Chapter Nineteen
Now that ten o’clock had arrived, Camille wished she’d listened to Dr. Williamson and had taken his advice. If she had, she’d be in his office right now, instead of sweating nervously in this long line of people. The procession silently snaked down the right side of St. Elizabeth’s and ended in the vestibule.
Günther was three people behind, probably there just to make sure she didn’t get cold feet and bolt for the door. They’d gone over the procedure and how she should begin. When she was finished, she would see that it was really very simple and that there was nothing to be anxious over. That may be so, but she still felt like she needed a crowbar to dislodge her tightly wedged heart from between her ribs.
The confessional door opened and a man came out. The older woman in front of Camille went in. The light above the confessional blinked on.
Camille wrung her hands self-consciously and glanced back at Günther. It was true; if he weren’t there, she would leave. In only a few short minutes, she’d be inside.
She searched her thoughts trying to remember all she was going to say. What were her sins? It’d been so long since her last confession, she knew she had more than a score of them. She’d gone carefully through her mind, like Günther had told her to do, and yet now she was having a hard time remembering even one.
On the other side of the church was another line where Father Schimke was hearing confessions too. From that line, Camille saw the rectory cook gazing at her across the church nave. Uncomfortably, Camille smiled briefly at the woman and looked away.
She took a few deep, relaxing breaths.
The door opened. The woman exited and politely held it open for Camille. Camille hesitated for an instant and then went inside. It was dark and very cool. A bit musty, but not unpleasant. There was a small crucifix lying on the shelf directly under the small curtained window and she picked it up and held it tightly.
As she knelt down, she recalled how the pressure on the kneeler turned on the light above the door outside. As a little girl, on occasion, she used to make it wink at her mom who was waiting in line.
She could see Father Florian through the semi-transparent screen. A dim light from above illuminated his profile, revealing the purple stole over his shoulders and a bible resting open on his lap.
“Im Namen des Vaters und des Sohns und…” he began in German. When he heard her saying it along with him in English, he switched to that.
After the sign of the cross, there was a moment of awkward silence before she began. She knew full well that he could recognize her voice without a bit of trouble.
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been approximately twenty years since my last confession.”
If he were going to die of shock, now would be the time.
She continued. “These are my sins. In those years I’ve hardly been to Mass. Only for Christmas and Easter, and I missed a few of those too. I’ve used the Lord’s name in vain and anger too many times to count. I’ve been harsh and impatient with my daughter, when I should have been loving and patient.”
She stopped, thinking. A few moments passed.
He shifted. “Are you finished?”
“No, not really. I know there’s more.”
“The fifth commandment says that we shall not kill.”
She was relieved. “I’ve not killed anyone, Father.”
“Unforgiveness, hatred, grudges, termination of a pregnancy, hurting others with our speech, killing yourself through excessive drinking, are all part of the fifth.”
She stared at the crucifix in her clenched hands, thinking. “I’ve been drunk a few times. Probably a dozen.”
She stopped. Hesitated. Unforgiveness? “It’s about my husband. He’s been dead for eight years. He loved the thrill of danger more than he loved life itself. More than he loved our daughter or me.”
As her anger began to build, Camille had to work to soothe her tone. “I’m still angry with him. Sometimes I even hate him.” She glanced around the little room for something besides Jesus to look at.
Father Florian waited silently.
“I’m sorry for that,” she said. She was sincere. She was sorry. Sorry for all the time she had wasted hating instead of loving. It felt good to finally say it. To mean it.
“You need to forgive him everything, so God can forgive everything of you.”
The tiny room grew warm as the minutes ticked by. Camille thought of the line of people waiting.
It was as if the priest picked up on her thoughts. “Not to worry about the others. It is a good exercise in patience. They may recall some sin that they would have forgotten, leastwise without the extra time of contemplation you are affording them.”
She closed her eyes and tried to relax. “There is something else.” She cringed inside, wondering how she could have put this totally out of her consciousness. “Once, many years ago after Bret died, I met someone at a gift expo. We had a few drinks.” She had never told this to anyone. Not her mother. Not Stephanie. After the guilt had worn off, she’d filed it away never to be thought about again. How she had forgotten it now only showed how deeply she’d repressed it. “We spent the night together.” She swallowed, gathering her thoughts. “I never went to confession. I wasn’t thinking along those lines then.”
“Yes. Sometimes it takes us some time to understand that the things we think are small are actually of great importance to God.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Anything else?”
Camille thought for a moment.
“Yes.” Her throat tightened up. Tears pooled, then trickled down her cheeks and she brushed them away. “I cannot express how sorry I am for all the time I left God out of my life. Even after all of my blessings. I let my daughter’s religious education fall through the cracks. Everything else came before catechism: riding lessons, shopping, homework. As a result, she is missing some of her sacraments and knows little about her faith. This past week, when I’ve begun to think about God, has made me very aware of all the years I’ve wasted.” She took a tissue from her pocket and softly blew her nose.
