by Betsy Ashton
I found that unfathomable. School was a universal right, and parents had an obligation to see that their children attended an accredited institution. It was also the law. I could see how Marianna had fallen through the cracks for so long, since she never left the house. School districts lacked staff to seek out kids who weren’t registered. Heck, they had too much to do tracking down delinquents and truants.
“Sister Susan lives in the other half of the house we can use while I get settled. She’ll help me make friends in the community. The woman at the Wellington Foundation told me I can start learning how to use a computer as soon as we get there.” Her excitement bubbled over.
“That’s wonderful.” I put bowls of oatmeal on the table for the girls and pointed for them to sit.
“You’ve done so much for us. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Keeping yourself and Marianna safe is enough thanks for me. See you soon.”
“When will they move?” Emilie stirred milk into the brown sugar and raisins she added to her oatmeal until it was all dressed up and ready to eat.
“Very soon.” I turned toward Marianna. “I found your mother a job and hooked her up with two old friends from school. Father Sean, aka Bug, and Sister Susan, aka—well, never mind—will help you.”
“What was Sister Susan’s nickname?” Emilie’s eyes glinted.
“Better you not know. I don’t want you using it by mistake.”
“Ooh, it must be something naughty.”
Marianna giggled. Emilie chased a raisin that was trying to escape her spoon. She trapped it against the side of the bowl, scooped it up, and popped it in her mouth.
“Let’s just say, Sue has done a complete image and spiritual makeover. Her father was the strictest of holy-roller evangelical ministers, and she was as wild as could be. Somewhere along her path in life, she converted to Catholicism and became a nun.”
“A ‘who’d a thunk it’ moment?”
“In triplicate. Now, no more questions.”
“One more. What did they call you?”
“Mouse.”
“Mouse?’
“As in I was very small and quiet as a church mouse, as Bug used to say.” I wiped drops of coffee from the countertop.
“Not any longer.” Emilie finished her oatmeal and fetched a cup of coffee. “You live life out loud.”
“Indeed I do, dear child. Indeed I do.”
####
An hour before the party began, Charlie, Emilie and Marianna, Johnny, and I drove to the park to finish setting up. Pastor Taylor dropped off bags of ice and a cooler of soft drinks. Alex, my colossal pain-in-the-ass grandson, ran around checking every last detail and getting on everyone’s nerves.
“Holy-crap boy-child’s getting like Dad, except Dad doesn’t get in the way.” Emilie nodded toward her younger brother, who galloped through life with an abundance of curiosity and energy.
“Brat.” I tugged a lock of purply-pink hair.
My cell buzzed. An incoming text message sent chills down my spine.
“He’s on his way back.” Joe the PI.
Charlie, Johnny, Whip, and Ducks anchored the volleyball net and batted a ball back and forth. Marianna watched and waited for her turn. People from Hope Village ambled over. A little before noon, Isabella arrived. I gave her a quick hug and steered her toward Pastor Taylor, who had prepared a flyer announcing a basketball clinic and the opening of the new community recreation hall. He wanted to keep the momentum from the opening of the park going strong. Stephen Adams, the former coach, stood next to the pastor.
“Pastor Taylor, I’d like you to meet Mrs. Sanchez.”
Pastor Taylor shook Isabella’s hand. “I’m glad you’ve come to our party. Welcome.”
Pastor Washington arrived and joined us. I introduced Isabella and chatted about games and programs for the recreation center. Pastor Taylor envisioned a clean, well-lighted place where children and teens could get some exercise, learn a little about nutrition and improve their overall fitness.
“What do you have in mind for the adults who need similar help?” Pastor Washington’s voice rumbled up from an oversized girth. He patted his stomach. “My wife says I do.”
“Maybe you could work together. Find someone in the village or in the schools who could help design a nutrition program. Maybe someone over at the hospital could come out.” I smiled my most disingenuous smile. “This recreation center could grow into a real community center.”
“Woman, will you never stop tryin’ to get us to work together?” Pastor Washington’s protest was countermanded by the glint of approval in his eyes.
“Nope.”
