Embracing Darkness (31 page)

Opening her eyes, squinting at first, she mumbled, “My boy. Where he at?”

“It’s alright, madam,” replied the priest. “Your boy is going to be just fine.” He helped Wilma to sit up, just in time for her to see Jonas, who started to whimper.

“M-m-mamma?” he called weakly.

Wilma hurried on her hands and knees to the boy. “Mamma’s here, baby,” she said. “Mamma’s right here.”

Father Poole then went over to Arthur Nichols, who’d been slowly coming out of unconsciousness, and asked, “Arthur, are you alright?”

Nichols groaned and put his hand up to his head, where some blood was trickling from the top. “Oh, I think so,” he said, “but my head is killing me.”

Father Poole dismissed it as a superficial cut. He didn’t want to seem apathetic to Nichols’ injury, but the priest knew they had no time to waste if they were going to take Jonas with them.

“Arthur, listen to me,” he began. “We don’t have a lot of time. We need to get out of here. With all the commotion in here, I’m pretty sure the law will be coming. If we’re going to do this, we’ve got to act now.”

Father Poole helped Arthur Nichols to his feet, and the two stumbled forward to Jonas, who was lying in the arms of his mother. The priest and schoolteacher knew there was another dilemma—Wilma Hodges.

The four of them limped hurriedly out of “The Watering Hole” from the back so that no one would see them. “It’s a good thing it’s a weeknight,” Arthur Nichols commented. “The bar doesn’t get much business at this time, and the front street is deserted.”

The two then explained to Wilma why they had come there in the first place. She listened attentively but skeptically, perhaps wondering why these two white men wanted to help her and her son. She kept staring at Father Poole’s white collar, and after it sank in that this was indeed a man of God and that he meant it when he said he wanted to help, her skepticism was allayed. However, she was still not ready to give her son up to strangers.

“I do wants my boy safe, but my husband gonna be powerful angry wit’ me when he fin’ out I gave our son to y’all.”

Arthur Nichols was about to respond, but Father Poole spoke first. “Mrs. Hodges, it will be fine so long as you tell your husband that you know nothing of Jonas’s whereabouts. He’ll assume that the boy ran away. You convince him not to go to the authorities. Tell him that if he does they will ask many questions, such as why he thinks Jonas would want to run away. Remind your husband that, if the police get involved and
do
find Jonas, they’ll see the scars and his ear.”

Wilma Hodges reflected on all that she heard. “It true. My man gonna kill both me and Jonas, he ever find this out.” A tear dropped down her right cheek, and she squeezed her eyes shut. “You a holy man. You swear to God you keep my boy safe? That you look afta him?”

“I swear.”

“You swear to God?”

“Yes, I swear to God.” Father Poole took her hands in his, squeezed them tightly, and added, “I give you my word. Your boy will be safe. I’ll care for him as I would any child of the Lord.”

With a heavy heart Wilma consented to the plan and slowly kissed the priest on the cheek, leaving her lips pressed against his face for several seconds as if she wanted him to know how much he meant to her at that moment.

Because it was dark outside, and the streets were clear of people and traffic, it was easy for them to get away unnoticed. Jonas ran to his mother and hugged her. She held him tight, her face contorted as if in agony.

“You gots to be strong, son,” she said. “These be good men you goin’ wit’. They gonna take good care o’ you.”

She then kissed him on the mouth and hugged him around his neck tightly. When he jerked in pain, she remembered Ezra’s assault on the boy.

The two men took Jonas and left quickly. Wilma stayed behind in the alley, collapsed on her knees in despair and realizing that things were never going to be the same again. She knew that she was going to have a lot to explain, and she didn’t know whether she’d be able to pull it off. She knew that Ezra would never rest until he found his boy, found out who took him, and when he did there’d be hell to pay.

She went back inside the bar, where Ezra and Heathcliff were still unconscious. Standing next to Heathcliff, Wilma noticed something sticking out of his coat pocket. She bent down to get a better look. It was a gun. The petty thief had never had the money before Mr. Chandler’s largesse to buy himself a real weapon.

Wilma took the gun from Heathcliff’s pocket and walked over to her husband. She pointed it at Ezra’s forehead and wrapped her finger around the trigger, squeezing slowly. “As you was gettin’ ready to hurt our boy wit’ dat poker,” she said, “I saw right den an’ dere da devil hisself in yo’ eyes. You ain’t
never
gonna hurt my baby again.”

