The detectives had nodded at this. One of them, a dark-haired man about his own age named Harry Michaelson said, “We understand they were very quiet, kept mostly to themselves and didn’t cause much trouble. We’ve already questioned members of the congregation and people around town that knew your mother, and they’ve pretty much confirmed what you’ve told us.”
Once the detectives left, Vince found it hard to relax, much less sleep. His mind had kept drifting to the church they’d formed—the First Church of Christ—and their beliefs. He thought about their obsession with Satan, especially Armageddon and their overzealous paranoid reactions against what they saw as “the great satanic conspiracy.” According to them, some of the most respected people in government offices and business were top satanic henchmen. They were also pulling the strings behind most of the drug smuggling in this country. And, as could be expected, they routinely kidnapped people for ritual sacrifices.
They were beliefs he no longer held to, much less believed much in anyway. When you were a teenager, the last thing you wanted to be told was that your favorite rock band—in Vince’s case, Iron Maiden—were comprised of devil-worshippers.
When he woke up this morning after a fitful sleep, resolved to drive out to Lillian Withers’s place and face the music, he told himself that he was going to stay strong in his beliefs. He was an atheist now. He may have been a believer a long time ago, when he was a child, but he no longer held to those beliefs. Thanks to the group’s paranoid delusions, he saw no credence in them. He saw no reason to let their beliefs sway him now. Besides, he was hoping that Lillian Withers hadn’t changed much in the last fifteen years since he’d last seen her. Of the dozen or so church members that his mother fellowshipped with, Lillian Withers was the one he’d liked the most. She’d been the most down-to-earth.
All his worries of talking to Lillian Withers turned out to be in vain. In short, Lillian hadn’t changed at all.
She recognized him the instant she opened the door to her small home on Meadow Lane. Her light blue eyes lit up in surprise and happiness when she saw him. “Vincent! How good to see you!” She opened the screen door. “My God, just look at you! Come in! Come in!”
Vince grinned sheepishly and stepped into Lillian’s home. Lillian was wearing a red plaid dress, her auburn hair tied behind her head in a bun. Unlike many of the old order Amish and Mennonite people who lived in the area, the women in Reverend Powell’s sect did not wear prayer caps, but they did dress modestly, mostly in dresses and occasionally jeans. Lillian had aged gracefully; Vince had always pegged Lillian to be close to his mother’s age, give or take a few years. The last time he saw his mother, she’d looked at least ten years older than her forty-one years. Fourteen years later Lillian, who was probably in her early fifties now, didn’t look older than forty. She was positively radiant.
She swept Vince up in a hug. “Oh, it’s so good to see you, Vincent!”
“It’s good to see you too,” Vince murmured.
“I’m so sorry about Maggie.” Lillian’s voice cracked slightly and Vince held her. She sniffled once. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”
What exactly did happen? He almost asked. Lillian looked up at him, her eyes misty with tears. “Well,” she said. “Why don’t you come in? I’ve got some tea if you want.”
“Thanks,” Vince said. Lillian disappeared into the kitchen and Vince took a quick glance around the house. A small living room leading to an even smaller kitchen, a hallway at the far end of the living room led to the two bedrooms and the one bathroom. The living room was furnished nicely and modestly with a couch, two easy chairs, and an oak coffee table. An entertainment center contained a small receiver, a tape deck, and a twenty-five inch television. There was a framed picture of Jesus Christ over the sofa, His gaze cast to the heavens. Another framed picture hung on the wall near the kitchen, this one a work of embroidery with a religious slogan from the Book of Mark.
“How long have you been in town?” Lillian asked from the kitchen.
“I got in yesterday,” Vince said. He sat down on the couch and leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. The coffee table was positioned in front of the couch. There was a TV Guide on one side of it. On the other side was a King James Bible and a prayer book. “I talked to Chief Hoffman and a couple of detectives from Lancaster.”