“Yes,” he said softly, soothingly. “I can hear it in your voice. Do not worry over the lost years, only look to the future with joy. For your penance, I want you to say a rosary each night for one week, offering it for the soul of your husband. Now make an Act of Contrition.”
Camille sniffed. She said the prayer the best she could, needing more help from Father Florian along the way. When she finished, he said the words of absolution, ending in “…and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Now, go in peace, your sins have been forgiven.”
At once, Camille’s sadness was gone and she was filled with happiness. “Thank you, Father. Thank you so much.”
She opened the door. Everyone in the line was staring at her as if they thought she’d died inside, never to come out again.
Günther’s eyes met hers and she wanted to fly into his arms and thank him too. Instead, she walked slowly, quietly, but when she got to him, she was unable to mask her happiness a moment longer.
“You were right. So right about everything. Thank you.”
He chuckled softly. “Let us thank God, for His love and mercy are endless.”
Her enthusiasm was getting the best of her and the people around Günther were all smiling too, knowing well a sinner was experiencing the goodness of God’s love and forgiveness.
“Praise God so much,” she said looking around at them all.
“Ja, ja,” said one man caught up in her delight.
That made Günther and Camille laugh together, sharing the special moment. She looked at her watch. “Oh my gosh, it’s late. Thank you for being there for me.”
“Where do you have to go?”
He looked so earnest standing there.
She opened her mouth to say something, anything but the truth, anything but the doctors because she’d suffered a heart attac
k, but she couldn’t tell a lie.
“Back to the doctors.” She could see he wanted to ask her why.
She picked up his hands in the same way he’d held hers earlier in the pew when she’d been so scared, when he’d tried to soothe her frayed nerves and calm her quaking heart.
“Not to worry.” She smiled into his eyes. “I’ve been to confession. Nothing can harm me now.”
Camille took a taxi downtown, rocketing through the semi-crowded Saturday morning streets, taking in all the splendor of Vienna. Regardless of the exciting scenery, her thoughts kept coming back to Sasha and autism.
Oh, please don’t let it be that, Lord. There must be another reason she is acting so oddly. A chemical imbalance of some sort. Something that can be cured.
“Cabbie, stop please,” she called. “I need five minutes to run into this store. Please wait here.” Camille ran into the electronics store that had cell phones on display. This was not a luxury, but something she needed. The young techie showed her phones, rang her up, and programmed a snappy ring tone. He showed her how to use her phone card for overseas calls. She felt much safer and self-reliant now with her new gadget.
There were no nurses today at Dr. Williamson’s office, only one young woman taking calls. Dr. Williamson gave Camille a thorough exam to see if any damage had been done to her heart muscle the night before.
“Well, you were very lucky,” he said when he was finished. He leaned against the cabinet and crossed his arms.
She sat on the end of the exam table, clothed and more than ready to get going.
“This time,” he added in an “I told you so” tone. He was still bent out of shape that she hadn’t called him the second it had transpired.
“Lucky?”
“Yes. You didn’t suffer a heart attack last night, but an anxiety attack. Have you ever experienced those before?”
“No. Never.”
“Did you eat anything unusual last night before bed, anything spicy? Chinese food? Pizza? Did anything startle you?”
Well, there was the evil-looking tower Sasha had built that morning, Branwell and his devious ways weighed heavily on her mind, and then, the face in the mirror and the relentless storm. Or, maybe it was the fact that she’d had a heart attack, died, and been revived back to life only a month before.
“I’m not sure, Dr. Williamson. There’ve been a few things on my mind lately. I was a bit spooked by the storm before I went to bed. Maybe that was it.”
“Perhaps.” He took the pen from his pocket and scribbled on his prescription pad. “I’m going to give you a sedative, something to calm you before bed, for when you feel yourself tense and edgy.”
“I don’t take drugs. Not even aspirin or Advil. Only when I absolutely have to.”
“Well, you may absolutely have to. I don’t want you having another bout of alarm getting you so riled up that it triggers a heart attack. I want you to remain calm, Camille.”
Camille took the square of paper from his hand. “So, how should I take this?”
“If you feel anxious and unable to unwind. Take it with a cup of tea and allow yourself a little reading time. Wait until it gives you the desire to want to go to bed. Sometimes just the contemplation of the possibility of not being able to fall asleep will work someone up.”
She got down off the examination table. “Thank you. Can I get this filled somewhere today?”
“On the ground floor, in the lobby next to the elevators, is a small Apotheke. You probably passed it on your way in.” He paused. “And Camille.”
“Yes?”
“I’d appreciate it if you just rested tonight. Stayed home. Read a magazine.”
Chapter Twenty
Günther lay wide awake in his bed. Midnight had come and gone. He rolled out, knowing better than to lie there agonizing over his inability to fall asleep. He pulled on some pants and a sweater, grabbed his phone and wallet, and headed toward the door. Flocki, ever awake and watchful at night, pounced at his feet from somewhere in the darkness, tripping him up. She mewed incessantly with the sorriest of voices.
