Nolan Trilogy

by Selena Kitt

  “Oh Erica, I wish… I’m sorry… I don’t...” Father Michael let his hands fall to his sides, head down, defeated, not meeting her eyes. She knew he wouldn’t tell. He took his vow seriously, of course he wouldn’t tell. He was a man of integrity.

  “Please...” Erica felt it all gathered in her like a storm cloud that had been ready to burst, and finally, it did. It happened without any warning, and before she knew what was happening, she was sobbing and a dismayed Father Michael attempted to comfort her, putting a soothing arm around her shoulder.

  “Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry,” he soothed, but the more he tried to get her to stop, the worse it got. Erica put her arms around his neck, her wet face against his robes, sobbing uncontrollably. He patted and patted her, but that wasn’t enough, so he sat in his desk chair and pulled her onto his lap, cradling her in a way she hadn’t been held since she was a toddler.

  She let her emotions flow, in a flood, a torrent of pain cried out on Father Michael’s broad chest. She thought it would never end, and she took hitching little breaths, trying to calm herself, but it was of no use. She had been holding it in, keeping the feelings at bay, building a dam, brick by brick, so wide and tall, Hoover would have been proud.

  Father Michael rocked, whispering comforting words, and still she cried. Then, he began to sing. His voice was beautiful, light and clear, he sang an old Catholic hymn, something familiar and sweet, reminding them both God was watching, God was love, in and around them all the time. Erica listened to the words, and they moved her, calming her soul, ebbing her tears.

  “Where can I run from Your love?

  If I climb to the heavens You are there;

  If I fly to the sunrise or sail beyond the sea,

  still I'd find You there.”

  “I’m sorry, Father Michael . I know it’s not your fault.”

  “Oh, Erica, no, I’m the one who is sorry, so sorry,” he murmured.

  Was it any wonder she turned to him for comfort, the only man in her life she could completely trust? It was his very integrity that kept him from telling her what she wanted to know. How could she fault him for that? She couldn’t.

  “I miss her,” she finally managed to choke out, accepting the tissue he offered and wiping her face with it.

  “I know.” Father Michael gently pushed her off his lap, situating her in a chair near his desk. She saw the way he averted his gaze, how he took a step back from her now that the storm had passed, and she sighed.

  “Can I get your help with something else, Father Michael?”

  “Help with your paper on the History of the Catholic Church?” he asked hopefully, standing and fiddling with his briefcase.

  She sniffed and smiled through her tears, still wiping them away. “I need your help with a story I’m working on. For the paper.”

  He nodded, looking even more hopeful. “All right.”

  “It’s about sex and the church...”

  He blinked, his mouth opening but nothing coming out. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I’m not sure if that’s an appropriate topic. Have you talked to Mother Superior about it? Or maybe Father Patrick ?”

  “No, because he’s part of it. And I’m pretty sure she is too.”

  Father Michael sank slowly into his chair, staring at her. “Part of…what?”

  “I don’t know...” Erica crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. “But I’m going to find out.”

  “Tell me everything.” His voice sounded hoarse.

  “Well, I’m not sure. Have you ever put a puzzle together?”

  “Of course.”

  “I feel like I have all these pieces, but I don’t know where they fit, or how they fit together, or if they even do...”

  “What pieces do you have?”

  Erica took a deep breath, trying to put it together for him. “I found my mother’s diaries. Before you say it’s a sin, I know, but I started reading them anyway. They were locked in boxes, but I managed to get one of them open. In her diary, my mother mentions a secret society. She says Father Patrick recruited her for membership. I guess, being secret, not many people know about it. I never heard of it. Have you?”

  “No.” Father Michael’s response was no more than a whisper.

  “Father Patrick told my mother she was special. And then the other night, at the gallery, he said something to me...”

  “What did he say?” Father Michael prompted when Erica’s voice trailed off.

  “He said I was special like my mother. And he mentioned a secret society.”

  Father Michael frowned. “I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Me neither. But he told me to call his secretary and set up a meeting. So I did.” Erica searched his face for the truth. Was he telling it? She thought he was. He didn’t have the same look on his face he got whenever she asked about Leah.

  “When are you meeting?”

  “His secretary made it for early October. She said that was the first time he had available. But the thing is, when I called and told her about it, she seemed to know exactly what to do.”

  “What you mean?”

  “I mean, she didn’t ask me what the meeting was for, she didn’t ask me what it was about, I just told her my name and said Father Patrick had told me to call and ask for a meeting. And she knew exactly what I meant. Heck, I don’t even know what I meant.”

  “I’m sure it’s a misunderstanding of some sort. Mary Magdalene doesn’t have any secret societies, or sororities or fraternities. Are you sure you understood Father Patrick correctly?”

