“I think I will, thank you,” she said, brightly. “I was a little under the weather this morning. I’m sorry about that. But I managed to get in a good nap this afternoon and I feel much better now.”
“We’ll be eating in forty-five minutes.”
“Let me freshen up and I’ll be right down,” she said, with a smile.
She changed into a fresh blouse, pulled her hair back into a pony tail, and fixed it with an elastic band. A little rouge rubbed into her cheeks took away the pallor. As she started down the stairs, she heard Judith barking orders. A plate dropped in the kitchen and shattered.
Stay calm, play along. Stay calm, play along.
All through dinner no one said much, other than to comment on the food or ask for a condiment. Without the pretenses of the past, there wasn’t all that much to say. Roles seemed to have been redefined and the sense of togetherness that used to characterize mealtimes was revealed for what it had always been: a fiction.
Jolene shuttled back and forth between the kitchen and the dining room, but she did so now out of sheer nervousness. Marshall had abandoned the air of benevolent authority with which he usually presided over the table, dispensing commentary on the day’s happenings. Hannah had always seen him as a man of some elegance and sophistication. Now he struck her as mousy with his wire-rimmed glasses.
It was Judith, sitting opposite Hannah, who brought palpable tension to the table. The Whitfields seemed to be constantly looking to her for behavioral clues, while Judith concentrated, hawk-eyed, on Hannah. Sometime during the day, she had gone off and returned with some clothes, and had moved into the spare bedroom on the second floor.
The woman lay her fork and knife on her dinner plate and dabbed her mouth with her napkin, a signal that she was ready to move on to business.
“How was your meeting with Dr. Johanson, this morning, Hannah?”
Hannah swallowed a last bite of food. “He did most of the talking.”
“Yes, and how did you feel about what he had to say?”
The air seemed to go out of the dining room. Jolene shifted on her chair, which creaked arthritically in the stillness.
The subject had been broached! Hannah knew she had to pick her words carefully - and the fewer, the better. She tried not to appear ruffled.
“It was a lot to take in,” she said, after a pause.
“Of course, it was, you poor thing!” Jolene spoke up for the first time. “We’ve been preparing for this moment for years and years, and all of a sudden you are—”
“Enough, Jolene,” snapped Judith. Jolene obediently lowered her chin and stared at her dinner plate.
Judith had barely taken her eyes off Hannah. It was as if she was trying to bore through the layers of skin and bone, penetrate the girl’s skull to the innermost chambers of her mind. “And did you? Take in everything he said?”
“As best I could.” Hannah saw Judith’s jaw tighten and knew that the answer was unsatisfactory. They were all waiting for more. What was she supposed to say? That she was thrilled by the way they had manipulated her? Inspired by their plan? Excited by their madness? All that came out was “I hope…I have the strength…to fulfill…my part properly.”
It wasn’t much. Jolene and Marshall eyed Judith out of the corner of their eyes, hoping to decipher her reaction. For the longest time, the woman’s face gave away nothing. Then the hard set of her mouth thawed.
“I hope you do, too,” she said. “We would all be so terribly…disappointed, if you didn’t.”
Hannah went right up to her room after dinner, pleading that she wanted to get a good night’s sleep. Dr. Johanson had reminded her only this morning that there was no substitute for sleep, she said, especially in these final weeks, so if no one objected. No one did.
Hannah kept her feelings in check until she reached the second floor landing and was out of sight. Then, she acknowledged the strain she’d been under all through the meal. How had she been so easily taken in all these months by Jolene and Marshall? By Letitia? Even the name sounded phony to her now. Had she been that desperate for their acceptance?
She pressed her lips hard against each other to keep from crying. Crying was useless and childish. What she had to do now was hold on until noon tomorrow. Less than 24 hours. Surely she could manage that. Tomorrow morning, she would have breakfast in her room, then around 11:30 she would drift downstairs. She wouldn’t take anything with her, lest she raise suspicions.