Just then Jacob Pease returned with a policeman. “FREEZE!” the officer shouted to Wilma. “DROP YOUR WEAPON, MA’M, AND STEP THIS WAY, SLOWLY AND WITH YOUR HANDS UP!”

But Wilma Hodges didn’t flinch. Not when Pease and the policeman stormed into the bar, not when the cop screamed at her to put down the weapon, and not when Heathcliff’s gun went off, sending a bullet into Ezra Hodges’s brain. In fact, the only time Wilma Hodges did move came when the policeman fired his own gun, killing her instantly.

Jonas seemed well enough to walk as the three of them reached the bottom of Holly Hill. The boy had a worried look on his face. They had heard two gunshots in the distance. Although none dared speculate who was doing the shooting, they all were thinking the same thing.
It
had
to
have
come
from
the
bar
.

They made it up the hill in six minutes. Jonas was more confused than ever. Was he going to stay here for the rest of his life? What were those gunshots? Where were his parents now? Were they safe? Would
he
be safe on this hill? Would his father be furious with him for leaving the family? All these questions haunted Jonas while trudging up “The Path to Salvation.”

The three arrived at the rectory’s steps and were about to go up when suddenly Father Poole stopped.

“Why are we stopping, Father?” asked Arthur Nichols.

“I need to prepare Sister Ignatius for this.”

“What shall we do with the boy?” asked Mr. Nichols. “I don’t think we should leave him out here in the cold. He needs to lie down.”

“I know,” replied Father Poole. “Here, take this key in case Sister’s closed the house up for the night.”

“What’s this for?”

“It’s the key to the Benson house. Take Jonas up there and let him warm up on the living-room couch. It’ll buy me some time with Sister.”

Arthur Nichols was worried now. “What if she makes a big fuss? I mean, do you know her to be prejudiced against Negroes?”

Father Poole chuckled. “I don’t think his color will be as much of a problem as his sex. She, uhm, has a thing about the male sex. And the fact that I’m dumping two teenage boys on her in one day will be a shock.”

As Arthur Nichols and Jonas Hodges headed toward the Benson house, the priest entered the rectory. He could hear laughter coming from the common room. From its threshold Father Poole watched Sister Ignatius lift Jessica up, almost turn her upside down, and then lift the child over her own head again. Watching the scene, Father Poole thought that he had made the right decision in letting the little girl stay there.

The priest walked into the room with his hands dancing wildly in the air. “And how are the two of you doing this fine evening?” he asked.

Sister Ignatius smiled at Jessica and spoke for her in a playful voice. “We’ve had our dinner, which you’ve missed, bad, bad Father Poole.”

“Oh no!” he exclaimed with equal lightheartedness in his voice. “I guess I’ll have to wait till tomorrow morning’s breakfast, won’t I?”

The nun gave Jessica to Father Poole, who hugged her tightly and kissed her on the forehead. He then sat her on his lap and frowned at Sister Ignatius. Her smile faded as soon as she noticed Phineas’s expression.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I need to ask for your indulgence once again, Sister.”

“What’s wrong? Have you reconsidered our compromise?”

“Well, no, not exactly.”

“What do you mean? That’s no answer.”

The priest got up and placed Jessica on the cushion of the couch where he had been sitting. He then paced the room, trying to think of a way to break the news. He glanced out the large bay window of the common room from which he saw the lights on at Ben Benson’s house, something he hadn’t seen much since the old man’s death. How he missed his friend. Father Poole could still smell his cigarettes, still hear the creaking of his old rocking chair, still hear his distinctively Yankee voice. “The laughter of children on my hill” was the last thing he’d said to the priest; or something like it. Father Poole repeated the words while peering out into the evening gloom.

Sister Ignatius was confused. “Father?” she called to him, but the priest was still engrossed in his own private world of recollection. “Father,” she said louder. “Father, what are you saying?”

“Get some little ones up here. That’d be nice,” Father Poole replied in a low voice.

“Little ones? What are you saying?”