  “No.” Erica made a face. “He was actually very cryptic.”

  “I know he thinks highly of you. Perhaps he is thinking of you for a position at the church?”

  “I don’t know. I wouldn’t make a very good altar boy.” Erica grinned.

  “Why do you think it has something to do with… with...”

  “Sex?” Erica prompted.

  Father Michael’s face reddened. “Yes.”

  “Something my mother said in her diary.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t remember exactly. And it was kind of confusing, because there were pages missing. But she said something about there being two kinds of girls in the Mary Magdalenes.”

  “Mary Magdalenes? Is that what it’s called?”

  “Yes. At least, that’s what it was called back when my mother was in it.”

  “So what did your mother say about the Mary Magdalenes?”

  “She said she was lucky to be one of the special ones, the Marys. The Magdalenes had to do all sorts of depraved acts. That’s what she said, Father. Depraved acts.” Erica looked at him, at the way he ran his hands through his hair, at the concerned look on his face, his brow knitted. “What else could it possibly be?”

  “I don’t know...” He blinked at her in response.

  “I want to find out if this secret society really exists. I want to know who they are, what they do, who’s involved.” Erica crossed her arms over her chest, leaning back in her chair.

  Father Michael shook his head. “I have a feeling this is a very dangerous road to go down, child.”

  “I’m not a child,” Erica snapped. “I’m an adult, this is a college, and I’m a journalist.”

  “Sounds like a deadly combination.” He smiled.

  “Will you help me?”

  He frowned again, looking unsure. “What do you want me to do?”

  “Ask around. Quietly, of course,” she said, rolling her eyes as if this was a foregone conclusion. “Don’t ask Father Patrick or Mother Superior. Are there any records we could check? Any alumni or former priests or nuns who have left the order, or moved away, who you could talk to?”

  “You thought a lot about this.”

  Erica snorted. “You have no idea.”

  “I can do a little digging for you. I’m curious myself. I’m sure it’ll turn out to be nothing. You’re sure about what Father Patrick mentioned to you? About a sec
ret society?”

  She picked up her book bag, slinging it over her shoulder, getting ready to go. “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

  “Erica, listen...”

  She stopped at the door, turning to face him. “What?”

  He took a deep breath. “Leah’s safe. Does that make you feel any better?”

  “I knew it. You know.”

  She turned and left him, walking down the hall without looking back.

  Chapter Five

  The ghoul came to talk to them once a month, both individually and as a group. Leah had the feeling the nuns didn’t like Joan Goulden, but rather they tolerated her presence, like some necessary evil. She came in wearing her smart little jackets and hats, her hair cut short, dark curls framing her overly made up face. She carried a little briefcase with her, heels clacking on the hardwood floors, and she always had a cigarette in her mouth.

  Leah hated “visiting” with the social worker. Joan Goulden called them “visits,” as in, “Lily dear! Come in and visit for a while!” when she opened the office door, as if all of the girls weren’t forced to wait to see her. She shared an office with the doctor, so they were surrounded by models of the human body, including a full skeleton hanging on a hook in the corner, while they talked, and it creeped Leah out.

  But that wasn’t why she hated the ghoul’s visits.

  “So, Lily dear, are you ready to tell me who this baby’s father is?” The ghoul was wearing a black and white checked suit, tiny little squares that made Leah’s head hurt if she stared at them too long. No one called her by her real name, even the doctor and the social worker, although she was sure it was in their records somewhere.

  “Lily dear, please answer me when I ask you a question.” The ghoul frowned and tapped her pen on the desk.

  Leah just shrugged, answering with a blunt, “No.”

  “I don’t know why you’re protecting him.” The ghoul sighed, writing something down in the file. She wrote things down a lot. “How are you feeling about putting the baby up for adoption?”

  “Fine.” Leah tried to keep most of her interaction with the woman to one-syllable responses.

  “So you’re not having second thoughts?”

  Some days, Leah couldn’t keep her mouth shut. “It’s my baby. Of course I’m having second thoughts. And third ones. And fourth ones...”

  The ghoul clucked her tongue, writing something else down. “Well as an unwed mother, you know it would be very selfish for you to keep this baby.”

  Leah snorted, crossing her arms. “Yes, I’m sure it’s very selfish to deprive a baby of its mother.”

  And as much as she tried to keep her thoughts to herself, Leah always managed to say something she regretted, something that made the ghoul’s thickly painted lips thin in response, her darkened, finely tweezed-to-a-peak eyebrows rising like twin mountains over her piercing gray eyes.

  “Lily dear, you have to put your baby’s needs first. Think about what would be best for him!”

  “I am.” Leah put a protective hand on her belly, feeling him kick. She could feel it on the outside now, and one of the games her roommates played was “kick the teddy,” each of them placing a teddy bear on their tummies and waiting for their babies to kick it off.

