Mind's Eye - Part 7
GEORGETOWN, DELAWARE
Miss Parker struggled to rein in her thoughts as she idled at a stoplight. Just down the road, she could see the steeple of Saint Agatha's Catholic Church. It was nestled amid wood shingled houses built at the height of the industrial era in post-World War II America. Each house was nearly identical except for the occasional rearrangement of windows or porch eaves placed on an opposite side. Only the color of the paint allowed the onlooker to decisively tell each one apart. Large oak trees lined the devil strip, shading the community from the hot summer sun. The area was serene and calm – the kind of place to raise a family in peace.
The light turned green, and she proceeded toward the parking lot of the church. As she pulled in, she could see a large house behind the plain brown stones of the medium gothic-style church. The house was rather large in comparison to the rest of the neighborhood. The second story had its own porch that was screened in to keep the pests of summer at bay. The screening contrasted darkly against the brilliant white of the wood shingles. Windows gleamed in near perfection, no streaks to be found even on the large bays on the first floor.
Parker found a slot near the path leading to the house. A small sign indicated that the house was actually the convent for the parish. She sat in the car for a moment, watching for movement inside the house. A feeling of apprehension flitted through her as it always seemed to do when she was about to take a new turn in her search for Jarod. This time, though, the matter was less about Jarod and more about the secrets of the Centre that might be beneficial to Lyle or Mr. Raines. She felt a personal need to be on the inside track, even if it was surreptitiously, knowing the most important things long before she was officially brought into the information loop. It was the only way to keep men like Lyle and Raines, and even her own father, in check.
She snapped open the briefcase on the passenger seat and withdrew a folder. Opening it, she examined the black and white photograph of the young nun in full habit, her hands laid affectionately on the shoulders of Jeanie and the boy. The school served as the backdrop to the group, looking no different than it did in the present. While the woman's face was bright and happy, the children looked utterly lost and numb. Their eyes were hollow of emotion, and their faces were eerily blank of expression.
Parker carefully placed the picture back in the folder and opened the car door. She headed up the small path to the convent, entered the porch and pushed the doorbell. After a brief wait, the heavy oak door opened.
A thin but distinguished older woman with curled white hair and skin that had loosened with age stood there. Parker was taken aback with the stunned look on the woman's face. Opening the folder, Parker held the photo up for view.
"I'm looking for a nun who may have been assigned here."
The woman did not move, the slight breeze ruffling the casual grey skirt and crisp white cotton shirt she wore. She kept her eyes trained on Parker, looking dumbfounded.
"Hello?" Parker said with agitation.
The woman blinked, giving a slight shake of her head as if to clear it. "I'm sorry. Come in," she said quietly, stepping aside to allow Parker to enter the convent.
The workmanship on the inside of the house was extraordinary. Heavy oak had been used in creating the staircase to the left and the moldings around the ceilings as well as the planks of the floor. There was the faint smell of polishing oil in the air, a sweet lemony scent that seemed to somehow accommodate the incredible weather outside.
The woman took the lead and guided Parker down a long hallway, past the living room, into a study with heavy sliding doors that were closed once the two were inside. A picture window let in the brilliant sunlight. White sheers buffered the strong rays of afternoon, leaving a white glow on the shinier surfaces in the room. Two overstuffed chairs covered in a red fabric faced a heavy oak desk. The woman sat down at the desk and motioned for Parker to one of the chairs.
"I'm Sister Mary LaGrange," she said finally, confirming the accuracy of the nameplate on the desk. "And you are?"
"Parker, from the Centre in Blue Cove," she answered in a tone that was all business. "Do you recognize the woman in the photo?"
"I should hope so," said the woman with a gentle laugh. "That's me thirty years ago."
Miss Parker looked at the photograph more closely, then back to Sister Mary. She had the overwhelming urge to smack herself in the head for not seeing the resemblance right away. "I'm sorry," Parker said coolly, "you seem to have broken the habit."
Sister Mary laughed heartily. Her smile was warm, and there was something oddly familiar about it. "I've never heard it put quite so succinctly, but yes, our order departed with the more formal religious look years ago. We decided that it got too damned hot around here in the summer to be wearing wool. If the good Lord had intended us to melt, he would have made us of ice."
"Sister," Parker said, wanting to be done with the small talk, "the children in the picture with you – do you know who they are?"
"Miss Parker," Sister Mary said obligingly, "I have been at this school both as a teacher and as a nun for over forty years. I have had my picture taken with so many of the children who have passed through here. I'm afraid it's simply impossible to remember them all."
Parker looked at the pained expression on the nun's face and debated whether it was theatrical or genuine. Either the she was as innocent and sweet as she was saying or she was a damned good liar.
"Please take a close look, Sister. It's very important that we locate the children you were with in that picture."