She’d make a point of acting friendly with everyone, Judith above all. But as soon as Teri’s car pulled into the driveway, she would bolt out the door. Before any of them realized what was happening, Teri would have her away from this mess. She might even go by and see Ruth and Herb…
She dozed off, thinking of her old town and the Blue Dawn Diner, and never heard the key being turned in the lock.
1:38
The heels of the parishioner clicked up the aisle of Our Lady’s. After waiting a decent interval, Father Jimmy cracked the curtain of the confessional and saw that the church was empty. According to his watch, fifteen minutes remained on his schedule. On any other day he might have closed up shop, as it were, seeing that no more souls needed to unburden themselves.
But he stayed put. He was the one who needed unburdening.
Was the Monsignor right about the devil working through the weak? He’d never thought of himself as weak, but what was he to make of his feelings? There was hardly a moment during the day, when he didn’t think of Hannah and her predicament. Was he jeopardizing his calling by doing so? Falling headlong into the devil’s trap?
On the other hand, whatever the Monsignor believed, Hannah was not just a neurotic young girl, looking for attention. Her fears were real. Someone had to guide her out of the terrible predicament in which she found herself.
The Monsignor’s words echoed in his head. “You are a priest, James, not a policeman.”
But that was it, exactly. Being a priest was all James had ever wanted. Even now. But he wanted to be a good priest. A compassionate one, who didn’t back off from difficulty or fold before a challenge.
Maybe the problem was that he was thinking too much lately. And not praying enough. He was relying on his mind to resolve this tug of war inside of him, instead of going to the only One who could truly aid him. There was no problem so great He couldn’t solve it. Father Jimmy had to trust in His wisdom that would make things clear.
With that thought, he sensed his heartbeat slowing down and a kind of peace coming over him. He sat with his eyes closed and breathed in and out, trying only to experience God’s presence. Monsignor Gallagher had been right to remind him where his true focus belonged.
He pulled the curtain aside one more time and peered through the latticework to make sure there were no last-minute stragglers. Then, preparing to leave, he turned the knob on the confessional door. The door was stuck. He fiddled a moment with the handle, but with no more success than the first time. Inexplicably, the door refused to open. In the dim light, he crouched down and tried to inspect the latch.
As he did, a sharp crash erupted on the other side. It was a sound he had never heard in the church before, a clanking of metal, accompanied what sounded like a jangle of coins, that echoed in the emptiness. He sat upright so fast he struck his head on the back of the confessional. What could have made that noise? Then he heard something else that gave him pause - the footsteps of someone running away.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” The church door slammed hard. “What do you want?”
The odor came next, prickly to his nostrils, but not unpleasant until he realized what it was. Then tendrils of smoke curled under the confessional door. Through the lattice window, he could make out a yellowish flickering. With horror, he realized the heavy curtains on either side of the confessional were on fire. It was only a matter of time before the flames spread to the wooden structure itself.
Father Jimmy rattled the knob desperately, realizing now that the door was somehow
locked tight and that he was imprisoned in a cubicle barely larger than himself. He tried throwing his body up against the door, but the space was too confined for him to get sufficient leverage. The sturdy confessional had been built to withstand stronger assaults than his.
The window was his only escape.
Leaning back in the bench, he raised his feet and kicked at the latticework, kicked savagely with his heels, until the wood began to splinter. When the hole was sufficiently large, he pulled himself through it, ripping his cassock and carving a deep gash in his left arm. To either side of him flames crackled greedily.
He fell to the floor and scrambled away from the confessional on his hands and knees, just as the fire bit into the wooden structure itself. It was then that Father Jimmy noticed the cause of the conflagration. A table of votive candles had fallen over, spilling dozens of flickering flames at the very base of the confessional curtains.
Fallen? Or had someone pushed it? He remembered the scurrying footsteps, the slammed door.
