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1960's central California, a teen'discovery of a local priest's diary leads to disaster |
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This is the story of a teenage boy who accidentally discovers the local parish priest's diary. He uses it to blackmail the priest into a sexual relationship, which leads to a disastrous chain of events. The setting is small town Central California, farm and ranch country, in the mid-1960's. Cesar Chavez's drive to bring human rights to Hispanic farmhands is controversial, and their children are introduced to the local public schools, somewhat in rivalry with the time-honored Catholic monopoly on migrant worker education in the area. |
| CONFESSIONS Chapter One Late summer afternoon, beautiful day, and Police Chief James “Big Jim” Rushing, 50-year-old hard-weathered ex-football player, ex-farmer and now head of the local 4-member police force, is cruising the dusty main street of Berdon’s Creek, California. His team consists of himself; Deputy Bill Sykes (thin, pale 35-ish with a high-pitched nasal whine of a voice that could rival fingernails dragging hard on a chalkboard for sound quality, and a permanent wad of Copenhagen Wintergreen tucked between his left cheek and jaw), Trucker and Tommy. Oh, and Old Tex, but he hardly counts since he’s just about to retire anyway. Deputy Bill has been carrying a not-so-hidden torch for Jim’s wife, Sharon, since high school. He came to Berdon’s Landing from Arkansas to “visit” (try and win her back) about a year before Little Jim was born; and just never left. Bill will swear to your face today that Big Jim got Sharon pregnant a couple weeks before he showed up, just out of pure jealousy. “A man could take one look and tell Sharon on was crazy about me…” Deputy Bill is at present temporarily and unhappily consigned to dispatch/back-up while the new guy (Tommy Stephens, more on him in a minute) gets trained. And then there’s Trucker. Aloysius (really) “Trucker” Jones, a very large and muscular mountain of a man of indeterminate age, with scowling salt-n-pepper brows settled over wide-set, startlingly blue-hazel eyes (“the color of water” Sharon would say, “like a clear, dappled mountain stream on a warm spring day”). Sharon can talk like that for days, in her not-whispery clear voice that sounds like music. Anyway, Trucker has ebony skin with a dark mahogany sheen in the sunlight, and a voice like Smokey Robinson. Trucker is semi-retired (“Been truckin’ since I was 16 years old, and I’m just flat TAHRD ah- drahvin’” he told Jim the night they met at the Cattle Call. So Trucker took the night shift, and there hasn’t been a lick of trouble on his watch ever since. Harland Jones even quit beating his wife and kids the night Trucker took his shift. Apparently, Trucker just moseyed on over there when nobody was looking, and put the fear of God into 6’4”, 275 pounds of mean white trash cracker farmer in less than five minutes without once raising his voice, Trucker did. Big Jim figured Trucker to be worth about three times his weight in gold on a bad day, but Trucker just took Jim’s hand between his two ham-size paws and almost whispered, “Well that’s mighty nice of y’all, but I figure room ‘n’ board and your lovely wife’s cooking’s jes’ ‘bout all a man deserves, this side of Heaven. That, and two hundred cash dollars a week, and Sattiday noon ‘til mah Monday shift is days off, no questions asked, and the use of a car for mah weekends….Satidday noon ‘til Monday shift. Way-uhlllllll, we might just make ahselfes a deal wid’at there”. And that, as Jim would later say to Sharon and Little Jim, was THAT. Unlike young Tommy, the not-quite rookie partner he’s training to fill in when Old Tex (Clive Adams to the church ladies) retires, Jim has lived out in the world, even been to war and made it back more or less intact, settled here with Sharon 10 years before the boy was born. A boy, even, and they thought it would never happen but the Blessed Virgin made sure they got lucky, so he’d allow after a beer or two on a Friday night at the Cattle Call, the Cattle Call being the only bar worth having in a town with less than 1,000 locals, not counting children, dogs, horses or other pets. So he can be easy, now, generous, a man among men, smile and wave or even chat occasionally. “Chief” Jim always stops for a soda at Sam’s Mom ‘n’ Pop Store (yeah, that’s the name, “always gets a chuckle” Sam would say, even thought there hasn’t been a Mrs. Sam for 40 years). Dead of “the woman’s trouble”, Sam’s phrase for ovarian cancer, at the ripe old age of 37, and there’s Sam himself, getting Jim’s Mr. Pibb and Tommy’s Nehi Orange open, wiped off and ready before Jim walks through the door every afternoon at 4:00 sharp. Sunday through Saturday. Rain or shine. A little small talk, familiar, about the weather and what it’s going to do this winter according to Sam’s WWII half a lung. “Shrapnel”. Sam would say with wonder, “Not but 52 of us survived that damn boat”, and that was about all you’d get out of Sam about either the War or his shark-shaped scar, taking over the upper left-hand side of his back, two and one-half inches deep and almost ten inches across). When he was talking. Then back in the car, easing out into the street, automatically raises his voice to the roller-skating teen who always happens to be there precisely at the moment Jim pulls out of the narrow alleyway,. ”Hey, careful there Tommy-Boy! I could of hit you that time” and the teen smiles back lazily as he skates off, “Not a chance, man, no way”, laughing, breezy in the way of teenaged boys. “Uh, hey there, Chief, you back in the car yet?” a nasal male whine plaintively over the radio, “Sharon says swing by and pick up Little Jim from the church please instead of him lollygaggin’ on his bike, if you don’t mind, ‘cuz Monica and Stacey been over for th’ afternoon, and she don’t want to wait dinner on him”. “Aw for Chrissake, okay, and her bitchin’ about the lousy will all afternoon AGAIN I’ll bet, trying to weasel in on Sharon’s nickel AND goin’ on about the quilts and Uncle Albert, don’t the woman ever KNOCK? Or call in advance?” growled Jim to no one in particular, smoldering. There is just no love lost between Jim and his sister-in-law, and the fact that she’s too in-your-face (in Jim’s opinion) about her lesbian “relationship”. “Calls herself a Christian” he says, shaking his head, “Just ain’t natural, Sharon”, and she would smile and nod and pat his arm and say nothing). “Dammit and she KNOWS every Wednesday’s the Poker Club! Just like every mother-fucking August is my goddamned fishing trip, and the bitch is gonna stick her non-cock-suckin’ face in that too, just you watch. Probably why she showed up today, bitch is just achin’ to throw some shit in my face. Again. Man! Ain’t my goddamned fault she’s queer…”. A long pause, then “Sorry, Chief” says Bill on the radio, “You want I should tell her you’re on a call or babysitting Mrs. Deavers or somethin’ and gonna be home real late?” “You want me to catch hell? We both know better know better than to try and pull that on Sharon, and besides last time I almost burned the house down with Mrs. Deavers in it”. He laughs. “Shee-yit, besides, I can’t let you boys down, then y’all’d have to figure out something else to do with your allowance besides give it to me. Now, that just wouldn’t do…wouldn’t’ be neighborly, now, would it? No, you get everyone there at 7:00 sharp, just like always, out back in my office” says Jim, laughing. “And yeah, tell Sharon for me I got Little Jim, OK? And Bill? Quit calling me Chief.” “Right, Chief, roger that” says Bill and cuts off quickly, before Jim can answer. Bill really likes getting Jim’s goat like that, and Jim would let him every once in a while, even if for nothing else then just to keep the graying homespun bachelor from yammering on and crying in his (third) beer about how Jim got the “last good woman” in the world. “Right” says Jim wearily, “Hey, Tommy, want me to drop you off?” “Not this time, Jim” says Tommy self-consciously, “I’ll walk from the corner so Gracie don’t go off about me getting’ no exercise”. He laughs, “Like two blocks is gonna help” and out of the car he hops. “See you at 7:00, Jim. If the baby don’t come first”, and he walks straight away proud, with a wave to the car. Jim smiled to himself as he pulled away from the curb back into the street. He liked Tommy and young Gracie, and Tommy’s shy pride about their coming baby was refreshing in their world of ranchers and farmers, always so matter-of-fact when it came to the birthing of a child. “Well, my Sarah dropped another ‘un yestidday” one would say, and they’d all kind of chuckle and nod over their whiskey at the Cattle Call before the talk turned to the weather or some other, more important, topic. Jim was still smiling as he waved himself back into the flow of traffic, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his uniform shirt. Sure he had to keep up appearances, but is was 90 in the shade and probably ten degrees more inside the new patrolling Bronco he had finagled out of the County last year. Jim hardly ever used air conditioning, whether at the station, in the house or the Bronco. He was pretty well convinced that’s how all those people in the news got that filthy mold in their lungs, that and worse. Finishing his soda, he bent the can before tossing it into the Trash-Pak swinging from the glovebox, nearly forgetting to turn right onto the quiet, tree-lined country lane that bore him on to the St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church The parking lot was deserted, so he pulled all the way in under the twin shady elms that beckoned coolness. Swinging out his long, leather-booted legs, then standing, he bent for a second to stretch out the kinks. Straightening, he waved a quick “Hello” to the church’s deaf-mute cook/housekeeper, Sister Lorraine, who could have been 30 or 65 in that peculiar way of nuns and the dim-witted. She smiled and waved before going back to picking over the green beans in her lap, product of the small kitchen garden she kept neatly in the space between the church and her small cottage. She had been at the cottage for most of Father Williams’ eight years of service. Chief Jim had kept a watchful eye over her at first (“Intelligence about that of a 7-year-old” Father Williams had said, “but trustworthy, and a pretty decent cook”). because he was afraid she’d burn the place down. However, after she’d walked a basket of freshly baked rolls and sweet muffins over to Sharon a week or so after moving in, Sharon had convinced him to lay off the watchdog chores. “Just taste these, Jim” she had said around a mouthful of blueberry muffin, “and enough for Little Jim and his friends, too. Her note just said please return the basket so she’ll know when to bring more. Leave her alone. If she can bake like this…” And so, although he still kept an eye peeled for any signs of nuisance or trouble around the church, Jim quit pestering the woman and, save for the odd pitcher of lemonade and baked bread and other goodies occasionally left at the station house, or on his front porch, he could swear he almost didn’t remember she existed at all. Now, she beckoned him over and he approached, bending over to give each of the three frisky “churchmouse” kittens a quick pet and chin scratch on the way up the porch steps. Sister Lorraine was holding out one of her infernal notepads, and he frowned as he read, “Maybe your boy shouldn’t be spending so much time alone with Father Williams studying. It ain’t right, a boy his age, doesn’t he have a sport to play?” and Jim marveled at the childish scrawl, so earnestly, laboriously drawn. “He plays pretty good baseball” Jim wrote back carefully. “Good throwing arm and all, and as long as the weather holds they’ll be out playing” and he handed the notepad back, awkward. Odd thing to pull him over for, on this nice afternoon, he thought. Still, he wasn’t himself all that happy about Little Jim’s continuing interest in entering the priesthood. “It’s not that I object to the Calling”, he said earnestly to Sharon over coffee one night. “It just don’t seem natural, seems that he’d be wasting himself, throwing away his life, and why do I sound like such a complete asshole for putting it that way?” he finished lamely, as Sharon’s clear, bell-tingle laugh stirred the warm breeze. Pulling his mind back to the present, he accepted the apple Sister Lorraine proferred with a nod and a smile, then bowed and tipped his cap, to her delight, as he backed off the porch. Inside the church, the sun sparkled through the stained glass windows to the east wall opposite, and lent a sparkling dance of dust motes across the sanctuary, lending an ethereal air of grace to the statues of Mary and Jesus. He could feel the colors playing over his face as he walked back toward the church confessionals and offices. No traffic sounds penetrated these walls, and the sanctuary was absolutely still, except for the faint murmuring he could hear down the hall, probably Father Williams and Little Jim finishing their lesson, he thought. Walking softly down the hall so as not to disturb them, he smiled approvingly at the faint scent of lemon polish on the gleaming wood of the doorways and the mahogany arch leading to the priest’s office/quarters. Reaching the door, he edged it open quietly, intending a surprise.. But what he saw caught his breath, and he instinctively pulled back behind the door so as not to be seen in return. He could see Little Jim, his back turned in semi-profile, as he looked down on Father Williams’ head rocking slowly back and forth, both hands on the boy’s hips, rhythmically, his mouth firmly, yet delicately, holding his penis. Eyes closed, he increased the speed of his motion, and Jim was sickened to hear his son moan, then stiffen as a thin stream of whitish liquid escaped from the side of the priest’s mouth. A thick mist of gathering red haze rose behind his eyes, and as if in a dream he heard the priest gag once and spit into a handkerchief, then wipe his mouth as the boy quickly, nervously zipped his trousers. “That’s all now, no more, do you understand?” his son told the priest. “My father will be…” “Is right the HELL here, NOW” thundered Jim as he stormed into the room. “And just what the fuck is going on here, Father? Wh-..What.. Just what the hell…How…HOW COULD