining room table. Josie took her mother’s right hand, pushed up the long pajama sleeve, and put the ring on her mother’s finger. It was the only thing that had been taken from Emily that she could get back, but Josie would be damned if she would put it on Emily’s left hand.
“This belongs to you,” she said.
Gently, murmuring the way she heard Amelia do, Josie walked her mother to Hannah’s room and put her to bed. Amelia slept and that did Josie’s heart good. She closed the door behind her. Her house was peaceful but she knew that a thousand miles from Molokai was not safe because they were also a thousand miles from Washington, D.C. That, Josie knew, was where all this was heading.
Needing to sleep, needing to clear her mind, Josie went back to the hall wishing Archer was with her. Not to tell her what to do, but to be her sounding board, her confessor, her advisor. If he had no counsel, she wished he was there to make love to her. But he was gone; doing what few men would do for the woman in their lives. He was putting his own on hold for her.
Back in the hall, Josie got on to her knees and repacked her father’s box, but when she lifted the old album an envelope slipped out and fluttered to the floor. She picked it up and sat back on her heels to examine the pale blue onion paper emblazoned with bars of U.S.A. red. It was an old airmail envelope addressed to her father. The sender was Father C. Ridge. Turning it over, she took out the sheet of paper and unfolded it. She read it once. She read it twice.
Don’t worry about God. Forgive yourself.
Josie looked at the envelope again. The postmark was Berlin. She got off the floor and went to the kitchen to rummage through the drawers. Finally, she found a small magnifying glass. Flipping on the light over the sink, she peered at the barely legible date stamp: 1992.
She put the letter back in the envelope and the envelope in her pocket. God might have forgiven Joseph Bates, he might have even forgiven himself, but since God wasn’t going to smite anyone for her father’s sin and her mother’s trial, Josie figured it was up to her. When she went about it, though, she wanted to have as much ammunition as possible because she didn’t want to leave anyone who was responsible for this standing.
“I got a handle on the guy who was driving the truck.” – Archer
“Take the sheriff with you.” – Josie
“Jo, I don’t need anyone looking over my shoulder. Let me get the lay of the land first.” –Archer
“Okay. I trust you. I miss you.” – Josie
“But you’re not going to wait for me to get back to finish this thing with your mom.” – Archer
“I’ve got to do it now.” – Josie
“Just thought you might need a hand to hold.” – Archer
“Not this time. I’ve got to do this on my own. – Josie
“That’s what I was afraid of.” – Archer
“We’re almost there. Take care, babe.” – Josie
“You, too.” – Archer
CHAPTER 29
Josie’s Jeep flew past the acres that comprised Camp Pendleton. No buildings could be seen from the highway, but there were troops in the high grass practicing maneuvers. For the most part, though, the base appeared to be nothing more than miles and miles of beautiful, untouched acres of California beachfront. The base, though, was not her destination.
Father C. Ridge no longer served and that came as no surprise. This information had not been hard to come by. Josie placed yet one more call to the Veterans Administration. This time a heartfelt story about a dying father who wanted to get in touch with the priest got her the information she wanted. Ridge’s final posting was at Camp Pendleton and when he was discharged he didn’t go far. He was now the pastor of the Good Shepherd Church in Oceanside.
She turned the Jeep away from the ocean and wound her way up the hill through well-kept neighborhoods of ranch houses and two story homes. Every third house was identical and pleasant. The neighborhood was uncluttered: no one painted their garage purple, or hung gargoyles from the eaves, or put surfboards on their front porches. It was a perfect place for a family, just not a family like Josie’s.
At the top of the hill she ran into a dead end and made a right into the parking lot of a church. The Jeep was only one of three cars in a lot that could accommodate a hundred. Gardens flanked the church building, birds twittered, sprinklers chuckled as they spit water five feet onto a perfect lawn, hesitated, and turned to spray again. Josie got out, stashed her sunglasses, and pulled open the big church door. She found herself in a bright, airy nave. In front of her, rising to a towering peak, was a window that looked out onto the ocean two miles away. The glass was seamless, a marvel of engineering. If anything could make a person believe in God it would be this view: iridescent blue water and cerulean sky, white wisps of clouds, an underscore of black shingles and red tile rooftops.
