by Betsy Ashton
Emilie winked.
“Oh, trust me. I’ll take all the help I can get.”
Ducks’s phone buzzed on the table. We looked at the screen. Unknown number. He punched the speaker button and answered.
“Dad?” A woman’s voice floated over the table.
“Carole?” Emotions transformed Ducks’s face. He grabbed the phone and turned without a backward glance.
“Who’s Carole?” Johnny asked.
“His daughter,” I said. “They haven’t spoken in a quarter of a century.”
“How much meddling have you been doing, pretty lady?” Johnny reached for my hand.
“Just enough to let Carole contact her father if she wanted to, funny man.” I silently thanked Tony Ferraiolli.
A warmth spread throughout my body.
“Thank you,” a voice whispered in my head.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SIX
Mississippi, week of February 13
I roamed the girls’ dorm and tried to plan my next step. I had Marianna with us and Joe the PI tailing Father Alvarado. What I didn’t have was any word from the bishop. I called him again. The call went straight to voice mail. Either he had his phone turned off, or he was using it. I left as detailed a message as I could. Frustration set in because I had few details to convey.
A fly followed me around the dorm and landed on the sink shelf.
“If you don’t have an answer, stop staring at me.” I shooed the fly back into the air. I was mesmerized by its lazy flight
When I couldn’t reach the bishop, I called Father Sean. We needed a sanctuary for the Sanchezes immediately. I got his voice mail too. Another message. Another moment of grinding my teeth. What if they were talking to each other. No. That would be way more than I could hope for.
I was fidgeting around the kitchen, putting dinner together, when my cell buzzed. I snatched it up before I looked at caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Davies? Joe Spellman. I got your message a few minutes ago. My apologies, but I’ve been in meetings all day.” Just hearing the bishop’s resonant tone made me feel less jumpy.
“Thank you for calling. I know you’re busy.” Like I was during board meetings.
People talked in the background. Bishop Spellman wasn’t alone, but he wasn’t on a speakerphone. The call would be private.
My gut cramped. I was afraid I’d throw up or hiccup. One would be nasty; the other embarrassing. I tightened my diaphragm and crossed my fingers.
“Give me an update.”
I gave him as much information as I had.
Papers rustled.
“I don’t like inaction any more than you do, but I have Father Alvarado under observation.’
“So do I.” With Joe the PI on the job, Father Alvarado would be hard pressed to get past him too. “Not to worry. I have about forty rugged construction men in the camp where I live. We can handle him if he shows up.”
Even though Johnny and Whip would have been glad to supply the muscle to run the priest out of what was left of the town, he’d probably return and make life worse for the Sanchezes.
Bishop Spellman laughed. “I have this image of men with picks and shovels storming the church.”
“It’s not like the old days here, but you’re close. The men would use intimidation instead of picks and shovels. Or Glocks and shotguns. Still, we don’t want a spectacle, do we?”
“No, we don’t.” The bishop said he had a copy of Father Alvarado’s schedule. “Let me find it.”
Background noises were muffled; papers shuffled. He must have put the phone down.
“All right, he has a funeral mass tomorrow, another on Wednesday, a baptism on Friday, a wedding on Saturday and mass on Sunday at All Saints up near Hattiesburg. He can’t miss any of them.”
That might explain the sudden flight from St. Anna’s. Marianna’s comment about him getting a call and leaving in a rush unsettled me. I didn’t know why, but it was out of what little we knew of his character. I wanted the priest snatched off the street and disappeared as surely as Colombian drug cartels did away with their rivals.
“You have pictures of Mrs. Sanchez and Marianna’s injuries,” I said.
“I saw them. Frankly, they made me ill. I’m freeing my schedule to get over to Mississippi. I’ll call you as soon as I have a firm arrival date. I want to meet with you and the Sanchezes.”
We clicked off. Beeping in my ear signaled another call coming in.
“Hello?”
