by Jo Schaffer
Brother Martin shifted in his seat. “It’s not a pretty one, Stanley, and I’m not proud of most of it.”
Stanley shrugged. “I’m not your judge. I’m not proud of a few things myself.”
The monk chuckled. He seemed like a fellow who was quick to smile and have a good laugh. Stanley liked that.
“Ah, you’re just like Nicholas and the good Father described you. Excellent.” He beamed before switching into story mode. “My melodrama starts near Dogtown, actually. My father built up a hugely successful ice business. He did so well that he was able to buy a house over on Lindell, not too long before I was born. I was the youngest, you see, so I never knew the struggles that my parents went through early in life.”
The tea kettle began to sing, and Father Timothy retrieved it from the stove. He freshened Brother Martin’s cup, and filled two mugs of Irish breakfast tea for him and Stanley.
“Thank you, Father.” The monk took a sip. “So, I grew up with a lot of money and opportunity. I was a spoiled child.” He peered into his cup before continuing, more serious now. “The hooded men first came for me when I was twelve. The ritual was frightening to me. I was sure … there were other beings present. There was a darkness that I later explained away as the kind of fear and hysteria that a child experiences around a campfire when scary stories are shared. I realized later, that as a child, I was actually right.”
“Other beings …” Stanley thought of the times he knew he saw dark figures swirling in the shadows. Like when he and Hazel had found Evelyn’s body.
Brother Martin gave him an understanding look. “You’ve seen them.”
“I think so.” Stanley shivered and took a drink of his tea.
“However, these visits were a mere initiation compared to what would come later in my life. As a child, my role in the secret society of Legion was to pledge loyalty and participate in a kind of hazing when a new initiate would enter. Harmless mostly. But I was bound by my word to serve the Veiled Prophet and indoctrinated to believe that we were special. Above other people.”
Stanley listened, the tea warming his hands as he gripped the cup. He wondered if it had seemed to a young kid like joining a club like the Knights. Brother Martin probably had no idea what he was getting into.
“As a young man, I ended up attending Princeton. I excelled there and began working as an intern for Nicholas Malloy. He was a good mentor, had high hopes for me. While there, I met August Chouteau; he was older than I and had also been initiated into Legion as a youth. He’s the older brother of Charles, whom I know you’ve met.”
Stanley snorted. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
Brother Martin nodded. “Yes. In case you’re wondering, the whole family is like Charles, civil when you first meet them, but underneath is a strain of cruelty and sadism like I’ve never seen.”
He crossed himself and sipped his tea. “August said it was time for me to ascend. He told me that serving the Veiled Prophet was more than a club for kids. He hooked me up with the Bengal Guards, and my family was invited to the Veiled Prophet Ball. Everyone was thrilled and honored. My parents bought into the whole thing, hook, line, and sinker. They still went to mass on Sunday, but their real faith was the Veiled Prophet and his teachings.” Sighing, he went on, “We don’t speak anymore.
“And so the Bengals began to train me and initiate me into the different levels. At first, the initiations were more college hazing type things, no different than the fraternity I joined at Princeton. But the more I progressed, the more disturbing it became. And I regret to say, I did not stop it right away.”
“How disturbing?” Stanley wondered.
Father Timothy frowned. “That’s a personal question, Stanley, and under the seal of the confessional.”
“No. He must know, Father. They want blind obedience and submission, Stanley. So they make you do things that are shameful or criminal, so they can use it against you if you betray them. I found myself …” He paused, staring into his cup again. “… doing and saying things I never dared to consider. Dishonest things, immoral things. Then, beating people, especially colored people, as they could easily be taken off the streets, and no one would ask any questions. But the worst of all, were the rituals and elaborate ceremonies. Each one progressed to something darker until …” Brother Martin raised his eyes to look at Stanley.
Stanley shifted in his seat. This is not what he expected at all. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear anymore. “What happened to make you wanna get out?”
