The Mazovia Legacy (30 page)

But the young couple who hurried into this church on this March day did not wish to be married. As Father Lessard came out of the confessional and kneeled to kiss his embroidered priestly scarf, he saw immediately from their hurried step and grave faces that there would be more to it than that.

*

Natalia's intuition was correct. It was easier than Delaney had thought it would be. They parked the car in front of L'Eglise de L'Annonciation, among all the other cars with ski racks and skis on their roofs. The cars were angle-parked, front wheels to curb, as they all used to be in such rural towns years ago. Rue Principale was as busy as always at this time of the year, and the intense activity made them feel safely anonymous. They went through the massive oak main doors of the church and saw an old priest coming out of the confessional. A penitent, an even older woman wearing a farmer's rubber boots and a down ski jacket, hurried past them to a pew where she knelt and began her Hail Marys. Delaney wondered what sins were being committed these days on Quebec farms in winter.

They did not discuss any further what was to be done. Natalia simply went up to the old priest and said, in French: “Father, may we speak to you for a moment?”

The old man looked at them both carefully. He had a shock of very white wavy hair, having lost none of it to baldness despite his age. He pushed his right hand over it to smooth it — a young man's gesture, impossible to unlearn after decades of use. He answered in English.

“Do you wish confession,
madame?
” The priest looked over at Delaney, wondering, apparently, what role this older companion may have had in the young woman's sins.

“No, Father. Thank-you,” Natalia said. “We have a small matter we would like to discuss with you in private somewhere, if you wouldn't mind. Are you very busy?”

“
Madame,
I very much wish I could be busier in this church. It is empty today as you can see. It is too often empty. Would you like to speak in here? The church is as private a place as you can find these days.”

“Well, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps we could go somewhere else. In an office, perhaps?” Natalia said.

“
D'accord
. Come with me. I am Father Lessard.” He didn't ask for their names. They walked toward the huge wooden altar. The wall behind it had been painted a dramatic shade of mauve. Small floodlights bathed it brilliantly even during the day. A large crucified Jesus with a wooden crown of thorns was raised high on the wall. The odour of decades of incense and floor wax lay heavily everywhere. Red lamps burned dimly. The faithful had lit candles before various saints.

The priest took them through a door to the left of the altar, and they were in a much warmer hallway, painted yellow, with blond woodwork. Heated air wafted through old brass registers set in the floor. There was an office with a door of frosted glass. Natalia and Francis sat on metal folding chairs. Father Lessard leaned against the edge of the gun-metal office desk, uncomfortable, perhaps, with the formality of taking the seat behind it. A framed photograph of Pope John Paul II was in pride of place, and there was the requisite large statue of Jesus baring his ruby-red sacred heart.

“You have troubles,” Father Lessard said.

“Not troubles. Not really. No,” Natalia said.

Father Lessard looked ever so slightly disappointed at this news.

“How can I help you today?”

Natalia looked over at Delaney. He saw no reason for her not to continue. He shrugged and nodded slightly. Father Lessard missed very little in such interviews. He looked over at Delaney.

“It is something very grave,
monsieur?
” he asked.

“Something important,” Delaney said. “To us and some others. An old man who has died.Two old men who have died.”

“My uncle was married in this church,” Natalia said.

“When,
madame?
”

“Many years ago. In the 1950s.”

“I was priest here then,” he said. “I have been here a very long time.”

Natalia's glance at Delaney showed her excitement.

“Then you may be able to help us,” she said. “My uncle's name was Stanislaw Janovski. He was Polish. He came to Canada after the war and he was married here to a Polish woman, Margot. They would have had a small group with them, mainly Poles. Do you remember anything like that. From the 1950s?”

“I remember it very well,
madame
.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I was a young priest then, performing many marriages. But your uncle, I remember very, very well.”

“Why would that be, Father? Among so many people you married then?” Delaney asked.

“Perhaps it should be you who tells me why that might be so, my friends,” Father Lessard said. “Why I might remember this Polish man so well.”

“He came back to see you another time after that, I think,” Natalia said. “Is that correct?”

“When would that have been,
madame?
”

“In 1959.”

Father Lessard said nothing at all.

“Do you remember my uncle coming back to see you in 1959, Father?”

“You will have to refresh my memory.”

“He was a solider, a pilot, in the Polish Air Force. He flew with a squadron of Poles out of Scotland. Their squadron was called Mazovia, after a province in Poland. Where Warsaw is located. Did he tell you about that?”

“Possibly.”

“Did he tell you about a special password they all used in those years? So no one could damage their planes?”

Delaney thought he could detect a slight reddening of Father Lessard's already ruddy face. Nothing else. “A password?”

“Yes.”

“And what would that password have been, my dear?”

“Mazovia for Poland.”

There was a long pause. Father Lessard looked closely at Natalia, and then at Delaney. He crossed his arms and leaned his head back slightly, studying them. Then a broad smile broke out over his face. He looked genuinely pleased.

