[Disclaimer: Faceman (and all his aliases) and all the other well-known A-Team characters in this story do not belong to me. They are the sole creation of Mr Cannell (RIP).]
Chapter 1 - The House that God built
[Timeline: 7 December 1955 – Los Angeles. Some of the extracts in the first couple of chapters are taken from one of my other stories, "The Ultimate Sacrifice", which helps set the scene for this story.]
Samantha Bancroft sighed in relief as she watched the kindly priest leading her son, Richard, into the orphanage. "May God forgive me," she sobbed, as she started to walk away down the street. She looked back one more time, before adding in a hushed whisper, "I'll be back for you soon, baby. I promise."
The first thing that the little boy noticed as he followed Father Magill down the corridor, was how sparkling clean his surroundings looked. He sniffed absent-mindedly, as the unfamiliar antiseptic smell filled his nostrils. It was a far cry from the squalor and filth he had become accustomed to living in. His mother, having fallen upon bad times, had turned to drugs and other unsavoury activities to make a living, which had been the start of their decline into hardship and poverty.
After a short walk, Father Magill stopped outside his office. He held the door open for the little boy, who very hesitantly poked his head into the room, before finally deeming it safe to enter. He made his way towards a chair and sat down, putting a small, battered bag that his mom had packed for him, down on the floor by his feet.
Father Magill shut the door and dragged another chair across the room to sit opposite the boy. Richard stared back at him, still clutching a bag of liquorice which his mom had given him before she had left him on the orphanage steps. A look of caution was clearly evident on his sweet, rosy-cheeked face.
"Well now my boy," said Father Magill gently, in his strong Irish lilt. "Would you be able to tell me your name?"
Richard narrowed his eyes in deep thought for a few seconds and then shrugged his shoulders, as if the question was alien to him. If the truth be known, he could only really remember his mother calling him "my precious" or "baby".
"Not to worry," replied Father Magill. "How did you come to be sitting on the steps all on your own?"
"Mom had to go somewhere. Gonna pick me up later," explained Richard.
Father Magill smiled back at him, encouragingly. But he couldn't help feeling a pang of sadness tug at his heart, recognising the signs of yet another child in the early stages of a possible abandonment.
"Is it just you and mom?" he continued. "No other family?"
Richard nodded his head, twisting the top of his bag of liquorice nervously around his finger. They talked for several minutes, but it soon became clear that Richard knew very little about himself, his age or where he lived.
He reluctantly let Father Magill look through his bag, to see if he could find some evidence of who is mother was, or where he had come from. But apart from a few pieces of threadbare clothing, Father Magill could find nothing of any significance. Not even a photo, a book or any favourite toy had been packed. The only thing he could glean from the labels on the child's tatty clothes, was that he was about five years old.
Almost as if he could sense something was wrong, Richard suddenly stood up, grabbing the bag from the priest's hands.
"Have to find mom," he said anxiously. "Bad mans might hurt her again."
Father Magill's eyes widened in horror at this piece of garbled information. He tried to pacify him, as the boy's anxiety escalated into a frenzied panic. Tears started to spill from his baby-blue eyes as he began stuffing his possessions back in the bag.
"But what if your mom comes back looking for you and you're not here?" asked Father Magill, desperately trying to calm the little boy down. His words seemed to hit home with Richard, who stopped his struggle to get out of the room. He blinked at the priest in bewilderment, not knowing what to do next.
"I'll tell you what, little one," said Father Magill. "Why don't you stay here with us at the orphanage until we can find out what has happened to your mom?"
"Orf … orfin …?" stuttered Richard, trying to comprehend what the priest was saying. "What's an "or-fin-ige"?"
"It's a house that God built to help keep safe all his lost children," replied Father Magill.
"God?" repeated Richard in a puzzled voice.
Father Magill chuckled to himself at the boy's blatant ignorance of the Supreme Being.
"Well now, I guess you could say he's a big hero of mine," continued the priest. "He has great power, strength and knowledge to help those who are in trouble."
"Can God keep mom safe too?" enquired the child, his intense gaze never breaking contact with Father Magill's eyes. His eyebrow was raised up questioningly as the doubtful look never quite left his face.
Father Magill patted him affectionately on the arm. He was an endearing little soul and yet there was a certain awareness about him. He wondered what adversity the boy and his mom had gone through, that had made him so unwilling to put his trust in others. Somehow, he had a feeling that he couldn't fob the boy off with a pretentious answer, so he answered him as truthfully as he could.
"If your mom has faith, then God will find a way to help her," he finally replied.
He wasn't sure whether the child believed him or even understood his answer. But he seemed satisfied that the priest had answered his question as truthfully as he could. Wiping his nose on his filthy coat sleeve, he smiled at Father Magill. In that split second his whole face lit up with an angelic expression of pure innocence that held a hint of wickedness!
"Sweetie?" said Richard, shyly, holding out his precious bundle towards the priest.
"Well, bless you my son!" enthused Father Magill, delving into the brown bag and taking out a small black stick. "I'm particularly partial to a little bit of liquorice, so I am!"
"Can we go see if mom has come back yet?" enquired Richard, earnestly.
Father Magill sighed as he chomped on his liquorice. The little boy looked so sure that his mom would be waiting from him, he didn't have the heart to say no. He guessed it wouldn't do any harm to humour him for a bit longer. He took Richard by the hand and together they made their way back out to the orphanage steps.
They stood in the shelter of the building for nearly an hour. Richard's mom didn't come back. Shivering in the bitter wind, the tears started to fall down his cheeks again. But even when the priest led him back into the orphanage, the child still believed that one day she would come back for him.