“She is one of the orneriest women I’ve ever met,” agreed Pastor Taylor. “I’ll be glad when she’s out of our hair, won’t you, Roland?”
“Amen to that, brother. Amen to that.” Pastor Washington clapped me on the back before moving away to talk with old friends who’d come home.
Cars and trucks arrived from the road crews. Some brought food, even though we’d asked for drink donations. Soon the tables were groaning under the weight of platters of pulled pork, fried chicken, bowls of potato salad, greens and grits, hot dogs and beans, and a variety of other delicacies, some local, some Mexican.
People filled plates and sat on the ground or all over the basketball court. Those who’d brought chairs offered them to mothers and children. Men stood and talked shop. By the time we were nearing the end of lunch, we had more than a hundred people mingling and getting to know each other.
Johnny and Whip organized a pick-up game of basketball and several teens, men. and women joined in. Charlie, as short as she was, played a mean guard position and turned out to have a wicked three point jump shot.
Others began a volleyball game. Alex and Emilie pulled Marianna onto their team, while Ducks and I were on the opposing side. We shouted encouragement, bemoaned a missed spike and encouraged each other with high-fives and slaps on the back. Pastor Taylor and Pastor Washington cheered from the sidelines. For at least one day, the park served its goal.
We’d changed sides when more cars pulled up and parked wherever there was room. I didn’t pay any attention. People had been arriving since before noon.
Marianna stood behind the baseline and tossed the ball high into the air. Before it could come down, a hand reached out and grabbed her arm.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Father Alvarado shouted. His fingers dug into Marianna’s upper arm. He shook her until her head snapped back and forth. “I ordered you never to leave the church.”
We froze for what seemed like hours. It was seconds, but it was enough time for the scenario to play out. Father Alvarado tried to drag Marianna away from the base line.
“You belong to me. You will obey me. Do you hear?” Father Alvarado raised his free hand to strike Marianna.
Isabella came running over. Two other people moved in unison. Pastor Taylor stopped Isabella. Pastor Washington lumbered across the volleyball court and gripped Father Alvarado’s raised fist.
“No one belongs to anyone. She ain’t your property. You…will…not…strike…a…child! Do you understand me?” Pastor Washington was nose to nose with Father Alvarado.
Both men balled their fists, ready to come to blows, when a deep voice rang out across the grounds.
“That will be enough.” Silence. “Ramon, release the child.”
“Who’s that?” Emilie sidled over and whispered to me.
“If I have to guess, I’d say that is Bishop Spellman.”
“Perfect timing.” Emilie’s hand slid into mine. “Did you plan this?”
“As big a surprise to me as it is to Father Alvarado.” I hugged my granddaughter before I turned my attention to the ashen-faced priest. “Why don’t you go help Mrs. Sanchez?”
A non-descript car cruised by but didn’t stop. I caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar profile and a ball cap pulled low but little else. A hand raised and flashed a V-for-victory sy
mbol. Joe the PI.
Emilie joined Pastor Taylor and Mrs. Sanchez. Johnny and Charlie moved into position to create a formidable barrier around the woman. Whip, Ducks, and I edged closer to Father Alvarado and Pastor Washington.
“Bishop Spellman, what are you doing here?” Father Alvarado’s face turned a sickly shade of gray-brown.
“I came to talk with you, but I don’t have to. I can see what’s going on with my own eyes.”
Bishop Spellman hadn’t taken a single step forward, nor had he raised his voice, yet he commanded the entire crowd. A baby fussed under the live oak tree, shushed instantly by its mother.
Pastor Washington released Father Alvarado’s arm at the same time the priest released Marianna. Pastor Washington gave her a tiny push toward her mother.
“Would anyone mind tellin’ me what the hell’s going on?” Pastor Washington demanded. “Why’s this man claimin’ the girl’s his property? We ain’t had slavery in these parts since my grandpappy was lynched at the beginnin’ of the last century. We ain’t gonna have it again.”
Pastor Washington thrust out his chin and narrowed his eyes. For once, I wasn’t on the receiving end of his wrath.