Functioning on automatic pilot, he raced to the front of the church and hurtled up against the doors, which were locked, too. He threw the proper latches and bolts and flung them wide open.
Outside, under the canopy, a startled expression on his face, stood the Monsignor.
“Good Heavens, James! What’s happened to you? Who locked these doors?”
Without answering. Father Jimmy reached for the fire alarm, and yanked it. The wail was ear-splitting.
1:39
When she next looked at her bedside clock, Hannah was amazed to see that it was already 8:30. She had no recollection of having got up in the night, but an unbroken night’s sleep was unheard of at this stage of her pregnancy. She wondered if she had been given something at dinnertime.
She didn’t feel groggy, just heavy all over, as if she had fallen into a vat of honey. It seemed unlikely that they would do anything to jeopardize the health of the baby. No, as long she had the baby inside her, she was probably safe. But after that?
She lay in bed, waiting for the pad of footsteps on the staircase that heralded the arrival of breakfast. Jolene was later than usual. More likely, it was Judith, taking her own good time. As her eyes grew accustomed to the gloom, she pulled herself upright.
The breakfast tray was already on her bureau. Someone had come in, put it down and left, while she was still sleeping. She went over and examined it. A silver lid covered a plate of scrambled eggs and two slices of whole wheat toast. The toast was cold, with bricklike pats of butter and a small dish of congealed strawberry jam on the side. The china teapot still retained its warmth, so she poured herself a cup and was glad to see a wisp of steam come off the amber liquid.
The tray had probably been sitting there for fifteen or twenty minutes, which was strange. The least noise usually woke her. Finding the tea more bitter than usual, Hannah stirred in two spoonfuls of sugar, then stopped herself. She didn’t want to be paranoid, but the flavor was different. Either they’d switched brands on her or they’d….
She took the pot into the bathroom and poured the contents down the toilet. Then she tore the toast into small pieces and then flushed them and the eggs away, too.
It didn’t matter. She had no appetite, anyway.
She tried the bedroom door and was not overly surprised to find it locked. Judith Kowalski and the Whitfields had more urgent concerns today than keeping tabs on her.
At the window, she pulled back the curtain and gazed out into the garden. The sky was the color of sour milk. The birdbath had frozen over and the pine trees looked brittle enough to snap. As she contemplated the desolate scenery, the kitchen door opened and Jolene appeared with a container of birdseed, which she began scattering liberally around the birdbath.
The woman persisted in her determination to make the garden a sanctuary for wild life. Hannah recalled Jolene’s late-night excursions into the garden that fall and the odd trances she had fallen into. There had definitely been talk of danger, a danger that would present itself “in my name.” Jolene had pointed repeatedly down Alcott Street toward the center of East Acton, as if that was where the threat would come from. All at once, Hannah realized it wasn’t the town Jolene was frightened of. It was the church. She had been pointing toward Our Lady of the Perpetual Light. Father Jimmy was the danger she feared, unless it was the wrath of God Himself.
Now that she thought back, Jolene had shown up at the church on several occasions, claiming to be searching for her. Always at the church, never at the library or the ice cream parlor. She didn’t seem to like Hannah talking to the priest. Hannah longed to call Father Jimmy, but that wouldn’t be possible until she was safe at Teri’s. It was the first thing she would do, once she got there.
Jolene scattered the last of the birdseed and returned indoors.
The rest of the morning was uneventful. Hannah saw the mini-van disappear down the driveway. Later, Judith left on a brief errand in her car, only to return shortly thereafter. Whatever was going on, no one was keeping Hannah apprised. Perhaps, she would pick up some clues before lunch. As the morning wore on, another fear developed in her mind: They could keep her in her room all day long.
By eleven thirty, she could no longer sit still and was pacing the floor. Teri would arrive in half an hour and there was still no sign from below. She pounded on the door, until she heard footsteps on the stairs.
The key turned. It was Judith, wearing work clothes that contrasted violently with her usual elegance and showed her off in a more proletarian light. Without jewelry and the artful make-up, her features were coarse.