The pews and kneelers were built from blond wood and there was no barrier between the nave and the sanctuary. Josie’s shoes were soft soled so it wasn’t until she was almost on top of the women cleaning the altar that they noticed her.
“Hello,” the ta
ll woman said, her smile glorious in the house of the lord. “You must be the woman Father Ridge is expecting.”
“Right through there.” The shorter one pointed to a door before Josie could answer.
Josie said her thanks, breathed in the smell of Pledge and Windex as she passed the altar, opened the sacristy door, and found a white haired man repairing a torn vestment.
“Father Ridge?”
He looked up; he smiled.
“You are the spitting image of your mother.”
***
Father Christopher Ridge was eighty-three years old and had lost his faith in many things but not God. He was, however, beginning to have doubts that God was a white-haired, bearded guy. In fact, he was thinking that maybe Joan Osborne had it right; perhaps God was one of us.
And would Josie like something to drink?
And, yes, he learned to sew quite handily when he was in the army so he mended his own vestments. He could also cook and liked to watch reruns of Monk.
Josie found all this out in the space of ten minutes after they had settled in, taking two small chairs near a round table by the window. When he was finished telling her these things, Josie handed him the letter.
“Do, you remember writing this?”
“I do. I wasn’t sure what would prompt you to come, or how you would find me, but I’ve been prepared for many years. Your father asked me to give you this.” He pushed a slim book toward her. “He wasn’t a man of many words, but I knew he agonized over whether you were strong enough to know these things. I don’t think he had any need to worry.”
“I don’t want to read that,” Josie pushed it away “All I want is to know what that letter means.”
“Then I suggest you read this. That’s what he wanted. If you do that, then I will answer your questions. I suppose it boils down to how curious you are.” Father Ridge pushed the book back at her. “Or outraged, depending on what you think you know already.”
He went back to his worktable and picked up his needle. She doubted he would be surprised to see her walk out. She doubted he’d be surprised if she stayed. He was a man who accepted things. Before she could make her decision, he said:
“I have always been sorry about your mother.”
Then he sighed and started stitching. Josie picked up the small book. Twenty minutes later she sat with one hand to her mouth, the other still holding the book that lay in her lap, and her eyes fixed on the horizon where a golden sun was drowning itself in the sea.
“Are you all right?” Father Ridge touched her shoulder. “Would you like a drink?”
“No. Thanks.” She put the diary back on the table, and crossed her arms atop it.
“I’ll have one.” He fetched a small glass of port and then sat across from her.
“I don’t know what to say,” Josie began. “What I already knew was surreal. But this? This seems almost impossible.”
“It isn’t,” Father Ridge said. “The Department of Defense recruited your father because he was a trusted officer and passionate about protecting his men in battle. There was no better person to speak for this program than a man like him. He thought he was doing something honorable.”
“But he recruited those soldiers for human experiments. The people I saw were shells. They couldn’t think. They couldn’t communicate. Did he really think that was better than shooting them in the head?”
“It wasn’t like that, Josie. The briefing he received was not truthful. He was given a set of parameters that he shared with recruits. He believed they would be subjected to sleep deprivation, hypnosis, and climate extreme experiments. This was nothing more than what they might encounter as prisoners of war. He had no idea about the drugs or the physical abuse. Don’t forget, he wasn’t the only recruiter. There were two others. They all worked the bases, identified the prospects, signed them up, and sent them on. I have to assume they were also duped, but I can only speak to what your father knew.”
“But we lived on a base, he collected his pension. How could that be?”
“Every country has covert operations. The army cooperated with the defense department and made it happen. It was simply assumed your father was deployed overseas and on rotation like everyone else. That meant he could be away from home for long periods of time.”
“Then he rocked the boat and it wasn’t so simple anymore,” Josie said.
“Your father became suspicious when he was denied requested reports on some of his recruits. One thing led to another and he put the pieces together. Your father went to his superiors and threatened to go public if they didn’t shut the program down. Instead, they decided to shut him down. He never found out how they convinced your mother to leave the house that night, but once she was part of the program they had the leverage they needed.
“Your father was frantic when he found out. He assaulted a superior officer and at least one of the other recruiters. He called the newspapers. He went to the police.”
