It was raining outside the morning of the day that Enrico Maxwell was brought to St. Ferdinand's. By the afternoon, it had cleared up and the sun was shining, but it left only an hour or two before the sunset. Father Alexander Anderson, a firm believer in God but not in omens, wondered if this reflected the mood of the boy as he sat in a hard-backed wooden chair and watched the child sleep.
The boy had insisted that he sit in the chair as opposed to lying in the bed with him, stating firmly that there must be boundaries. It was a little odd, seeing as it was Anderson's bed and kicking him out of it would defy the purpose of comfort because the other children usually crawled in with little more than a sob concerning the nightmares, the warmth of his bulk helping to lull them to sleep. However, it wasn't as abnormal as some cases that he had dealt with upon arrival at the orphanage.
He had been reluctant to leave the comfortable summers of Edinburgh for the heat of Rome several years ago, but the predecessor had died of old age, leaving about fifteen orphans fatherless. His own were cared for well by an assistant priest who had been one of his first children and had done well in the priesthood. The small size surprised him at first, but he learned quickly that St. Ferdinand's dealt with rather unusual cases. This had run the gamut from telling a German child that they were doubly blessed by God because they were given the gifts of a man and a woman to comforting a very upset little Japanese girl and reassuring her that even though her parents practiced Shinto and therefore were heathens, they were good people and would go to Heaven. Technically, lying was a sin, but in the deepest part of his soul, he felt that original sin did not exist when it came to innocents, there was a special place in Hell for telling a child that they were damned, and that God probably agreed with him.
Enrico, though, was an unusual case. He was not dissuaded from his atypical circumstances of arrival, despite the loving environment and the cheerful children on his first day there. "Why am I here, Father Anderson? Why don't my mother and father visit me? Is it because they think that I'm some idiot son?"
Unfortunately, at times like these, there was little that could be done to soothe the child in question. Though the priest had seen his share of breakdowns, they never ceased to be heartbreakingly sad.
"I don't need something like friends. Same with brothers or companions. And I don't need a mother and father! Father Anderson, I want to become a great person; I want to be famous! If I become smart and popular and powerful, no one will ever look down upon me again!" Surprisingly, he did not burst into tears upon completing the rant and stalked off to his room to read the books that he brought with him.
However, by the first week, his shell was beginning to crack. Enrico had upheld his reputation for being tough where emotions were concerned, but Anderson caught him looking longingly at the others when they were playing football in the backyard. His daily devotions were some of the most ardent Anderson had ever seen; when Enrico Maxwell was gazing upon the Virgin Mary, every trace of malice vanished. He was no longer the intelligent recluse with the vicious temper, but a sad and lonely little boy. After looking into his past and finding that his mother, the mistress of a high-ranking Vatican official, had sent him here so that her lover's visits would not be interrupted by 'troublesome' children, it made sense.
One of these days, he was going to track the boy's father down and give him a piece of his mind, possibly more if the man tried to justify his treatment and vilify the boy, who had began to toss and turn in the bed a few minutes ago and was now up to a full blown-storm. "Basta…per favore…Mama…no…"
Carefully, Anderson reached down and ran a hand through his hair. Normally, he could never touch him without being snapped at or the object of his affection shying away. Nevertheless, he would often find Enrico in close proximity to him. It was a strange way to get attention, but considering the circumstances, somewhat understandable.
"Shhh," he soothed, wondering if he could be heard. "Nae harm will come tae ye here, lad."
Enrico relaxed slightly after a few minutes and the noise stopped, his left hand clutching the sleeve of the paladin's cassock. At an attempt to pull away, he mumbled "No," and dragged Anderson's right arm over himself, snuggling contentedly underneath with his arms wrapped over it. Caught in an awkward position and tired from a very long week, he weighed his options as best as he could. Sighing, he removed his boots and carefully slipped into the bed beside the boy, tugging the sheets over both of them with his free hand after placing his glasses on the nightstand. In a short time, the downy white head was nestled in the hollow of his collarbone, breathing steady and peaceful.
He might catch hell for it in the morning and rampant denial that the almightily self-sufficient Enrico had wanted and needed physical contact, but consequences be damned. After all, this was the Lord's work.