YOU” and shaking the disbelief from his eyes, he was across the room, slamming the priest into the wall and turning to face his son. “James??” “D-..D-..Daddy, oh Dad” cried Little Jim, “Thank God you’re here, thank God, make him stop, make him stop it PLEASE! Please, don’t let him do this to me anymore, I can’t stand it,b-b-but I didn’t want to luh-let you down, I know you w-w-want-want-want me to be a p-p-priest..” and his voice trailed off as the tears ran freely down his reddened face. “Please make him stop, Dad…I….” and his voice trailed off. “What the – exactly how long has this been going on” thundered Jim, feeling rage and shame building in the red haze behind his eyes. “How long?” and he shook the priest like a rag doll. “How long, Jimmy?” and he looked at his son, standing there looking humiliated and not meeting his eyes. “LOOK AT ME!, demanding, “HOW LONG?” “Almost the whole time, Dad, almost two years, ever since I started taking lessons and not catechism” said Little Jim, “He -- he’s been after me for the whole time. I swear, Dad, he said it’s all my fault for being good-looking and teasing him, tempting him he said, but I didn’t do anything Dad, not like he said, I didn’t, I swear!” and his eyes filled with tears again. Catching his breath, but not loosening his hold on Father Williams collar, Jim asked, shaking, “How long, son? How many times…” and his throat closed up tight. ” “I told you, almost the whole two years, Dad” said Little Jim, finally holding his father’s eyes. “I -- I wanted to tell you but I was afraid, and Father Williams said if I told anyone he’d know and I’d go to Hell, and he’d tell everyone that it was me the whole time, and that you would all would believe HIM and not me, but Dad, it wasn’t me! I swear to God it wasn’t me, Dad, please…Dad? Dad stop, NO!” But it was too late and, feeling the thick rage spill over, flooding his senses, Jim doubled back his fist again and heard “Dad, NO” right through the sickening thud of his fist through the priests nose and cheek, and blood sprayed, and again, “Wham” into the priest’s grotesquely whitened face, his right eye swelling shut almost immediately, and again and again and AGAIN until finally some of the red cloud faded and he was on the ground pummeling the half-conscious priest and screaming “Why!? Why, damn you!?!..I..You filthy bastard WHY… HOW COULD YOU” and his fist slammed once more into the priest’s jaw, felt with pleasure the sickening crunch and had already pulled back his fist “KILL you, you son of a BITCH” he heard himself scream as his arm was yanked back and he heard Little Jim crying, desperately, “Stop, Dad, you’re killing him, Dad, please, STOP!” pulling him back, holding his arms, and the haze cleared and Jim realized, yes, he had to stop, the bastard had committed a crime, and he was a COP, and he had to stop but DAMN it, a goddamn PRIEST! And, shaking, he reached around and pulled the cuffs, slammed one into the priest’s right wrist, rose, forced him over onto his stomach and locked the cuff with a slap onto the left. “Father Jason Williams” he intoned, heaving, his voice cracking, “you are under arrest for suspicion of felonious sexual assault on a minor. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up your right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to have an attorney present during questioning. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you by the Court.” He heard his voice continue, echoing in his ears as if from a great distance, “Do you understand these rights as I have explained them to you?” and he looked down at the priest, still face down on the floor. “Father Williams! D o you understand your rights?” “Yes, of course” replied the priest, muffled, choking back the bile rising in his throat.. “Do you wish to give up your right to remain silent?” asked Chief Jim, and now his hands and voice were shaking. “No”, said the priest, quietly, “No, I don’t think I should do that right now. I think that I should have a lawyer, and I believe that I am entitled to a phone call, is that correct?” and now the priest, heart racing, felt the rage in the room, the pain and betrayal, and he groaned inwardly. “I really think that you should do what you have to do now, Chief” he heard himself say, “I need to make that phone call.” Chapter Two Chief Rushing felt his cheeks burn as he walked the downcast Little Jim and the handcuffed, bloodied priest to the Bronco. He sensed, rather than saw, Sister Lorraine’s startled eyes on the trio as he first escorted Father Williams into the back seat, then held the passenger door open for Little Jim. A few curious onlookers had already gathered, and Gwen Petersen; “official town gossip” pushed herself through. What’s going on here” she demanded, bringing a flush up Little Jim’s neck so hard and fast that Big Jim thought he would just keel over dead, right there. “None of your concern at the moment, Gwen”, he said sternly. “But why are you..Is -- is the Father under arrest? Why, whatever for?” and the small crowd thickened, holding its breath. “Well?? Is he under arrest or isn’t he?” Chief Rushing, all business now, said quietly “Yes, Gwen, the Father is under arrest. Arraignment tomorrow morning, public record unless the circuit judge sees fit to close the hearing, which is what I hope he’ll do. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”. He closed the passenger door and quickly went around the car. “Yes, but what are you arresting him FOR, Jim?”, pressed Gwen. “We’re the public, all citizens here, and we have a right to know” and she stood defiantly in front of the car. “Gwen, that’s already more than you need to know right now” he said roughly, flushing dark red under his tan. “Now quit, dammit, get out of the way and let me do my job!” The short ride to the station was silent, except for Little Jim’s occasional hiccup or shuddering indrawn breath, and the priest’s barely-audible, whispered prayers. Jim got Bill on the radio and filled him in briefly and without detail, just that the priest had been arrested and Bill was to handle the booking. Once there, safely in the back away from prying eyes, he was all business. “Wait here” he told Little Jim, and straighten yourself up as best you can. Your Aunt Monica is at the house with Stacey, they’ve been there all afternoon and waiting on us for dinner, saints preserve us all. God only knows what they’re on about this time, and…damn… it’s Poker Club night! Too late to call that off! Okay, you stay here, or come sit in my office if you’d rather. I’ll only be a few minutes. He looked searchingly at the boy’s handsome face, but Little Jim just nodded, his face white and drawn, and said quietly, “I’ll wait here”. Jim opened the back door and the priest got out. In the fading sunlight, his face was ghastly white under the drying blood, and his right eye was swollen shut. His nose doesn’t look broken, thought Jim, but if he complains I’ll have Bill get the Doc over to check it out. Not half what the bastard deserves, he thought with a twinge of guilt, then a PRIEST goddammit a PRIEST…Bless me Father for YOU have sinned? I SAW what you DID to my SON…my son???..A PRIEST! HailMaryfullofgrace, Hail Mary full of…round and round and the words kept drumming through his head as he marched the handcuffed Father Williams through the back hall of the station. Bill heard them coming and met them at the hallway door. His eyes widened as he took in the scene, but then he snapped back and said “I’ll handle the booking from here, Chief. Why don’t you go write up the report, okay? Is Little Jim with you? Is he OK?” “Yes, he’s in the car” said Jim curtly. “Book him on ten counts, felony sexual assault on a minor under the age of 16 for starters, and I’ll fill in the rest before he sees the judge. Call the circuit office, and ask if we can have Judge Collins first thing in the morning, this needs a judge with some courtroom authority and Gwen was there. Need anything else?” and his eyes were troubled, challenging, as he stared down the curious deputy. “No, Chief, that should just about cover it” said Deputy Bill, swallowing all of his questions in one gulp. Better walk careful around here, Billy boy, he thought, because Big Jim’s face looks just like a minefield back in Korea, and with that he took the white-faced priest off into the booking room. “Dad?” said Little Jim, worriedly, when Jim was back in the Bronco, “I left my bike at the church. Do we have to tell Mother about this?” and he looked anxiously into Jim’s face. “Oh, hell” swore Jim, “Yes, Son, we’ll have to tell her something. Today’s Wednesday, and the Church will no doubt send someone down to sort this mess out, probably tonight or, at the latest, tomorrow morning. Bad enough to cancel the Mass and choir tonight, we can’t have Sunday come without a Mass…or a priest to hold one…” and the enormity of what had transpired settled in his chest like a huge, icy-cold wet towel. “Let’s just get through dinner with your Aunt Monica and see how it goes after that. But we do have to tell her, yes…your mother, I mean”, he added. “Don’t worry, son, you’re not at fault here. I think I’ll call your Uncle Todd and have he and Judith come up for a couple of weeks with the kids. Be good to have a family show of support for a while, I think. And Jim”, he said seriously, “this is not a topic I want discussed with your friends. Do you understand? This is very serious, very PRIVATE family business”. “Of course, Dad. Are you kidding?” said Little Jim. “You don’t think I want this to get out to the guys or Trixie, do you? I mean, what the heck would I say, ‘My dad just caught Father Williams giving me a blow…um..Geez, anyway, Dad, I’d rather not talk about it at all” and the tears, held back, came out in great sobs of anguish, “I don’t know what to do, I feel so…so DIRTY” and he sobbed again. Jim sighed and put his arm awkwardly around his son’s shaking shoulders. “It’s all right, son, we’ll get through this. Together, as a family. I know it’s tough, but God doesn’t give us trials that we we’re not able to bear, remember that.” He sighed again, heavily. “This is one hell of a mess, though, son” he said seriously, “and I don’t know how it’s going to play out. But we’ll see It through” “Sure thing, Dad, whatever you say” said the younger Jim, pensive now, and they didn’t speak again all the way home, each lost in his thoughts. “Can I please take a shower before dinner, though? I -- I just don’t feel…w-w-well…clean” and the young man looked pleadingly up at his father as they got out of the car. “You absolutely can, son” said Jim, “and I’ll go over tonight and pick up your bike, okay? So you don’t have to go back to the Church right now. But we have to talk this thing over” he warned, “later tonight. It won’t wait until tomorrow morning, I guarantee, and it won’t go away for being ignored. I expect we’ll have a telephone call from the Bishop or some such tonight, not first thing in the morning.” “Yeah, I know, Dad” said Little Jim softly. “I know”. The garage light came on, and there was Sharon, peering anxiously out. “Jim!!! There you are! I’ve been wondering where you two got off to, now, what kept you? Oh, never mind, come on up and say ‘Hi’ to Monica and Stacey, we were just catching up, isn’t that right, girls?” Jim noticed that her voice was a little too bright, brittle. Obviously, Sharon had already had a dose of whatever was “in your face” tonight, and probably a migraine to go with it. He sighed deeply. “Come on in, Little Jim” he said. “They’re waiting.” Chief “Big Jim” Rushing sighed again heavily as he passed through the “mud room” and closed the door, then let out another sigh as he considered the evening’s lineup of “entertainment”: First dinner, of course, with its needling talk about men in general and their shortcomings. “How would you know?” he would ask, “what men are you close to these days?” and Sharon would shush him with that soft little angel whisper she had. Then, over wine in the living room, Monica’s prying brand of small talk. First she and/or Stacey would prattle on about some real or imagined “discrimination” or “harassment” issue one or the other had encountered with the past week, month, whatever. And wasn’t this or that illegal, really. It had to be. Then, without warning or segue and always right toward the end of the second glass of wine, Monica would insinuate herself into the never-ending conversation about The Unfair Will and how it was biased toward people with children, which would lead easily into the unfairness of Uncle Albert’s insisting on following the letter of Jessica’s will, when nobody even knew she was a lesbian at the time, and donating all of the quilts as museum pieces in a continuation of the traveling display. The only exception was that each of the three sisters could choose two quilts, in order of majority, for her personal possession and one could be chosen for each of her children, natural or adopted but alive at the time of the reading of the will. Aside from that, none of them could be held back from the traveling exhibit. Sharon’s mother, Jessica, and Grandmother Dominique had each been a prize-winning “quilt artist”, with a couple of “coffee-table” books featuring the quilts, and the bulk loaned out to The Smithsonian and, occasionally, a select few other museums as THE quintessential, “Americana: Folk Art” quilt display. The display was so very popular because, in addition to variations on the traditional “Wedding Rings” and “Log Cabin” patterns, both Jessica and Dominique had a natural artistic talent that imbued their quilts with a “spiritually-charged, energetic quality” asThe New York Times had gushed. “C’est Magnifique!” raved Le Monde and the rest of the European press when the show opened the Louvre in its debut summer season. The quilts became the world’s darling, THE perennial favorite touring show. Coco Chanel had borrowed several of the more ethereal, swirling patterns of dancing coils and clouds for her spring line dress ensembles that swept the world in 1948. Life Magazine then did a 17-page pictorial article which included quilted renderings, sewn by the two as a team, of Michaelangelo’s Sistine Chapel ceiling (with God giving the touch of life to Adam), the Blue Boy, Goya’s ballerinas and the Mona Lisa. The mother-daughter quilters opened a few museum shows in the first couple of years, then decorously bowed out, laughing “We won’t have time for our