Embracing Darkness (76 page)

“I’m afraid so,” answered Dr. Honigmann. “Do you know her to be sexually active?”

Having raised Jessie with a sense of morality, Father Poole knew that she would never do anything to shame herself or St. Andrew’s. He knew that the pregnancy had to be a result of her assault, and as that unavoidable conclusion dawned on him he sank his face into his hands and began to weep. “How long?” asked the priest after he had recovered his composure.

“A little more than two months. I’d gauge it at about ten weeks.”

“Where’s Ransom?” asked Father Poole, wiping his nose.

“He left a few minutes before you arrived. I told him that the girl was weak and needed rest and that I’d wait with her until you came to collect her. I also told him that you and I go way back and that you are a man to be trusted.”

“So he doesn’t know she’s… .”

Honigmann closed his eyes and shook his head slowly.

“Thank God for that,” said the priest. Father Poole circled the room a few times in deep thought and then came back to the subject of the police officer. “Why was Captain Ransom hanging around here?” Phineas asked.

“He brought the girl in. She was with him when she collapsed.”

“Collapsed? Is she… ?”

“She sustained no visible injuries from her fall. The Captain assured me that he caught her before she hit the pavement, so I believe she’s going to be just fine.”

“Can I see her?” Phineas asked.

“Certainly,” replied Dr. Honigmann, letting the two of them have their privacy.

Father Poole wanted to hug Jessie, but he knew that she wouldn’t be receptive to his physical approach. Instead, he stood in front of the closed door and barely made eye contact. He waited for her to speak, observing how she was in a state of shock after hearing the news that she was carrying the child of a psychotic.

More uneasy than ever from the lack of communication between them, Father Poole said: “You know, it seems a great tragedy when two people who are as close as you and I can be as quiet as we are. That tells me… .”

Having heard this sermonette dozens of times, Jessie anticipated where it was headed. “Because we seem,” she ventriloquized, “as if we have nothing special to share with one another.”

“That’s right,” said the priest, “and I think you do have something special to share with me.”

Jessie waited to answer. “It’s sad, Father Fin, but I hate what’s inside me.”

“Do you mean to tell me,” responded Phineas, “that you have no intention of giving birth to this child? Abortion is
murder
, not to mention illegal.”

Jessie hopped off the examination table abruptly. “I can always jump off the rectory roof,” she said angrily, putting on her coat and shoes.

“JESSIE!” Father Poole exclaimed.

She froze in place and began to button up her coat.

“What can I do?” he asked softly. Although she said nothing, Phineas understood what she wanted and, unbeknownst to Jessie, knew he could help her. “Jessie,” he said mournfully. “I can’t… .”

“Then you may know someone who can.”

“But it’s murder.”

She approached Father Poole and put her face against his. “I WANT IT OUT OF ME!” she cried.

He paused for several seconds.

“If I do this for you,” replied the priest, “will you stop hating me?”

Jessie withdrew a few paces from the man whom she loved as her own father. “Father Fin,” she said, “I never hated you. I’ve been mad at you for more reasons than I can count, too many to go into right now.”

Father Poole took her hand in his and squeezed it, managing a smile, however forced it was.

Father Fin and Jessie were back on the hill by lunchtime. They didn’t sit down with us at the dining-room table, having returned just to get some things together.

“We can’t stay,” Father Poole announced. Anxiety began setting in for all of us. “I’m putting Mr. White in charge,” he added.

After the priest said this, Charlie Ryder ran from the dining room in tears. Father Poole disregarded the boy’s distress, shoving pieces of fruit from the table basket into his satchel.

“I don’t have time for nonsense, boys,” said Phineas. “Jessie and I are off to Portsmouth for something important. I don’t want any of you to give Mr. White a hard time, understand?” He rotated his head from left to right. “By the way, where
is
Mr. White?”

“Killing rabbits,” Lou said.

“What do you mean?” asked Father Poole.

“He said yesterday how rabbits were eating up the shrubs. He was going to kill them for it.”

“But the shrubs are dead now. It’s autumn,” replied Father Poole, counting the money in his wallet.

“I guess that was just his excuse for killing them,” I said. “I think he likes doing stuff like that.”

