Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold (49 page)

Bear didn’t know what to do. He patted the dog gingerly on the head, and looked up at his former palace. He remembered being told by the archdiocese that some new order of monks had taken over the church, and had probably changed the locks. But the worn Yale openings looked the same, so out of an abstracted curiosity, he walked up the steps, pulled the key off his neck chain, and tried it in the door. It turned, and the door opened. The dog ran inside and vanished.

He stepped inside the cool darkness, and with a start of indignation, discovered racks of old clothes and piles of garbage bags heaped around the vaults of his old haunt. Someone was making his favorite church into a warehouse.

Feeling bemused by the changes, he let the doors close with a click behind him.

Hesitantly, he opened the door to the sanctuary. The church was vast and empty. But the high altar had been restored to some of its former glory, with gold paint touching up the old worn edges, and a new statue of St. Francis replacing the one of St. Rocco. And the red sanctuary lamp glowed with candlelight again.

Feeling a bit reassured, he crossed himself, genuflected, and slid into a back pew, finally able to rest his aching muscles. Blinking from the relief of sitting still, out of the air, he looked around. There were splattered paint buckets and an orgy of canvas and ladders over part of the sanctuary. But someone was painting an unusually good mural, with lilies, over the Mary altar.

Suddenly reawakening to his cross, he closed his eyes in pain. Everything he was carrying now broke him open, and he slumped his shoulders in defeat.
God, please. Just let me find her. Even if she’s dead. Please just let me find her.
There was nothing he could do, except trust.

There were footsteps approaching, and Bear looked up over his hands to see a short young Hispanic man in full Franciscan habit, complete with a rope belt, walking quickly into the church, with an ambling, side-to-side walk that was almost a swagger, pausing only to genuflect before the tabernacle with surprising seriousness. He saw Bear in the corner, nodded, and walked out of the chapel.

Bear took to staring at the dome above the altar, where some ambitious artist had sketched out the outstretched arms and solemn face of a massive Christ in chalk, and wondered what the young monk was saying to the others:
Hey, who’s that homeless guy in the chapel?
Bear allowed himself a thin grin, wondering if he should slink away and leave the monks to wonder if he had merely been an apparition of St. Joseph or something.

He tried to guess how high the scaffold would have to be to reach that dome. Or did they use a suspended catwalk of some kind?

Footsteps again. Bear wondered if he should leave, but inertia kept him there. A sigh escaped him. Another eviction was impending. He wondered if he should freak the monk out by telling him that he was the person who had donated thousands of dollars to fix up this church so that it could be used again. It would make a good story. Maybe they would pray extra hard for him.

The young monk returned, casually striding in Bear’s direction.
Here comes the interrogation
, Bear thought.

But the monk had some panache, apparently. “How’re you doing?” he said familiarly, lounging against the last pew.

I bet he’d say the same thing to an apparition of St. Joseph,
Bear guessed. “I’ve been better,” he said, not pretending. The scrub on his cheeks, the worn rumpled clothes, the wild hair and red eyes couldn’t have said DISTRESS any more loudly.

“Can I help you with anything?”

“No—” Bear started to get up to go, not anxious to spill his guts. “Sorry. I just thought I’d take a look inside.”

“Oh. That’s fine. You’re not bothering anyone. We sort of encourage people to sit in front of the Eucharist around here.” The brother paused, and Bear waited. “So the door was open?” the monk asked.

“I had a key,” Bear tried to keep down the sigh unsuccessfully, and handed it to the brother. “There’s only one other copy that I know of. Don’t worry, they’re not selling them on the street these days or anything. I had the key from back when I used to be an altar boy here, and I just figured I’d see if it still worked.”

“Oh,” the brother said in a strange tone. Bear glanced at him. But the only thing the brother said was, “You were an altar boy and they gave you the keys to the church?” a bit disbelievingly. He was obviously a former altar boy.

“It was a special case. I was really good friends with the priest. I sort of filled in as a sacristan for him a lot of times.”

“Boy, you must have been pretty devout.”

Bear nodded. “Guess you could say that.” He made a half-hearted gesture towards the paintings. “Nice monastery you’re putting together here.”

“Friary. We’re friars, not monks.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

There was a long pause. The young friar scratched his chin, scratched the back of his head, scratched the back of his neck, and then scratched his chin again. Bear looked at him again oddly, and moved further away.

“You know, this is reeeeally weird,” the friar said at last, saying the last two words very slowly. “But you wouldn’t happen to know who has the other key?”

Wondering if these brothers were paranoid about burglary, Bear said, reassuringly. “A friend of mine. Don’t worry. I doubt she’ll ever use it.”

“She?” the young brother said in that same strange voice.

“Yes,” Bear said. Then, “Why do you ask?”

“Her name wouldn’t happen to be Nora?”

Something twinged inside Bear, and he focused in on the situation. “No. It’s Blanche. Do you know her? Have you seen her?” He automatically pulled the photograph of Blanche that he had been carrying for verification out of his pocket.

The brother looked at the picture and then back at Bear. “That’s her.”

“What?” Bear leapt to his feet.

“Except for the hair. It’s short. But that’s her.”

“Do you know where she is?”

“Yes, but hold on—sit back down a moment,” the brother said, soberly. “I need to tell you something. You’re a friend of hers, right?”

“Yes. My name’s Arthur. Arthur Denniston. I know her mom and her sister. Jean and Rose Brier. We’ve been looking for her for the past week. Is she OK?”

The friar took a deep breath. “She’s in a coma.”

“I know. But she’s alive?”

