Dead of Winter (21 page)

Andre shook his head. “I still haven’t a clue what the doctor looks like.”

“I’m sure we’ll have no trouble recognizing him,” Father Xavier said. “I don’t know about you, but I’m famished. Let’s make our way to the buffet. I think we’ve earned the right to indulge in some fine cuisine.”

Two slender debutants wearing mink coats and gold-sequined masks sauntered over. They were identical in height and appeared to be sisters, with the same pinned up dark hair and long, graceful necks. Each lady took one of Andre’s arms and rubbed fingers through his thick hair.

“Ooh,
bel homme
, you are so delicious,” said one.

“Such deep blue eyes,” said the other.

“How about a dance?”

“No, I saw him first.”

The twins played tug of war with Andre. Father Xavier shook his head as the brother looked like a mouse caught between two cats. “Sorry, ladies.” He pried Andre from their clutches. “You’ll have to find somebody else to fight over. This young man is training to be a priest.”

“Oh, such a shame,” they said in unison and then sauntered off toward their next victim.

The young Jesuit rubbed a hand through his mussed hair. “So many aggressive women in this hotel.”

Father Xavier frowned at his pupil. “God is always testing us. You have to stand your ground and be quick to deflect offerings that might tempt you away from your vows.”

They reached a quiet corner, where a lavish buffet offered delicacies of herring, mackerel, and Father Xavier’s favorite. “Ah, Russian caviar.” He spooned some on a cracker. “Now, if I were allowed only one sin…” He tossed the cracker into his mouth, savoring the salty flavors of the imported fish eggs. “Absolutely divine.” He filled up another cracker. “Care for some?”

Andre shook his head, staring down at the floor. “Father, I have a confession…”

“Let me guess, you have a craving for chocolate covered strawberries.”

“No, no, it’s not the food. I…I lied about why I haven’t slept much lately. I was afraid to tell you the truth.”

Father Xavier raised an eyebrow. “You should always tell me the truth, no matter what. In our line of work, trust between an exorcist and his assistants is equally as important as faith.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Forgiven. Now what is your confession?”

The young apprentice took a long deep breath. “Being grabbed by those twins stirred up my body in impure ways.”

“Really…” Father Xavier smiled. “Well, you’re a man at the prime of his youth.”

“That’s not all. For several nights in a row I have dreamt of performing carnal acts with two ladies.”

“Every man’s fantasy. Such dreams are quite normal.” He walked along the buffet, filling his plate.

“But, Father, these dreams are so vivid, that when I awaken I feel tempted to act upon them.” Andre looked up from the floor. “I want so much to become a priest, but I’m having difficulty upholding my vow of chastity.”

Father Xavier raised an eyebrow. “Have you remained chaste?”

“With women, yes, but when I’m alone…”

“I understand your conflict. Okay, listen to me, Andre. Thirty years ago, when I was about your age, I struggled with these very same feelings. Women are certainly tempting creatures. They stir up all sorts of wild desires. You must remember that while there is pleasure in satiating your lower desires, it taints the mind and steers you from a spiritual path.”

“But how do you have so much restraint?”

“The key is devotion to God above all. Instead of looking at all the things that tempt my lower desires, I concentrate on my mission. When you devote yourself to fulfilling your higher desires, the lower ones go away. To do this, you must perform meditations twice daily to reflect on your growth. I can’t stress enough the importance of keeping up with your daily excamen.”

The novice inflated his cheeks with a heavy breath then exhaled. “Becoming a priest takes so much discipline and sacrifice.”

The twins passed by again, fluttering their fingers, and the young Jesuit’s gaze followed them.

Father Xavier tapped him on the crown. “Concentrate on God, Andre.”

“This party is making me dizzy. If it’s all right with you, I think I’ll return to my room and meditate.”

“That better be all that you do.”

Andre blushed and descended the staircase.

Shaking his head, Father Xavier snacked at the buffet. Chastity had never been an issue for the ordained priest. Once he committed to being a man of the cloth, he no longer looked at women as a source of gratification. He had found his joy in doing the work of God so much greater. But taking a vow of poverty…that had been a greater challenge for a man who had been raised by the upper class.
God, forgive me for my sins.
He indulged in one more cracker of caviar.

