Black as Night: A Fairy Tale Retold (4 page)

The sight was so odd that she forgot to be afraid for a second, and she almost smiled. The men continued to look at her, and she realized that they must be as startled as she was.

“H—Hi,” she said, recovering her voice.

“Uh—hi,” said the Hispanic one nearest her. Above him, a round red face creased into a smile and waved a hand.

For a moment, there was an awkward silence. She was extremely conscious of being someplace she shouldn’t be. She had thought that this church was still abandoned. But it clearly wasn’t.

“Sleep well?” asked the round red face, embellished by a long white beard and round gold-rimmed spectacles, making him look like Santa Claus.

“Yes, thank you.” She protectively pulled the coats around herself, even though she was fully dressed. Her heart was still beating fast.

“We were just surprised to find a guest in our vestibule. Sorry if we alarmed you,” the older man went on, his white beard twitching as he talked.

“Oh—no, not really.” She tried to smile, and the man beamed back at her.

“Relax,” he said. “We’re not skinheads. This is a friary.”

“A friary?” she looked about her in bewilderment.

Muffled laughter erupted in several places around the room. “Yes. Believe it or not, this ruin is now a religious house. We just moved here,” the Hispanic said.

“Oh!” she murmured, turning red. Of course. A friary was a sort of monastery, and that’s what the church had been turned into. In her disoriented state, she had thought for an instant that a friary was some type of restaurant.

“Yeah, it sort of looks more like a Rent-A-Storage,” the Hispanic one grinned at the others. “Not a bad idea for an apostolate. How about it, Father Francis?”

The oldest friar, who seemed to be Father Francis, smiled grimly as the others chuckled. “I’m Father Francis. This is the friary of St. Giles. We’re Franciscan brothers in the Catholic Church.”

“Oh!” she said. “I’m sorry—I really shouldn’t be here,” she murmured.

“How did you get in?” Father Francis asked her.

She gazed at him and swallowed. “I got lost last night. I was on the subway, and I—I got mugged.” Her voice caught at the memory,
but she went on relentlessly, steadying her voice. “They took my purse, and I ran. They chased me, and I came here. I knew this place, before, when it was empty. I had a key—”

“A key?” several voices asked at once. She put a hand to her neck and held the brass key on a gold chain, the one asset she had left.

“Yes—I happened to have the key—I’m sorry, it’s a long story—” she said faintly. “I didn’t know anyone would be here or I wouldn’t have bothered you—”

Thoughts were whirling in her brain.
I’m in deep, deep trouble, and I don’t want to get anyone else in trouble with me. Not my family. Not these monks who are being so kind…

II

“You’ve had a very rough night, I can see,” Father Francis’s voice had lost its edge completely. “I’m sorry, but I’m glad you found your way here.”

Brother Herman leaned down and gently touched her black head, his face all sorrow. “What’s your name?”

She looked at his sympathetic face, and something flickered across her pale one—a spasm of shame or pain. Then she paused, and the edge of a smile touched her lips. “You can call me Nora.”

“How about some breakfast, Nora?”

“Yes—thank you.” Her voice recovered its stability and held onto it at last.

The brothers helped her up out of the coats, pushing back some of the piles. Brother Leon saw now that she was dressed nicely—or had been. Her dress was a thin yellow print of a good material. Her hair was cut short in a jagged way he supposed New Yorkers considered fashionable. There were faint traces of makeup on her face—not a lot, just the tasteful amount that girls who knew how to wear makeup put on. Everything about her—her poise, her watch, her small pearl drop earrings, her voice—said that this was a girl from the nicer side of town. Completely out of her element here.

“I’m sorry,” she said apologetically. “But could you tell me your names?”

She was not so distraught that she couldn’t be polite, Brother Leon thought. “I’m Brother Leon,” he offered her his hand. She took it firmly, and smiled at him, a bit hesitantly. He returned it, liking her.

