"According to the city records, this child was named Elias."
Doro looked at her questioningly, her innate law-abiding nature slipping out. "How did you access the records?"
"I'm sure you've tried and failed," Cynthia commiserated, fortunately incorrectly guessing the motive behind the query.
"But in a small town like this one, most of the records were very accessible until they moved everything to the city. Basically anyone could go into the old town hall and take a look at the registrations. They weren't always complete. For instance, there are no second names listed for the children. But often, you could go in and have a very good look at people's backgrounds, depending upon what they wrote."
She gave a wicked little chuckle that made Doro smile in return.
"Most people would think the current privacy laws are good while nosy parkers like myself find them extremely restrictive!"
They leafed through a few more photos of the various church events. In all of them, the preacher looked the same.
Cécile Meloche Janot, however, began to appear haggard and much older than she was. After a while, her smile vanished. The baby was soon a toddler, holding on to his mother's hand, or hiding behind her skirt, his two middle fingers always in his mouth. Finally, after about five years, another bundle of blankets appeared.
"This one was called Ithamar," Cynthia said and she laughed at Doro's reaction. "I know, strange isn't it? I looked up the names and found out that they all have religious significance. Elias means, 'The Lord is My God' in Hebrew. Ithamar was the nephew of Moses."
The years from 1967 to 1970, up until Pastor Rob was indicted, appeared to have been the 'heydays' for the Church of Leviticus. Numerous pictures filled the next pages of the scrapbook, all showing people having fun at the manse. Games for the kids, groups singing around campfires, prayer circles with the Pastor at its center, children chasing Easter eggs.
All of the events were recorded by various cameras and photographers. The perspectives were therefore varied, but in most of them, Pastor Rob was the focus of their attention after their own families.
In many of these pictures, Cécile, Elias and Ithamar were also shown at the center of the action. At first, both boys often clung to their mother. As time went on Ithamar, now a toddler, and Elias were pictured standing so close to one another that they were constantly in touch. When they were photographed with the others in a game or contest, they looked artificial, posed, and always, hand in hand.
From 1970 until 1975, there were even more pictures, but fewer of happy events. Most were taken inside the church. The Pastor often stood at the pulpit or at the door of the manse, as though the photographers were paparazzi chasing a celebrity. Once again, none of them showed the preacher in a good light. He was always scowling and fierce.
"Why do you think people followed this man?" Doro asked, unable to keep her bewilderment to herself any longer. "He looks so unapproachable."
Cynthia, unable to conceal a tone of admiration, said, "He was a mesmerizing speaker. He could send the chills up and down your spine, let me tell you. And he always made his homilies so personal that every single person felt he was speaking to them. You went away determined to do better each time you listened to him."
"So you heard him?"
"Oh, yes. Although my parents never really belonged to the church in a big way, we did spend some time in those pews. And I do think they gave money to his causes quite freely, too. He could talk a cat into giving up a mouse. He was incredibly charismatic but only when he was up at the pulpit. It was an amazing transformation. Not to mention the fact that his voice was deep and sexy, just like you might hear on television or the radio."
"Even though he wasn't particularly handsome, he had the kind of face that lit up with his sermon. Mostly fire-and-brimstone messages of the first order, I might add. I was a teenager and given to romantic notions anyway. But I wasn't the only one who was awestruck by him. Lots of the adults were too. He had hundreds of followers."
Cynthia sighed. "My parents moved to Toronto when I was seventeen. That was in 1965. I really believe part of the reason I felt drawn back to this village was because of my fascination with Pastor Rob's story. That's why when Kimmy called…"
She was blushing a little now, looking much younger than her sixty years, as though she had returned to being a star struck teenager.
"I'm sure the Pastor Rob story is the biggest reason I have amassed this huge collection. I pretend it started as family research, but the story of the Janot family is by far the most interesting."
Doro smiled at her, glad beyond words that she had met this honest, outspoken woman.
As though reading her thoughts, Cynthia said, "Besides the fact that you seem like a very nice young woman, if you are who I think you are…Well, let's just say I'm very excited about meeting you and by the mystery of it all. I do hope that it doesn't cause you too much pain, though."
Doro was somewhat puzzled about why having a con man for a biological father would be so painful, but she didn't comment. She realized that, given her background and training, she had already pegged him as a shyster. One of those crooked evangelists who duped people into giving money and lived in luxury off the profits.
She knew there was still more to the story, or at least she suspected there was a great deal she did not yet know. And perhaps that Cynthia Denis did not know either.
Chapter 22: Emily
On the Monday following our discussion about possible abuse, May received a message from Dorothy Sanderson that she would not be returning to the school as a volunteer.
Surprised and disconcerted, I decided not to follow up until I had spoken with Renae. She was arriving later on that day because, to her astonishment, she had been given permission by Dorothy to visit with the entire family. On the weekend, even the father had been present this time.
In the meantime I had an unexpected request for an appointment from Aaron Sanderson, the eldest child.