“Mouse?”
“Bug! I just spoke with Bishop Spellman.” I gave Father Sean the abbreviated version of our conversation.
“Good. Joe will put together a fool-proof case against Father Alvarado. He’s assigned a couple of priests to follow him from parish to parish. He’s looking for more victims, I think.”
“Has he found any?”
“If he has, he hasn’t told me. I’ve left this in his more than capable hands.” Father Sean paused.
If he had other women, Joe the PI would find out. So would I.
“Okay, let me tell you how clever I’ve been.”
Just like the old Bug, so pleased with himself. We used to laugh about how self-assured Father Sean was even as far back as his Bug days in kindergarten. “Half a duplex we use for long-term temporary housing for refugees is empty. The last residents were three lost boys from the Sudan. We brought them over, taught them English and helped them get settled into jobs. The place is empty now.”
I didn’t realize any relocated boys from the Sudan were in Richmond, but then again, I left there a couple of decades ago. It shouldn’t surprise me things went on in my hometown I knew nothing about.
“I mentioned the house the last time we spoke. Decent enough neighborhood. Not poor. More lower middle class. Everyone works when there’s work to be had. Not much of a drug problem. Not too far from my church and our school.”
So far, so good. “You’re sure the place is available? If things go as I hope, we’ll need to move Isabella and Marianna in a few days. A week at the most.”
“It’s open and clean. I talked with Hot Pants today.”
“Hot Pants? Sue Hamilton? From grade school?” My voice squeaked.
“You wouldn’t recognize her. Completely transformed.” Father Sean said. “You wouldn’t know anything about it. You abandoned us long ago.”
“Oh, get real.”
“Hot Pants came back several years ago after working for about two decades in a missionary school in Africa. She transferred back when we began providing sanctuary to the lost boys.”
“A missionary school? In the Sudan?” My voice squeaked again. Was my hearing going? I scanned the room for a prankster playing tricks.
“Not the Sudan, but close. Eretria.”
“Good heavens. What’s an evangelical preacher’s brat doing in a missionary school?” Sue had about the worst reputation in high school for dating the wrong boys. She wasn’t called Hot Pants for nothing.
“Brace yourself, Mouse. Sue is Sister Susan.”
“She’s a nun?” My voice rose another half decibel.
“She is. She went to Boston College when we went to Virginia Commonwealth. She got religion. Catholic, at that.” Father Sean paused as if a solemn thought occurred to him. “Gee, Mouse, you’re the only one who escaped.”
“Damn straight. I told you I’m recovering. Leave it at that.”
We agreed to disagree over my soul, which was fine, thank you very much. It didn’t need reinforcing in the restricted confines of organized religion, which I believed was little more than a Ponzi scheme. I went to church on the holidays to keep my name on the good girl list.
“I’ll tell Isabella. Bishop Spellman seems pretty confident about Father Alvarado’s commitments near Hattiesburg. He’s pretty sure he won’t be dropping in unannounced.”
“Okay. I’ll tell Hot Pants to keep the apartment for the Sanchezes. Oh, by the way, Hot Pants lives in the other half of the building, so she’ll
be there to help your family as much as they need.”
“This isn’t the old place her grandparents had, is it?”
“My gosh. You remember. Sue inherited it, fixed it up, and leases the other half of the duplex to the Church for one dollar a year. We can almost afford it.”
“Bug, thanks for everything. Even for worrying about my soul.”
“I can’t force you to come back to the church, and you can’t stop me from praying for you. Guess it’s a stalemate, huh?”
“Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian any more than standing in a garage makes you a car.”
Father Sean’s laughter filled empty air before the phone clicked off.
####
Charlie and I dropped in on Isabella after dinner. We took Marianna too, because we wanted to tell both of them what we were doing to move them to a safe place.
“I’ve known Father Sean and Sister Susan since grade school. They’re good people.”
