Embracing Darkness (37 page)

Zachary simply watched as Father Poole grew closer with Jonas and Jessica. When Phineas and Jonas climbed the tree together, he would walk away on his own. The maple was something that Zachary always avoided, and he had his reasons. Perhaps it was a symbol of an affinity between plant and animal, which Zachary, who once loved to destroy vegetation, could never understand. Or maybe it was much simpler than that. The maple had always represented a union with those who climbed her. It was during those moments of bonding that Zachary could never take part.

Who
cares
about
climbing
up
a
dumb
old
tree
anyway?
thought Zachary.
There
ain’t
no
more
birds
in
it.
And
even
when
they
come
back
in
the
spring,
I
still
won’t
need
to
climb
it.
I’ll
always
have
my
slingshot
.

By now Jonas had become so confident in climbing the tree that he could ascend just as high as Father Poole, and even do it blindfolded. Jessica, meanwhile, would stay at the bottom and watch.

On the church front the thirty or so parishioners had heard through the grapevine, courtesy of Sister Ignatius, that the two boys were orphaned Catholic children from Exeter who came every weekend to help out at St. Andrew’s. No one thus questioned why a black boy and a white boy who closely resembled a rat were at the church. Because he lived much of his childhood as a recluse and because not many Catholics lived in Holly, Zachary went undetected by any of Father Poole’s flock who might recall having seen the boy about town once or twice.

About a week before Christmas, Zachary came out of his room, which had finally been furnished with a small bed, and observed Father Poole walking out of the only closet in the hallway on that floor. He saw the priest take from his pocket a large key and lock the door. Zachary had seen him do this once before and had stayed in his room, peeking into the hallway to see what the priest was up to.

This time he walked up to Phineas, more friendly than usual. “What’s in the closet, Father Fin?” Zachary asked, using the pet name that he had invented for Father Poole, which the priest loved to hear both Zachary and Jonas call him. In fact, within the last week Argyle Hobbs had begun using that appellation.

I’m, uh…,” began Phineas, at a loss for what to say. “There’s a secret inside here, Zach.”

Zachary had allowed everyone to start calling him this, as they were all becoming less formal. They now were Father Fin, Sis, Zach, Hobby, Jones, and Keatsie, yet Jonas always referred to Zach as Zachary, and the same went for Zachary, who even just days before Christmas didn’t care to befriend a Negro.

“A secret, you say, Father Fin?” Zachary answered. “And would this secret have anything to do with Christmas?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then you can tell me, Father. I’m good at keeping a secret.”

“Normally I’d agree, but it’s never a good idea to let someone from whom you’re keeping a secret in on it.”

Zachary thought for a second and then knew exactly what Father Poole meant. “Alright, Father Fin,” Zachary replied. “Say, that’s some key. Ain’t I seen that key ’round here somewhere before? I know! That’s the master key to all the rooms, ain’t it? What are you going to do with it? I mean, it sure is big, too big to keep in your pocket without its becoming a nuisance. Now maybe you should be putting it somewhere, like under the rug or in a vase. My daddy used to keep the key to his gun drawer under the rug in our living room.”

Zachary was right. It was the key to all the locks on all the doors in the rectory, including the lock to Father Poole’s bedroom. And Zachary was right about its being too big to carry around. Father Poole had never kept the key on him for that very reason.

Zachary backed up and skipped down the stairs’ first three steps. Then he stopped on the fourth step and stomped lightly, softer and softer, as if to signal that he was almost downstairs. He then heard Father Fin upstairs walking away from the closet door. Zachary tiptoed back upstairs so as not to be heard. He approached the top step and turned his head to the right, where he saw Phineas place the large key over the doorway that led up to the second set of stairs to the priest’s bedroom.

“YOU DID WHAT?” Sister Ignatius shouted, while she and Phineas were alone in his office. “How could you? With what money?”

“SHHH! I don’t want the boys to hear,” replied Father Poole.

“How could you have bought twenty dollars worth of toys?” she retorted. “Where did you get the money? From the past few months of collections?”

“Sister, sit down.”