77

Tom climbed the porch steps of a ramshackle cabin that sat off on its own next to the cemetery. A dream catcher with bones and feathers hung above the door, spinning in the wind.
I can’t believe I’m coming here.
He started to knock then stopped just short of rapping the door.
No, this is a mistake.
He turned to walk back down the steps then paused, gripping a post.
No, right now I need to go anywhere but home
. He went back to the door and knocked. Anika answered with a look of shock.

“Hi,” Tom said, feeling nervous, despite the fact that he was six feet tall and the native woman was no higher than his chest. “I…was wondering if we could talk.”

She was wearing her usual deerskin dress and moccasin boots. Anika stared up at him a moment with those wildcat eyes, considering his request, then, without a word, she opened the door wider. Tom removed his hat and stepped into the tracker’s private den.

He was immediately greeted by two huskies, one solid black and the other gray and white. While the other dogs stayed in their pen behind the house, these two must have gotten special privileges. As the friendly dogs sniffed Tom, he scratched each behind the ears.

“Makade, Ozaawi,” Anika said in a commanding voice. “Leave him be.”

The dogs curled up on a blanket near the stove fire. Her den smelled of sweet grass and apple cider and something delicious cooking in her tiny kitchen.

“I was just about to have a bowl of stew,” she said. “You’re welcome to some.”

“That would be great.”

While she went to her kitchen, Tom did a quick scan of her den. It was illuminated by several candles. Her furniture was sparse—two rocking chairs, a crude dining table with two chairs, a bookshelf stuffed with weathered hardback books. He read some of the spines. French titles like
Candide
and
Zadig
by Voltaire,
Le Paysan perverti
by Nicolas-Edme Rétif, and
le Diable amoureux
by Jacques Cazotte. Among the French novels were a few British encyclopedias, a dictionary, a book of Gaelic tales, and novels by Charles Dickens, Jonathan Swift, and a large collection of Jane Austen’s:
Pride and Prejudice, Sense and Sensibility, Mansfield Park,
and
Emma
.

Tom looked at Anika as if seeing her for the first time. “Have you read all these?”

“Many times. I mostly read during winter.”

“How did you get books out here?”

She spooned stew into two bowls. “My husband brought them from Montréal. He taught me to read.”

Tom shook his head.
To believe I’ve slept with this woman, yet know so little about her.
Full-blooded Ojibwa, a native tracker, practicing witch, and reader of Jane Austen—Anika Moonblood was an enigma. Tom felt his guard around her softening but he still wasn’t sure if he could fully trust her.

We come from such different worlds.

There was still a lot of savage in her. Her bow leaned in a corner beside a workbench with knives and flint arrowheads that she carved to make her own arrows. A few times Tom had seen her out back with her bow, shooting a target. She was an impeccable archer.

Above the bench was a shelf covered with wood carvings—animal figurines, pipes, and musical instruments. He picked up a flute with an ornate pattern on it that looked like a totem pole. It reminded him of the last argument that he and Chris had the night before they journeyed to Manitou Outpost. Chris had been whittling a flute. Tom had chastised him for spending time with Anika and taking on her Indian ways. His son’s passion for whittling had filled Tom with a fear that the Indians were going to change Chris into a heathen.

“Stew’s ready,” Anika said.

Tom placed the flute back on the shelf.

They ate rabbit stew at her table. Tom found himself not only enjoying the meal, but also her company. Her face softened, and for the first time Tom saw her exotic features as pretty. He remembered seeing her naked in his bedroom. Her smooth, reddish brown skin, small breasts, dark nipples. This stirred up primal urges. She gave him a look that told him she was feeling something, too.
She’s Avery Pendleton’s mistress
, Tom reminded himself. Thoughts of explaining himself to Pendleton brought Tom to his better judgment.

After supper, Anika pulled out two glasses and a flask of rum.

Tom held up his hands. “None for me.”

“Just one drink.”

“No, I’ve quit drinking.”

As she poured a glass of rum for herself, Tom told her about his battle with whiskey and his recent decision to sober up. He felt relieved to get some burdens off his chest.

She brought a fur pouch to the table and offered it to him.

“What is this?” he asked.

“A medicine totem bag. Reach in and draw one.”