families OR to quilt” when Sharon, the baby, was 10. There was a further flurry of publicity when Grandmother Dominique, who had been a magnificent, raven-haired beauty in her prime, died in the arms of her lover on the snowed-in Christmas morning of 1960. The hapless man had to wait three days before reporting her death either to her doctor or the gendarmes; telephone lines were down and the roads impassable. Fortunately, Grandmother’s aide was present and took over washing the body, then dressing her in the finest of her silk dressing gowns, applying her makeup and anointing the body so frequently that it appeared as if Grandmother Dominique, fragranced and coiffed, was merely napping. Paris, of course, embraced the tableau and took photos for publication before the body was whisked off to be cremated. ”As if lying in state” swooned Le Monde, “surely we have lost a treasure, La Grande Dame Magnifique.” Unfortunately (said the world) neither Monica nor Lily, the eldest, shared Jessica’s inherited talent; and young Sharon was sufficiently overwhelmed to never show her elementary school artwork, not even to relatives. Jessica doted on her youngest daughter, being younger than Monica by five years and eight years younger than Lily. She insisted on teaching the girls to embroider, saying “they must have SOME hand sewing skills, now that clothing is done by machine”, and donated her own handmade items to the orphanage her mother had founded, in her husband’s name, after the War. Her one sinful pride, so she said, was that the priest who ran the orphanage wore vestments she had painstakingly embroidered for every holiday, wedding, christening and funeral sacrament. The two older girls were adamant in their refusal to wear her hand-sewn clothes, and equally strong-willed in not learning to quilt, because it was so “old-fashioned”. They limited even their embroidery skills to cross-stitched homey samplers and other simple, patterned needlework. Sharon, however, being so much the younger, was spoiled beyond reproach at her mother’s knee, and learned to make beautifully embroidered christening outfits for the orphaned children. Chapter Three Jim steeled himself. Not tonight. Any other night, but right now the family drama was not about Monica’s five-year goddamn ITCH. Not tonight. “Excuse us for just a moment, won’t you?” His steely eyes got suddenly hard, and Sharon felt a twinge of fear. ”Just what exactly is going on here?”, Sharon wondered, and she allowed him to steer her through the kitchen doors with no resistance at all. “Oh, my God, Jim, NO!” Sharon gasped as he finished filling her in on the rudimentary details of the afternoon. “Fath…Father WILLIAMS??? Jim, there must be some mistake, surely you don’t mean that…” “I do and it’s real” Jim snapped. Then he passed a hand wearily over his eyes and rubbed briefly.. “Look, Sharon, we have to get hold of ourselves here. Little Jim is in the shower right now, trying to wash almost two years of filth off himself…we have to stay strong, we’re the parents here and we don’t get to panic. Now you’re going to put on your best, brightest smile out there, and make my apologies, because I am just not up to those two bitches tonight, especially Monica. And I’ll go out back and let the poker club down slow. Might take a few of hands, though, they been waiting to give me their money all week and I don’t want to tip ‘em off.” He grinned ruefully at her. “And I’m going to call Todd, see if maybe he and Judith can’t come down for a few days, with the kids. Family show of support and all. “But Jim, are you sure that’s necess…” Sharon stopped and looked into his eyes. “No, you’re right, of course, not Monica tonight, not now. Okay” said Sharon, thinking fast, wiping her hands on her apron. “Then you go on up and tell Little Jim not to come down just yet, so he doesn’t need to face those two right now. They’d just KNOW something was wrong, Jim, one look at his face. So you keep him up there, and I’ll get my “migraine headache” in about, say, 30 minutes or so. I’ve almost got one coming on right now, anyway, what with putting up with those two all afternoon and now this. I know, Monica’s my sister, but…anyway, that gives you time to clear out the club, am I right? And then you can call Todd.” “Right as rain” he said, the glimmer of a smile playing in his eyes. “Jimbo”, he thought to himself, “she really is the last of the really, really good ones”. “Sugar”, he said. “HMMM???” she turned, too quickly, and he caught her back in his elbow and pulled her close. “I was just thinking”, he smiled, “about you, and what a lucky fellow I truly am”. Now let’s get to the deceivin’ and get it over with” and he patted her rear with a wink and a pinch. “Jim Rushing!” she cried, but her eyes were warm with love and concern. “See you in an hour” she whispered, and sailed back through the kitchen door. “Girls?” he heard her brightly through the door. “Are you up for a little gin rummy? Because I’m afraid the men won’t be joining us this evening…” “Whew! Man, am I glad that part’s over” Jim stomped the dirt off his feet as he came in about an hour later. “Tell you what, Sharon, that was like…” He stopped abruptly, “What’s wrong now?” Sharon and Little Jim were seated at the breakfast-room table, looking stricken. “Oh, nothing, dear” said Sharon. “Just that telephone has been ringing off the hook, twice from the newspaper over in Clark’s Creek, and a Bishop Franque will be here in about fifteen minutes, probably with the abbot of Father Williams’ old monastery, he said. Coffee’s percolating, and I’ve put water on to boil for tea, just in case. The Bishop, he said you’d remember him? Anyway, they want Father Williams out of jail, now, before the arraignment. I was just about to send Little Jim out back to get you.” “Oh” was all Jim could manage. The two beers he’d had with the Poker Club settled in suddenly, right behind his eyes, and the kitchen floor looked unnaturally bright and close. He sat down hard in the chair, as the afternoon’s events flooded his mind with images, and passed a hand wearily across his forehead, thumb rubbing his brow. “Well, then”, he managed after a moment, “Sharon, Little Jim, I think maybe you want to go on upstairs, I’d better handle this one. Wait” he paused again, thinking. “No. Sharon, my darling, you stay to pour, and ,maybe put out some of those little cakes or muffins or whatever, the ones Sister Lorraine brought by yesterday. And Little Jim, you grab that algebra book and sit here at the table.” “But- I already did my homework in Study Hall” said Little Jim, surprised, “like always…”. “Never mind that, the Bishop doesn’t know” interrupted his father, “Just do as you’re told, would you? And be almost finished, while you’re at it, one two or three problems and off you go”. “Oh, I get it”, said Little Jim, “just finishing up my homework, yes, sir”, and pulled the algebra book from the stack on the table. “I’ll do the extra credit part over”, relieved for now to have something to do. Then the phone rang shrilly , startling then all, and Sharon nearly dropped the stack of dessert plates. “Oh” she said, laughing nervously, “that dratted phone!” It’s all right, I’ve got it” soothed Jim, “Hello!” this to the phone on the kitchen wall.. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Chief Rushing?” the male voice made it a statement. “Good, then, this is Ralph Cranston, senior editor at The Daily Gazette here in Clark’s Corner, how are you doing this evening, sir?” “I’ve been better” drawled Jim, tiredly, “I suppose I already know what this is about, right?” motioning Little Jim to take the basket of cakes from Sharon and set it on the table, and noting that she had gotten out the good china dessert plates, cups and saucers, and the silver coffee set and utensils. “That’s my girl, Sharon“, he thought approvingly as she turned the heat down under the teapot, “that’s my girl“. “So what exactly can I do for you?” he asked the phone. “Well, sir” said Cranston, all business, “I’m sorry to intrude on your family at a time like this, really I am, but this is news and it’s my business to print it before it goes out on all the wires. Gwen Petersen called here a couple of hours ago, and I’m personally holding the morning press back. Now if I can get some background..infor…” “No, you can’t, not right now” snapped Jim as headlights slowed outside, then turned in. “I’ve got a mess on my hands right now and it’s not getting better, I’ve got the Bishop just pulled into my driveway and I don’t imagine he’s any happier right now than I am.” “No, Sir, I don’t suppose he is” replied Cranston. “Okay, Chief, here’s what I can do. I’ll just run a box on the front page, under the fold by the index, dateline: Berdon’s Landing, that a Father Jason Williams, from the St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church, was arrested this evening by Chief James “Big Jim” Rushing, on charges of…“ “Nope, you’re not going to do that either, so hold it right there” broke in Jim, “get this straight. You say nothing of any charges, not yet anyway, and no names, or you won’t hear another peep from any reliable source in this town ever the hell again about this or anything else ‘newsworthy’” he sneered the word, “do I make myself clear?” “Perfectly, sir” said a chastened Cranston, “let me try that again” and he cleared his throat, “the box will just say “Late-breaking news, a Catholic priest was arrested this evening at St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church. Um, I need to use HIS name, though, sir, it’s already all over the county, thanks to Mrs. Petersen and she’s not on my payroll”. “Oh, all right” said Jim, “But no identifying any victim, just because I pick him up at the church doesn’t mean he was involved, you got me?” “Oh sure, Chief, but it was YOUR son in the vehicle, right? Mrs. Petersen was sure that it was”, and Ralph knew he’d won a very large “small victory” for himself and the newspaper right there, “probably get a Pulitzer out of this one” he thought. “Said she didn’t breathe it to anyone but me”, he added uselessly, knowing even Gwen wouldn’t have been foolish enough to spread names around, even if it WAS the juiciest tidbit of gossip to hit the county in a long while, him being a boy and the Chief’s son and all. A PRIEST after all, and why did the Chief have his SON in the car? His mind raced, something wasn’t making sense here. An agnostic, even he was shocked at the arrest of a priest, and after forty-some odd years in the newspaper business, Ralph Cranston didn’t shock easily. “BUT - then you have to promise to call me later this evening, I’ll probably be here at the paper until 11:30 or midnight now as it is, getting this edition out, might as well stay for the story. I don’t get to do much reporting any more” he said, almost apologetically, “and you’re better off with me than some young hotshot like our Ed, looking to make his name in the world off your troubles”. “Or at least first thing in the morning?” “Yes, well, you’re probably right there”, admitted Jim as the doorbell rang. The man had a point. “Okay, I’ll call you when the coast is clear, but this really needs a tight lid on it, Ralph – I can call you Ralph, right? So I have your word on this? We all have to live here, you know. And you probably don’t want to piss me off”, he added. “Because you’re smarter than that, aren’t you, Ralph” pitching just enough of an edge to his voice that the other man could hear the steel. “I have to go now, I’ll call you later tonight. Goodbye” and he hung up the phone. “Monsignor Franque” he said, turning at the sound of footsteps, “I see that you’ve met my wife, Sharon…” Dawn’s twilight had appeared before Bishop Franque finally got the exhausted Jim to agree to recommend to Judge Collins that Father Williams be placed into the Church’s “protective custody” pending trial. “Jail is not the place for this, my son. Even now, under these circumstances, you must see the truth in that” the Bishop had soothed, “and the Church has, unfortunately, some experience with these matters”, and Jim, ever the altar boy and mesmerized by the hour and end-rags of shock, nodded “Yes” in acquiescence to the authority of the Church. “But wait until dark, Monsignor” Jim suggested, “because you show up at court with that car”, pointing to the Town Car the Bishop had ridden up in with the abbot, “and HIM” indicating the abbot in his frock, “and all Hell is just gonna bust loose worse than it already is”, and he looked pleading at the Bishop. “You can wait until dark to pack him up, right?” “Of course, my son, of course” crooned the Bishop, a pained smile playing at his lips, “we don’t want any excess publicity with this any more than you do, I’m sure” and he finished his coffee. “Might I have another cup of this delicious coffee, Chief Rushing? And then we really must be going, I’m sure that you have your day cut out for you as well”, with a dry chuckle. “I’ll call on you at the station, say, around 5:00 this evening, to make the necessary arrangements. Bail shouldn’t be an issue, am I correct, Chief? And don’t worry, we usually wear street clothes in public”, and Jim laughed, relieved; he had somehow pictured them striding into the courtroom in full dress robes complete with sacramental vestments. The others, guessing at the reason for his discomfiture, joined in with tired laughter as Jim poured the Bishop his coffee. “Breakfast, anyone?” chirped Sharon, arriving on cue with the morning paper tucked firmly under her arm. “No? I’ll just be in the other room, then”, and off she padded to the living room in her lambskin slippers and the fluffy, genteel off-white-and-blue dressing robe swirling graciously behind her(“Ecru, my dear” she had said approvingly upon receipt and perfunctory inspection). “Ecru” thought Jim, catching the faint shadow of “Joy” perfume. “She IS good” he thought ruefully, as the Bishop’s chair scraped, and the Abbot followed suit. “We’ll be taking our leave, then, Chief” intoned the Bishop thoughtfully, his nostrils flaring slightly as they followed Sharon out of the kitchen, “and see you at 5:00. Good Day!” and off they went, the chubby Abbot stumbling slightly on the forgotten step down but making the car in time to open the passenger door for the Bishop, who paused for effect before waving slightly at the window and seating himself. “Well weren’t THEY just the pair?” Sharon almost drawled, joining Jim in