I didn’t know what I thought, but I nodded without realizing it.
“Well, I’ll be glad to take you to Mrs. O’Day’s. She’ll be able to help get you some train tickets back to Boston. I think we should—”
“There’s anoder lady,” Donald shouted from his room. He didn’t look up at us, but only sat there, slightly wiggling his head as he looked at his baseball cards. Father Powell slowly walked back into Donald’s bedroom.
“What did you say, Donald?”
Donald looked up at the ceiling. “There be’s anoder lady a’ the sea, Fader Powell.”
“What do you mean, ‘another lady’?”
Donald stood up and approached Father Powell as Peter and I returned to the bedroom. Donald rocked back and forth on his heels and stared down at the shag carpet. Placing his hands around Father Powell’s left arm, Donald whispered into his ear. “There be anoder, anoder sea lady that warmin’ the earth. You know this, Fader Powell?”
Father Powell backed up to look Donald in the eyes. “Another lady? You mean there’s another statue giving off heat?”
“Yeah,” Donald answered in another whisper. “Yeah. Yeah.” He gently swiped at Father Powell’s shoulder, removing some lint, then went back to the baseball cards on his desk.
“Where is this statue?” I asked from behind Father Powell.
Donald didn’t answer. He sat in his chair and mumbled something under his breath.
“Donald?” Father Powell said.
“Yeah, Fader Powell?”
“Where is this other statue you’re talking about?”
“Yeah, there be’s anoder warm lady, Fader Powell. She in this same sea as here in my home.”
“But where exactly?” I asked. “Is it in your church here in Jamestown?”
“No, no,” Donald answered with a playful giggle that actually frightened me. “Not here … anoder lady, different lady a’ the sea. She warmin’ the eart’ too, Fader Powell. Not just our lady of the sea. Anoder lady.”
Father Powell, Peter and I looked back and forth between one another, speechless.
13
I GOT in late from Atlanta and dragged myself to bed. I had only been gone for a couple days but it seemed I was away from Edisto for months. As I lay there under my cool, white sheets, I glanced over to the disposable camera resting on my bedside table, thinking of Sr. Marie. I couldn’t wait to show Walt the pictures I had taken of her and the orphanage grounds in Sandy Springs.
But at the precise moment a bolt of lightning flashed outside, a horrible thought ripped its way across my mind. I had told Walt I was visiting my nephew. How would he react when I told him the truth? I was sure he’d be hurt that I had lied to him, but considering he usually didn’t like people meddling in his affairs, he might be enraged that I had tried to track down his son without his permission. I was only trying to help, but I’d gone about it in the wrong way. I should have been honest with him.
Unable to sleep, I looked out my window for nearly an hour, watching as the clouds rolled atop the ocean and the lightning tore up the sky. It sounded as if the gods were shooting cannon balls at one another as the thunder boomed every so often above me. By the time I climbed back in bed, I had decided not to tell Walt where I’d been that weekend. I was taking the cowardly way out.
A week later I got the pictures developed. I sat in the parking lot of the photo store and flipped through the ten or so snapshots I had taken. The last one of Sr. Marie tugged on my conscience so much I couldn’t ignore it. I drove home slower than usual, trying to anticipate how I would go about this conversation. When I pulled in my driveway, I was surprised to see Walt unloading a new corduroy chair from his truck. It looked to be one of those lazy-boys, the kind with a movable leg rest and big arm pads.
After parking, I ran over to his yard. “Are you crazy?” I yelled. “You can’t move that thing by yourself!”
Walt had dragged it to his front steps before he stopped for a breather. Sam sat on the porch panting as he supervised. “You okay?” I asked, putting my hand on his back.
“I’m fine,” he said between heavy breaths, “just give me a sec.”
“Why don’t you sit down,” I suggested. “You got a chair right here for gosh sakes.” Walt slumped into the chair. “You don’t seem like one to get new furniture, Walt. What made you purchase this thing?”
