Only Margaret raised her hand like a little girl and asked for some.
Jerry's voice had an odd sound to it. “If there's something you want to tell us, Bridget, do you mind if I take notes?”
Bridget nodded her permission, took a sip of water and started to speak. Her voice was hoarse, and she spoke just above a whisper. “Will you tell them the first part, Sister?”
Sister Myra sat straight in her chair so she could look directly into the eyes of each person present. “Yesterday, when I brought Bridget back from the hospital, we had a long talk about what happened to her and what her life was like when she was a little girl. She told me everything. When she finished, I asked her if I could explain it here for her so that you'll understand all that she's been through, and also so you'll understand just how sick and depraved her father truly was. Is that correct, Bridget?”
Once again, Bridget nodded but said nothing.
“Almost as early as she can remember, Bridget's father molested her. When she was little he would come into the bathroom when she was taking a bath or sometimes even when she was sitting on the toilet and stare at her. As she grew older, he started going into her room at night, supposedly to hear her prayers. But once inside the room he'd shut the door and fondle her.”
“Oh, Brigie.” Margaret was sobbing.
“Like many pedophiles, he told Bridget that this was their secret, and if she ever said anything her mother would be sent away, and she would never see her again.”
The Detective Sergeant mumbled something unintelligible under his breath, but his clenched fists and flushed face spoke the words he was holding back.
“It's the way many of them work,” said the nun. “They terrorize the victim into silence and submission. Are you okay so far, Bridget?”
“Yes, Sister.”
“Any sort of physical contact between them stopped when Bridget reached puberty, but that didn't stop him from taking her into the cellar, or later to the empty apartment downstairs, and forcing her to look at pornographic magazines with him.”
Bridget reached over and put her hand on Sister Myra's arm. “I want to tell them the rest, Sister. I need to.” Bridget squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and began to speak. “When I was little, every time my father came into my room, afterward he had this ritual. He'd take out his cigarette lighter, flick it a few times near my face, then light a cigarette and smoke it down to the end until he stopped breathing so fast.
“I got so I could block out everything. I just put myself out of my body and pretended it wasn't me he was hurting, but I could never block out the smell of the lighter fluid. It got so I could smell it in my dreams. It always meant he was finished with me until the next time. And there was always a next time.”
Olympia could see Jerry wiping his eyes and Jim biting his lower lip. She recalled hearing a little of this hideous story back in her kitchen in Brookfield and thinking then how awful it must have been for Bridget, but nothing could have prepared her for this. And the girl wasn't finished.
“I can't remember how old I was, but it was after he got the Polaroid camera that he started taking pictures of me, too.”
Margaret covered her face with her hands.
“After that I started sneaking his cans of lighter fluid out of the living room and hiding them in the back of my closet. I put them in the box with my doll clothes. For some reason I thought that if he couldn't light his cigarettes, then he wouldn't come after me, but it didn't work. Like I said, I was little.
“Then I tried going outside and pouring the stuff in the gutter. I figured if I could get rid it, I could stop what he was doing to me, but it didn't work. Anyway, all these years later, I still had the empty cans at the back of my closet.”
“And I thought he kept losing them,” said Margaret in a broken whisper. “I always blamed it on the drink.”
Sister Myra interrupted. “Do you need to take a break from this, Bridget? Do you want some more water? This must feel like open heart surgery without anesthesia.”
“Actually, Sister, it feels good to get it out. I want to keep on going.”
“Tell them what happened on Good Friday,” said the nun.
Bridget took a deep breath. “After I went to see Father Jim at the rectory, I waited until noon when I knew my father would be in church, and then I went back to the house. I wanted to get the little statue of the Blessed Mother my mother kept on her dresser. I wanted to have it with me when … well, I thought she might comfort me, you know, “now and at the hour of my death.”
Father Jim bowed his head.
“I didn't even remember going back there until yesterday.” Bridget turned and looked at the priest. “I barely remember what you and I talked about, Father. It's like I was walking around in my own nightmare. After I …” Bridget shook her head as if to clear it.
“Take all the time you need, said the detective, wiping his eyes.
“When I woke up in the hospital, bits of those last two days would float up to the surface, but they disappeared before I could grab hold of them. Then I had that meeting with the psychiatrist at the hospital. After that, things started to get clear, and I began to remember things, but really, it was Sister Myra who helped me get this much out. I told her in the car when she was taking me back to Martha House. There's more, but this is all I can say for right now.”
“Are you able tell us what happened when you went back to the house?” said Olympia.
“Like I said, I couldn't remember very much until yesterday, but I remember when I couldn't find the statue, I went upstairs to my room and dug out all those empty lighter fluid cans and shoved them under my father's chair. I guess in a way I was saying I hope you're satisfied, or you can't hurt me anymore. I felt like I was someone else. When I was little, in my mind I would put myself somewhere else so it didn't hurt any more. I barely remember going into the church in Cambridge. And Saturday …” Bridget shook her head.
Sister Myra held up her hand. “You don't have to say any more, Bridget.”