watching the Town Car exit their driveway gracefully. “All night, Jim?” and her nose wrinkled at the thought. Having been raised in a Catholic household as he had been, albeit not as strictly observant, she still knew the delicate balance to walk between jest and blasphemy. She was, after all, her mother’s (and Grandmothers) child. “Can I get you that breakfast now? You must be famished, and, if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re looking just the wee bit peaked this morning!” she smiled, then turned serious in a flash. “Now, I don’t know the half of all that’s gone on here, but I know enough to be able to tell when to butt out without being told. Breakfast will be ready for you and Little Jim in fifteen minutes, and then I’m tied up with errands all day long, so let yourself out when you’re ready to go. Oh, and did I hear Little Jim say something about his bike?” “Keee-riiist, I forgot” and Big Jim looked so stricken that she almost laughed out loud, “And I have to call Cranston, then Todd right now”, reaching for the phone. “Don’t worry, dear“, she smiled, “the bike’ll be here before the two of you are finished with breakfast. Little Jim doesn’t have a class until 8:30 this morning” she called over her shoulder, grabbing the keys to the T-Bird from a hook on the wall as she flew. “I’ll be right back”, and Jim grinned as he checked progress on the chorizo-scrambled egg mixture thickening in the pan. “Hey, Jimbo!” he called up the stairs, “C’mon! Time for eats and strategizing”, bravado unmatched inside “but”, he thought, “a mighty fine posture for this time of day, mighty fine” and he turned the eggs, started toast and poured two steaming mugs of fragrant black coffee in the blink of an eye. Chapter Four “Order in the Court” barked out Bailiff Sam Marks. “All spectators and parties in matters other than “People vs.Father Jason Williams, please clear the courtroom” and a mild pandemonium ensued as the waiting throng jostled to get out the back doors – no one wanted to be singled out by either the bailiff or Big Jim, of THAT they were certain, and Jim felt a stab of guilty pleasure watching Gwen Petersen lose her silly little chin-tied, Gibson-girl straw sunhat to a gust of wind from the outer doors. “You, too, Sir” added the bailiff to Ralph Cranston, dawdling near the doors. “Judge Collins will most likely issue a statement before the noon recess”. When the courtroom had cleared to just Jim in the room, the bailiff looked around expectantly. “So, where is she?” he asked, disappointment obvious in his eyes. “Wha—she who?” asked Jim, surprised. “Why, Missus Sharon of course, and Trucker. This is the case about your wife, right Chief?” “Oh, for Chrissake -- no, Samuel this case is not about my wife, and does not CONCERN my wife, except to the extent that it concerns ME, and that is PLENTY!” Chief James “Big Jim” Rushing groaned, and he realized the implications of Gwen Petersen’s “not telling a soul” the victim’s name, and the public assumption that omission would have carried with it by now,““KEE-RIIIST what a fix, eh?” he says to Sam, “What a fix!” . Sam looked at him, uncomprehending, and just then Judge Collins came sweeping in majestically, powdered wig and all, then flurried to a stop when he saw his “audience” of one. “Hmmph! Chief Rushing, I believe you declared a matter of some great import when your deputy summoned me to be here this morning” he intoned in his famous, deep-voiced drawl, “Just what seems to be the occasion?” He peered around the room, eyebrows raised, with an ancient, one-handed, beribboned set of opera glasses (“Like he was expecting a stripper to jump out of the witness box or something” Jim chortled later to Sharon). “Chief Rushing? Would you like to fill me in, or should I stand here looking ridiculous all day?” “Um – no Your Honor, I mean…Goddammit Judge, can we talk this over in your chambers?” asked Chief “Big Jim” Rushing, suddenly feeling insignificant before this caricature of authority. “And just about to bust out laughin’ so hard I couldn’t have stopped it” he told Sharon later, who had tears of mirth in her own eyes by now, “Stop it, Jim” she begged, crumpling helplessly, “and tell me what happened next!”) What happened, of course, is that Big Jim followed the Right Honorable Judge Collins into his chambers and was astonished to see the Abbot and Bishop Franque seated there comfortably, the remains of one of Sister Lorraine’s coffee cakes huddled forlornly on the open windowsill, which an enterprising scrub jay had loudly claimed for his own. The coffee urn was to the Bishop’s left, and half a cup was still breathing steam as he balanced it on his knee. Meanwhile, the Abbot wrestled his tea and the sugar cubes, managing to flick the tea bag neatly, still wrapped around the teaspoon, end-over-end into the trash can not a foot away from the door through which Jim had just entered, right behind Judge Collins. Oh!” cried the Abbot, flustered, “Hello again! Chief, Your Honor” and he was suddenly very busy, locating a replacement teaspoon from among the utensils near the coffee urn. “Good Morning, Chief Rushing” intoned the Bishop, as melodically as any Mass (“or cantor in a temple” thought Jim, remembering with a pang his one entrance onto those forbidden grounds). “I trust your day has begun well?” this from Bishop Franque to Jim, who was not quite wide-eyed taking in the “street clothes” which Bishop Franque had chosen to adopt. No casual, thrifty, off-the-rack bargain basement find here, thought Jim; No, the man could have done Savile Row a favor as a model, so perfectly did the lightweight wool perch on his shoulders, caressing down the length of his chest “like plumage”, he told Sharon, still stunned, “on the single most breathtakingly beautiful bird in the world”. The deep purple-black refracted the morning sunlight coming through the window like a thousand benign prisms, creating oh-so-subtle color variations with every breath, every shift of every muscle, into a dazzling display “that looked, I swear” Jim told Sharon, “so real, so attached, for lack of a better word, like skin”. The Bishop looked archly at Chief James Rushing, managing at the same time to project the utmost humility. “Well, Chief” he said at last, when the ticking of the mantle clock had gotten unbearably loud, “I do believe that the Judge and I see eye-to-eye. Thanks so much for recommending him” and he cast his eyes down, the better to peer under the lashes and see Jim’s immediate, primal reaction flare. “We will return to the station house at 4:30, by which time the Judge has promised to deliver a letter of ‘safe passage‘, if you will, with instructions to you, Chief, and then we’ll have Father Williams out of sight, out of mind and out of your hair, in no time at all. You will have no further troubles from our Father Jason Williams, now, will he, Abbot?” With that he turned on his best, so-very-pious, divine energy mask and let it shine for a full minute before anyone else in the room thought of a question to ask of the hapless Abbot, now resembling nothing so much as a rabbit who meets the falcon’s eye for that one last, fateful moment. “Good! Well, then, it’s all arranged” and his bright blue eyes gleamed, “We’ll take no more of your time”. Gentlemen!” and he strode, nay, swirled out of the room , the Abbot in tow. “And what exactly was THAT all about, Judge?” asked Jim, relieved now and faintly uneasy, hearing the little bells and whistles in his head bringing some sinister, Machiavellian twist to the proceedings at hand. “Just what arrangements HAVE been made here?” and he settled himself into the Bishop’s newly-vacated chair with a fresh cup of coffee. “Go ahead. I’m all ears. And you don’t have another case scheduled this morning, so we have some time to kill” , and Jim looked expectantly to the Judge, now seated, wigless, on the low divan opposite. “Well, Jim, it’s like this” began the Judge. “These cases do crop up from time to time, not very often mind you, but they do come up. And I’ve found, and most of my colleagues have found, that the best thing is to keep them out of the courts and the newspapers, and let the Church handle its own disciplinary proceedings as far as the priest is concerned. That way, the child, or even the occasional young adult, is spared the anguish of reliving a horrid situation over and over again, in front of the community, the press, and now the television is putting its own news on, remember that. I’m sure you and Sharon wouldn’t want your son’s face in the newspaper connected with a thing like this, not to mention the television cameras. The whole thing is mess enough, Jim, and we’ve found that the best thing is usually to let time take its course, without the offending priest in the picture, of course, and time truly does seem to heal all wounds here if left to its own devices. . You don’t want me to let some overzealous Catholic canon lawyer loose on your Little Jim, do you?”. “Well, I thought not”, finished to Judge after a pause, filling his pipe. “The whole thing is nightmare enough, without putting him through questioning over and over again, these Church guys can get pretty specific and a lot brutal with a kid like your Jimmy on the stand. I mean, he’s a good kid and all, but he’s also awfully good-looking and we all know he’s a bit of a prankster, Chief. Hell, those canon lawyers are good at what they do, and what they’re aiming for is the priest to maybe stay a priest and be fully exonerated. If he’s convicted, found guilty by the Church, much less the law, it’s basically a life sentence in solitary. A “lifetime of prayer and penance” I think they call it, and once a priest is defrocked, well, if that happens, there’s no going back….You’ll see, it’s all for the best this way, the whole thing just dies down and goes away quietly. Even if the kid has nightmares or pees the bed or something for a while, those things seem to go away pretty quickly, too with love and patience, and maybe a few trips to a psychiatrist. You’ll see.” “I’m telling you all of this straight up, Jim, because we go back a fair way and I have a lot of respect for you and your family here” he added, looking Jim in the eyes. “Some people, a thing like this would destroy them, but you and Sharon have a good thing going, as the kids like to say, and even this isn’t likely to foul that up. And if you’re smart, and I think you are, you’ll take my advice.” Jim thought that over for a moment, and asked quietly, “So where does it go from here? I mean, there will be a trial, right? The sick bastard has to pay for what he did!” “We---ll” drawled Judge Collins, “yes, but probably not in the sense you’re thinking. I mean, have you REALLY thought this thing through, Jim? The publicity, the press hounds? It can get pretty ugly, you know, a case like this, and they’re going to try and drag you, and Sharon, AND Little Jim through all the mud they can dig up and more they’ll make up…and then you end up trying the case in the newspapers! Not a pretty sight, Jim, not by a long shot.” Jim thought that over. “So, how would YOU handle it? Just let the bastard walk? And maybe do it again to some other kid, if he hasn’t already? No, by God, the pervert has to be made an example of!” He got up and started pacing the office, went to the coffee urn, changed his mind, sat back down. “So what the hell do I do, Judge?” “You listen t me and let the Church handle it, Jim” said Judge Collins firmly, “and you don’t talk about it, outside of your family, of course. Well, except, like I said, you might have Little Jim talk to a psychiatrist or something to help straighten out his head about the whole thing. I can recommend one if you like. Father Williams will probably not be defrocked, but he’ll be transferred, and with any luck he won’t have his own parish again, or hold a leadership position within the Church, but you never know. Fact is, he’ll likely be given another parish at some point, or co-run one, outside the state. But you’ll never see him again, that is pretty much for certain, and they will keep an eye on him. When they ship ‘em around like this, it’s damned inconvenient, but they usually end up pretty far away from the ‘incident’. Let the Church handle it, Jim, you’ll see, everyone will be better off in the long run”. Jim looked at him, and there was a long silence. “I don’t have much of a choice here, do I?” he asked at last. “Well, not really, no, you don’t” allowed the judge. “You see, as a Catholic priest, Father Williams is governed by the laws of the Vatican, which is considered a separate country by the rest of the world. Hell, they even have a seated delegate at the United Nations! A Cardinal Plintock” and he looked under raised eyebrows at Jim. “As such, even though Father Williams is a U.S. citizen, it’s practically a dual citizenship and the law is pretty dicey on precedents. These kinds of cases just don’t happen, Jim, and when they do, this is what is done. Because if it were to get the kind of publicity that would happen under these circumstances, all hell would break loose! Jim, don’t you see the chaos that would ensue, if a quarter of the population suddenly couldn’t trust the very foundation of their beliefs? Hell, you’re a Catholic, you know, the priest is the eyes and ears of God Himself. Good Lord, man, do you have any idea of the hornets’ nest you’re contemplating batting around? A LOT of innocent people would get hurt, Jim, a whole lot of people. And what would it change here? Nothing, that’s what! All that pain and suffering for NOTHING! And in the end, it’s not just you, Jim, it’s everyone, they’ll be eying their priest askance, not knowing if it couldn’t be their priest, too…” The judge took off his glasses, wiped them vigorously, and put them back on. “That’s why you let it go the Church’s way, Jim”, he continued quietly. Because there’s nothing else for it.” Jim thought it over. “Well. I guess you’re probably right. After all, it’s a rare occurrence, right?” and he looked at the judge. “This kind of thing just doesn’t happen, right?” Chapter Five “OK, Padre, come on out” sang Deputy Bill, “You’ve been sprung” and with that he swung open the cell door. Father Williams looked up from the bottom half of the two-man bunk, bruised, dazed and red-eyed, and stood. The two walked silently up the small hallway, and the priest blinked at the brighter light as Deputy Bill ushered him through the outer door. “Well, Jason, it’s