The monk stirred his tea for a moment, as if to gather his thoughts. “I’m not sure all the penance in the world will cover it.”
Putting his hand on Brother Martin’s shoulder, Father Timothy said, “Peace, brother. You know that’s not how it works. You have forgiveness. Always.”
“I know, Father, or at least I hope I do. Stanley, you’re going to find, the older you get, the harder it is to forgive yourself.” Sighing, he continued, “But the Abbot has given this to me as my penance, and I pray that will be enough.”
Brother Martin closed his eyes. “One night, they took me to an island somewhere. I’m not sure where, to be honest. But when they took off my hood, I was surrounded by thirteen men in Veiled Prophet outfits, the whole regalia. And somehow, I don’t know if they drugged me or what, but they spoke together in one voice.”
Silence filled the kitchen. Stanley had expected there to be just one Veiled Prophet, commanding and giving orders. “Why? Why thirteen? I don’t get it.”
Father Timothy rubbed his unshaven face. “Groups of the occult tend to mock and distort for their own purpose. In this case, thirteen is the number of Jesus and his apostles.”
Stanley nodded. “I see. Like a dark mirror.”
Father Timothy folded his hands on the table. “Evil often reflects good in a distorted way. Brother Martin’s story told us that the soul of St. Louis was rotten to the core and had turned itself over to the dark powers. That is why the Vatican sent me.”
Stanley always sensed the darkness, but it was something deeper and more sinister than he ever thought until the day they found Evelyn’s murdered body. It wasn’t just the poor suffering and the rich ignoring it. “Tell me more. What happened after they took you to the island?”
The monk sighed. “They spoke to me in one voice, telling me this was the initiation into my final test.”
“Test for what?”
Brother Martin hung his head. “There was a family. They had to be taught a lesson … and there was something the Veiled Prophet wanted from them.”
Realization clicked on in Stanley’s head. “Artie’s family. The Stewarts.”
“Yes. Charles Chouteau was a newer initiate. It was his task to do the worst of it, but I was there to help. It went too far … I didn’t expect it. Their young boy witnessed his father and mother being tortured in horrible ways, waiting for his own turn. He was the … motivation for his parents to cooperate.”
“That kid … that was my best friend, you bastard.” Stanley slammed his fists on the table. “Do you have any idea how that destroyed him?”
The monk squeezed his eyes shut, nodding his head. “It was the look in his eyes … innocence shattered, fear … then the begging. Something in me snapped. I attacked Charles and allowed the boy to escape.” His voice was strained and rough. “Then I went into hiding. I reached out to Nicholas with my story; I needed someone to help me get out.”
Stanley swallowed more tea, trying to calm down. This man was one of the reasons why Artie was the way he was. “How did you know Mr. Malloy wasn’t in on it?”
“Well, I did not know for sure. But he was always good to me, and I knew there was defiance in him. And … I’m guessing that nobody in league with the Veiled Prophet would have married someone like Mrs. Malloy.”
Furrowing his brow, Stanley said, “I guess that’s true.” He thought of Mumsy and how different she was from the high society dolls.
She was more like the kind of woman who hung out in Dogtown speakeasies back in the day and danced on tables. It sometimes amazed him that Hazel was her daughter.
Brother Martin shrugged. “I couldn’t trust my own parents. Nicholas had been like an older brother, almost a father really. And somehow, he believed me. He told me he’d been hearing rumors for years about an island and strange rituals. Mr. Malloy trusted me at my word. I think he must have had some other reasons for believing me that I don’t know about. In any case, I pleaded for help to leave the city, that I wanted my Catholic faith back, anything to protect me and my soul.”
Stanley nodded. He could understand what Brother Martin was feeling.