“Yes?” she said curtly.
“I…I…was afraid you’d forgotten me,” Hannah joked.
“Is that all?”
“I haven’t seen anyone this morning. I mean, well, I thought maybe I could help with lunch.”
“Jolene hasn’t started it yet. We’re eating at one.” Judith prepared to shut the door.
Hannah maneuvered herself into the doorframe. “I’ll bet she could use an extra pair of hands.”
Judith relaxed her grip on the doorknob. “I suppose she could,” she said after a moment’s consideration. “You might as well come now. Save me making a trip later.”
She let Hannah pass in front of her and then followed so closely down the stairs that Hannah imagined she could feel the woman’s breath caressing the hairs on the back of her neck.
Several pieces of luggage had been put out by the front door and the shelves in the living room had been stripped of their knickknacks.
Jolene was at the sink, washing vegetables. “Good morning, Hannah. Sleep well?” she said, turning around.
“Yes, thank you. Can I do something?”
Hannah detected the quick look Jolene threw at Judith. “It’s just chicken pot pie. If you want to peal and chop up some carrots and turnips, I guess it wouldn’t hurt, would it, Judith? There are a few beets, too.” She indicated the wooden cutting board, on which lay a stainless steel knife. Without waiting for Judith’s reaction, Hannah approached the counter and grasped the implement in her right hand.
“Good day for chicken pot pie,” she chirped, just to keep talking. “Sticks to the ribs. My Aunt Ruth used to make it sometimes. Well, she didn’t really make it. She bought it frozen at the supermarket. Uncle Herb liked it a lot.”
“It’s one of Marshall’s favorites,” Jolene observed, going back to her work.
Satisfied that affairs in the kitchen were in order, Judith turned and left. Her footsteps quickly faded. Hannah couldn’t tell where she had gone. Everything was so secretive today. They wouldn’t be spending much more time in this house, that much could be safely assumed.
The kitchen clock read 11:54. If she looked sharply to the left, the kitchen window afforded a partial view of the driveway. Teri would be arriving any moment. She scraped the skin off a carrot, telling herself to focus on her chores. The knife was sharp and she didn’t want to cut herself.
Jolene had turned on the o
ven to bake and was arranging four pastry shells on a tin sheet.
“Where’s Marshall?” Hannah asked.
“Out. I told him we’d be eating by one. He should be back soon.”
“You’re not angry with me, are you, Jolene?”
“Angry?” The woman gave the question some consideration, before replying. “No, not angry. Anger is a sin. Disappointed, I guess. We hoped you would be more enthusiastic about what we’re all doing.”
“But I am. Really.”
“Well, maybe you are. Judith thinks otherwise.”
“Of course, I was startled when you told me. You can understand that, can’t you? But now that I’ve become used to the idea—”
“You see what a glorious duty it is?”
“Yes, a very special honor.”
“I hope so.” With Judith out of the room, Jolene allowed some of her enthusiasm to show. “It has been given to you alone, Hannah. You among all women. So many hoped it would be them.”
“Are there many of you?”
“Oh, yes. So many that armies will surround Him and carry out His will.” An exalted gleam came into her eyes. “But when he comes this time, only the devout will be admitted into His ranks. None but the devout!”
The clock showed 11:59.
“And the rest?” Hannah asked.
“The rest …? The rest will be allowed to wither and die. Which is as it should be.”
“I see.”
Jolene paused and ran her eyes over the ingredients. “Oh, dear, we’ve forgotten the celery. There are a few stalks in the refrigerator. Would you mind cutting them up?”
“No problem.” The knife made a series of sharp rat-a-tats on the cutting board.
It was past the hour and still no Teri.
“Well, that’s done,” Jolene said, contemplating Hannah’s handiwork with approval. “Why don’t you go in the living room and sit down. It’s going to take these pies forty minutes to cook.”
The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one Page 20