“It has been a very long time since I heard that phrase, my dear. It is a very unusual phrase. Mazovia for Poland.”

“You've heard it before?”

“Yes. Of course. In 1959. Just as you said.” Now it was Natalia's turn to smile. “My goodness,” she said.

“You are in the right place,” Father Lessard said. “I knew that someone would eventually come. After all these years.”

“My goodness,” Natalia said again.

“What is your name,
madame?
”

“Natalia. And Janovski like my uncle.”

“And yours,
monsieur?
”

“Delaney. Francis Delaney.”

“What became of your uncle, Natalia?” the priest asked. “After I married him? And after I saw him that last time.”

“He worked at various things. He was a broadcaster for a long while. For Radio Canada. And this winter, he died.”

“He would have been a very old man.”

“Yes he was.”

“And his wife?”

“She died before him. Many years before.”

“Usually it is the other way,
non?
”

“I suppose.”

“And he asked you to do something for him before he died?”

“Not exactly, Father. We found out after he died that there was something important that we should do for him.”

This seemed to trouble the priest somewhat.

“He didn't tell you what he wanted done?”

“No,” Natalia said. “But in letters he had written it was clear there was something important hidden, something that he would have wanted us to take care of for him.”

“For him?”

“For whoever deserves to have it?”

“And who might that be, Natalia?” the priest asked.

“We will have to decide that when we find it.” Delaney wished Natalia could be slightly less frank. He did not want the priest to have a crisis of conscience just now. Her look in his direction told him she knew that he was thinking this.

“My uncle was murdered, Father Lessard,” she said.

“Ah,” the priest said.

“He was murdered because of this secret he had. And he would have wanted us to make sure these things he hid with you were made safe.”

“His oldest friend was also murdered because of this, father,” Delaney said. “We want to make sure that was not for nothing.”

“Murder,” said the priest.

“Three murders,” Delaney said. “A priest as well.”

“
Mon Dieu, seigneur,
” Father Lessard said.

“Where are those things you hid for him, Father?” Natalia asked.

“What will be done with them?” the priest asked again.

“We will make sure that they never fall into the wrong hands, Father Lessard,” Delaney said.

“It was the Communists they were afraid of then,
monsieur
.”

“There are even more people to be afraid of these days, Father,” Delaney said. “It is not as simple as it was then.”

“That is true,
monsieur.
”

“You must trust us that we'll do the right thing. We can't just leave these things hidden away forever,” Natalia said.

“Some things are perhaps better left hidden,” the priest said.

“Not these things, Father,” said Delaney. “Other people have found out there may be something valuable involved here, and they may eventually come.”

“Here?”

“Possibly,” Delaney said.

“With the passwords?” the priest asked.

“No,” Natalia said firmly. “Only we have the password.”

“Perhaps I should get advice now on this.” Father Lessard said. “From the Church.”

“That would be a very bad idea, Father,” said Delaney. “It is Natalia's uncle who took responsibility for this. Only people who know the whole story can make the right decision.” Father Lessard was wavering.

“I will die soon too,” he said suddenly. “I would have to decide myself what to do with this information.”

“Yes,” Delaney said. “You would.”

“My uncle was the one who trusted you with this, Father,” Natalia said. “I loved him very much and I know he would want you to pass these things on to me.”

They waited. The priest waited, for what seemed a very long time.

“They are not here, my dear,” he said eventually. “They were never here.”

“What do you mean?” Natalia said. “Please.”

“We thought it wiser to make them even harder to find. That afternoon when they came. So I arranged for them to be hidden in another church. They are in that church in a very small town some way from here. In Saint-Jean-de-Mantha.”

“I know where that is,” Delaney said.

“You must go to the only church in the village. By the lake. The priest there will help you.”

“Someone else knows about this?” Natalia said.

“He will know as little as he needs to know. He was not there then. I prevailed upon another priest in that parish to help us. Then I went along with your uncle in the little truck he and Duplessis's man were driving that day. Your uncle and myself only. Duplessis's man we left behind here, to wait. I found a hiding place for their goods and then the other priest and I went away while your uncle did his work. It was very heavy work, he said, and it took him a long time. I cannot tell you what he hid there. But I know where it is hidden.”

“And the other priest?” Delaney asked.

“Dead now,
monsieur
. But he never knew more than I told him. He did not know what was hidden in his church or who the men with me that day were. But he is dead now.”

“Has anyone ever come to you before us with the password?”

“No,
monsieur
. Never. You are the first.”

“How do you know the things are still there?” Father Lessard regarded Delaney with what looked like pity.

“Because they were entrusted to a priest,
monsieur,
” he said.

“How will we get these things then?” Natalia asked.

“There is a new priest there now, Natalia. A young man. I will tell him to help you.”

“Does he know there is something in his church?”

“No. It is well hidden.”

“And he will let us go in there? He'll help us on this?”

“Yes, Natalia.”