“Michaelson and Harvey?” Lillian came out of the kitchen bearing two tall glasses of iced tea. She handed Vince one, who took it gratefully.
“Yes,” he said, sipping the iced tea. It was delicious.
“They talked to everybody here, too,” Lillian said. “Well, everybody in the group. They were all pretty upset.”
“About talking to the detectives?” Vince asked.
“No,” Lillian said. She sat down in the easy chair closest to the couch, on Vince’s right. The curtains were open, basking the room in light. “About what happened. How somebody could…do something so horrible to Maggie.”
“I know what you mean,” Vince said. He took another sip of the iced tea. “I’ve been wondering that myself.”
“It’s just so shocking,” Lillian said, clutching her glass. “The press has been hounding us, too. What’s happened has become the talk of all of Lancaster County. More so than the Lambert case from seven years or so back. You think things like that only happen in places like this once in a lifetime, but to have another happen within the space of a decade…” She shook her head and took a sip of tea. “I saw Maggie the afternoon she died. We’d done some shopping on Main Street and had been talking about going to the Green Dragon. We went there every Friday, you know.” Vince nodded. The Green Dragon was an open-air flea market that was held every Friday in nearby Reamstown. “We were both planning on making dishes for the pot luck at the church, and there was a recipe book your mother saw there the week before. Anyway, I dropped your mother off at the house and she told me she was going to spend the rest of the day and evening making her stew. We planned on meeting at the church. John Van Zant was going to pick her up in the morning and bring her to church, so I didn’t think I’d see her until the next day.” Her features became stony as she remembered. “I got to church that day with my casserole, Mary Rossington baked one of her apple cobblers that she’s famous for. Reverend Powell baked some of that honey wheat bread that he loves. We were planning on just breaking bread together and fellowshipping, real down home talking and sharing in the Lord. We were all sitting in the den of Reverend Powell’s home when Tom Hoffman came. He…” Her voice faltered. “He didn’t look so good. John was with him and he looked pale. We went out to meet them on the porch, and the minute John saw us he just burst into tears.”
Vince listened quietly, nodding every now and then. Lillian looked at him and tried to muster a smile. “Poor Tom. I don’t think that man was ever used to delivering bad news, especially in these parts. But he was just beside himself that day. He almost cried himself when he told us.”
“Did Tom come out right then and tell you exactly what happened?” Vince asked.
“No,” Lillian said. “Not right then. He just told us that Maggie had been found dead, and that he didn’t want us to jump to any conclusions. John cut right in and said ‘Jesus, Tom, come off it! I found her! You can’t tell me some deranged pervert killed her after what we found.’ Well, that piqued my interest, and when Tom left John told us everything. He’d been the one to find her that way. He’d gone into the house when she failed to come to the door when he stopped by to pick her up and he went in and found her.”
Vincent nodded. “Tom told me yesterday.”
“He told you about…what they did to her?” Lillian asked, breathlessly.
“Yes.” Vince took another sip of iced tea. “But how do you know it’s ‘they’? Suppose it’s just one killer?”
Lillian looked toward the closed front door of the house, then her eyes darted toward the windows, as if checking to see if unwanted ears were eavesdropping on their conversation. She lo
oked back at Vince almost fearfully. “Did I say ‘they’? I guess that was just a slip of the tongue. It could be ‘they,’ or ‘he,’ or ‘she.’ Anybody, I guess.”
Vince opened his mouth to pursue the matter, but decided better. Lillian drained the rest of her iced tea and rose, heading toward the kitchen. “I need a refill,” she said. “Can I get you anything?”
“No,” Vince said, puzzled now. “I’m fine.” He waited while Lillian refilled her iced tea. What the hell was that all about? She got really spooked when I asked her about they. Almost as if she knows something more than she’s letting on.