Sister Mary looked concerned. "You sound as though they're in some sort of danger."
Parker was always lousy at telling the truth, even to nuns. There was no reason to break family traditions.
"Our organization was involved in locating their parents. A family was going through our archives and felt these children may have been theirs. We would like to verify that. I'm afraid the parents are quite elderly now, and time is of the essence."
Sister Mary sighed and looked squarely at Parker, never bothering to take a second look at the photograph. "As I said, I don't know who these children are."
"What about class photos? The school must have those on file."
"Fire, ten years ago," the nun answered, almost too quickly, as though it had been rehearsed. "We lost a great deal of parish and school history. We were quite devastated by it." A slight but knowing smile played on her lips, as if to let Parker know loud and clear that the game was afoot.
Parker returned the smile with the same vestige. "I'm sure it was very upsetting."
"Well, I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help to you, Miss Parker," Sister Mary said all too politely, effectively signaling the conclusion of the question and answer session. The welcome mat had been retracted, torn quickly from under Parker's feet.
Parker let the silence linger a moment, giving Sister Mary one last chance to give some information about the children. When nothing happened, Parker stood and retrieved the photograph from the table.
"Thank you for your time, Sister." She turned to let herself out of the study.
"It's a shame," Sister Mary said unexpectedly.
Parker turned. "Excuse me?"
"It's a shame," Sister Mary repeated. "Some people in situations such as this will probably never be found. Certainly a waste of energy for people like yourself."
Parker's back stiffened at the insinuation. "Occasionally," she said, making sure her teeth were not grinding, "we find what we're looking for with great success."
Sister Mary was an old pro at the game. "Then I should wish you all the best in your search, Miss Parker." The Cheshire grin played once more.
Parker left the study and headed for the parking lot. When she got outside, she took a deep breath of warm summer air, getting a firm grip on her frustration. Sister Mary was no slouch when it came to being questioned. It was curious where she gained such training. It would be the perfect job for Broots once Parker got back to the Centre.
Movement by the rectory wall caught her eye. An old man in a wide brimmed hat was bent over, kneeling in the soft dirt of a garden. She was drawn to him by something she again could not explain. There was an odd familiarity about him, and indeed about the church itself, that she could not place. When she was a few feet from him, he looked up at her and gasped. The brim of his hat was upturned by the wind, revealing an aged man with wide startled eyes.
Parker froze, absurdly preparing for the man to leap at her in his growing tension. His breath was quick and labored, frightened.
She stepped closer to him and forced a smile on her face in an effort to calm him. Before she could introduce herself, the man turned and sat fully on the ground, supporting himself on one arm that was angled behind his back.
"Catherine," he breathed, stunned and shaken.
The smile drained away from Parker's face at the sound of her mother's name. She got down on her haunches, at eye level with the elderly man. His bones looked frail, but his eyes were alert and a haunting pale blue.
"What did you call me?" she asked in disbelief, her own heart beating fast.
"Catherine," he said again with a hint of a sob catching in his throat, "you've come back. I always knew you would." His voice had an aged quality, but it was gentle and honest.
"What's your name?" she asked in a passable whisper.
"Don't you remember me? I'm Randall." He shook his head in a sort of personal revelation. "Of course not. It's been so long. I don't suppose you'd remember me after all this time."
She saw the wide door of information opening both about the Centre and of her mother's past. "Of course I remember you, Randall," she lied kindly. "How could I ever forget you?"
Randall smiled with relief. His eyes were bright with tears. "They said you were dead."
His words shocked her. Clearly, Randall was mistaking her for her mother. For whatever reason, this man knew Catherine Parker personally and felt sentimental toward her return.
"Who told you that, Randall?"
From out of the corner of her eye, Parker saw someone approach quickly. She rose to her feet, ready to defend herself from attack. When she realized it was Sister Mary, she took a step back to avoid being slammed into by the determined woman.
"Come on, Randall," she said gently but with determination, holding out her hands for him. "Sister Elizabeth has lunch ready for you."
Randall looked up at her, shading his eyes from the noon sun. "But Mary, Catherine's back," he tried to explain.
She looked at him with pity. "I know. We'll talk about it after lunch."
She took his hand in hers and pulled him up from the ground. He continued his protest, though.
"But she's come back, Mary."
"I know," she said again. "Sister Elizabeth is waiting."
Randall reluctantly complied with Sister Mary's marching orders and headed for the convent. She watched him until he entered the doors of the house, then turned to Parker.
"You'll have to forgive Randall. He's suffering from the beginning stages of Alzheimer's. He loses sense of time."
Parker could not have cared less about Randall's medical history. "He knew my mother," she said, struggling to maintain control.
Sister Mary looked directly at Parker. "He wasn't the only one," she answered. Her demeanor changed, softening slightly. "Let's go where we can talk."