“No, he didn’t,” Josie insisted. “There was no missing persons report.”
“There was,” the priest assured her. “But everywhere he went, the government wiped away his imprint. Paperwork disappeared, people he talked to were reassigned or intimidated.”
“If he was causing that much trouble, why wasn’t he court martialed or jailed?” Josie asked.
“He was no longer with the army so a court martial was out and jailing him would give him a pulpit. Whoever he was reporting to made it clear that it was very easy to make him disappear completely. There was no mistaking the threat, Josie. If he stayed silent, you would both be safe.”
“Me? They threatened a kid?”
“It was implied. Neither one of us believed they would hurt you, but given what they had done to your mother he couldn’t risk it.” Father Ridge shook his head. “Still, he tried once more. He promised not to pursue the matter if he could see your mother one more time. He had such elaborate plans to save Emily. He was going to bring her home and the three of you would go away and be safe. He was like Rambo.”
Christopher Ridge tried to smile but the sad memories outweighed the fond ones and he failed miserably.
“Josie, your father had never seen the actual human devastation this program wreaked until he saw your mother. Emily had no memory of him or you. The only saving grace was a doctor he met. He was kind, but he was frank. Emily would never again be able to live in the real world. Your father felt he had no choice but to leave her where she was. This man gave him her wedding ring. I know that much.”
“Ian? Ian Francis. Was that the name of the doctor?” Josie asked.
“I don’t know, I’m sorry,” Father Ridge answered.
“It must have been him. That’s how Ian knew about me. My father told him, not my mother. She never remembered me, but he did.”
Josie closed her eyes and thought back over the last weeks. She saw Ian Francis’ face and her father’s. They both loved the same woman and both risked everything to protect Emily’s daughter. She had been so wrong about so many things. Josie opened her eyes again, seeing more clearly than she had for a long while.
“Why didn’t you do something?”
“What your father told me was a confession. He was very specific. If you read the diary then I could speak freely.” The priest picked up his glass and finished his port. He looked toward the ocean. “I often wondered if I would have been as brave as he was. I was fearful of people who could do such things. These were people you did not cross.”
“And that was why all those people were wards of Ha Kuna House,” Josie said. “The administrators could legally make decisions about their care and no one would question it. My mother was the exception, but they made sure my father wouldn’t make trouble. Not knowing if she was alive or dead, he couldn’t risk telling me before he died.”
Christopher Ridge looked back at her. He folded his hands on the table. He had aged in the last minutes and looked every minute of eighty-three years.
“I thi
nk he felt most terrible that people thought your mother had deserted your family. He loved her so much. He loved you even more. I even think he loved his country, just not the people who ran it. Not after that.”
Josie took a deep breath and blew it out through her pursed lips. She said:
“He should have told me.”
“There was nothing you could have done. You were a little girl.”
Josie picked up the diary.
“I’m not a little girl anymore, Father.”
“Josie, my girl, It’s me.” – Stephen
“I can’t talk. I’ll be late.” – Josie
“Don’t hang up. You have to know.” – Stephen
“What?” – Josie
“Someone wiped the history in my computer. It’s as if Keoloko never did business with Ha Kuna House. Scary, stuff, my girl.” – Stephen
“Lord.” – Josie
“I suppose he could help, but I’m more efficient. I have hard copy. Never did fancy a paperless society. The point is that they can do it. Be careful. Bring your glorious body back in one piece.” – Stephen
“Yeah, and you watch your back, too.” – Josie
“Be an Amazon.” – Stephen
CHAPTER 30
Josie walked into the Russell Building entering off Constitution Avenue. She wore the same coat she had worn weeks earlier, the same boots, and the same gloves but now she carried her lawyer’s satchel. It was a big, black box of a thing that looked like a traveling file cabinet. The exhibits inside were not going to be used in defense of a client, but rather an indictment of a government run amok.
Her purse went through the metal detector and her briefcase was searched. When everything was handed back, she followed directions to the elevator that would take her to the third floor and Ambrose Patriota’s office. Before she went in, Josie stepped aside and took her phone out of her purse. She dialed Archer.
Forgotten Witness Page 29