Bishop Spellman scanned the crowd. He looked at a piece of paper in one hand. He called out a few names. “Mrs. Sanchez, Marianna, Mrs. Davies, Emilie Pugh, Pastor Taylor, will you all come with me? You must be Pastor Washington.”
Pastor Washington nodded.
“Will you bring Ramon? If you don’t mind coming to the church for a while, we can get everything cleared up.”
“We won’t be long.” Pastor Taylor turned to the gawking crowd. “When I get back, I want to know who won the basketball game. Got it?”
Heads nodded. Charlie tossed up a jump shot. Swish. Nothing but net.
Pastor Washington shouldered Father Alvarado toward the church and fell into step behind him. He glanced at me, but I was as much in the dark as he was. I wanted to see what Bishop Spellman would do next.
Several cars filled the small parking area in front of the manse. A Ford sedan with Louisiana plates I thought might be Bishop Spellman’s. A large, dusty van with Virginia plates parked next to the sedan. Emilie looked at me. I winked.
CHAPTER SEVENTY
Mississippi, week of February 27
Bishop Spellman led the way into the Sunday school room attached to the church.
“If you’ll go in here and find seats, I need a moment.” The bishop disappeared into the church proper.
“Is this what I hope it is?” Emilie whispered.
“We’re about to witness one hell of an intervention.” I relaxed for the first time in weeks. Truly relaxed.
We found chairs arranged in a semicircle, like something out of a bad movie, an interrogation by a military tribunal. Except there was no metal table or strong light shining on the prisoner. Pastor Washington led Father Alvarado to a single chair placed so it faced the semi-circle.
“I do believe this is your seat.” He placed a big hand on the priest’s shoulder and pushed him into the lonely chair. He sat on one side of Isabella, Pastor Taylor on the other.
Emilie placed Marianna between herself and me. Father Alvarado sat alone in the middle of the room, facing the rest of us. His accusers were about to confront him. His reign of abuse was over. I was glad I had a role in it, if only as a whistleblower. The church door opened. Three people entered. Bishop Spellman had put his clerical robe on over his khakis and golf shirt. A man and woman followed.
I swallowed against a lump in my throat. Bug and Hot Pants. My hunch about the dusty van was true; my old friends had come to fetch my new friends and take them to Richmond. I dabbed at an eye. I didn’t recognize Hot Pants. No longer the rebellious high school girl with loose morals, she was a stately nun who wore conviction like a layer of fine powder.
Bishop Spellman stood in the middle of the room, his back to Father Alvarado. “I’m Joseph Spellman, Father Alvarado’s bishop.”
He walked to those of us who were seated and placed his hand on our heads, one at a time. He blessed us for our courage. When he got to the two Baptist preachers, he laid his hand on their shoulders, one at a time, and thanked them for what he was about to ask of them. Then he introduced Father Sean, my Bug, and Sister Susan.
“They have a very important role in Mrs. Sanchez and Marianna’s future. I’ll tell you about it in a few minutes. First, though, I have something to say to Father Alvarado.”
The bishop turned toward the terrified priest.
“You are a disgrace to your collar, Father Alvarado.” Gone was the familiarity of Ramon. “You are here before this woman and this child to apologize to them for the way you’ve treated them.”
Apologize? I wanted more than an apology. I looked at Bug, who gestured for me to have patience. Patience, my ass. I wanted to see this man castigated in front of his victims and peers.
“I haven’t done anything wrong.” Father Alvarado glared at Isabella, as if to silence her with promises of future retaliation.
“Do you deny you struck Mrs. Sanchez and Marianna?” Bishop Spellman’s voice had steel underneath it.
“I never hit either of them. Ask anyone. I’m a gentle person, just trying to be the best priest I can.” Father Alvarado spread his hands upward as if making a plea for penance, but his expression changed from intimidation to fear.
“Do you deny you had sex with Mrs. Alvarado? And that you were planning to abuse Marianna in the same way?”
Pastor Washington growled. He’d never imagined anything like this going on in his community.
“I took a vow of celibacy. I don’t have sex with parishioners.” Beads of sweat dripped down Father Alvarado’s forehead, even though the Sunday school room was cool.