When Lillian returned to the living room her features were more composed. She looked as if nothing had ever happened. She sat back down in the easy chair next to Vince and took a quick sip of her iced tea as Vince tried to steer the conversation back to his mother. “You know,” Vince began, choosing his words carefully. “I really dreaded coming back here when I heard the news. Especially after all that I went through with mom. We…didn’t really see eye-to-eye on a lot of things in the end.”
Lillian reached her hand out and touched his knee lightly. Her blue eyes locked with his. “I know things were hard for you. Especially the last few years you were here.”
“It was worse when I left,” he murmured.
Lillian’s hand rubbed his knee lovingly, bringing the warm touch his mother never would have bestowed. “Your mother was…very upset with you in the end.”
“But why?” He turned to her, his drink forgotten on the table. “I never thought leaving for college or getting married would make my mother hate me.”
Lillian sighed heavily, as if contemplating the delivering of bad news. “At first I didn’t understand it, Vincent. Your mother’s always been…set in her ways, I guess you could say. And I know that you had it harder than most teenagers when you were growing up. I know your mother wasn’t the most understanding person. But there was one thing she was strong in, and that was her faith in the Lord. Your mother walked the closest walk with the Lord than anybody I’ve known in my life. That’s something to be admired about the woman.”
Fuck my mother’s walk with the Lord, Vince thought, his jaw set in a hard grimace. If abandoning your child’s emotional needs when they’re growing up is part of walking with God, then I want no part of Him. He tried to keep the anger out of his voice. “So she never spoke about me after I left, right?”
“Far from it,” Lillian said. She picked up her glass of iced tea. “She spoke of you often. Prayed for you all the time.”
“Prayed for me?”
“Yes.” Lillian took a sip of iced tea.
“Why?”
Lillian hesitated. “Are you sure you—”
“Yes,” he almost snapped. “Just tell me!”
Lillian blinked in surprise, as if taken aback by Vince’s sudden outburst. Vince closed his eyes briefly and took a deep breath. He exhaled and opened his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I…I didn’t mean to snap at you like that.”
“It’s okay,” Lillian said. “You’ve been through a lot lately.”
More than you’d care to imagine, Vince thought. He ran a hand through his hair, took a sip of his iced tea, and leaned forward on the couch, ready to go head-to-head with whatever revelation Lillian had. “Why did she pray for me all the time?”
Lillian sighed. “She believed you were walking with Satan.”
The tension that had been building up in Vince’s limbs evaporated. He let out a breath. Was that all? According to the way his mother interpreted the Bible, he pretty much expected her to believe he was one of Satan’s minions. Lillian’s confession wasn’t a big surprise. “Why did she think that?” he asked.
“Because according to her, you’d abandoned the Christian faith she raised you in.” Lillian’s eyes were open, gentle. “You didn’t believe. You chose to cloak yourself in worldly things, which the Bible says is aligning yourself with Satan. Are you familiar with the Gospels, Vincent?”
“Yes,” Vince said. He took another sip of his iced tea.
“Then you know what Jesus said about choosing to live in the world, by the ways of the world. That Satan rules this world and its ways are his.”
“That’s all I heard when I was growing up,” Vince said. He set the glass of iced tea down on the table. “I suppose that despite the fact that I didn’t share my mother’s religious beliefs, she assumed I was a sinner and was doomed to Hell. And that because I was, she couldn’t associate with me because I would taint her somehow. Right?”
Lillian reached out again and caressed Vince’s arm. It felt comforting, soothing. “Vincent…I know you’re troubled by all that’s happened. Your mother’s death…your estrangement from her and all. But…she had a good heart. Really, she did. You may think she was crazy, but she really cared about you.”
“I wish she would have showed it,” Vince said. He drained the rest of his iced tea and stood up. “I’ve got to get going.”
Lillian stood up and walked with him to the front door. He had to get out of this house now; he felt his throat locking up. He felt like he was going to cry again. He felt that a little part of him was dying; the part that had never known the joy and love of his mother. The love that a mother can bestow on her son.
He was almost at the front door when he felt Lillian’s hand lightly gripping his arm. “Vincent.”