been a long time” said the abbot, taking the priest’s hand between his own, “Looks like you’ll be bunking with us again for awhile. Let things settle down”, and Father Williams blinked again as they walked out into the gathering dusk to the Bishop’s waiting car. “Hello, my son” said Bishop Franque as they got in, Father Williams in the rear with the Bishop and the abbot to drive. “This has been an unpleasant ordeal, I’m sure” to the downcast priest and Father Williams, relieved, began to tell the tale of the previous day’s events, and what had transpired before. “Shush, now, plenty of time for that” said the Bishop firmly. “First things first, we have to collect your things and return you to the monastery. It will be quiet there, and you will have time to collect yourself before we decide what to do.” “But I’m innocent, I didn’t start this!” interrupted Father Williams, “You don’t understand…” “Yes, we know, of course, this sort of thing happens more frequently than you might think. Don’t worry, the Church will take care of it, she always does” said the Bishop firmly. “Now relax, really, everything is being taken care of. As we speak, I’ve already put in for your transfer with the Cardinal, and he understands. He has had two other placements this year alone,” and with that he straightened himself, stared straight forward, and said “Oh, here we are then, we’ll just gather your personal things” and they pulled into the driveway of the little church. Sister Lorraine came rushing out, fingers flying “Are you all right? What happened?” she signed worriedly, “I saw him take you off in that police car..” “Everything will be fine, Sister”, he answered in sign language, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on myself, but I’m going back to the monastery until this all blows over. I’ll be back, I promise, I’ll keep in touch” and the Bishop hurried him along, “Come on, come along now, we haven’t much time” and he waved the nun away impatiently as she was forming a reply, “Tell her to get your things from the attic, would you? We want to be out of here before the morning” and he hustled the priest through the rear door of the church. “Now, then, Father Williams” said the Bishop, all business now that they were settled in the little office, “Why don’t you tell me how this happened?” “The boy started it” said Jason earnestly as the door closed behind the pudgy abbot, ostensibly off to check on the nun’s progress and bring some coffee, “about two years ago. He found my diary” and he looked pleadingly at his Bishop, “when the Youth Group was cleaning out Sister Lorraine’s attic to make room for our new Christmas creche, after the holidays. You know the one we were given it by old Sam at the store; he found it at a flea market. Beautiful, hand-carved figures, you could almost hear the Christ Child cooing.” “Of course” said the Bishop, “Go on”. “Well, we had to clear some space in the cottage attic to store the display” said Jason, “And I guess one of the kids dropped a box of my old clothes, and the diary popped out. So Little Jim grabbed it and said he’d catch up, then they didn’t see him again for about half an hour. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, Bishop, but then about a week later, at confession, he whispered, “I know why you joined the priesthood, Father, and I’m ready for my lessons now.” I was flabbergasted, and said “My son, have you had the Calling?” But he just repeated, “Father, I know all about you. I’m ready for my lessons now” so I told him, “Come round on Wednesday, then, after school, and we’ll see what we can do.” “He came to you?” asked the Bishop, disbelieving, “Are you sure?” “Yes, sir, he showed up the following Wednesday at 3:30 sharp, told me it was a good time for him, after school and before dinner” said Jason earnestly. “And then when the office door was closed, I asked what I could do for him, and he just unzipped his trousers and said ‘I think you know what to do’ and his penis was out and erect.” He mopped his brow. “So I said to him, ‘I think there must be some mistake’ and he just looked at me, smiled, and said ‘I don’t think so, Father. Here’s the deal. You see this gun? It’s pointed at your head. And now you’re going to suck me off and I’m not going to tell my Dad that you’re a pervert homo sex maniac. From way back. Isn’t that right, Father?’ Then he just kind of smirked at me, and I said ‘I think you’d better go now’.” He cocked the pistol, put it to my head and said I don’t mind blowing your brains out, Father, I had to do it to my dog a couple years ago. You’re no different. You have one week to decide whether to die. I‘ll leave the diary and the gun in yur hands. It‘ll be a suicide of a guilty priest, and the whole county will go up in flames over it. My way is much more pleasant, don‘t you think?” Then he looked at me, funny lok on his face, and left. And that’s all that happened. That first time” and Jason looked down at his hands, “I swear it to you, that’s the truth.” “Is that all?” asked the Bishop, patiently. “Obviously not, I think”, and he settled back. “When was the first time that you actually assaulted this child?” “It wasn’t like that” said Jason, desperately, “Father, you don’t understand, I never meant to harm the boy…but I didn‘t want greater harm to come to the county‘s parish churches, either”. “Of course not” said the Bishop grimly, “You fool! How long did you think that this could go on? Before that boy grew up enough to tell someone the truth about what you..YOU…were doing to HIM? What were you thinking?” “But…wait, it wasn’t like that, not at all…“ began Jason, startled. “No! Enough!” thundered the Bishop. “Do you realize, do you have any idea, what peril, what jeopardy you have placed the Mother Church in, how much is at stake? Do you? The child is not responsible!” and he began to pace the small room. “All right, so the boy is telling the truth, that much I do know. He is just a child, not a monster. This is your doing! How often did you perpetrate this crime against him? When, where did these perversions take place” and the Bishop glared at Jason, accusingly, with the full power of the Inquisition behind his eyes. “How far did you take this disgusting, sick passion of yours? Were there others? Did you penetrate…” “No!” said Jason, desperately, “He forced me, he was blackmailing me, don’t you understand? He said that if I went to his father, or said anything, he’d…”. “I said ENOUGH!” and the Bishop turned, furious. “How dare you represent yourself as a man of the cloth, as a priest…?” He stopped and took a long, deep breath, then another. “None of this matters” he said finally, slowly. “Jason, just go and pack your things now. We must leave here soon, before dawn. Go and get whatever is important to you, and bring it back here. Go now!” and he settled himself down into the chair, gazing into the small fire. “Jason…just go.” TWO HOURS LATER, when the abbot and Sister Lorraine began bringing Jason’s few boxes into the study, the Bishop was still lost in thought. “Wha…what?”, startled out of his reverie by their voices. “I said, Sir, that I think you should see this” said the abbot, holding out two small books. “It’s his diary, he’s always kept one and he brought these when he came here. I told him not to keep it, that it could be damaging, but here it is, the first one he arrived at the monastery with, and this other book detailing his time here. Bishop Franque, it says here…well, that…the boy--...” “What?” the Bishop was instantly alert. “Let me see that” and he grabbed the books the abbot held out. “See, sir, in the first book, the first dog-eared page, that’s about what happened when he was a lad that brought him to me” said the abbot, “And here, toward the back of this second book is...” “Sssshhhh” muttered the Bishop, “One moment”, and he took the books and quickly scanned the pages. “No, no, this won’t do, this won’t do at all” and just then a harried Jason came in, carrying a box of clothing topped with a smaller box of papers. “What’s that?” he looked around, “what have you…” and he spied the books the Bishop held. “No!” he said desperately. “Leave those books alone. They just might be able to save me…”, but he was cut off as the Bishop pushed him down into the chair. “Get the nun out of here” he growled to the abbot, “we need no witnesses now, get her OUT” and the abbot gently took the nun by the arm and steered her out of the room, returning a moment later with a syringe that he quickly concealed beneath his robes. “Now, Jason” said the Bishop soothingly, “Just take this, it will help to calm you and let you rest during the drive. You need to rest now, you’ve been through quite an ordeal” and he gave the priest a small blue pill. “It’s only a Valium, it will relax you” and he gave it to Jason with a small glass of water. “Go on now, it’s all right” he said as he watched Jason swallow the pill and water like a child instructed by his parent, “There, that’s good, it’s just the ticket, you’ll see” and he motioned to the abbot. “But my books, you have to give me back my diary, it’s the only evidence I have” said Jason, suddenly fighting fatigue. He felt warm, tired. “Now Jason, do you think THEY would believe THAT? Come now, son, you wrote it all yourself, in solitude, they’d rip you to shreds in a trial if that’s all you had to stand on. Not only that, but the Church with you, too. No, I’m sorry son, but that just would not do, now, would it?” said the Bishop firmly, reasonably. “Here, let me help you out of that sweatshirt, you’re looking sweaty” and he began to ease the now-compliant Jason out of his sweatshirt, holding a cloth-covered vial under the neck-hole opening. “No”, said Jason weakly, “They wouldn’t believe me at first, would they, but they have to! It‘s the truth!” and he started to struggle as the Bishop’s hand tightened around his wrists, the other still holding the vial secure. “No! They have to believe me” his voice loud in the room, but his head began to spin, and he heard the Bishop bark out “Now!” Then Jason, blinded by the thick material, was startled to feel a sharp sting on his left shoulder. “No, don’t do this” he cried out as the Bishop eased the sweatshirt back on, saying calmly “It’s a little chilly out tonight, perhaps you should keep this on after all”. The silent abbot took the little books from the Bishop’s outstretched hand. “Nooooo, stop, don’t, please!”, but he felt warm now, fuzzy, and a new drowsiness began to overcome him, the little room spinning slightly and darkening around the edges. Through the fast-gathering haze, he watched, stunned, as the abbot carefully placed the first book, pages spread wide open, onto the little fire. “But…but that was my only defense” he said, and started to whimper as the flames licked at the pages. “N-No, please d-d-don’t—d-don’t do that, don‘t do this to me, don’t!”, but the abbot silently stirred the fire and added a small log. The fire leapt to life, and the abbot carefully placed the second book into the flames “But…“ said Jason, weakly now, and his hands clenched, then relaxed slowly as his eyes locked on the little fire, the blazing books, and then the darkness closed slowly in around him. And that was his last image of the little church that he had loved so much. Chapter Six “Jimbo! Damn, Jim, it’s good to see you” and Todd came bounding out of the station wagon, “Looking”, thought Sharon, ” for all the world like a huge Saint Bernard puppy”. Todd turned around, “Judith? Judith, come on, get the kids out of the car!” “Fine weather you have here, just fine, is everything okay?” and he looked searchingly at Jim. “Oh, just dandy” said Jim bitterly, “If you can stand the dirty looks when you take Communion from a priest who isn‘t the beloved Father Jason Williams. The judge imposed a gag order, and so I can’t make any statement whatsoever regarding this mess, which at lest called the newshounds off my ass”. He sighed. “Not so great, ok? Thank you for coming. It helps more than you know” and the brothers walked toward the house, while Sharon sang out “Is that YOU, Patty? My, look how you’ve grown! And is that Baby Todd?” “Toddles” laughed Judith, and the two women hugged a warm hello then walked, arm over shoulder, into the house “Hell of a thing, Todd, hell of a thing” was all Jim could say later, over brandy and cigars out back, with the wives and children all bedded down. “I never, in my wildest dreams, thought…I mean, a PRIEST of all things…and now the bastard’s disappeared, the Church has clammed up tighter than a 16-year-old virgin. Giving confession to a priest I only met a couple of weeks ago. Going to work like nothing’s happened, and I can’t talk to Bill or Trucker or Tommy about any of it…’Course, Trucker’s about the only one not giving me the ‘eye’…but hey, how’s life in Detroit?” Todd laughed, his big, easy voice carrying through the night. “And I thought you’d be the one with the quiet life” he said finally. “How’re the newspapers treating you, really? Printing any speculation crap about it? Is there anything there I can help with? Even a Detroit Star sportswriter carries some clout in these little burgs.” “No, thanks, that’s the one thing I have sewn up pretty tight. Being Chief of Police carries a little clout here, too, and the gag order pretty well slams the door shut.” Jim laughed, the sudden oddness of the sound of it startling him a little but feeling good, too. “We lucked out there, the senior editor of the only local paper for miles has this personally, and he’s treating us pretty decently, not allowing any crap editorials or letters to the editor about this to get into the paper. One of those small favors we’re supposed to thank God for”, and he grinned at his brother. “Game of Gin rummy?” “Sure thing” said Todd, “Go ahead, take me for all I’ve got” and they took their drinks and cigars to the card table. “It’s late, but I’m on ‘vacation’, right? And speaking of vacations, you still doing the big anniversary Poker Club fishing trip thing in November?” “You bet” said Jim, defiantly. “Thanksgiving weekend, already booked, and all the guys’re coming. Except Bill, he’s staying back to mind the station. Sharon and Little Jim are spending the weekend with Monica and Stacey at Stacey’s parents’ place back East, God help them. But, I can get out of town for a few days, too, be good for everyone! I already have the T-shirts ordered and we got Captain Tomas and his boat. Sure