The two of them sat on the
faux
leather couch near the far wall of Father Poole’s office. “These boys,” he began, “probably have never had a nice Christmas. And I realize that Christmas is more about the spiritual than the commercial, but these two deserve a little more, I think. Besides, I got a few things for Jessica as well. She’ll have a merry Christmas along with Jonas and Zachary.”

Sister Ignatius folded her arms as she always did when becoming cross.

“Sister, think of the misery these two children have endured,” said Father Poole. “
We
are their family now. We’ve got to do everything we can for them.”

“But don’t you think we’re already doing that, Father?” she replied. “We’re paying blackmail each month to keep the cops from blabbing. We’re going through twice as much food with those two, and people are starting to ask questions. Why, just yesterday Mrs. Bainbridge came up to me in Mason’s General and asked how long the two of them have been orphaned. While I scrambled for an answer, she narrowed her eyes, tilted her head, and acted as though she were Sherlock Holmes about to denounce a suspect.”

“We just have to be careful about what we say,” replied the priest. “Perhaps we need to sit down again, just the two of us, and hatch out a history of the two boys to avoid contradiction.”

“Father, this is getting too complicated.”

“I think we’re doing a fantastic job.”

“And I will ask you again, since I believe I have a right to know. I do keep your books, after all. WHERE DID YOU GET THE MONEY FOR THOSE GIFTS? We’re strapped as it because of the five dollars we have to hold aside for Ransom each month, and that doesn’t include the initial ten dollars in bribery to the son-of-a-bitch!”

Father Poole got up from the couch, walked behind his desk, and thought for a minute, mulling over a revelation that would surely change the way Sister Ignatius and anyone else for that matter would think of him.

“You’ve noticed,” he broached, “how the collection plate has been especially low lately?”

Sister Ignatius knew what he meant without his having to say it, yet she was incredulous. “You’re siphoning from the collection? I can’t believe that!”

“What do you want from me? This hasn’t been easy for me either, Sister. I’m trying to make this a home for three children. I have to give into corruption to do it. I feel like such a hypocrite. I have to prepare sermons about honesty, integrity, and the right path to salvation, while I remind myself every day that the ends justify the means, even though every fiber of my being has always told me that that’s not a good enough reason. I’m a hypocrite, Sister. Our bank account indicates that it’s the lowest it’s been since I was appointed to St. Andrew’s! And then I noticed that last week’s collection was five times what we usually take in.”

“It’s still stealing, Father,” protested Sister Ignatius, “no matter how you cut it. Those funds are for church repairs, our food, and Argyle’s salary. We have to send a percentage of that money to Manchester. Have you been cutting back on that? It’s Church money, and what have you been doing with it? Paying Ransom’s blackmail and buying Christmas gifts for the kids. That money isn’t to help pay for your home for abused and abandoned boys!”

They briefly turned away from each other, as boxers do when they return to their respective corners after a round. “I see, Sister,” said Phineas. “And where do you suggest I get the money from? The diocese gives us hardly enough to get by.”

Sister Ignatius opened her mouth wide as if she were going to respond, but Father Poole beat her to it. “I’m not saying I don’t love Jessica,” he said. “I adore her and wouldn’t want to lose her. But what I’m saying, Sister, is that we are now breaking the law on many counts. We’re keeping three children who should now be wards of the state. We’re paying a bribe or blackmail, depending on how you look at it. So if you’ve got a better idea about how we should spend the parish’s money and still keep our head above water, then I’m all ears.”

He was so close to her face that he could smell her perfume, which she applied only because she hated the smell of the pillows and bedroom in Ben Benson’s house. She had always said how they smelled like mothballs. Ironically she loved the aroma of turpentine, paint, and glue but hated that of camphor.

The two kept their eyes locked on one another, both beginning to breathe heavily. Father Poole couldn’t detect any trace of glue on Sister Ignatius’s person, and it showed in her comportment. When under chemical influence she always seemed patronizing, yet now, clutching a copy of
Sonnets
of
the
Portuguese,
she was balanced and appealing. Phineas liked her best when she was sober and clear-thinking. That is to say, he liked her just the way she was.