After a few more deep breaths he could answer. “I saw this in a store this past weekend and couldn’t resist after I sat down in it. It’s going to be my new nap chair.”
“That’s all well and good, but you’re ’bout to let it kill you, trying to bring it in by yourself like this.”
“You may be right. If I was a normal man in good health I might be able to do it, but I got this weak lung thing that I’ve had since I was a young man, and it ain’t improved any since I became an old man. You mind giving me a hand?”
“Course not. I got something I want to talk to you about anyway.”
We lifted the chair up his front steps and into his den. He changed his mind a few times on where he wanted it, but I gritted my teeth and bore it patiently. I wasn’t looking forward to telling Walt what I had to tell him, but waiting to tell him was even worse. Finally, he had a spot that pleased him in the corner of the room, by a window overlooking the beach. Before he could take a seat in his new chair, the buzzer from his dryer went off. “Oh, let me get those clothes so I can fold ’em while we visit.”
I sighed; yet another delay that would eat away at my insides. To settle myself I looked around Walt’s den. He had a few old war medals scattered on a large credenza and several black and white pictures of his friends from the service. Behind those I saw a picture of Olivia, and next to that one I saw a photo of Walt and myself, taken the day we went out fishing on my friend’s boat. I had forgotten about giving him a copy of this picture. I smiled at seeing it placed alongside Olivia and Walt’s war buddies; I was in good company. There was only one picture on the table I was unsure of. It was of a little girl with brown complexion and dark, scraggly hair. She was alone, leaning up against the wall of a bamboo hut with somber eyes meeting the camera lens. It was a strange picture compared to all the others; one I had never noticed before.
Walt came back into the den with a pile of warm, wrinkled clothes. They were in bad need of an iron, but I knew he wouldn’t bother.
“Say, Walt, who is this little girl?”
He dropped the clothes onto his sagging sofa and glanced at the picture. “Oh, that’s a little girl from Costa Rica I sponsor through my church. It’s one of those deals where you send a few dollars each month and a letter every now and again. I don’t know how much help it actually is, but I like doing it, and every once in a while I’ll get a letter back from her, translated of course by someone else. I started it about a year ago; didn’t I tell you?”
“Don’t think you did, though it wouldn’t be the first time I forgot something.”
Walt went back across the room, plopped himself down on his new chair, and reached over to his couch to retrieve a shirt to fold. “All right, Buck, what’s on your mind?”
“Well,” I began, except that was all I had. Everything I had planned on the way over slipped through my ears like a breeze flying through an open window. In desperation, I pulled the pictures from my pocket. “Maybe you should take a look at these photos.”
Walt eyed me as he took the pictures. He pulled them out of the white sleeve and flipped through them one-by-one. When he got to the one with Sister Marie in it, he laughed. “What the hell are these pictures of? And since when did you start carrying-on with nuns?”
“Those are pictures of a children’s home in Sandy Springs, Georgia, right outside Atlanta.”
“A children’s home?”
“That’s right. But it used to be an orphanage.” Walt’s expression dropped. I took a deep breath. “I didn’t go visit my nephew last week.”
After a short pause, he said, “Where’d you go, then? Did yo
u go to this place?”
“I feel bad about lying, but I knew you wouldn’t have let me go if I told the truth.”
“What the heck are you talkin’ about?”
I looked down to the floor. “I went over to Aiken. I tried to track down your boy, Walt.”
“You did what?” Walt leaned forward in his chair.
“Just hear me out, now. I got some stuff I want to tell you.”
“You lied to me.”
“I know, but I meant well.”
“I told you; I tried over twenty years ago. It was pointless! I didn’t find anything, and I bet you didn’t either.”
“You’re right, mostly. There wasn’t much I could do without a name for the boy, and I realize that now. But when I left last Wednesday I had a notion that I could stumble onto something.”
Walt stood up and strode into his kitchen. He grabbed a cup and filled it with water from the faucet. After he took a big gulp of water he returned to the den and sat down.