The priest turned to the nun. “That’s what Ben Benson said to me four years ago—that we need to get little ones up here.” He rushed up and grabbed her by the elbows. “So how ’bout it, Sister? What do you say?”

She shook her head in bewilderment.

Father Poole grew more and more excited at the thought. “Don’t you see what I mean, Sister? Ben envisioned it for Holly Hill. We’re up here away from the hustle and bustle of daily life, away from the harm that comes to wrecked children. Don’t you see? This is the perfect sanctuary for them!”

“For whom?” she asked, completely lost.

“Why, for Jessica and Zachary, and for others like them. Lost, alone, beaten, abandoned.” He paused for a moment and then continued, “Like another that Arthur Nichols and I found.”

Sister turned her head slightly.

“He’s a sweet boy who comes from a most terrible situation,” Father Poole added. “Of course, you’ll have to agree to let him stay.” He walked away from the nun and circled the common room. He did this twice and then made his way to where the hallway began. Now it all made sense to Phineas. “This enormous space was created for a reason, Sister,” he continued. “God wanted it big. No one knew God’s master plan. No one could explain why such a big rectory was constructed. This ‘hotel’ has been empty, dead, useless space. Well, not anymore. Oh, Sister! It must be part of God’s plan for us! For our church! For the children of Holly!”

“Father Poole,” Sister Ignatius said calmly. She breathed in deeply and then screamed, “HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?”

Ignoring the nun’s question, the priest said under his breath, “This could work.”

Sister Ignatius was getting furious. She blurted out again, “Father, will you PLEASE tell me what is going on in that head of yours?”

Jessica jumped off the couch as the two kept on talking and walked out of the common room.

“Sister,” Phineas began. “It’s really quite simple. We have a few children who need our help. So let’s just
help
them.”

She seemed perplexed.

“You see, we have Jessica and Zachary. That’s all well and good, but how can we accept these two poor lost souls and reject others who need us just as much?”

Sister Ignatius began to nod her head. “Meaning this new boy, right?”

Father Poole nodded.

“I think I’m beginning to understand what you’re getting at, Father.”

Father Poole smiled widely and continued, “Yes, Sister! We’d be achieving two goals: helping these children
and
granting Ben his dying wish. And we’ll be here to help any child who is abused or abandoned. It’s all so clear to me now, Sister. We’re blessed with so much here, and we have a chance to help these children. If you had seen what I saw this evening, Sister! A father strangling his own son. It was terrible. We saved this boy, Arthur Nichols and I.”

Sister Ignatius walked toward the bay window. “You took
another
child away from his parents and brought him here?” she asked.

“Not exactly. His mother gave him to us.”

“
Gave
him to you?”

“Sort of.”

“Where is he?”

“I had Arthur take him over to Ben’s place till I could… .”

“Persuade me?” Sister Ignatius finished his sentence. “Or perhaps
blackmail
me?”

“You know I’d never do anything like that, Sister. That is an unfair slander.”

The nun walked away from the window to collect Jessica and put her to bed. “No more unfair,” she said, “than your accusing me of the same sin earlier today. Or do I need to remind you of our previous conversation?”

“No, you needn’t remind me, Sister, but I ask you to set aside your scorn for me and think of these children. After all, isn’t that why we’re here? To help those in need?”

Sister Ignatius answered quickly. “You needn’t remind me of the reasons why I’m here.” She then called, “JESSICA! WHERE ARE YOU, SWEETHEART?” There was no response.

“JESSICA!” Father Poole called. “ZACHARY!” he shouted. “ZACHARY! JESSICA!” Sounding apprehensive, he asked, “Where’s Zachary, Sister?”

She thought for a moment. “He said he wasn’t hungry at dinner and was going to bed.”

They ran up the stairs, calling out both Jessica’s and Zachary’s names. Upon reaching the second floor, they went immediately to Zachary’s room. There, with the door open, Jessica was sitting on Zachary’s lap. He was bouncing her on his knee.

“Zachary,” Father Poole exclaimed. “Why on earth didn’t you answer when you heard me calling you?”

Zachary, still laughing, bounced Jessica again. “She really likes this. See how high I can get her? Almost over my head.”

Sister Ignatius snatched Jessica away from him and stormed out of the room.

“What the hell’s her problem?” said Zachary. “I was just havin’ a little fun. Jesus Christ!”