He put his hand into the pouch. It was full of flat stones. He pulled out a white stone that was carved with a buffalo.

Anika cocked her head, narrowing her eyes at Tom.

“What?” he asked.

“You drew White Buffalo, the most sacred of all totems. It is your guardian, and you can call on its medicine for strength.”

Tom looked at his watch. It was getting late, but for some reason he didn’t want to leave. He felt a bond developing with this native woman, perhaps even a friendship.

78

At the masquerade party, Father Xavier walked in step to the baroque music. He spotted Avery Pendleton walking arm in arm with Lady Celeste. Another woman joined them, taking Avery’s other arm. He kissed her neck and then the two women kissed. They stepped between a red velvet curtain and disappeared into the next chamber.

Curious, Father Xavier followed. He parted the curtain. Beyond was a dark lounge with plush furniture and dozens of moving shadows. The sparse candles provided barely enough light to see what was happening. People were moaning. A woman’s curvy shape moved into the candlelight. Father Xavier gasped at the sight of her bare breasts.

He felt fingers dancing up his back. “Are you going into the Forbidden Chamber, Father?”

He turned to see the sisters wearing twin masks. “No, I was just leaving.”

The sisters moaned in disappointment then stepped between the velvet curtains.

Feeling flustered, Father Xavier exited the ballroom. He walked along the hallway outside the ballroom. Small groups were scattered about, smoking cigarettes and laughing. Who were these people? He had heard that the wealthy elite were rumored to throw orgies, but he never imagined he’d witness one. No wonder Andre was so shaken. Perhaps he could sense they were surrounded by sinners.
Father Xavier wondered about Avery Pendleton, their escort to Ontario. He was certainly a scoundrel. The man seemed to relish in sinning.
I must keep Andre as far away from that letch as possible.

The priest went to a window overlooking the snowy streets. A horse buggy traversed down Rue St. Paul. Across the street stood the Royal Theater. In the far distance stretched the harbor, the boats all docked for the night.

Tomorrow he and Andre would begin their river journey to Ontario, first by steamboat, then by canoe. How long the journey would take was uncertain. Father Xavier had never been to a wilderness fort and was curious about the rustic life that his former mentor had. He was also eager to investigate the strange disease that had wiped out Manitou Outpost. Andre had spoken of a detective who was investigating the attacks, Inspector Hatcher. He was last seen grieving the loss of his son. Father Xavier felt compassion, for he had also lost people dear to him.

A childhood memory surfaced from the dark vault of his mind. He saw an image of himself as a young boy dressed in a Catholic school sweater, knickers, and a tweed cap. He came home from school one day to the sound of screaming from the far end of the family mansion. Young Xavier hurried up the winding marble staircase, passing statues and paintings of French royalty. At the top of the stairs, he ran down the wide corridor, past his father’s library, an exotic room filled with books and stuffed hunting trophies. The screaming escalated from a room at the end of the hall, where a door was slamming open and closed.

Father Xavier snapped out of his reverie, his gaze returning to the flowing river.
Now why did that memory come up all of the sudden?

Behind him a group of men chuckled and one of them said, “
Ego agnosco ostium,
Father.”

The priest whirled around. The men in top hats had their backs to him and were laughing. He tapped one on the shoulder. “Excuse me, but did one of you just say something in Latin?”

“No.” The man laughed with his friends, as if the priest were some kind of street beggar.

“My apologies.” Father Xavier looked down the hallway. Several masqueraders were crowded outside the ballroom’s front door. From somewhere in the crowd, a man cackled, giving Father Xavier goose bumps. Despite the festive evening, he suddenly felt like something was off. Maybe the caviar wasn’t agreeing with him.

The man’s deep voice spoke again, like a whisper in his inner ear. “
Ego agnosco ostium damno tui animus, Xavier, ellebarim, ellebarim, ellebarim
.”

Feeling the hairs on his neck bristle, the priest moved toward the gathering of socialites. Through the crowd of masked men and women, he spotted one man who stood at the far wall, facing him. He wore a black cape and top hat. His face was hidden behind a white tribal mask with red outlining the eyes and mouth. He lifted a gloved hand and twirled his finger in a circle. The whispering voice returned to the priest’s ear.