He came into my office at recess, a tall, reed-thin boy with blond hair that was closely shaved in a fairly modern fashion. His clothes, thin and worn, were clean and pressed, but not chosen to be stylish. Most likely, they had been purchased at the thrift store.
However, it was Aaron's face that I found most fascinating.
As I've said, I rarely got to look straight into the boys' eyes. No one had been more evasive than this eldest child. Until today. This time, he looked straight at me as I invited him in, leaving the door slightly ajar.
May knew her role in this situation. She always sat close to the open door, listening very carefully, allowing the telephone to go to voice mail. Too often, unfortunately, a female or male authority figure alone with a student can be accused of almost anything. In other words, May acted as my witness.
Aaron sat down only when I asked him to do so. At first his shoulders were hunched over as usual, but I noticed that he began to straighten, almost unconsciously, as we talked.
From the beginning, he attempted, very successfully I might add, to control the conversation.
"I was thinking that I might do some work for the school," Aaron said immediately. "My mother won't be able to volunteer anymore, so I figured I could represent my family."
His voice was steady, his words well formed and mature. His large blue eyes looked straight at me. Like Meghan, he was not at all uncomfortable. In fact, he could have been much older than his thirteen years if you only considered his manner and confidence.
I was, to say the least, taken aback. I hadn't dreamed that, after years of knowing these children, I could be completely wrong about this boy's nature. He appeared relaxed, determined and sincere, rather than the meek, self-conscious manner that I'd come to expect from the Sanderson clan. The look on his face could only be described as smug, cool, self-assured. I had no idea how to react.
"That's very nice of you, Aaron," I managed. "But you are in your graduation year. You might not have very much time."
"I'm su
re if you ask Miss George, she will tell you that I'm doing very well with my studies," Aaron responded.
I decided it would indeed be a good idea to talk to Kristen George.
He smiled at me, a smile that was so affable that I felt absurdly as though I were being ridiculed.
"Well, Aaron, thank you for your offer. I know we can always use volunteer help around here."
"I would love to help you out in the office, Mrs. Taylor. I'm really good with numbers. I know my mother counted money for you and I would be happy to take that task if you wanted."
At that moment, the bell rang, but Aaron didn't move or react. He was waiting for my answer.
Without giving it much thought, I replied, reflecting the same formal mannerism as he had adopted.
"We could really use someone to replace your mom in that task, Aaron. Thanks for thinking of that. I'll let you know when we can schedule you in."
"Thanks. I guess I'd better get back to class before I'm marked late."
Standing, he stretched his thin frame and then oddly, put out his hand. I grasped his cool fingers in mine and we shook.
"See you soon," I said, not knowing quite how to end the encounter.
He turned and walked away. As he did so, I could see his shoulders return to their normally hunched position.
I was looking forward to Renae's visit to fill in some of the missing pieces and I wasn't disappointed. Once again, she perched on the edge of the guest chair in my office, coffee in hand, her eyes alight with an odd expression as she related her story.
"I called the Sanderson house as soon as I could on Friday and left a message. I was so surprised when Dorothy called me back before the end of the day. She invited me to come over right away," Renae said.
"Normally I wouldn't have jumped at the invitation. I don't like my clients to think I'm at their beck and call, but I told her sure, I can be there in an hour. I obviously called her bluff, because she immediately conferred with her husband and we changed it to Sunday afternoon. Saturday's church day for them, I guess. Mr. Sanderson opened the door."
"Holy shit!" I exclaimed, unable to help myself.
Good thing the door was closed. The shining example of Mrs. Taylor would have been tarnished indeed.
"We've never laid eyes on him in eight years, except from afar in town. Wow."
"He's just like the kids—tall and thin, pale. They get the red hair and freckles from him and the lean physique. It was odd to see Dorothy and Carl sitting next to one another and then watch all the kids gather round. His manner was completely unexpected and one of the strangest encounters I've ever had. I'm still not really sure how to react."
Renae began to relate the story of her extraordinary visit.
Chapter 23: Brimstone
She did not know how long she lay there in the closet. Her body was sore and cramped. Her hunger was a dull, thudding pain inside. Whimpering and moaning, she sucked her thumb, too frightened to call for Brother. She squeezed her eyes and tried to picture the house in the meadow by the stream. But most of the time she slept.
When The Preacher Man came for her, he was dressed in long, flowing white robes. At first, she thought he was God who had come to take her to hell and she began to cry. She forgot that crying made him angry.
His face reddened and a blue line down the side of his forehead pulsed. But he paid no attention to her, only shoved her hard. Her thin little shoulders hurt from the pressure of his hand and now she was in the parlour.
She was pushed toward a row of chairs where both Brothers sat side by side, not touching. Baby was propped up in a bassinet, fingers in her mouth. Big Brother cradled his head in his hands.
He stood in front of them, resting on the lectern. His eyes held theirs. Bulging. Fired.
"Hell and damnation." His deep, booming voice filled the parlour.
"O children of Satan, ye must be freed from sin, saved from eternal suffering. Ye must learn the wrath of the Lord."