“Tell me why Mrs. Sanchez ended up in the hospital with two dislocated fingers and deep bruises on her face and body?” Bishop Spellman built his case with the logic of a good trial lawyer.
“It must have happened after I left. Plenty of people could have broken in.” Father Alvarado looked around for support. He sat in the loneliest chair in the center of nowhere. No one took his side. “Lots of people are roaming the countryside.”
Bishop Spellman walked over to Isabella. He knelt on one knee before her, held her hands in his and asked her if Father Alvarado had beaten and raped her. She nodded, lowering her head in shame.
“And did he also strike Marianna? Did he try to have sex with her?”
Isabella nodded. Tears streamed down her face. She gripped Bishop Spellman’s hands tightly. He never flinched.
“This is very difficult for you. You’ve been very brave to tell me. I promise he’ll never hurt you or anyone else again.” Bishop Spellman withdrew his hands, laid one on Isabella’s head, and made the sign of the cross over her. Pastor Washington put his arm around her and let Isabella cry on his shoulder.
“Father Alvarado, you will accompany me back to New Orleans today, where I will deal with you.”
Father Alvarado sagged in his chair. “You have no proof. It’s her word against mine. Who are you going to believe, Bishop Spellman? An illiterate woman or me?”
“I believe my eyes. I heard what you said with my ears. I have a stack of pictures”—he gestured toward Bug, who held up an envelope—“taken at the hospital by Mrs. Davies. I don’t have to take anyone’s word. You’re finished. I will deal with you at the archdiocese’s office. Wait for me in the church. You might want to pray.”
Father Alvarado shuffled out of the room, head hanging, shoulders slumped, all arrogance gone.
Bishop Spellman pulled the newly empty chair over and dropped into it. His café-au-lait face was drawn but calm. I envied him. I wouldn’t have been able to face down a child abuser and rapist with his decorum. I wanted to castrate Father Alvarado like I should have done to Uncle Phil forty years earlier.
Bishop Spellman suggested I tell the assembled rescuers what we had in mind for Isabella and Marianna’s future. I ran through the gist of
the many conversations I’d had with Father Sean—couldn’t call him Bug in front of strangers—and what Sister Susan had offered. Couldn’t call her Hot Pants. Her high school nickname was so far from her present reality I drove it deep into my memory.
“Mrs. Sanchez, is this all right with you?” Bishop Spellman asked. When Isabella nodded, he turned to Marianna. “You’ll be moving away from everything you know and starting life over. Sister Susan will help, as will Father Sean. Is this all right with you?”
No one had to ask the child if life-shaking changes were all right with her, yet Bishop Spellman did. The child nodded.
“I’ll leave you in the good hands of Father Sean and Sister Susan.” Bishop Spellman rose. “You will not hear what happens to Father Alvarado, but I promise you he will never harm another person. You’ll have to trust me. Can you?”
Isabella and Marianna looked at each other. Relief washed over them, much as it washed over me, Emilie, and the Baptist preachers. We all nodded.
“Now, Pastor Taylor and Pastor Washington, I need your help. I won’t be able to send a priest to this parish for a while. We’re short-handed, but Father Alvarado did minister to a couple of dozen families. When they return, they’re going to need religious support. Can I count on you to welcome them into your congregations until I can assign someone?”
Silent agreement passed between the two Baptist preachers. Pastor Washington rose to his feet. He lumbered over until he was standing next to Bishop Spellman.
“I got somethin’ to say to you all. And, in particular, to this tiresome woman here. Miz Davies, I thought you were makin’ this up.”
“That I went from A to B to Z without anything in between?”
“Sumptin’ like that.” He looked at Isabella and Marianna. “Believe me, Hodge and I had no idea what was goin’ on. I’m ashamed to say I didn’t care. You’re Catholics and white. I felt I had no business buttin’ into your lives. I shoulda been a better preacher and extended a hand.”
Pastor Taylor also stood and walked over to flank Bishop Spellman on the other side. “I didn’t pay any attention either. I knew something wasn’t right, but I ignored it. I’m sorry, Mrs. Sanchez, Marianna. If I’d been a better Christian, a better man, I could have given you sanctuary. I stand before you and ask your forgiveness.”