“I’m Brother Herman. Father Francis is the head of our little community,” Brother Herman directed her gaze to the crusty old man. “Don’t worry, he doesn’t bite.”

“Not visitors, at any rate,” Father Francis shook her hand with a wry smile through his bushy white beard. “Novices, on the other hand, aren’t as lucky.” He shot a glance at Leon, who immediately tried to look pious and innocent. “Watch out for that one,” Father Francis said, referring to Leon. “He forgets to make coffee.” Nodding to her curtly, he made his way out of the room.

“This is Father Bernard,” Brother Herman went on as the slim dark monk with an aristocratic black beard took her hand and shook it solemnly. His face was gaunt and dark-eyed, but his soft voice had a Long Island twang. “Very good to meet you, Nora. Let us know if there’s any way we can help you.”

“Thank you very much,” she said, subdued by his deep, icon-like eyes.

“And that’s Brother George,” Brother Herman directed Nora to the scowling older man with bushy red hair who lifted a hand and vanished down the hallway, back to his dishes. “He’s—a bit shy.”

“Hi, I’m Brother Matt,” the blond novice came over and shook her hand. “Hope you’ve recovered okay.”

She looked at him in surprise. “Where are you from?”

“Indiana,” he said, and laughed. His voice definitely had a drawl when contrasted to the sharp New York accents of the other friars. “I’m the first imported novice. All the other guys in the order are from the New York area. Father Francis gave a talk at my college and I came out to join.” He grinned. “I made the coffee this morning, so don’t worry, you won’t be poisoned or anything.”

She laughed a little, and found her hand enveloped in the clamp of two large hands. “Hi,” a deep voice said above her. “I’m Charley.”

She looked up at the brown-bearded face and green eyes. The accent was Brooklyn.

“Believe it or not, Brother Charley’s in the seminary. Can you picture him a priest?” Matt said. “He used to be a Hell’s Angel.”

“Really?”

“Well, almost.” Brother Charley flushed a little, and began to talk rapidly. “I sure spent a lot of my life trying to be one, but I never quite made it in. And then God caught up with me, and the rest is history, as they say.”

“Was God driving a hot rod?” Brother Leon elbowed him. “Yeah, we’re a new order, so we let in the riffraff.”

The ex-biker said nothing, but smoothly put the smaller friar into a headlock and gave him a Dutch rub. Leon made choking noises and Charley released him with a smile.

“Come, sister, if we keep standing here, these fellows will keep talking until lunch time. I believe there’s still some breakfast in the kitchen.” Brother Herman steered her away from the three boisterous novices.

“I’ll make more if there’s not enough,” Leon came up behind them as they walked down the friary corridor. “I haven’t had my breakfast yet, either, Nora.”

In a few minutes, he had set a plate of eggs—his portion—and toast before her at the refectory table. She started in hungrily. In the hallway, he could hear Matt and Charley joking with each other as they went upstairs to the bedrooms. Father Bernard passed by the dining room door, smiled kindly at the girl, and then vanished into the chapel.

Brother Herman settled his round Friar-Tuck bulk into a chair opposite the girl and chatted comfortably while she ate. When Leon came in with a plate of toast and a day-old bagel, he was telling her about their new foundation, their current ministry, and their plans for the buildings the archdiocese had just given them: the old church of St. Lawrence, the rectory, and an adjoining high school, St. Catherine’s, which had been closed down by the diocese last year because of school consolidation.

“We’re hoping to clean up the school, repaint it, and furnish it as apartments for the homeless, so that up to thirty homeless men can live there at one time.” He looked wistful. “There’s so much we could do—there’s such a great need here in the South Bronx, you know. It will take a lot of work to clean the buildings before we can begin, but most of our time right now is taken up with distributing the food and clothing we get from the parish ministries around here. From time to time we get some laypeople to help us with the big cleaning work. All we’ve done so far is clear out some of the offices in the basement of the high school for our volunteers to use for bedrooms whenever they come down.”