The Preacher Man reached for something on the counter, something putrid and red and smelly.
He intoned as he swung the fetid mess onto the table, "Its blood shall be splashed on the sides of the altar."
Reddish brown liquid splattered the white cloth of the table and all over his white robes. It spat out at them, covering their faces and clothes with its cloying stain and its rancid odour. Everything was dotted with thick globs of flesh.
"All of its fat shall be taken from it and offered up...the fatty tail, the fatty membrane over the inner organs, as well as two kidneys with the fat on them near the loins and the lobe of the liver, which must be severed above the kidneys."
He clutched each object, brown and black and unformed, mashed in his large fingers, waving them in the air before tossing them into the bowl. "And the right leg. The priest shall burn all of this on the altar."
The small, pathetic limb, gray fur still clinging to the sides, innards leaking from the wound where it had been ripped from the body, waved grotesquely over their heads.
They sat motionless, frozen to the hard seats, swallowing their fear, hiding the trembling of their hands from his view. He did not look at them, however. He focused solely on the ritual.
The Preacher Man rubbed his hands in the empty bowl and put blood on their ears, thumbs and right toes. Next he placed the dripping, soggy parts in their hands, pulling their little palms upward.
Her brothers squirmed and moaned, but she herself was silent, too terrified to move. She felt the small dead bits in her hands and thought of the wiggling worms under leaves in the backyard. She stared at them, her eyes unable to move from their purpled, grotesque succulence.
Now he turned toward the woman and she presented a basket as though it were a gift. With great ceremony, lifting the tiny wafers of unleavened bread in the air, he added a piece to each of their trembling hands.
Once more, he sprinkled blood on them from the altar, all the while intoning his rules of conduct. They blinked as the thick liquid hit their faces. The baby began a low whining sound.
"Be holy," The Preacher Man said, his voice reverberating from the walls, echoing in her ears over and over.
"Revere your mother and father. Do not touch one another. Do not go with strangers."
As he spoke, he snatched the globs from each of their hands and threw the sticky mess into the shining pot on the stove, which began to hiss with the odour of boiling meat. He slowly scraped the odds and ends from the table into his hands, red with blood and white with bits of fat and bone, and tossed them into the boiling water.
"Do peace offerings such as this to keep away evil," he lectured, his voice now hushed and then loud with threat.
"No stealing, no lying. Do not cheat or commit slander, even in your heart. If you curse your parents or commit adultery or lie with your same sex or lie with your sibling, you will be put to death."
His pitch was now roaring and trembling with anger. He pointed a shaking finger at the woman.
"Such as this woman, lying down with a stranger, her action warrants her death."
He paused, closing his eyes.
The children stole a look at their mother, standing head down, arms at her sides, tears streaming down her cheeks in silence.
He looked up again and they snapped to attention, terrified eyes now riveted on his red, mottled face.
"Yet I allow her to live," he whispered, the words difficult to catch and all the more horrifying for their softness.
Chapter 24: Jacob
The first few times Jacob went to pick up his daughter at school, he waited outside with all the other parents until Adrienne came skipping out. He still felt guilty taking off from work so early in the day, even though he knew he'd be putting in another two hours once they got home. Then dinner, playtime, baths, bedtime stories. It was a routine, but it was the most fun he had.
The look on Adrienne's face every time he showed up at the school erased any feelings of guilt about work. She was always delighted, surprised and en
ergized. She'd catch his eyes, grin broadly and race into his arms. Backpack and all, he would swing her around, clasping her to him as though she'd been gone for months.
At first the tears would be difficult to stem, but as time went on, he became less teary and more joyful. In addition, as the years went by, Adrienne grew into more 'dignified, grown-up' hugs and kisses, although no less filled with pleasure.
One day when he was a bit early, having spent less time getting to the school than he anticipated, he met Emily Taylor outside. She was supervising a group of students as they shot baskets into the outdoor hoop.
Although in her early fifties, Principal Taylor was a beautiful woman, her blond hair stylish, her blue eyes welcoming and lively, her skin peachy cream and clear. She waved at him and suggested that he go and see May in the office. That was the beginning of a meeting that took place once or twice a week afterward.
That first year, Emily talked him into appearing before several classes of junior and intermediate students on Career Day to speak about becoming a lawyer. Her next step was to cajole him into being a member of the school council.
"We only meet once a month," she assured him, but suddenly he was the treasurer and once a month became more like once a week.
He thoroughly enjoyed the roles, however, and was especially thrilled by his closer contact with May. On as many of his visits as possible, she would make time for him. They would sit in the outer office, drinking coffee, talking and laughing.
He was constantly astounded at the work environment Emily Taylor had fostered. The staff, the students and any visitors were welcomed into a natural, friendly and sincere atmosphere. Although there was lots of laughter, there were serious times too.
Every difficulty was approached with earnest problem-solving skills by the office staff, the teachers, or the caretaker. Over the years, Jacob saw sick children, irate parents, students in trouble and salespeople treated with the same deference and sincerity.
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