Father Poole shook his head as if to indicate that he didn’t want to hear any more. This indifference didn’t surprise any of us. We continued eating our leftover roast chicken and mashed potatoes. As they left the rectory Father Poole called out for us to mind what Mr. White said in his absence. The stranger must have been out in front, continuing his attack on the autumn bunnies, because within half a minute of Father Poole and Jessie’s departure in came the most unwelcome of people.

Jack White sat down and scooped up an oversized helping of mashed potatoes. As he ate, he snatched a large chicken breast off the serving dish. Still dressed in his Nazi uniform, he consumed nearly all the remaining food.

In a show of solidarity with his brothers and defiance toward Jack White, Charlie Ryder returned to the dining room and boldly sat opposite him. “He calls us ‘piggies,’ but he’s the one who eats like a hog.” the boy commented under his breath. Without knowing what hit him, Charlie fell onto the floor as Jack White kicked the boy’s chair out from under him.

Sitting side by side, Father Poole and Jessie began their journey to Portsmouth in complete silence. The bus ride from Holly was only twenty minutes, but due to the tension between them twenty minutes seemed like an eternity.

Father Poole took a cheese sandwich from his satchel and offered it to Jessie, but she declined it. She was still queasy and worried that eating anything, coupled with the rocking of the bus, might make her throw up again. The sandwich was not nearly enough to tempt Phineas, so he placed it carefully back into his leather bag and refastened the lock. He glanced over in Jessie’s direction several times but failing to get her attention, finally sat back in his seat and watched cow after cow and horse after horse along the New Hampshire countryside.

The bus arrived at the terminal in Portsmouth a little after 1:30 p.m. Because it was the last stop, everyone scrambled to get their things together and exit as fast as they could. Jessie was one of the worst offenders, pushing her way to the front of the bus and trying to stay as far ahead of Father Poole as she could.

Once off the bus Jessie looked around to see whether she could find any clues as to why Father Poole had wanted to take her here. This particular part of Portsmouth was run-down and derelict. With no other choice but to find Father Poole, Jessie walked back toward the bus door where the priest emerged as if the two had planned to meet at that precise moment.

“What are we doing here, Father?” asked Jessie.

“Patience, child,” he replied. “First things first. We’re going to visit someone from my childhood.”

Jessie frowned. “What?” she asked. “We came all the way over here just so you could… .”

Father Poole stopped her, however, with an upraised hand and just six words. “We’re here to see my father.”

They arrived at 35 Faulkner Street a short time later. Phineas couldn’t help but survey the façade of the house as they approached the walkway. Everything seemed so much smaller and older than how he remembered it, and the property as a whole had a neglected feel to it, as if it hadn’t been lived in for some time.

As they climbed the four stairs, the wood beneath their feet creaked loudly. For a moment Jessie was afraid that each step would be her last and that she would plunge clear through the stairs down to the crawlspace beneath the porch, where yet another perverted fiend would be lurking.

“You grew up here?” Jessie said, clearly repulsed by the decrepit and decaying appearance of the house.

“Yep,” replied Father Poole proudly. “I spent the first part of my life in this house. This is where I was born, where I was raised, and where I learned the meaning of life.”

Father Poole set down his satchel and rapped on the front door. He knocked so hard, in fact, that several loose pieces of paint leaped off the wood. “Pop?” called Father Poole. “Pop, it’s me, Phineas.”

Jessie had never before heard Father Poole sound so much like a human being. She also thought it strange that a Father, meaning a priest, would have a father, meaning a parent, of his very own whom he called Pop.

“Phineas?” a voice called from within. “Is that you, boy? Is it really you?”

The priest took it upon himself to open the front door, which he apparently knew would be unlocked, picked up his satchel, and entered. An old man appearing to be in his eighties and hunched over walked toward the front door, navigating with the help of two canes.

“Can it really be you, my boy?” Dr. Robert Poole asked again.

“It’s me, Pop.”

“Well, come here, son, and give your old father a hug and a kiss.” said the relic, sounding elated.

Father Poole obliged the old man and, walking the rest of the way to him, leaned over and pecked him on the cheek.

“It’s been a long time, Pop,” said Phineas.

“Too long,” replied the old man, “but I can’t tell you how happy I am to finally see you.”

Just then Robert Poole noticed Jessie standing by the front door. His eyesight was poor, but Robert was able to make out her small frame and young face, recognizing her as a young girl in her teens.