It was Jerry who finally broke the silence. “I think you've told us all we need to know. It's likely all we'll need is for you and your mother to come back and make a formal statement, but from where I sit, there's no question in my mind that the fire and Terry's death are both accidental. The tragic part is that Margaret, Bridget, and Eileen, are the real victims, not Terry.”
Detective O’Brien stood and looked at the people seated in his office. “I want to thank you all for coming and for your helpful cooperation. This could not have been easy for any of you. I'll call if I have any more questions, but as of now, you're all free to go.”
As they were collecting their things and moving out into the hallway, Eileen came running down the corridor.
“I'm sorry I'm late, Father. There was a funeral, and nothing was moving.”
“We're finished, Eileen, and everything is going to be all right.”
The O’Mara family, Jim, and Sister Myra collected their things and slowly moved out of the office. Olympia stood outside in the corridor and watched as the Detective blew his nose and then poured the rest of the pitcher of water onto the plants in the window.
Twenty-Eight
Sister Myra was walking around her private sitting room with a large tray, offering cups of strong tea and even stronger Irish whiskey to all present. Bridget took a cup of tea and added some milk and sugar to it.
“I still feel like I'm walking around in a bad dream. I can't even think beyond getting through the rest of the day, but I know I have to.”
Margaret took a sip of her tea. “I've called the funeral home. They said they'd pick him up this afternoon, and we could have the visiting hours as soon as tomorrow and the funeral mass on Friday or Saturday, depending on what Father says.”
Bridget turned to her mother. “Do we have to have visiting hours? I never want to look at him again, Mam, not even dead.”
“Well, it's just that it's always …” Margaret stopped mid-
sentence and looked at her daughter. “You know what, you're right, Bridget. So what if people ask questions. Do we have to have a wake, Father?”
Father Jim looked at the two women and then at Olympia. “There is nothing that says you have to have a public viewing, Margaret, it's just local custom. The Jews don't do it, and a lot of Protestants are doing away with it as well, are they not, Olympia? You can do what you and your daughters feel is right for you. You're in charge.”
“Then I vote for no wake,” said Eileen.
Margaret was sitting straighter in her chair. “Father, is Friday morning available at St. Bartholomew's? I just want to get this over with and be rid of him.”
“It is, Margaret. Shall I mark it in?”
“What time?”
“Funerals are always at eleven, unless there's more than one on a given day,” said the priest, taking out his date book. “I'll take care of calling the church secretary and the funeral director.”
“It's going to get better now, isn't it, Mam?” said Bridget.
Margaret O’Mara looked at her pale, brave daughter and her proud, angry daughter. “It will, my darling girls, it surely will.”
Olympia and Jim were back in Jim's office at the rectory. He had just finished finalizing the arrangements for the O’Mara funeral with the church secretary and the organist. Olympia broke a candy bar in half and held out the nearer piece to Jim.
“So, what now? Eileen has an apartment, but Bridget and her mother are effectively homeless. How long can they stay at the shelter?”
Jim nibbled at the sticky edge of the confection. “I had a word with Sister Myra while you were saying goodbye to Margaret and the girls. It turns out that Terry was very well insured. He worked at a bank, remember? It came with the job. Margaret is set for life. She can sell the house, if she wants to move and start a new life elsewhere, or she can fix it up and stay in a place she knows.”
“What do you think she'll do?”
“Who knows, Olympia? There are lot of bad memories there. On the other hand, she may just want to stake her claim and stay put. Time will tell. You know what else they found? Jerry told me. He told me there was no point in bringing it up when they were all there. Margaret and Bridget had been through enough.”
“What's that, Jim?”
“Do you remember Margaret saying she didn't have the key to the downstairs apartment? It turns out that was Terry's secret porno den. They found movies, magazines, all kinds of revolting stuff locked in one of the rooms. In addition to everything else, it looks like Terry may have been dealing in child pornography. They found boxes of it in the cellar, as well.”
Olympia grimaced. “What an unmitigated, loathsome hunk of steaming fertilizer!”
“My opinion precisely—and I get to do the bastard's funeral.”
“Better you than me. I don't think I could. The words would stick in my throat.”
“That's where Catholic ritual is really helpful, Olympia. A requiem mass is the same for saints and sinners alike. There is one bright light in all of this”
“What's that?”
“I'm sure I shouldn't be saying this, and I may or may not ever tell Margaret, but because of how and when he died, there was no opportunity for Terry to make a final confession. He died unshriven.”
“How do you know?”
“I hear the confessions at St. Bartholomew's. Even though we try not to, we can't help but recognize some voices. Terry never came in on the Saturday before Easter.”
“Which means?”
“According to Catholic dogma, he'll get his just desserts, and it won't be pretty, and it will be for all eternity.”
Olympia made no effort to hide her delight. “What about Bridget? Did Sister Myra say anything about what she's going to do? Uh, before you answer that, can I open a window? It's gotten really warm in here all of a sudden.”