He stopped and turned. “Yes?”
She looked at him, her eyes brimming again with tears, and then moved forward, taking him in her embrace. He held her, her voice low and crackling. “I’m so sorry, Vincent. I’m so sorry.”
They stood there for a moment, silhouetted in the doorway of Lillian Withers’ comfortable little cottage set off a narrow farm road in rural Pennsylvania as the mid-morning sun peaked high overhead. Vince could feel the day warming up outside. The scent of lilacs wafting through the doorway was fresh in the air. The crisp, clean country air felt good. Vince closed his eyes and held Lillian, feeling a familiar sense of home, of a childhood he’d never had.
When Lillian finally stepped back she looked up at him, her eyes misty. “You’re a good man, Vincent. I think if your mother were here now she’d be proud of you.”
“Lillian—” Vince protested.
Lillian stopped him by tapping her finger on his chest. “Only the Lord knows your heart, Vincent. In the end your mother was too wrapped up in her own—Lord, dare I say—righteousness, to be concerned with the goodness of other’s hearts. It blinded her. She either didn’t see, or refused to see you for the good person you are.”
“Despite the fact I’m a non-believer?” Vince said. He mustered a smile. He’d said it. He was a non-believing atheist.
“Despite the fact that you’re a non-believer,” Lillian said, without missing a beat. Her features were serious. She looked more composed, more in control of herself. “You’re a good man, no matter what you believe. Don’t let the memory of what your mother used to say to you, or how she treated you, change the way I know you feel about her. Deep down she really loved you, Vincent. She loved you from the bottom of her heart.”
Vince looked out at the road and the thick grove of trees that spanned the property across from Lillian’s. “You know, I’d really like to believe you, Lillian. But so much of the last few memories of my mother is her screaming at me over the phone, telling me I’m the spawn of the Devil, or that I’m going to burn in hell for leaving her and choosing what she called the Left Hand path.” He turned back to her. “Maybe you’ve forgotten about all that happened. When I won that scholarship to UCI. I thought she would be happy for me. She wasn’t. She told me that if I went off to college I would burn in hell.”
Lillian’s features collapsed, as if in shame.
“I went to college and, as you know, the relationship quickly went downhill. She sent me tracts in the mail, she called me on the phone telling me she was organizing a prayer session in the hopes I’d be saved.”
Lillian nodded, closing he
r eyes. “I remember…”
“It got so that every year at Christmas I dreaded coming home because all she would do was insist I pray with her every day at Reverend Powell’s, for hours straight. You remember?”
Lillian nodded.
“When I started dating Laura, it got worse. By then I was working at Corporate Financial. She saw that as really…being something bad and evil. I’m sorry, but I still don’t see what is so evil about having a career in a financial planning firm. It got so bad that I stopped calling her altogether. I even stopped with the Christmas and birthday cards. All the cards I ever got from her were religious ones. But the final straw was when I broke down and called her after Laura and I got engaged. Know what she told me?”
Lillian shook her head. She looked saddened. “No. Vincent you don’t have to tell me—”
“I think I do,” Vince said. He struggled to keep his voice even, to keep from breaking into tears himself. He could feel his chest grow heavy, his throat constricting. “She all but damned me to Hell. She did not want to hear about what I thought was something every mother would want to hear from her son, that I was engaged. Instead she told me I was doomed, and that she did not want to hear from me ever again. And then she hung up on me.” His breathing was growing heavy. He struggled to hold back the flood of tears that threatened to pour forth. “I expected this, but…I thought she would have been happy for me. You know?” And then he did start to cry, just a little bit, because it wasn’t just the memory of his mother’s rejection of him that he was crying over. It was the memory of Laura taking him into his arms that day after his mother hung up on him and he’d turned to her, teary eyed just as he was now and said, “Sh-sh-sh-she..h-h-hates me!” He’d broken down then, and Laura had been there to comfort him.
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