  “You have to admit, you wouldn’t be a very fit mother, Lily dear.” The ghoul took a long drag off her cigarette, looking at the girl sitting across from her

  “I do?” She hated the way the ghoul called them all “dear,” like it was part of their names, so they became Lilydear, Martydear, Franniedear and Lizziedear.

  “Oh Lily dear, you have no job, no money, no education, no house… what do you have to offer a baby?”

  “Love.” Leah felt the defiance in the lift of her own chin.

  The ghoul snorted, writing something down in her file. “Love is nice, but it doesn’t put food on the table, does it? You should be grateful there are people out there willing to adopt your baby. This baby’s parents will be college-educated. They’ll own their own house. They’ll be able to give this baby everything he needs. Can you do that?”

  Leah thought of Rob, of the plans they’d made, the hopes that had been dashed the moment her mother had revealed the truth. What would Rob say if he knew? She had half-hoped he would visit, even come rescue her, once he knew she was carrying his child. But she had the feeling he didn’t know.

  As if the ghoul was reading her mind, she asked, “Has your mother come to visit?”

  “Yes.”

  They were allowed to have visitors, but the nuns could take away that privilege as punishment. The nuns also read all communication in or out of Magdalene House, making no secret of it—all of their letters and packages came opened—and no one was allowed to make phone calls. There was only one phone in the whole house, in the doctor/social worker office, and it was only used in emergencies.

  Leah had seen her mother only once since she’d arrived. She’d come with Father Michael, who visited the girls regularly, checking in on his charges, and they’d not talked about anything except the weather, her mother’s job as a legal secretary, and the work she was doing with the ladies auxiliary. When Leah had finally gathered the courage to ask after Rob and Erica, inquiring about the letter, her mother had stood, taking her pocketbook, and announced it was time to go. She hadn’t been back since.

  “And you’re getting along with the other girls?” The ghoul was still writing, always writing.

  “Fine.” Her roommates were the only thing keeping her sane and she was grateful for them all.

  “I checked with the doctor. He says you’re doing well. Your weight gain is slowing down.”

  Leah snorted, rolling her eyes. It was no wonder, considering the nuns had restricted her food intake and the doctor prescribed some sort of diet pill she had to take every day. Thankfully, Marty managed to steal more peanut butter, which they all shared, and occasionally some peaches and applesauce in mason jars, canned from the nuns’ gardens, to keep Leah and poor Frannie from starving to death.

  “All right then, back to the $64,000 question...” The ghoul looked up from the file. “Who’s the father of your baby?”

  She asked every session, multiple times, giving Leah ample opportunity to say, but she always refused.

  “Why don’t you ask my mother?” Leah shifted in her chair—they were hard, wooden ones, and they hurt her back.

  “I have.” The ghoul scowled, writing furiously again. “She’s more tight-lipped than you are.”

  Thank God. Leah felt tears stinging her eyes, knowing her mother’s motivation was shame-based—she didn’t want anyone knowing who the father might be, given the circumstances—but whatever the reason, she had inadvertently protected Leah’s baby, and for that Leah was grateful.

  “Are you sad?”

  Leah swallowed, willing her tears not to fall. “No.”

  “What are you sad about?”

  “Nothing.”

  Lying to the ghoul was easy most of the time, but somehow hearing about her mother, even third-hand, had rattled her.

  “Lily dear, I know this isn’t easy.” The ghoul’s face softened as she looked at her, but Leah knew better. Any sympathy would quickly turn, without warning, into an attack. She didn’t have to wait long, or even respond, before that happened. “But you have to think of it this way. You’re giving a gift to a couple who can’t have children of their own, and when this is all over, you can go on with your life. You’ll find someone, you’ll get married and you’ll have a baby with him when the time is right.”

  Leah waited, expectantly, not saying anything, running her finger along the hem of her gray dress, but she couldn’t help thinking about Rob. He was the man whose baby she was carrying, and she wanted him, not some other unknown future man out there somewhere. Even knowing now that he was, in fact, her biological father hadn’t changed her feelings. She knew it was sinful and wrong, but she couldn’t help the way she felt.

  “Besides, no man wan
ts to raise another man’s child.”

  She glanced up at the ghoul, who had abandoned her writing project to state her case, and Leah felt the tide turning before it even happened.

  Here it comes.

  “You made your bed, Lily dear. Now you have to lie in it. Alone. This is no one else’s problem but yours. You did this to yourself. This is your mistake, and you are paying the consequences for your actions. You need to understand that.”

  “Hm.” Leah just nodded, eyes still downcast, playing with a stray thread, wrapping it around and around her finger until it cut off the circulation. She was imagining it was the ghoul’s neck.