She nodded, eating. Brother Leon sat down beside her.

“So, Nora, where are you from?” Brother Leon helped himself to some toast.

She evaded his eyes. “Around here,” she said quietly.

Brother Leon caught a slight warning in Brother Herman’s eyes and reined in his curiosity. Apparently Brother Herman didn’t think this was a good time for personal questions.

“I’m from the City myself. I’m sorry you had such a bad experience last night,” he changed his tack.

“It was stupid of me,” she murmured. “I got on the wrong train going towards Gun Hill Road, and I was trying to go back to Grand Central. I never should have been in this area so late at night. I really do know better than that.”

Brother Herman nodded sympathetically. “Those things happen,” he said, pausing a moment. “You didn’t get hurt, did you?”

“No, just a little bruised. It happened so quickly—all they did was snatch my purse, really.” She looked at her eggs, her cheeks turning red suddenly.

“Thank God that’s all,” Brother Herman said heartily. “It must have been a terrible experience for you.”

“It was,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck. “You’ve been very kind. And this food is very good.” She looked at Brother Leon with a small smile.

“Thanks. Hey, do you want us to take you to the police station?” Brother Leon asked. “You could give a description of the guys—maybe they’ll be able to find them. You never know.”

She hesitated. “No, thank you,” she said at last. “There wasn’t anything really important in the purse. Just cash. And that will be gone forever.”

Brother Leon dropped his eyes. She didn’t want to go to the police.
Another strange thing.

“Can we help you get back home?” Brother Herman asked.

“No, thank you,” she said, and began blinking again. “I can’t go home just now, and I don’t know what to do next—”

Brother Herman offered, “If you need a place to stay, we do have those bedrooms in the basement of the high school that we mentioned,” he said. “One of our ministries is offering lay people a place to stay and do service for the poor, as we do. Could you use something like that? Of course, I’ll need to check with our superior, but I’d be happy to.”

She raised her head, bewildered. “You would let me stay? Even though—I mean, do you let women work here?”

“Oh, yes. The bedrooms are in the building next door to us—it’s completely separated. And no one’s using them this week.”

“That’s very generous of you,” she said with an effort. “But, I’m not sure you should. You don’t know anything about me.”

“What, are you a leper?” Brother Leon asked.

She looked at him, tears in her eyes, and was forced to smile at his expression. “Not yet,” she said.

“Then at least wait and find out if it’s okay.” Brother Leon said casually. “It might be a temporary answer for you anyway.”

“Well—I’d be glad to help clean up around here,” she said, pushing back her hair. “But I’d like to get to Sunday Mass. Would you be having—?”

Brother Herman shook his head. “We already had our Sunday Mass at seven, but I’ll check with the Fathers—that’s Father Francis and Father Bernard—and see what they suggest. There might be a Mass nearby you could go to, but if not, I’m sure one of them would be glad to say Mass for you.”

“That would be too much trouble,” the girl objected.

“No, they consider it part of their duty. That’s why they’re priests.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

At least, she was Catholic and observant enough to want to keep her Sunday Mass obligation. Brother Leon got to his feet and said, “Hey, if you’re done, give me your dishes, and I’ll wash them for you.” He had to finish cleanup. “Keep your coffee mug until you’re finished with it. There’s more in the kitchen.”

“Thanks,” she said, cupping her hands around it and looking past him out the refectory window. The sunlight made her eyes pale blue in her white face. Her thin, small eyebrows and thick lashes were black, but her eyes were still red from her tears.

He admitted to himself that she was quite beautiful, in a fragile, luminous way. But beneath that lovely surface he suspected lay some deep problems. Troubled, he scooped up the plates and went back to the kitchen.

III

…White Queen Blanche, like a queen of lilies,
With a voice like any mermaiden—

Nay, never ask this week, fair lord,
Where she has gone, nor yet this year,
Except with this for an overword—
But where are the snows of yester-year?