“What do you mean I was ‘mostly’ right?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk with you about, if you’ll just listen. I didn’t find your boy; let me start by making that clear. And I didn’t find any definite information on where he could have been sent. But I spoke with someone at the Aiken hospital and learned something that you may not have known.”
“And what might that be?” I could tell his anger was turning into curiosity.
“First, they sent me away for the day and directed me toward the Home for Little Angels, the place you told me about. Like you said, they weren’t too helpful there. But when I returned to the hospital the next day, a social worker there said during a small period in the nineteen fifties they were allowed to send a lot of the kids to this orphanage outside Atlanta, because of overcrowding, or, or something like that. The man there said he wouldn’t have been surprised if your boy was sent there since the rules weren’t as strict back then about keeping kids within the state. So I drove on down.”
Walt shook his head and laughed sarcastically, but I could tell this piece of information came as a surprise to him. “You sure are dumb to do all this,” he said. “What’d you think you’d find down there?”
“You want me to continue or not?”
“Go on.”
“When I got there, I got directions to the suburb where the children’s home was, in Sandy Springs. It’s a real nice town, kind of has that small town feel like Edisto does even though it’s so close to the big city. But anyway, I eventually found this place back in the woods, and man I tell you, Walt, it was so pretty back in there … real nice landscape and lots of fine buildings. Just look at the photos.” I stopped while he took another look at the pictures. “That woman there is named Sister Marie Joseph,” I went on. “I spoke with her for a while. She told me that the home used to serve as an orphanage, but a while back it got turned into a home for kids from abusive households and local Atlanta kids whose families have trouble keeping after them. Sister Marie’s been there since the fifties, when it was still an orphanage, so she would’ve been around when your boy was there. If he was there, that is. She’s a real nice woman, sharp as a whip but as sweet as can be. She and the other nuns tutor the children, take them to church, let them play on a real nice playground, and the ones who sleep there get tucked into bed every night. It couldn’t be a better place to grow up, Walt. I could tell those nuns treat the kids like their own kin.”
Without looking up from the pictures, he said, “What is this supposed to do for me?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I just figured it might give you some peace of mind to know that your boy may have grown up there instead of that place in Aiken. I know it’s a long shot, but think how much better his life could’ve been if he got sent to Atlanta and lived with those nuns. They’re Catholic, just like you. Wouldn’t that make you feel better to know he was raised there?”
“This is just a stupid fantasy,” Walt grunted.
“Now I don’t know why you gotta’ go and say that. You don’t know if—”
“What good is it to believe something like this?” he interrupted. “Every time I picture my son, I see a face filled with anger towards me, and I know that’s anger I deserve. A couple pictures of a nice orphanage where he may or may not have lived, isn’t going to change what happened. I know you want to believe my son has lived a good life, maybe even at this place. But it really doesn’t matter if he did have a good life, because it still wouldn’t be the life he was supposed to have. That thought is going to pain me no matter what you do, Buck. You shouldn’t have lied to me, and you shouldn’t have done this. You’ve only made me wonder even more about what could have been. Now please, I’d like you to leave.”
“Come on, Walt.”
“Leave, now. You’re not welcome here. And take your pictures with you.”
He stuffed them down in the white sleeve and tried to hand them to me, but I wouldn’t take them. I stood up and walked toward the door. The floorboards creaked below my slow and heavy footsteps, echoing throughout the silent house.
“Ya’ know,” I said as I opened his back door. “I understand you’re a church farin’ man and all, but you need to learn something about forgiveness. Anger towards yourself is the same as anger towards your neighbor. I don’t know much, but I know if God believes you truly regret something in your heart, he forgives you for it. Nothing I did last week will change your past and I understand that just the same as you, but at some point you got to accept life and move on with it.”
He still wouldn’t look at me or respond, so I left and let the screen door close behind me. Instead of going back to my house, I walked onto the beach and took off my shoes. I did my best to let the late afternoon sunshine and soft sand relax me as I walked across the empty coast. I picked up a few sea shells along the way and chucked them against the tumbling waves, trying to force my frustration into the sea.