“He went to a trusted, Jesuit priest with my story who contacted his Provincial General, who, I think, contacted Rome. They flew in Father Timothy who met with Mr. Malloy here. And they arranged for me to go to St. Meinrad in the middle of the night. Later, I wrote my parents, telling them I had run off to Germany.” Sighing he said, “And that’s how I became Brother Martin and how Father Timothy came to be in St. Louis. He and Nicholas have been working together to figure out what we are up against. My stories, and those I have collected from other VP defectors I have found, were only the beginning. Nicholas Malloy has been invaluable to the cause. People with money and power are good allies in a war like this one.”
Stanley stared into his tea, as if trying to read the leaves. Overwhelmed, worry rose inside of him. This was all so much bigger than he could fathom. He knew the monk and the priest were watching him for some sort of reaction. And then he looked up. “Do you know how much you’ve both piled on me? I have Knights to worry about, and the paper, and Hazel, my sweet Hazel. And now, you just put one more thing on to me? It’s like you want me to lead like my father did. I’m just a kid. Why bother telling me any of this? Three months ago, I was worrying about what girl to kiss. Now, I’m worried the girl I love might die, I just found out my mom is alive, and all my friends are disappearing,” Stanley said, running his hands through his hair.
Father Timothy and Brother Martin stared at him for a moment. They didn’t say anything, and finally the monk said, “I was young when I started with the Veiled Prophet. Younger than you are now. You’ve already faced more than most people and beat it all. Now because of you and Hazel, we know about The Winnowing.”
Stanley slumped back in the chair. “I’ve just tried to do my part. That’s all.”
Father Timothy patted Stanley’s hand. “That’s all any of us can do. But while I’m not a soothsayer by any means, I feel like you have more of a part to play in these events. You have a good grasp on what’s happening in the streets. We aren’t asking you to do this alone. It may be tempting to think we’re the only ones fighting evil, but we’re not. We can each only do our bit. And you have always done yours.”
Brother Martin said, “We’ve all been brought here. I’m staying with Father Timothy for a while. It’s time we put an end to this. And maybe, just maybe, The Lord will bless it.”
Stanley sighed. “Okay. Well, now what? Do we find this island?”
“I’m going to try. And I’m going to help with the newspaper. We’re getting some … unique help from Rome soon. But finding the right island might take some time,” the monk said.
Stanley asked, “What do you want me to do?”
“Keep up with The Winnowing articles. Help us find Arthur, and keep us informed if anything new happens. We are working things on this end, and I’m trying to find the right people in power who will help us. That may take some time.” Father Timothy stood and opened a window. A breeze swept in, ruffling his hair.
“Well, let’s get to work then,” Brother Martin said. “My first stop is the city library.”
The next morning, Hazel’s father sat at the breakfast table, reading the paper. When she joined him, he smiled. “Good morning, Hazel. Been reading this latest article written by the anonymous newsie.” He pulled out the loose page that had been slid between the pages of his morning paper. “It’s brilliant work. He’s a talented boy.”
Hazel glanced at it, anxiety rising in her chest. “Yes. He’s sharp as a tack.”
“I know the two of you don’t have any secrets from one another, so you will have heard of some of our efforts. In the past, you’ve censured me for being an unfeeling ‘swell.’” He smiled at his daughter.
Hazel opened her mouth to argue, but Mr. Malloy raised a hand. “No, I am proud of you for challenging me. I hid things to protect you, and because what I do is not for recognition. But now that the cat’s out of the bag, I want you to know that I’ve always helped in the ways I can. I’m honored to see my money put to good use. And if I’m honest, your opinion of me matters. I want to be a father you can look up to.”
Hazel swallowed the lump in her throat. “Gee, Pops … I think you’re grand. Honest.”
Her father smiled at the nickname now. It was a rare sight on his face that made him look younger and more dashing.
“I’ve always wanted to make you proud. Be the perfect debutante daughter for you—just never could.”
“I’m proud of you as you are, my little flower.” He had not called her that since she was very young. “And as long as I’m being honest, other than the reputational advantages … I find debutantes dull in the extreme. Why do you think I married your mother?”
Laughing, Hazel got up from her chair and hugged her father, scrunching the newspaper he held. “Oh, Daddy. You’re aces.”