you won’t change your mind and come along? We got room, and it will be some damn fine fishin‘ and drinkin‘” This as he dealt the cards. “Not this year, Little Brother” said Todd, regretfully. “Judith has me going along to her folks, haven’t seen ‘em in a coon’s age and they haven‘t seen Toddles since he was born. Jesus, Jimbo, you call this is a hand?” as he spread his cards and looked askance under his thickset brows at Jim. “I thought you LIKED me!” and the game was on. “My Heavens, is it always like that?” asked Judith, as she and Sharon unloaded groceries from Sharon’s station wagon. “What a circus! How do you manage, with all that fuss?” “Well, it’s not as bad as it could be” said Sharon, pragmatically. “And not half of what it was a couple of weeks ago, what with Father Williams’ Fan Club picketing outside our HOUSE at all hours, and hippies who never set foot inside a church holding candles and singing ’Kumbayah’ and ’Amazing Grace’ and God knows what else at the tops of their stoned-out lungs and throwing rocks. Finally, Jim got Trucker to be here for a couple of days in that little camper of his, and they all just kind of melted away. That man!” and Sharon shook her head, “why, Judith he doesn’t even SAY anything, just looks at folks with those eyes of his and kind of scowls…” “Well, yeah, but with four hundred pounds of MEAN to back it up” said Judith, “I think I’d kind of melt away, too! But I do see what you mean, it must have been just horrid those first few days,” as she handed cans of tomatoes, soup, fruit and tuna to Sharon in the small pantry. “Well”, said Sharon, “Having you all here has really helped, just having someone we can trust. to TALK to…Toddles! NOT the toilet paper AGAIN!” and she burst into laughter as “Toddles” the two-year-old came unsteadily around the corner, clutching the end of a roll of toilet paper in his chubby fist like a leash, “PAY-puh” he said earnestly, staring up at them, “gah TOH pay-puh!” triumphantly as Sharon peered around the corner of the kitchen, laughing helplessly at the sight of Toddle’s progress through the living room, marked by the unwinding paper as he went. “Give me the paper, “Todd” she said finally, “Thank you! Here’s a cookie” and she began winding the paper back onto the roll, following the little trail as she went. “Tay-koo” said the baby, “Up!” and he raised chubby arms to Judith, who swung him up and into the waiting high chair. “Too-kie!” And he looked up at her expectantly, holding out his other chubby fist. “Tah-dohs tookie!” and Judith laughted “Oh, well, all right, since you haven’t had your bath yet, I guess you can have TWO cookies” and she rustled among the bags. Sharon smiled, turning, “My word, but that child is a mess. Do any of those things actually make it into him?” and she shook her head at the sight of Toddles, busily stuffing the rest of the first cookie into his face, with most of it smeared across his face, his arms, his belly, his hair. “Are you sure? I need a picture of this,” and the two broke into peals of laughter as Toddles said “Duh-ty, mommy, DUH-TY” and stuck out his chubby little fists. UP! Baf now!” “Oh all right,” laughed Judith finally, “you can have your bath now!” Chapter Seven CARDINAL Scarlotti looked over his reading glasses as he finished the Bishop’s hand-written account of the “incident”. “You’re sure”, he said finally, “that this is an accurate accounting?” “Yes. From what I could gather without prying too far” answered Bishop Franque carefully, “the child is…or was…innocent, as I suspected. Precocious, but taken advantage of in the most perverse manner. And given Jason’s history, I’m a little surprised that it took his ‘inclinations’ this long to surface.” His voice trailed off. “But I think he’s learned his lesson that this sort of thing will not be tolerated. As his confessor, I believe that he is truly repentant. His placement in that little village in Sonora could be just the thing…” “Yesss,” agreed the Cardinal, “Perhaps you’re right, but there are so many children…Are you sure it’s safe?” “Of course” smiled the Bishop, “because the fear of being exposed and possibly defrocked is much, much greater than this little perversion of his, he knows that if he gives rein to it again he will be at least removed to a life of silence and penance, and possibly excommunicated. Or so I have led him to believe” and with this he smiled conspiratorially at the Cardinal. “I don’t believe that he will test the theory, so let’s leave it at that. He knows what happened to Father Jerome, no sense in telling him that one again. THAT was a strong example firmly made by the Church, am I correct? Best he believes that’s the rule, rather than the exception”, and he let the smile play over face again. Don’t you think?” “Once again, Bishop Franque” said the Cardinal, “You have hit the nail on the head. And with him out of the country, all the fuss will die down when that policeman…what’s his name?…can’t track him down and finally gives up. We can dismiss the whole matter, no real harm done now, was there? Present the proper face to the community, and with old Father Hastings in charge, well, there’s no more incorruptible priest than him in the entire diocese, I’m sure” and he smiled benevolently at the Bishop. Now, is there anything else?” “No, Excellency” said the Bishop, “I believe we’ve wrapped this one up tight. Except one little thing, I don’t believe we need to tell Father Jason exactly WHERE he’s being placed, do you? And do we send the nun along? She was very devoted to Jason, and I hear that she remains somewhat distraught over this whole thing” “No” said the Cardinal, firmly, “She has done nothing wrong, and Father Hastings speaks better sign language than she does. They’ll be fine together, but I do believe you’re right about Jason. By the time he figures out where he is, he will realize that the Church’s secrecy is all in his best interests.” “Of course” said Bishop Franque quickly, “of course you are correct, Excellency, I had forgotten that Father Hastings spoke fluent sign language” and he smiled inwardly, and said to himself ‘Good…no, perfect! Not a blemish on MY record now, and I’m next in line for the promotion when Cardinal Scarlotti goes to the Vatican next winter” and he bowed slightly to the Cardinal. “God willing, of course, I do believe that you’ve solved everything, as always, for the better, Excellency” and he made the sign of the cross, “God willing…” Chapter Eight Little Jim was tired of coloring. His mother had sent him to his room with his crayons so she and her friend Angie could spend some “adult time” an hour ago, and it seemed like forever. He looked at the crayoned page in his coloring book and thought, “maybe they just forgot about me, with that new baby and all, a NEW baby” and he angrily threw the crayon down. “Stupid baby”. He looked around his room, spied his brand-new Tonka truck. “Maybe she’ll let me go outside with my truck” and tore the page he’d been coloring out of the book, “specially if I give her this” and he quietly stole out of the bedroom. Peering around the corner of the living room, he was startled to see Angie’s bared breast and the baby sucking greedily, bluish-white milk seeping from the corner of its mouth. Fascinated, he watched as he heard her say “Oh, yes, I know most new mothers are using formula now, this seems so old-fashioned…” “Well, dear” said his mother, “I suppose this is more natural and all,” and Little Jim watched as Angie put her finger to the baby’s mouth and suction was released with a smack. “Still, how do you go out in public with the baby? You certainly can’t breastfeed the baby in a store, or in a restaurant. Sooner or later, someone‘s going to complain about indecent exposure and you don’t need to get into that kind of trouble”. “I can, I have and I will!” retorted Angie defiantly, putting the baby to her shoulder. “people shouldn’t look at me as though I were committing a crime, but they do. It shouldn‘t be a crime to feed your child as God and nature intended, and have you ever smelled that baby formula? It smells just putrid!” and she patted the baby’s back. A moment later the baby burped, dribbling milk and looking startled afterward. Little Jim couldn’t take his eyes off her bared breast, milk dribbling down, and took a step into the living room, dropping his truck, staring, the forgotten crayoned page .dangling from his hand. “Little Jim!” cried his mother, “What are you doing? How long have you been standing there? Didn’t I tell you to play in your room until I called you, young man?” and she glared at him. “I-I wanted to give you my picture” he stammered, feeling his face flush, “and I just wanted to go outside, Mommy” and he looked from her angry face, back to Angie’s breast (now covered) and back to his mother. “I just wanted to go outside”, now pleading, knowing he’d done wrong but not sure quite what it was. “Well, then go outside, run along” said Sharon, exasperated, “and stay out of Daddy’s shed. I’ll bring you some cookies and milk in a few minutes, you can have them outside at the picnic table. Go on, now, and thank you for the picture” as she took it from him, then guided him firmly out the back sliding-glass door, “it’s very nice” and then closed the door and pulled the drapes closed. “I swear, that child” he heard her say as she turned away. Little Jim was confused. He had seen kittens nurse, of course, his kindergarten teacher had brought her cat in to have her kittens; and calves and foals, too. But nothing had prepared him for THIS, and he was thoughtful as he pushed his truck around. Seeing Angie’s bared breast made him feel funny, too, caused an unfamiliar aching in his groin and made his stomach queasy, what was that about? Odd thoughts, and the picture of the baby nursing, the bare breast, the milk dribbling down from it, swirled around in his head, and he decided that he didn’t like babies very much. In fact, he didn’t like them at all. Chapter Nine SISTER LORRAINE was vaguely aware that something terrible had happened, that it had to do with Father Jason. That policeman looked so ANGRY, she thought, and what had he done with Father Jason? She didn’t believe for a minute his quick story about a wrestling accident to explain his bloodied face, nor that of the Bishop’s terse “He’s needed elsewhere” (written on a napkin). She decided to knock and give the basket directly to Sharon today, rather than simply leave it on the doorstep as was her custom. The young boy’s mother looked distracted and uncomfortable now, she noticed. Carefully and emphatically, she wrote “These are a new recipe, and they are good. For you and your family” and she could see another woman with a toddler through the door into the living room. “Please take them, otherwise they’ll just go stale” she scribbled and turned, walking resolutely toward her bicycle parked at the newly-gated driveway. Sharon shrugged helplessly as she brought the basket into the house. “She’s always done this, I think she started it to let Jim know she could be trusted in the kitchen” she explained to Judith. “Poor thing, but the breads, and especially the muffins, are just excellent! Want one?” She proffered the basket, “Really! They’re delicious” and Judith reached out to take the offered apple-raisin muffin. “Here, now Toddles! You can have a bit” and popped a small chunk into his mouth. “My, these are heavenly” she said over a mouthful, “And she brings them how often?” “Oh, a couple times a month” said Sharon casually, on the way to the kitchen. “I can always tell that Little Jim’s friends will be over a lot for the next few days, after she comes. Coffee?” and she filled two cups. “I think we’ll have that chicken tonight, want to peel some carrots for me?” “Yes, of course” said Judith, rounding the corner, “Let me just get Toddles his lunch” and she tucked him firmly into the high chair, “while the oven’s heating. It sure warms the house, now that the evening’s are cooling down” and the two women bustled about, comfortable in the large kitchen, fragrant now with the scent of apples and cinnamon. “Hey, Little Jim” sang out Sharon as he came in the door, “Is Trixie coming over for homework today?” “No!” said the boy, sullenly, “she’s gone off with her brother to a football game, ALONE” and he slammed his books down. “I just don’t get her, all sweet as pie one minute and then she’ll have nothing to do with me the next…say, are those Sister Lorraine’s muffins? Can Chet come over for homework?” He reached for the telephone, girl trouble forgotten for the moment. “He can stay for dinner, right? Hello, Mrs Thompson, is Chet there?” He paused for a beat, then “Chet, Sister Lorraine’s muffins are here! Come on over, you can stay for dinner and Mom’ll drive you home, right, Mom?” and his clear hazel smiled at his mother. “Of course it’s all right! See you in ten, pal!” and he grabbed a muffin from the basket. “Getting my notebook, Mom” as he disappeared around the corner, “Aunt Judith? Toddles won’t throw his dinner at my homework again tonight, will he? Yesterday I had to copy my whole algebra page over! Chapter Ten Jim was stymied. Still haunted by his son’s tear-streaked face, he called the diocese “for the umpteenth time” Sharon had said, worried to find out what had happened in the few weeks after the “incident”, as it was referred to in the family. “Yes, yes, an unfortunate situation” the Cardinal told him blandly, “and how is young Jimmy? I truly hope that this has not diminished his faith, or impeded his quest to enter the priesthood.” “Well, sir, it hasn’t helped either thing” said Jim coldly, “not that I am personally all that thrilled at my son’s thinking of being celibate for a lifetime, sorry, but that just isn’t in the gameplan right now. He’s returned to his normal studies, he has a girlfriend, and he is doing fairly well, considering. So tell me, Cardinal Scarlotti, just exactly where is Father Williams? I don’t think that I want to let this go, after all. I think he has to pay for what he’s done.” “And he will, I assure you” said the Cardinal smoothly, “the Church has a very efficient system for handling these matters. It’s not a common occurrence, mind you, but there are procedures in place. Rest assured, my son, that all is being taken care of and don’t trouble your soul further in this unfortunate situation. Remember, forgiveness heals the soul. You must find forgiveness in your heart for Father