“I don’t want charity. I’ll work to repay you for everything you’ve done for me and Marianna.”
“This isn’t charity. I found a job where you can learn office skills. Think of it as a starting point. Sister Susan’s place is in a decent neighborhood. You’ll be safe there.”
I was making headway, but we had many obstacles to overcome.
“What about Marianna? All she knows is life in the church.” Isabella sat as still as a stone.
“She’ll go to Catholic school. I don’t know where she’ll test, but it’ll be below her age. Father Sean’s church has tutors. You can work off her tuition by helping in the church office.”
“I’m afraid.”
“I know you are, but the world has more decent priests who will protect you than bad ones like Father Alvarado who abused you.” Charlie put her arm around Isabella’s shoulders.
“I’ve never known anything else.” Isabella turned away in shame. “My mother was wrong, wasn’t she, when she sent me to serve the church?”
Oh heck. How did I answer that? Her mother was dead wrong.
“Your mother did the only thing she knew. She sent you into service thinking you’d be taken care of. You don’t want the same thing for Marianna, do you?”
Isabella put her face in her hands and wept.
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
Mississippi, week of February 27
On the big day, Alex ricocheted from the breakfast table to his bunk for jeans and a T-shirt to his dad’s truck to “load one more thing.”
“Alex, finish your breakfast.” I’d had enough of the jumping bean. “We aren’t leaving for two hours. Sit.”
Alex sulked but planted his butt on the bench and dug into his pancakes. The camp came to life more slowly on Saturdays. Charlie stumbled her way out of her Airstream, a cup of coffee held out like an offering. Johnny emerged from his trailer a few minutes later, shaved and dressed in clean jeans, a fresh polo shirt, and black sneakers, all gussied up for the big party. Whip finished breakfast, picked up his keys and headed over to his truck on an ice run.
“I’m coming too,” Alex mumbled through a mouthful of pancakes and syrup.
I caught his attention and raised an eyebrow. “Have you finished eating?”
I looked at Alex’s plate. Three bites left. I shuddered when Alex stuffed half a pancake into his mouth. Syrup dribbled down his chin and dripped on the table, just missing his arm. One more gigantic bite, a swipe at his mouth with his napkin, and he ran toward the truck. I shook my head. Charlie howled.
“I shouldn’t encourage him, but he’s so damned funny when he’s focused on something. He was like that a lot in Peru.” Charlie helped herself to a piece of bacon and a slice of cold toast. “When he wanted to go riding, it was all Whip and I could do to keep him in his chair long enough to eat. This from the human locust who swallows everything within reach.”
“I can’t get mad at him. After all, the park was his idea.” I smiled at the dissipating dust cloud. “I’m really proud of this village. Everyone is doing a terrific job raising both him and Em.”
“When we were moving mulch last weekend, I got to thinking about my childhood. Like most Mexican-American families, we all lived within walking or biking distance from each other.”
Johnny strolled over. He’d been talking with several of the men lining up for breakfast at the food tent. He had a plate of eggs and sausage in one hand, a huge mug of coffee in the other.
“Me too. My grandparents lived down the road, and aunts and uncles filled in most of the houses in between. Any adult could tell any child what to do. They shared the same DNA on how to raise kids, so we didn’t get mixed signals.” Johnny dug into the eggs.
I couldn’t watch him tackle the cholesterol load. I finished my single English muffin with marmalade.
“Most of my family lived within a mile of each other.” It sounded idyllic even though it wasn’t.
“Anyone could swat any child’s butt if he acted up.” Charlie smiled.
“He? My sisters and girl cousins got their fair share of swats.”
“You know what I mean.” Charlie stuck out her tongue.
“I worried when we agreed to live in a construction zone, but everyone has been so good with the kids. Ducks is a godsend. He’s grounded them in education and instilled a deep love of learning. The workers adopted them as their own.”