Before Jim had a chance to respond, Olympia was up and out of her chair and fanning herself with an old church bulletin she scooped off Jim's desk.
“You okay? You've gone all pink around the gills,” said Jim.
“It's a girl thing, Jim. I'm having a hot flash. Anyway, tell me about Bridget.”
“That Myra's a miracle worker, Olympia. She's invited Margaret and Bridget to stay on at the shelter as long as they want to. Margaret said yes and asked if she could help with the housekeeping until she knows what she is going to do next. Eileen has a job and an apartment, so once we get the funeral out of the way, she's pretty much set. I am, however, going to recommend individual and family counseling for all three of them.”
“What about Bridget?” persisted Olympia.
“She's in the right place for now. Myra has worked with abuse victims and rape victims for over twenty years. She might want to take the rest of the semester off, but on the other hand, she might not. I'm sure once everything settles down she'll be in touch with you about that. You really did save her life, you know, Olympia.”
“Uh … can I shut the window now?”
Jim laughed and rolled his eyes. “Whatever, but you did save her life. First she came to you, and then Margaret came to you, and you had the good sense to call me.”
“The dynamic duo triumphs once again, and I hope to God it's the last time we ever need to. I'm retiring at the end of the year so there won't be any more students for me to rescue.”
“You mean this coming June?”
“The very same. I will have sat through my last graduation, turned in my last set of grades, endured my last faculty meeting.”
“What will you do after that?”
“I've dodged it long enough, Jim. I'm going back to full-time ministry. I just have no idea what form that will take or where.”
“Didn't you tell me that Frederick is on his way back over here pretty soon?”
“Good God. He was going to call me back this morning. I'll call him the second I get home. But to answer your question, yes, he should be here within the week.”
“Then what?”
“I honestly don't know about that either. He's a wonderful man, but to be truthful, I'm scared skinny about making a permanent commitment.”
“Hardly skinny, and what the hell do you mean by the rest of the sentence?”
“Be quiet, Jim. You know that my first marriage was a disaster, and I was a functional part of that disaster. I never want to risk a mess like that again. It was a lose-lose situation all around. Frederick is a really good man, too good for my personal baggage.”
“You've grown older and wiser since then, have you not, Olympia?”
“I suppose so. And I have a daughter that nobody knows about, but who says she wants to meet me.”
“What?”
“The letter came on Saturday, but with everything else going on, I just couldn't deal with it. Before I can make any decisions about the rest of my life, I have to reclaim my daughter.”
“What did she say in the letter?”
“It was kind of stiff and formal. She used my full name rather than calling me mother. She said that she's read the file, and it took her a while to make the decision to try and contact me, but she's expecting a baby herself and needs to know if there are things in her medical history that she ought to know. There was nothing about herself and no questions about me. Just that.”
“You're going to be a grandmother?”
Olympia nodded but didn't smile with it. “I wish she had said more about wanting to meet me.”
“I suspect this has been as hard for her as it has been for you. It's going to take time … and you've got to give it to her.”
“She sent me a picture.” Olympia reached into her handbag and pulled out a photograph and held it out to Jim. Her hand was shaking. “This is my daughter. They named her Laura.”
Jim took the photograph and studied it. “She looks a lot like you. She's beautiful.”
“I think she has her father's chin, but she's got my green eyes.”
Jim got up out of his chair a
nd pulled Olympia out of hers and wrapped both arms around her trembling shoulders. “Oh, God, Olympia, that is wonderful.”
When Jim released her and they were back in their seats, Olympia began to outline her thoughts. “I'm not going to meet with her until I've told Malcolm and Randall, but I'll do that by the end of the week. After that, I'll tell Frederick, and how he responds to this will have a lot to do with his potential future with moi.”
Jim cocked his head and looked over his glasses at his beloved friend. “From what I remember of Frederick, I can only think that he will be thrilled for both of you. Whatever you do after you retire from teaching, Olympia, it would be nice for you to have someone to love while you're doing it. He's a good man.”
“There's so much to think about, Jim. Why doesn't life get any easier?”
“That's the nature of life, my friend, and we only get one chance to make the most of it. I loved a really good man once, and I went with my heart. Despite all that happened, I'll never be sorry that I did. Take the chance, girlfriend. You won't be sorry.”
* * *
Sunday, July 22, 1860
So much has happened since I last committed pen to paper that I don't know where to begin. It is enough to say that my trip to Harvard was instructive but not immediately helpful. They were not enthusiastic about my inquiry and tried to discourage me by saying that women's minds were not particularly suited to such scholarly endeavor. I told them that I didn't believe that and would, if I had to, find a college that will accept me. I prefer Harvard because it is near to my home and I would be able to stay with my aunt who assures me she would welcome my companionship. But will she feel differently when she learns that I am with child?
How this happened is no mystery. But who will understand and not condemn us? I have no desire to ruin either Jared's marriage or his ministry, and thus we have agreed to end what has only just begun to flower. He and his wife will leave Kingston over the summer. She knows nothing of this, and I will keep our secret to the grave.
An Unspeakable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 20