He tilted his head a little to his right, and she arched her neck back, her face expressing both surprise and anticipation. She clenched her fists tightly, her sharp nails digging crescent moons into the word
Portuguese
as the priest drew his mouth closer to hers. He closed his eyes, as did she. Before either one knew it, their lips met.

Finally, she gave in first, bringing her hand to the back of his head and pressing his lips harder into hers. He, in turn, pulled her body close until her chest merged with his. Then, as if they had planned it, the two simultaneously withdrew their lips, released each other, and pushed away. Their eyes locked on one another, and neither was able to speak. Father Poole said the first thing that came to mind.

“I’m a virgin,” he blurted out, embarrassed, as if talking to a woman who was married with eight children.

Phineas sank into a brief, yet utterly catatonic state and recoiled in shame. He truly lost his ability to verbalize a single word. Her previously clandestine femininity had finally reached out to Phineas and latched onto him with unyielding claws. When he was once again able to think clearly, he twisted his torso around, and she was right behind him. This time their noses touched. Again she grabbed him by the back of the head and pressed her warm lips against his. For several seconds the two just stood there, fondling one another. He pulled his head away briefly so that he could undo her blouse. She meanwhile removed his white collar and pulled off his glasses, throwing both over the desk and onto his chair, while he pulled off her blouse and reached back to unclasp her bra.

The rectory was quiet except for Argyle Hobbs’s occasional slamming of the front door and Mrs. Keats’s walloping of pots and pans. Jonas was watching Jessica in the Benson house, which was where Sister Ignatius had left the two of them. Everyone was busy doing something, even Zachary.

There were flurries in the wind, and the forecast predicted snow. This would be the season’s first snowstorm in southern New Hampshire, which for the region was long overdue. People in town attributed this winter’s late start to the past summer’s having extended into October. Those who’d said that a longer summer would mean a “doozie” of a winter were hoping for a blizzard, just for the sake of being able to say they’d been right all along.

Before the snow was due to hit, Argyle was busy with grounds work when suddenly he could be heard shouting, “GODDAMN IT! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! SON OF A BITCH!”

Father Poole and Sister Ignatius immediately leaped up from the sofa in his office. The two dressed feverishly. Father Poole rounded the desk and felt around the floor for his glasses and collar. As they went to leave the office together, Phineas pushed her back inside and said, “No! Let me go first. Wait a bit before you come out.” He then kissed her on the mouth.

When Father Poole entered the hallway, Argyle Hobbs was standing in the center of the foyer and shaking his head back and forth. “GONE! GONE! GONE! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT!” he shouted.

“What’s gone, Argyle?” said Father Poole.

“MY GODDAMN TOOLS! EVERY LAST MOTHERFUCKIN’ ONE OF ’EM!” he exclaimed. “Someone got into my tool closet out back. When I came over to get me a hammer to fix the stable roof on that there nativity scene, my entire box o’ tools was gone!”

Just then Sister Ignatius emerged with her headdress on backwards and strands of hair sticking out from beneath it. Taking advantage of the fact that Argyle Hobbs had his back to her, she tiptoed over to the dining-room entrance and stepped on a creaky plank in the floor. Hearing the noise, Argyle turned and saw her. She immediately walked forward, trying to make it appear that she was coming from the kitchen.

“Now what’s all this fuss about, Argyle?” she said, acting as cool as could be.

Argyle quickly noticed the messy way she’d put on her headdress but dismissed it as trivial compared to the problem at hand.

“What’s all the hullabaloo?” she added.

“Argyle’s tools have gone missing,” Father Poole responded amiably to her. “He’d forgotten to lock the tool closet out back and… .”

“I TELL YA SOME FUCKER STOLE ’EM!” burst out the groundskeeper. “I AIN’T NEVER FORGOT TO LOCK ANYTHIN’. THAT DOOR WASN’T JIMMIED OR BROKE. THAT FUCKER HAD HISSELF A
KEY
!” Limping over to the front door, he opened it and pointed down at “The Path to Salvation.” “See there? The snow’s sta’tin’ to fall real good. There’ll be footprints down that there path. I ain’t gonna rest till I get that son of a bitch in my hands and thrash his little hide!”