Williams. . Remember, my son, that this is an illness of the soul, and I assure you that it has troubled him greatly. But the Church will help him to overcome this weakness, and find placement for him that will heal this grievous wrong with time. I would suggest that you pray for his soul, and ask forgiveness. Further, I would admonish you to pray to the Blessed Virgin to ease the anguish in your heart, and also for the healing and well-being of your son‘s soul. His healing, and the well-being of his soul, should be your paramount concern now, so that he continues to grow into the fine young man that he is capable of becoming. And if his Calling to the priesthood is genuine, that will also come with time. It is written, many are called but few are Chosen. Be at peace, my son” and he hung up the phone. “What a crock” thought Jim, “Where the hell are they hiding this bastard? Forgive me, Blessed Mother, but I cannot rest without knowing justice has been served.” He paced the small precinct office restlessly, fingering the rosary in his pocket. “Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed…Oh, Christ, I can’t do this!” and he sat heavily in his chair, still fingering the beads. “God help me, Blessed Mother, intercede on my behalf. In the name of all that is holy, I cannot simply turn and let this go! He has to be somewhere! A man is a man, and he has to turn up!” Frustrated, he closed his eyes and leaned back. “There has to be a way! There must be a way to find him!” “Um, Chief, I think we have a situation here” Tommy’s voice crackled over the radio, startling him. “Are you there?” “Yeah, what’s up” and Jim was instantly alert. Tommy had recently started routine patrols solo, and he sounded tense. “Chief, Harland’s holed up in his house with two of the kids, the little ones” and Tommy’s voice cracked slightly. “He says that if Sophie don’t come back home, right now, he’s gonna blow all their brains out and his too. Sounds like he’s been drinking, Chief, and he’s got the kids coming out and passing notes to me in the car, while he stands in the doorway with a shotgun aimed at their backs. What the hell am I supposed to do here?” “:Aw, hell, where’s Trucker?” asked Jim, feeling a familiar tightness in his throat and his right hand began to shake, “Not now, damn it, not now” he thought, “oh please, God, not now…Where’s Trucker?” he asked again, remembering to press the button on the radio this time. “Out fishin’ with his buddies, or so he says. It’s Saturday, remember?” said Tommy. “We won’t see or hear from him til Monday shift, just like always”. “The hell we won’t” growled Jim. “I’m putting out an APB right now, and you go check the Cattle Call. He has to be somewhere close, he never puts any miles on that car!” “Well he’s not at the Cattle Call, I already called there, and Sunshine wouldn’t lie to me” said Tommy, sounding desperate. “And I don’t think I should leave here, Chief. It don’t look too good, and Gwen’s already here talkin’ to Gladys Martin.” “Of course she is” said Jim sarcastically, “I swear that woman was a vulture in a previous life. If there is any such thing. Okay, settle down, I’ll cruise around lookin’ for Trucker while I put out the APB, probably meet you there in fifteen, maybe twenty minutes. Don’t make Harland any promises, and see if you can find out where Sophie went this time, probably over to her sister’s in Clark’s Corner, it’s not too far away and that’s where she went last time. Wish she would just stay gone one of these days, save us all a whole lot of grief.” He laughed shortly. “By the way, just how many folks are out there right now?” “Oh, not a lot, maybe ten, twelve - wait, hold on, Tommy Boy and his little girlfriend’s just sashaying across the corner lot…Hell, Chief, everybody’s just standing around talking in their little circles. You know, all the women seeing who’s all here, and who’s not, and how all the other girls’re dressed. Gladys Martin came a-strottin’ out the house in her old raggedy bathrobe and hair curlers stickin’ out every which way right after I first got here, with Ben’s big old slippers flappin’ half off, man, was that a sight! Boy, I tell you those women were titterin’ somethin’ then! You never seen a woman do a U-turn and scram back into the house so quick as Gladys did when she saw Gwen Petersen! The woman’s face couldn’t figure out whether to turn chalky-white or purple. Anyway, like I said, they’re all just standing around, waiting for something to happen ‘n’ new folks to show up” finished Tommy, out of breath. “Harland’s been doin’ a lot of hollering for quite a while now, so every single one of the neighbor folks is outside watchin’ the show. Like always. But hey, Chief, let’s look on the bright side, all the kids are indoors, right?” “Well, yeah, I guess that’s something” said Jim. At least they got a rat’s lick of sense somewhere, after all. Okay, Tommy, I’m on my way. Keep everybody out of the perimeter. And Tommy, use the word ‘perimeter’, they like it when you sound official. Gladys is back, right? You put her and Gwen in charge of cattle herding, tell them I said to get everybody on Gladys’ side of the corner behind her property line right now. Wait, make that in the back yard behind the fence, if you get my drift. Stay in touch, I want to know if anything changes. See you in a jiffy. And Tommy? Don’t call me ‘Chief’”. Chapter Eleven SURE ENOUGH, Chief “Big Jim” Rushing found Trucker on his first sweep into the Cattle Call (“Well, hello there, Shirley gal, d’you think ol’ Trucker’s wide awake enough to join you in a beer yet? His gal done left, right?”), and he winked a smile at her as he put a nice, fresh twenty-dollar bill down on the counter, under the coaster. “Well yes she has, Chief” smiled Shirley, bending slightly over her elbows on the counter so as best to reveal the plump, creamy mounds straining ever so slightly against her crinkled-cotton peasant blouse. Chin in hands, she smiled pertly, “Anything I can get for you first?” “Naw, just Trucker’ll do for now, thanks, Shirls”, he drawled intentionally, a smile playing at the side of his mouth. “I’ll just pour myself a cup here, and could you tell him to step it up for me? I don’t want that coffee to cool one whit before I see him swingin’ through the back door, now. Back door, gal, before my coffee cools. Or I keep the twenty, got it?” “Yes, sir, Chief” said Shirley, straightening up and startled. “You know where the cups are, right? Be right back”, this over her shoulder as she bustled toward the back. “Hey! Wait a minute there, Shirls” and he kept that ‘authority voice’ on like the announcer on ‘Dragnet’”. “No stopping to talk to no BODY, ok? Now GO!” and she scurried off again, with that special fast walk only a lifetime waitress really ever gets right. “Whew, Shirley!” she thought, “You are just SO glad not to be on the receiving end of THAT, whatever it is. Yikes!” and through the backdoor she sped, calling out “Trucker? Are you decent?”… “O.K., Tommy, what’s the quick and dirty version?” Jim almost snapped into the radio as the Bronco pulled out a few minutes later. I’ll be there in ten…no, more like five minutes, Trucker’s driving”. “Uh, well, ah, Chief…” stammered Tommy. “What are the quick and dirty facts as of this exact moment from where you stand right now, Tommy” cut in Jim, tightly “For Chrissakes, I just got Trucker outta bed. Now, give me the facts, just the facts, and I want them now”.. By the time Trucker turned down the dusty little street four minutes forty-seven seconds later (“Nice driving, Trucker” said Chief Jim “Nice”.), quite a crowd had gathered, spilling out of Gladys’ little backyard and jostling some, but staying carefully away from any obvious eye-lines from Harland Jones’ windows. “Okay, Tommy, we’re not on the radio anymore, no scanners, nobody can hear us, so what’s got you so all-fired jumpy now?” “Okay…okay, Chief” said Tommy shakily, “Here’s the straight dope. That little one came out about five minutes ago, looking just scared out of her wits…you know the one, she’s about three? Anyway, she comes marching out like there’s John Philip Souza in the background and she’s the color guard, marches straight up to me standing here by the patrol car, looks me in the eye and says, “My daddy don’t care what you think, that body in there ain’t my momma. And he’s right, ‘cuz my momma has boobies and this here’s a boy!” And she looked up at me with these brownish blue-green eyes…” “Hazel” said Jim impatiently, “Her eyes are hazel, Tommy. Now, exactly what body, are we talking homicide? Did Harland kill somebody for real?” and they both looked over at the closed up front window like they could see through it to Harland’s obviously guilty heart. “And when exactly is this supposed to have occurred? And just why the Sam Hill didn’t you tell me about this sooner?” “Well,” started Tommy earnestly, “you see, Chief it was like this, the little girl…” when he was suddenly interrupted by a very loud blast from Harland’s 30.06 sawed-off shotgun, pointed straight up in the air. “Hey Chief” hollered Harland, a little blearily, out from the slightly-opened front door, “Izzat you? I didn’t kill nobody, Chief, and I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no killin’ of this here dead kid! Hell, I don’t even know who it is! Ain’t one o’ mine, that’s fer sure, now, I think he’s too old and I’d prob’ly rightly know if he wuz one-a mine, now, am I correct, Chief?” and he belched across the yard so loudly, so wetly that Chief Jim almost took a step backward. “Well, Harland”, said Chief Jim carefully, drawing it out, “yessir, I would have to agree with you on that one, uh-hunh! You say you got no idea who the young man might be?” “Well, hell, Chief, he ain’t exactly talking, okay?” and Harland started laughing, hanging slightly out the front door now and looking boozily around. “Hey, you! Gwen God-damned-Petersen, what th’ Hell you lookin’ at, cunt? Yeah, you right, you prolly never did see a real man in his unders, now, didja!” Harland stood up taller on his bandy legs, rotgut belly swung forward like a pregnant woman with hands on hips. “Hooo-eeey! Jes’ you look-a here, darlin’, mebbe youll figure out what you been missin’ out on all this time!!” and he belched again, cackling between the four or five teeth left in his mouth. “Betcha think this is quite the howdy-doo PER-aade, doncha! Well, get yer sleazy, slobberin’ ugly self on back there in the yard with the rest of em, you ain’t missin’ nothing”!” and he looked back at Jim. “Sorry, Chief” he said, meaning it, but Ah jes’ cain’t STAND that feeble excuse fer a woman! Makes me wanta shoot her Daddy!” and he cackled some more, the sound carrying shrilly through the shimmering, chilly morning. “And where’s my old lady, anyway? She oughtta be here by my side, fer Chrissake. You found her yet?” and he squinted expectantly toward the patrol car. “Hey, Harland” called Trucker carefully, “No, we ain’t got her, now, and why don’t you get some clothes on, and I’ll just come on in so we can talk for a minute” and he looked around. “No reason to give all these folks a show for the rest of the day, now is there? And what’s all this hollering been about all morning, anyway? And how did this dead kid…he isn’t shot, is he…just how the hell did he get in your house? I’ma goin’ take m’self a look-see”. Trucker ambled his huge frame into Harland’s yard and up the walk. Harland looked like he might have something to say for a second there, but the closer Trucker got, the smaller Harland looked, until finally he muttered something and turned as Truckers huge paw settled on his shoulder and the other reached on over and took the shotgun. “Hold this for me, wouldja Chief?” he called out, and hurled the shotgun to Jim’s feet before going into the house and closing the door. “Uh, Chief? Said Tommy, “Trucker left his radio on the seat there” and the two of them stood a minute watching the closed door. Jim picked up the shotgun. “Well, I don’t think Harland will be needing this any time soon” he said, a slow smile playing across his lips. “Sure would like to be a fly on the wall in there right now, though, I surely would. Tell you what, Tommy boy, whyn’t you go on over and start clearing the folks outta Gladys’ yard? She’s probably about out of coffee now, anyway” and he chuckled. “OK, Trucker” he said aloud, softly, “now just what have we got here? And where the Sam Hill is Sophie this time? Better call over to Clark’s Corner” and he picked up the radio. Trucker looked around the small living room, his nose crinkling. “C’mon, Harland” he said, “can’t you clean up after yourself a little here? That old pizza ain’t getting’ any fresher” and he kicked at the old box under the coffee table. “Hell, If I was Sophie I wouldn’t want to come back to this mess either” and Harland shook his head and sat down morosely. “Hell, I know that Trucker” he said, a boozy tear squeezing out of the rheumy, reddened eyes, “I know…but hey, you wanna see that kid now?” and he looked up craftily at Trucker, “cuz you want to get him outta here soon, he’s startin’ to smell. And when you gonna bring my Sophie home? Cuz my little girl here, she’s only three, and she cain’t hardly get to sleep without a little tittie to calm her down.” Chapter Twelve IT WAS GETTING DARK, and the last scattered onlookers had long gone off to start supper and whatnot, before the county coroner’s van from Clark’s Corner finally roared off. “You think it’s the Farleigh boy, Martin, don’t you Chief” asked Trucker as he drove them back to the station. “Well, yes I do” answered Jim, “Because we don’t get so many calls about missing teenagers, and Selma Farleigh called Sharon yesterday wondering if he was at our house. He’s not really close friends with Little Jim, but she was running out of ideas and they had the church social to go to. Never called in a report though,” and Jim closed his eyes and saw again the blackened, bruised face and arms, the slit throat, blood pooled all around his head and shoulders and leaving a gruesome, staggering trail from the semi-enclosed back porch all the way back through to the alleyway, where he had apparently been accosted. “Helluva thing. I guess we’d better swing by their house so I can talk to them. They’ll have to identify the body.” The image of the dead boy was burned into his skull. Jim sighed heavily as Trucker made a left turn to take them out of town to the Farleigh’s, a little ways out