“You do? Yes. She was attacked—about three days ago. We’ve been trying to figure out who she is and where she came from.” The young monk was animated now, talking at the same time as Bear.

“It was my stepmother who poisoned her—I’ve been looking for her—So has her family—Where is she?” Bear was saying simultaneously.

“So that’s what happened! We’ve been taking care of her—In Our Lady of Mercy Hospital—Here, I’ll take you there.”

With one motion, each of them put a hand on the back of the pew and vaulted over, racing through the friary and out the door to the street.

II

In the parking lot, they met Father Francis. Leon yelled an explanation, and the head of the order responded by tossing him the keys. Leon thanked him and raced to join Bear, who was already prowling around, ready to jump into any car Brother Leon indicated. He was sitting in the seat before Leon had opened the door to the driver’s side.

Just as Leon started the engine, Bear’s cell phone rang. It was Fish. “Where are you?” his brother demanded.

“I found her!” Bear yelled back into the phone.

Fish yelled, “What? Blanche? How? Where? Where are you? How can we get there? Hold on—Rose, yes, yes, yes, he found her, please be quiet for a second—”

Brother Charley, followed by two tail-wagging Rottweilers, had run out to the car and was looking in the window, wanting to know what was going on.

“Our Lady of Mercy Hospital—it’s—here—can you explain to him?” Bear shoved the cell phone at a surprised Charley, who took it as Leon threw the car into reverse and screeched back seven feet.

“Uh—hello?” The big friar said into the phone just as Leon shifted again and they pulled away with a roar.

On the way to the hospital, Brother Leon (Bear found out that was his name) talked non-stop about the whole situation. Bear was so absorbed in listening and asking questions of his own that neither of them noticed the traffic accidents they almost caused.

If the friars who followed them in the van hadn’t already known the destination, they would have had no trouble figuring out which way Leon and Bear had gone.

After they parked in front of the hospital, Leon leapt out of the car, habit flapping behind him with Bear, his hair flying in all directions, hot on his heels. The odd pair dodged through the halls, Leon waving at the nurses and doctors they passed, not bothering to explain.

But when they reached the door, Leon drew up short and gestured to Bear to go in first.

“After you,” Bear said.

“No,” said Leon. “She’s been waiting for you. You take over from here.”

Bear stared at him. “How do you know?”

“Not too hard to put the pieces together. You go.”

Looking bewildered, Bear opened the door and went in.

Leon sat down on a nearby chair outside the door, took out his rosary, and in a deep and curious peace, began to pray. He knew his task with Nora, whatever it had been in the Divine Plan, was over.

He crossed himself.
So God, about this priesthood thing...
he began.

III

Bear tentatively stepped inside the room, and looked at her. She lay, deep in stillness, in the hospital bed, her face white as the pillow, but her cheeks were touched with the barest hint of scarlet. Her hair, torn and tattered, lay like a black cloud around her features. She was Blanche, not Nora, and despite her coma, she was still beautiful.

Princess, like a rose is her cheek

And her eyes are as blue as the skies...

He knew then that even if she never woke up from the coma, that he loved her, and that the years would find him sitting by her side, even if she never knew that he was there.

Sitting down beside her bed, he took her hand in his, and closed his fingers over it. His thick bandaged hands around her supple white fingers.

“Blanche,” he said to her softly, and he felt a tremor go through her. He had heard that often people in comas could hear, even though their bodies might not be able to respond.
Talk to her as though she can hear you
, he remembered Leon saying in the car. And he sensed that Blanche could hear him, through a cloud of blackness. “Nora,” she had called herself, “noir” for “black.” Maybe because of the blackness around her. Maybe feeling that she wasn’t worthy to be Blanche. But like all humanity, she was both Blanche and Nora, both white and black. And now, wounded by her ordeal, red.

He spoke with her for a long time, as though she could hear him, telling her about how his dad loved her, and how she had saved his dad’s life. How he had forgiven his dad. And how his dad wanted Bear to find her.

“Blanche, I’m never going to leave you. I’m sure you’ll get better. But even if you never do, I’m staying with you. You know I was thinking God might have had other ideas, but it’s clear to me now where He wants me to be. With you.”

He leaned close to her and spoke softly, in her ear. “Because…well, you should know this...but in case you don’t…I love you.”

He paused, his face just an inch above hers. He had never done this before, because he had never been sure it was the right time.

But now it was.

He kissed her.

I give you myself
.

Somehow his hand found hers again, and he sat next to her, holding her white fingers. He wiped his eyes, and breathed deeply, feeling the peace. He knew he had done the right thing. What he was supposed to do.

IV

Sometimes it amazes me
How strong the power of love can be
Sometimes it just takes my breath away.

Bear felt her fingers squeeze his faintly, and thought it must have been his imagination. Stirring himself, he looked at her face. Her eyelashes were moving.

Fumbling around with his free hand, he searched for one of those buttons to summon the nurse with, but couldn’t find one, and he didn’t dare take his eyes off her face. Her fingers were tightening on his other hand, and he knew that she felt him. He had a sense of her rising upward, coming out of deep darkness…

The lashes lifted, and her blue eyes were visible. They found his eyes, and focused. He knew that she saw him at last.

Her lips moved. “Bear,” she breathed his name.

Now her grip became stronger and he recognized that it wasn’t a dream: she was trying to sit. The next moment she was in his arms as he gathered her up, saying her name over and over.

“It was so dark,” she was saying in his ear. “So dark, and I thought I had died, long ago, and far away, but then I heard your voice...” she broke off as he hugged her more tightly.