“I’ve fed you already. No more for you,” he grumbled affectionately. His words didn’t affect her in the least and she meowed all the louder.
The air was cold and brisk and walking felt good. The streets weren’t completely empty yet and every so often he’d pass a couple of lovers walking hand in hand down the street, as if they had nowhere in particular to go and all the time in the world to get there.
Their whispers were felt more than heard, as sure as a hammer blow, and the magical lilt of their quiet laughter burned in his stomach. He looked away, unable to endure the sight. He closed his mind to his loneliness and concentrated on the moment at hand. He didn’t deserve love, not one like that. Not after what he did to Katerina and Nikolaus. Never again, he promised himself.
Knowing he wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight anyway, he veered into a café and made his way through the tiny, crowded room. On Saturday nights the place stayed open into the early morning hours, catering to the after opera and theater crowd.
“Einen kleinen Braunen, bitte,” he said to the man working the espresso machine, ordering a small coffee with cream. “To go.”
Back on the street, the cup of coffee forced Günther to slow down a little and sip and enjoy. The night was dark, except for the street lamps and the amber glow shining through the windows of the open businesses. A police siren sounded somewhere far off in the distance and he wondered what had caused it. He felt alone.
He found himself at Michaelerplatz on the flagstone steps just in front of the school. Opposite him, St. Michael’s steeple pierced the darkness of the night and acted as an anchor for his sanity in his agitated sea of restlessness.
He wasn’t tired at all. Too many things on his mind. He’d go into his class and work on some of the online assignments he’d been neglecting since the beginning of the week. A couple of uninterrupted hours could get him caught up and even set him up for next week. With purpose now, he moved easier.
The building was pitch black. Sometimes, during the week, professors would stay late working into the night, or meeting and helping students. There could be study groups in the library, or heated debates over coffee in the lounge. A glow from one or several of the rooms made the building feel inviting in a scholastic sort of way.
But that was very rare on the weekends. Günther made his way down the dark, empty corridor, the sound of his footsteps the only sound in the still, massive hallway. Being careful with his coffee, he took the stairs two at a time until he was on the third floor.
He unlocked the door to his room and turned on the light. Something about light was second nature to the soul. It felt good. His window shades were drawn and curtains pulled, keeping the glow from the overhead fluorescent tubes inside the room.
He took a seat at his desk and made himself comfortable. He clicked on his computer. Logged in. Opened his e-mail. Scanning down the list of correspondence, he looked for things of importance. It had been a couple of days since he’d checked, so there were thirty-nine new messages, but nothing that needed urgent attention.
He clicked into the school’s online site and logged in with another password, allowing him access to the work sent to them by students from all around the world. There were thirty-six course works to be corrected.
Before opening them, he looked down the archives of students, clicked into 2010, the first year Camille Ashland had begun sending work to the school. Günther scanned some of her earliest assignments, empathizing more clearly now that he knew her, how she’d struggled. She’d come a long way since then. Her childish responses and simple sentences brought a smile to his lips. He took a sip of his coffee. He glanced at her student profile, her address, phone number, and contact numbers and the like.
He clicked onto the link to her store, something he’d never done before, and waited for the site to load. There were pictures of the store, Camille, Camille and her employees. Her
display windows outside. Camille and her daughter Kristin, who amazingly looked nothing like her.
There was a short zip clip message of Camille to her customers. She promised them the highest level of service and quality of product. He gave her credit for her honesty, enthusiasm, and hard work.
Günther clicked out of Chocolate Blossoms’ website and returned to the waiting homework assignments. He opened to exercise twenty-one of verb conjugation. He quickly read the list of ten verbs then began with the first, kommen, to come. He scanned down the pages, rapidly making corrections.
The next exercise was to practice making polite requests. He read down the first ten sentences with no mistakes. It was tedious work. Time passed. He continued until he heard the clock in Michaelerplatz chime four. Yawning, he signed out and turned his computer off, satisfied with the work he’d completed.
He was groggy. He’d have no problem falling asleep. After locking up, he made his way back down the hallway in a sleepy daze. As he was about to descend the stairs a sharp rap, like metal hitting metal, echoed around. Something had dropped in the stairwell two floors above him.
Chapter Twenty-One
Günther stopped. Fatigue gone and mind alert. He’d spent time in the Armed Forces, as was expected of all young Austrian males. Florian had too, almost making it a career. It took more than a noise in the dark to rattle him.
The sound had been sharp but not loud. Definite. Not outside, not a mouse, not in his head. Günther gazed up the dark stairwell. It curled around and around, ascending into a long black hole. The hair on the back of his neck prickled at the thought of someone looking down back at him.
He wanted to go on home, say it was nothing, but he knew better. A noise like that didn’t just materialize out of thin air. He’d been walking pretty quietly. If someone hadn’t known he was in the building or had been aware of his presence, they could have missed his approach to the stairwell because of his sneakers.
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