“I see you brought a friend with you,” said Dr. Poole. “Reminds me of the days when we helped girls her age who were in trouble.”

Father Poole took the old man by the arm and whispered in his ear, “I need to talk to you, Pop.”

“How’s that?” Robert Poole shouted back at Phineas.

Jessie didn’t know what to make of all this. To her it seemed that Father Poole had brought her to his childhood home so she could meet his dying father, perhaps as a lesson in leading a righteous and long life.

With the help of his son, Robert limped back into the living room and eased himself down onto the sofa, where his wife had spent most of her time many years earlier. Father Poole sat on one side while Jessie sat on the other. Robert Poole took a Lucky Strike from the cigarette box on the table along with a match that was lying next to it. With a shaky hand he placed the cigarette between his lips, ran his fingernail against the head of the match, and lit up.

“Now,” the old man began, “what brings you two here?”

“Pop,” Father Poole said in a loud voice so that he wouldn’t have to repeat anything. “Jessie is a ward of mine. She’s been living in my church since her infancy.”

As Phineas said this, Robert smiled, nodded his head gently, and turned around to face Jessie. He patted her on the thigh with the same hand in which he was holding his cigarette. “I hope my son is good to you, dear. You seem like such a nice girl. A bit young for him, but a nice girl nonetheless.”

Jessie frowned and turned away from the old man.

“Pop!” shouted Phineas, and Robert Poole slowly turned back to his son. “That’s not it at all. She’s a child, and I’m a priest. Things like that don’t happen between people like us!”

“Nonsense,” said Robert Poole. “A man is capable of anything, Phineas. Didn’t I teach you anything about life and the choices a man makes?”

“Yes, Pop. You taught me all that from an early age, perhaps too early, but now is not the time to rehash the past. We need your help.”

As Phineas related the entire story of the last few months, Robert Poole hunched forward, taking an occasional drag on his cigarette and absorbing all the information. When Phineas was done, Robert leaned forward, put as much of his weight as he could on his canes, and tried to force himself up. Jessie and Father Poole each grabbed an arm. The old man groaned as he rose and attempted to straighten his upper body.

“I thought you were out of that business, Phineas,” said Robert Poole coldly. “Isn’t that the whole reason why you became a priest? Isn’t that why you’ve shunned me all these years, because of the very thing for which you now claim to need my help?”

“You can do an abortion?” asked Jessie, stupefied.

The old man cackled loudly.

“Pop, this girl needs your help. I’ve been out of the loop for so long that I don’t know where else to turn. I know you haven’t done this kind of thing in a while, but I was wondering whether maybe you knew anyone at the hospital who could help us.”

The room fell silent as Robert Poole turned slowly to face his son. The scraping of his two canes against the unpolished wood floor in the living room at 35 Faulkner Street made Jessie feel so uneasy that she began to get nauseous again. She walked over to a window and tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Robert Poole bitterly. “I haven’t worked at or spoken to anyone in that hospital for over twenty years. I don’t even think there’s a single person I know who works there. You need to be
in
the hospital to have all the right connections; you need to know people well enough to the point where they’ll stick their necks out to help you with something like that. I haven’t been a part of that circle in years and years. What made you think I could help you, boy? And why is it that you come to me now, old and sick as I am, after years of staying away? Is it only because you need something from me?”

Robert Poole then limped toward Jessica. “Look at her,” he continued, “someone you know and love. It’s only now that you recognize the necessity of the procedure and its importance. When it was all those girls you didn’t know, they were simply lumps of flesh from whom we removed their fetuses. And when you finally realized through religious indoctrination that this was what the zealots called a sin, you denied future women and young girls the right to be free of an unwanted pregnancy. What has changed now, Phineas? What makes this okay now when forty years ago it was so terrible a thing that you denied the existence of your own father and cut me off without another word? You are a hypocrite. What’s worse, you are untrue to yourself. Look at her. LOOK! I did what I did because of the compassion I felt for those girls, the same compassion you feel for this girl. I pitied your own mother. I mean your
real
mother, Edith Fisher, the one who bore you. I offered her my services because she came to me hurt and betrayed, not by me, the man who’d planted his seed in her, but by your pernicious sham of a mother. I offered Edith a way out. I gave her that option, but she wanted to have you. And have you she did, along with… .”