“Ducks is weird like you and Em.” Charlie wrinkled her nose. “I don’t have any idea how you do it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Both kids have developed an appreciation for the importance of civic service.” Johnny mopped up remnants of egg with a piece of toast. “Don’t I remember Alex asking why you didn’t write a check for the park? You didn’t. You taught him how to be resourceful if he wanted to put his dream into reality.”
“Even though it was my husband’s foundation that gave him the money, he had to do all the research, apply for the grant, and win it.”
If I’d written a check, this would be my park, not Alex’s. Not the community’s. With so much sweat equity in the new playground and basketball court, I trusted the community would maintain it long after the road crews moved on to other jobs.
“So right, Max. After all, we aren’t going to be here forever. The community has to value the playground and park as much as Alex does. You did the right thing.” Johnny gave my hand an eggy squeeze.
CHAPTER SIXTY-EIGHT
Mississippi, week of February 27
With Isabella ensconced in the manse again and with the private investigator sticking to Father Alvarado like ticks on a hound, I breathed a tiny bit easier. Emilie gave Marianna a cell phone and taught her how to text, which they did all the time. I checked in with Isabella.
”He called to say he was delayed a week and to change the church message board. He said to pack my clothes.”
“Why?” I couldn’t follow the priest’s motive.
“He’s moving me to another church without Marianna.”
Holy crap. I never dreamed he’d try to separate mother and child. I won’t give him time to act out his punitive plan.
Father Alvarado’s original schedule would have brought him to St. Anna’s the weekend of the park’s inauguration, but with him delayed, Isabella could join the community she’d lived in but wasn’t a part of.
“Mrs. Sanchez and Marianna need some fun.” Emilie said. “The park dedication will be the biggest party this region has seen since before Katrina.”
Alex and Charlie were in charge of the festivities. With meetings going on every other night, I figured I’d be running him all over creation. Instead, Charlie drove him, leaving me to work out details for Marianna and Isabella’s extraction.
“Bug, Isabella’s agreed to come to Richmond, but she’s terrified.” I stood in the kitchen of the girls’ dorm, sipping a cup of tea.
“She should be. After all, we’re asking her to leave everything she’s ever known, move to a strange part of the country, and put her trust in yet
another priest. If I were her, I’d be scared shitless.”
“Father Sean! Such language!” I relaxed.
“Give me a break. You’ve heard it before.”
“Said it too.” I stirred my tea. “Father Alvarado threatened to separate them. He told Isabella to pack, because he’s sending her to another church.”
“Not a chance in hell. That’s not going to happen,” Sean said.
“Do you think you and Hot Pants should talk to her? You know, help her put a voice behind a name.”
“Good idea. Give me her number. I’ll call her. So will Hot Pants.”
Paper rustled. I gave Sean Isabella’s phone number.
“Father Alvarado’s going to be a week late. It’ll be safe if you call her in the next few days.”
“But if a man answers, I’ll hang up.” Sean turned one of the oldest, lamest jokes in the world into a most serious comment.
“That’s what I do. They don’t have caller ID. The couple of times I called without knowing he was there, I hung up. One rude encounter was enough.”
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
Mississippi, week of February 27
The day of the party, I rousted Emilie and Marianna out of bed early. I tidied the kitchen and prepared for the day.
Isabella’s face hadn’t healed completely, but the bruises were light enough to be covered with a bit of makeup. Marianna’s bruise on her face was less noticeable, but her internal pain remained raw. She was shy around everyone but our extended family. She relaxed with us, even with the men, after she spent more time with Ducks and Johnny. Living with Charlie in the Silver Slug helped.
I confirmed that Isabella would be at the park around noon. We’d have plenty of food and planned lots of games. I wanted to see Marianna playing volleyball. She was turning into a tiger at the net, small stature be damned.
Father Sean and Sister Susan had talked with Isabella. “Father Sean said Marianna could qualify for a partial scholarship to the Catholic school. I can’t believe it. She’s never been to school.”