I returned to my home as dusk fell. But before I could make it into my backyard, the sight of Walt moving inside his house caught my attention. I stood still, knowing I shouldn’t be this nosey, but too curious to look away. He approached his mantle above the fireplace with a picture in his hands, looked down at it for several seconds, then grabbed a frame from the mantle and placed the picture inside.
14
NO MATTER how hard we tried to get things out of him, Donald would not divulge any more information about a second statue. As Father Powell drove us back to Mrs. O’Day’s house, we discussed the boy’s latest claim. Father Powell assured us this was the first he had heard of a second statue from Donald. We wondered how long the boy had known about this, and whether or not it could be true. Father Powell remained certain that Donald was telling the truth because all his other claims about the statue seemed to be accurate. Peter had his doubts and gave the impression he was through chasing such ambiguous leads.
Peter and I considered going back to the church in Jamestown one last time, but I could tell Peter had no desire to do so. I didn’t want to put him on edge any more than he already was, so I agreed to head back to Worcester. We told Father Powell we would speak with Father Chase about what we had seen, and from there it would be his decision on how to proceed. We knew Father Chase would consult with the Bishops and they would probably inform the Cardinal in Boston of the whole matter.
When it came to the issue of informing others about what Donald had said, we disagreed once again. Peter wanted to leave Donald out of it all together, telling no one outside the three of us about him. Peter argued that the validity of this phenomenon would never be justified if Donald were brought into it. I wasn’t sure if that was the real reason Peter didn’t want to divulge anything about Donald, but it was a good point. Father Powell saw things both ways, in that he wanted the Church to consider every aspect of the situation, but he didn’t want any pressure or excessive attention directed toward Donald. Father Powell worried for the boy, knowing he would not do well when this story reached the national
spotlight.
I found myself being quite adamant in at least telling Father Chase about Donald. If he felt Donald and his conversations with the statue should be left alone, I would go along with that decision. By the same token, if Father Chase found Donald to be an integral part of explaining this happening, I couldn’t disagree.
I thought the matter was settled until we reached the train station. We had just said goodbye to Mrs. O’Day and were waiting patiently on a bench in the main hall of the station for our departing train.
“The only reason I’m agreeing to divulge anything about Donald is because Father Chase is a good man,” Peter said, “and it doesn’t feel right to keep things from him. But just imagine if one of the national media outlets gets wind of this situation. They will pounce on the Church and make us look like a bunch of nuts; then they’ll start in on Donald.”
“Why do you care what people think of the Catholic Church? You said you were leaving when we got back.”
He ignored my attempt to discuss his future.
“I’m just being realistic here. The rest of the world already thinks we’re bordering on idolatry for putting statues in our churches, and most believe we worship Mary. Now we’re going to tell them that we believe she’s speaking through a statue to a mentally challenged boy? Do you think that will go over well?”
“I’m not concerned with how it will go over; I’m concerned for the truth. I can’t help that some people are offended by the statues in our churches, but then put up manger scenes at Christmastime and fail to see the similarity there. They know they aren’t idolizing those figurines resting on their mantel, just like we aren’t idolizing the statues in our churches. We need things like that present to bring our hearts and minds back to God when our thoughts wander to trivial, earthly matters. And I know we’re not worshipping Mary; you do as well, Peter. You shouldn’t worry about what people think and say, you should worry about what you believe. We honor Mary, just as Jesus did, from the time he began his ministry and preformed his first miracle in Cana at her request, to some of his last words on the cross when he said to John, ‘Behold, your mother.’ The basic premise of Christianity is to emulate Christ in every way, so we treat Mary with the same respect that he did. I wish others would see things that way and not misunderstand her role within the Church, but for the most part that’s out of my control. We need to focus on the truth of what’s happening here, not how the rest of the world will view this.”
Two Statues Page 11