on 600 well-groomed acres. Earl Farleigh’s great-grandfather had settled here before the Gold Rush, his English country sensibility taken in by the rich loam. Everything grew here, corn, beets, wheat, beans, cabbages, fruit and nut trees, and, of course, children. Eight of them, and Earl’s grandfather, then his father and two brothers stayed on to farm the land. And even though times had changed and the family farms were disappearing across the landscape, Earl took a farmer’s pride in his land, growing enough to feed his family and his workers, still stocking the local farmers’ market on Saturdays and Thursdays in the summer, and turning a profit most years. And even though his crop tended more to corn and soybeans now, he still grew enough beets and asparagus to get a truckload or two every year as well to whatever supermarket bid the highest when the crop was nearing readiness. No futures market for Earl, he didn’t believe in it. “Speculatin’, same as gambling, it’s all the Devil’s work” he’d say, shaking his head. “I’m not the one to judge, mind you, and the others’ business is their own, but I just can’t see my way clear to lie to any man telling him my extreme potential is expected in full every year, then banking on the worst-case to cover my expenses. No, sir, that’d just be setting myself up to fail, the way I see it, not my way of doing business” and a long, fat Havana would materialize as he rocked on the porch. “Not my way at all”, and he would preoccupy himself for a few minutes trimming and lighting the cigar then sit back, content, in the fading light Now Earl’s “accidental” son was likely dead, and Jim groaned inwardly at the prospect of destroying the man’s oft-spoken dream of training the boy to someday take over the farming operation and support him in his dotage. Trying to stem the dreadful tide of sorrow, he sat up tall, then looked around at the farm and sighed before straightening his tie. “Well, c’mon then, Trucker” he said glumly, noting that Trucker had deferentially slowed the patrol car to accommodate his preparations, “Guess we may as well get this one over with”. Earl and Serena “Sadie” Farleigh were in their late 40’s when Martin appeared, having already raised two sons and a daughter. Chet was a truck driver for a supermarket chain, living the glamour of life on the road and too much chili at midnight. Son Bill had a franchise furniture store in Clark’s Corner and a new wife. “All bubbles and no brain” Earl would say darkly, “that one is trouble, you mark my words” and Sadie would in agreement. Neither son was much interested in the family business once they were off the trough. Their daughter, Gracie, went off to college, Berkeley, “Wasting her life” Earl would grumble good-naturedly, writing out the tuition check every year, “Going to end up at 35 with a Master’s degree in Education and nowhere to go. She shoulda married that Kennedy boy when she had the chance” meaning that her one date with a distant cousin of the clan should have set her up for life. Earl is not the proponent of women’s liberation, figuring “My little Sadie here has made me a happy man for nigh onto 40 years now, and has her own savings to boot. She keeps the house clean and food on the table and the rest of her time is her business. But ain’t no wife of mine going to work, now, that wouldn’t be right.” According to Earl, Gracie has some “funny ideas” about the war in Vietnam and women’s place in society, but as long as she gets good grades and keeps her head on her shoulders, he isn’t too worried. “She’ll find the right fella”, he says confidently, “just you wait and see. Straighten her right out”. And then, out of the blue, came Martin. Thinking she was going through “the change”, Sadie ignored most of the symptoms of her pregnancy until the baby started moving and kicking, and she was dumbfounded when Doc Smitty gave her the news. “But how?” she started to say, then blushed, and Doc told her “Well I reckon in the usual way, Sadie” and laughed at her discomfiture. “You best let Earl know, now, looks like you only got about four months to go” and Sadie was as nervous as a kitten all the way home. Now Trucker and Chief “Big Jim” Rushing are pulling around into the drive in front of the house, and they see Sadie brushing off her hands on her apron as she bustles up to the door. “Why Chief Rushing!” she declares with a sparkle in her eye, as she opens the door, “Jim, what brings you all the way out here at suppertime? That wife of yours finally got some sense in her head and run off? And Trucker, howdy-do to you! You’re looking fit” and then she stands back a little, uncertain, the light pooling behind her. “Earl should just be coming up from the cows, he still has to talk to them before he comes in at night. Come on in and have some coffee and a bite, won’t you, we’re just getting settled in for supper…have you seen my boy yet, Chief? I can’t even imagine what kind of scrape he must have gotten himself into this time, not wanting to come home and all” and she turned to bustle back into the kitchen. “But boys will be boys!”, and the nervousness and worry now showed plainly through the chatter. “Just coffee for me, thanks, Sadie” said Jim, “Don’t want to spoil my appetite, Sharon wouldn’t like it” and he eased himself into one of the old kitchen chairs around the table. “Um, a beer would be nice if you have one, ma’am” said Trucker, looking doubtfully at the chairs, “or if not, coffee would be just fine” and he decided to remain standing, leaning slightly against the warm kitchen wall. “Well, surely” Sadie laughed, sounding high-strung now, “of course, Trucker” and the beer appeared almost of its own volition, bottle frosted. “Earl! Look here now, we have company, Chief Jim and Trucker!” and she sat down hard, her night’s duty done for the moment. “Well, howdy-do, men!” barked Earl, tired from the days’ work, “what can I do for ya now?” and Jim allowed a wide-open sigh. “Earl” he allowed after a moment, “Earl, I think we may have found your son” and his quiet voice gave pause to an even quieter room. “ Chapter Thirteen “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned” said Father Jason Williams, quietly, in the dark of the confessional. “Yes, my son?” came the disembodied voice, so comforting, so reassuring. “Yes, Father, I have allowed my homosexual tendencies to lead me astray, to damage a young boy, and thus had to leave my parish, Father. If I could but turn back time, to right this wrong, I would do so, Father…but my heart is heavy, and the burden that I bear is heavier, Father… “I understand, my son” came the voice. “You have much to learn. Was it just the one boy, my son? That’s not what was communicated to me.” “Yes, Father…it was. But it continued for nearly two years, Father…he blackmailed me, I did not wish it, Father. But, I am trying to put the whole mess behind myself, Father…to move on, to have a fresh start…still, it weighs heavily…” “All right…I believe you…and I understand, my son, these things do happen. Unfortunately.” He sighed. “Thank you for sharing this with me. I was not informed of the reason for your transfer, entirely, but was told of certain…indiscretions. The Blessed Mother and our Lord have relieved you of your guilt, my son. You will say 100 rosaries each day, my son, thanking Them for their intervention. And you will serve this church well, Jason, with all of your heart….in peace and chastity, for all of your days, my son. “Thank you, Father,” said Jason, “you are most kind. Your words are most comforting to me, and yes…I will serve this community with all of my heart, and do my penance, and serve the Blessed Mother and our Lord for all of my days. They do bring me comfort and peace, Father”. “Go with God, my son. These are good words, I know that you will do well here, in this place, with these good people. You will be happy here, my son”. Jason walked alone in the church courtyard after Mass, fingering his rosary beads, his mind racing. He wondered about Sister Lorraine, how she was faring. “Stupid!” he thought, “to have kept the diaries. To have allowed myself to give in.. What was I thinking? IDIOT!!!” His mind wandered… The ship’s dayroom was crowded, smoke hazing in the air. A few tables were fully occupied, mostly with young men playing poker or gin rummy, cash piling on the tables and much laughter. Very ready for the weekend’s shore leave, after six months at sea. “Hey, Jason!” called out his bunkmate, George. You ready for shore leave? We’re going to celebrate your birthday in style, y’know?” and he chortled. “In style”. Young Jason blushed and nodded. This would be his first shore leave, and he was grateful to have an experienced seaman to guide him. Being a virgin, he had fantasized often about the “nightclub” George had told him about, had many, many sleepless nights…tossing… turning…burning with desire, thoughts and pictures roiling in his mind until he thought he would go mad…and the release of masturbation only fueled his dreams. Off the ship, the air smelled fresh and vibrant. Sunset lit the sky as Jason and George strolled through the Seoul streets. Kimchi and barbecued chicken scents filled the air as they twisted and turned through the streets, George guiding Jason surely. They turned into a narrow street, and George knocked discreetly on a red door on a side street.. With a quickly whispered password, they were admitted. Inside, all was red-carpeted luxury, artwork adorning the walls, sculptures on small pillars in the corners and in glass-enclosed cabinets. Madam greeted George with familiarity, and led them down the long hall to a large, brightly-lit, boisterous Great Hall. Jason looked around the smoke-filled, loud room and was astonished. Beautiful young women lounged everywhere, some sitting on the knees of sailors and soldiers, some at the bar, some on chaises, all provocatively attired. Mostly Korean, but some of every hue and nationality, and he felt his manhood respond at the sight, aching. “Come on, Jason”, laughed George, “let me buy you a drink. The night is young, lad, and the women are eager”. With that, he led Jason to an empty table. “Come here, darlin’, meet my young bunkmate. It’s his birthday, and I think he’s a virgin”. Two beautiful young Korean girls immediately disengaged themselves from the soldiers at the bar, smiling. “Really? Mmmm, and so very handsome”, cooed one of the girls, caressing Jason’s cheek. “Hello, sailor, let me make you happy birthday”. She was young, younger than Jason, and so very beautiful. She wore a light silk dress that gathered as she sat on his lap, and he tried desperately to ease the growing pressure in his crotch as she wriggled slightly, slowly. Her scent was almonds and musk, and she slowly began to kiss his lips, teasing, her fingers lightly running across the back of his neck. “My name is Jacqueline, sailor” she whispered into his ear, lips and tongue brushing softly, and he moaned. His fingers began to trace her shoulders, the delicate sides of her breasts, her spine, as she molded herself to him, and she felt herself begin to melt. The daughter of Madam and a virgin, she was well-acquainted with the ways of seduction, but had never been taken, and his fingers were stirring feelings in her she had never experienced. Dampness was replaced with an unfamiliar slickness between her legs as she kissed him, first softly, then as their growing need increased, hungrily. His lips, his tongue tasted her eagerly, hot, and as his hands explored she began to feel an ache, a need to have him inside her. She could feel him hard beneath her, and slowly turned to straddle him, her dress hiking up, his hands sliding it up further beyond her hips as she rocked. “Hey! Sailor boys, what you fags doing in a whorehouse?” The drunken, belligerent and very large soldier stood over their table, reeling. “Come on, men, let’s clear the room of this trash.” Suddenly, the room seemed filled with soldiers, where were the sailors here a few minutes ago? Jason found himself on the middle of a large crowd, pushing, blows flying, epithets loud in the room. A blow to the cheek sent him reeling, and he felt arms behind him, pulling him up. “C’mon, buddy, let’s get the hell out of here” he heard George say, and pulled him towards the room door. “You Yankee sailor boys, always causing trouble” scolded the Madam loudly, “always causing trouble…get away from my daughter, you hear me? You terrible, terrible boy! She is a virgin! Yankee dog! You go from here NOW, you hear me, George, take this young one away now! No more trouble in my place from you, you stay away!” George led the stumbling Jason down an alleyway, cursing. “Bitch” he said, “wasn’t our damn fault that fucking GI couldn’t get laid on his spare change” he growled. He looked speculatively at Jason, now a little green from the excitement and alcohol. “Easy there, Bunkie, easy,” as Jason sank to his knees. “Good place for you…now for a little Navy education” and he unzipped his trousers. “Taste this, suck it like the bitch you are” and he grabbed Jason’s head as he shoved his hardness in. Jason felt mingled arousal and disgust with George’s cock in his mouth, forcing down his throat, making him gag. The thrusts began to make him flush, hot, as he responded, unwilling at first, then hungry for the other man. His ass twitched as he sucked, taking George deep now, feeling the power of submission. “Ummm, that’s a good bitch…take it deep, suck me…fuck those women, you can give me what I need…you know you want it, I’ve seen you, slut, with your hard cock at night, dreaming of me…deeper, bitch, take it all” and he held Jason’s head to his crotch, hard, rocking his hips with a vengeance, an intensity that began to wrack them both with spasms. “Stop, bitch…I want your ass” and he roughly pulled Jason’s uniform trousers down, hand on his head, then grasping his neck, pushing him down. “Bend over” and the helpless Jason felt, rather than heard, himself screaming as George rammed himself in, rough, hard, felt the blood lubricating, felt his ass responding and the shock of orgasm as George kept thrusting, thrusting deep, forever, until he finally…finally…passed out from the pain. Daybreak, and the Shore Patrol came upon a semi-conscious young Jason, nearly naked, moaning, sobbing, and lying in a fetal position, quivering, bleeding still. It was 3 hours into his 18th birthday. |
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