It was a short walk to the chapel that was attached to the church, a private sanctuary for quiet prayer and reflection. Candles lit the six-pew room that was adorned with stained glass windows.
Sister Mary led Parker to the first pew and sat down with a hint of exhaustion. Parker took a seat next to her and waited patiently for the question and answer session to begin. The nun turned and lay an arm across the back of the pew.
"Well, this is turning into quite a day for you," she said, her voice quiet and even. "I forgot Randall was outside. I should have considered he might see you."
"How fortunate for me that he did," Parker said with disdain. "How did you know about my mother?"
"Those children in the picture were two of at least twelve she rescued from the Centre. At that time, Father Montclaire, who has long since passed, was the pastor here. He and Father Randall agreed to help your mother hide the children and find them new homes. Father Randall enlisted my help in enrolling them in the parish school until we could relocate them."
"Did you know why the Centre was so interested in them?"
Sister Mary sighed. "At first, I didn't think it mattered. I was a teacher then, young and idealistic. In my mind, these children had been taken from their homes, and I was willing to do anything to help them." She paused for a moment in recollection. "I did understand after a while, though. Once we had enrolled them, they began having behavioral problems. Some of the regular students became frightened of the abilities of the children your mother brought us, though I don't think anyone ever suspected their gifts were the supernatural kind."
"Gifts?" Parker asked with sarcasm. "That's an interesting way to describe children who can move objects with a thought. You know the kind I mean – knives, bullets, sharp things. Very talented little killers."
Sister Mary smiled. "I assure you, there was much more to these children than the Centre ever saw. It was too busy cultivating a weapon to see that they were gifted for compassion beyond imagination."
Parker wanted to comment about the influence of religion deeming freaks as gifts in order to fortify the status of the Golden Rule. There seemed to be little point in it, however, since Sister Mary would most likely have dismissed the barb anyway. Parker had to admit the nun had spunk for a penguin. No wonder Catherine Parker trusted this place. Perhaps, too, was the fact that her mother saw the children as gifted and not as genetic mutations to be used by the Centre or the government.
"So you see," Sister Mary continued, "we felt it to be a matter of life and death when we took these children into our care. For you to come here now and tell me you're looking for them only strengthens my resolve to protect them."
"The fire?"
"Confession cleansed my soul."
Parker gave a quaint, condescending smile. "How convenient."
"There are perks to the religious life, Miss Parker. Absolution for righteous acts is one of them. Your mother knew this quite well."
The gears in Parker's head were turning, grinding slowly, analyzing the hints dropped by Sister Mary, one at a time. "If you're so concerned about protecting the children, why tell me all of this when you know I'm searching for them for the Centre?"
"Because there can only be gain in telling you about the past. Father Randall is the only other person here who knows about the children. The rest of the staff from that time have died. The records have been destroyed, and Randall is well on his way to senility."
"And that leaves only you."
"That's right," Sister Mary confirmed, "and not even the Centre could get me to reveal what I know. The only thing you've accomplished today is to find more of your mother's past."
"And my father's?" Parker tested.
"Your father didn't know of your mother's involvement for quite some time. She kept it very secret to rescue as many children as possible. That included keeping it from her husband, your father."
"Because he would have put a stop to it," Miss Parker concluded.
"He or someone else who was so inclined," Sister Mary added. "The moment we learned of her death, we knew it was no accident. Arrangements were made immediately to move the children to a new location. For our safety and theirs, we weren't told where they were being taken. Their history stopped here, and here it will remain."
Parker gave an exasperated sigh. "You have no idea what you're protecting."
"They're human beings, not experiments. Perhaps you should consider raising that trait on their list of qualities."
Parker's jaw tightened, but she said nothing in retort. It was clear that Sister Mary had rose colored glasses on with a crucifix clutched securely in one hand and a shield in the other.
Instead, Parker chose to take the last avenue available to her at the moment. "I suppose Father Randall is off limits?"
Sister Mary shook her head in denial. "As you could see in the garden, he's easily agitated. I won't allow you to upset him. In any case, he'll know nothing of value."
Parker sat there, straining to control the emotions raging inside her. She was willing to bet that Father Randall knew more than the average Swiss cheesed mind. "Well, then," she said with a forced politeness, "it was a complete pleasure talking to you, Sister." She stood and took a deep breath. "Give Father Randall my regards."
Sister Mary eyed her intently and smiled. "Not today."
Something nagged at Parker as she got back into her car. Something Mary LaGrange had said was off, but she could not put her finger on it. Unlike the photograph, all of the pieces were not fitting together in one neat package. Instead, they were only becoming more jumbled. Someone was definitely fibbing, and she was not willing to lay odds as to who was guilty. For all she knew, everyone was lying.