He squeezed back and then cleared his throat. “Indeed. Now have some breakfast.”
Hazel plopped back into her seat, feeling light and cheery. She gave her dad a wink. “I always suspected you were a bit of a rogue.”
Nicholas Malloy’s cheeks reddened slightly. “Gertie wouldn’t have me any other way.” He almost smiled again, she could tell by the way his moustache twitched. “As I was saying,” he said, laying the paper down. “This paper is starting the kind of talk that we had hoped. The mayor is being bombarded with questions. It was time both sides of the story were told. Let the people decide the truth.”
Hazel nudged her bacon across the plate with her fork, and it slid onto the table. “I’m going to search the clinic for a file that proves Maxie didn’t die the way the papers are saying.” She pushed the bacon onto the floor and heard the thump of Henri’s tail wagging from under the table.
“They are not focused on you right now. Find what you can but only if you can do so without risk.”
“Doctor Galton is convinced I’m in love with Gabriel Sinclair, and that this latest outrage with the newsies has me against them.”
“He might not think much about you ‘organizing’ his files, unlike if anyone else did. Just be discreet and smart.”
“You got it. I plan on trying to go in tomorrow … I gotta invent an excuse for being there if I’m caught.”
“I’ll write you a check. You can say you are delivering a donation.” Her father raised his dark brows. “Most people are deeply distracted by money.”
“That’s awfully clever.” Hazel liked that her father was treating her like one of the resistance. She wanted to do her part and not wait in the ivory tower while other people rescued her. “No wonder Gabriel and the other boys worship you.”
“I’ve got a mind for business.” Her father took a bite of his eggs benedict and then wiped his lips with a serviette. “Speaking of Gabriel, he was here earlier. I believe he left you a note with Roberts.”
“Oh? I can’t imagine …”
“Can’t you? You’re a beautiful girl, Hazel.”
“Dads have to say that.” She pursed her lips and tucked a curl behind her ear.
“Nonsense.”
“But his father paid to start the clinic … makes me uneasy.”
“Proceed with caution.” Mr. Malloy picked up his coffee and took a sip then rang the little silver bell beside his plate.
A few moments later, Roberts stro
de in, his gray head held high. “Yes, sir?”
“Say, bring that note young Sinclair left for Hazel, won’t you?”
“Of course.” Roberts exited swiftly to obey.
Hazel took a bite of her breakfast. This was already turning out to be an interesting day. If only she could tell Stanley all about it. She missed that mug.
The delicate, gold Rolex on Hazel’s wrist told her it was after five o’clock, and the December sun had already set. She drummed her fingers on the marble counter of the soda fountain uptown. This was where and when Gabriel wanted to meet to have a serious talk. She hoped it was not a relationship talk or something. He may have been her first kiss, but kissing someone didn’t make you love them. To kiss someone you already loved … that changed the game.
Several other teenagers sat on the round stools at the long counter. Some drank Coca-Cola or colored phosphates, others dug into tall, fluted glasses full of ice cream, heaped with toppings with long, silver spoons. She watched the freckle-faced boy behind the counter making an ice cream soda. The sweet smell of syrups, along with the savory smell of sizzling hamburgers and french fried potatoes, made Hazel’s mouth water.
A jumpy, jazzy version of “Jingle Bells” played on the large, wooden radio on one end of the space that was crammed with small, round tables and wrought iron chairs. Silver tinsel and paper bells were strung along the walls. It was a lively place. Again, it flipped Hazel’s mind that this was the world that was at war. It seemed so carefree. Where was all of the hate? Most folks could come and go on the street, work a job and eat at diners without harm. She wondered if people living in Dogtown and places like that felt the same … perhaps not.
“Hazel.”
There was Gabriel, peering down at her through his black spectacles, hair slicked back, in a snug-fitting, white polo shirt, sports coat, and college scarf.
She stood up and let him give her the customary peck on the cheek. “Hiya.”