Authors: Francis Porretto
"Christine, I'd like you to meet Father Heinrich Schliemann. Father, may I present Miss Christine D'Alessandro?" Louis waited and watched. Christine's right hand rose from her side and extended itself toward the priest. Schliemann clasped it with both of his own.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Christine." If he was repelled by her scars, the priest gave no sign of it. The young woman nodded, but said nothing.
Louis tried to keep matters in motion. "Father Schliemann is my confessor."
Christine turned toward him. "What's a confessor?"
The priest stood mute as Louis groped for words. "Well, let's say he's someone I tell my troubles to. He's very good to talk to, one of my best friends, really, and I thought you might enjoy meeting him. Father, would you like some coffee?"
"Yes, very much, thank you. And perhaps Christine would like some as well?"
The young woman nodded again. Schliemann had not released her hand. The priest pulled her imperceptibly toward the sofa to sit beside him. Louis went to the kitchen for coffee.
"Louis tells me you've had some amazing adventures, child. May I hear about them too?"
When he returned with mugs, words were pouring out of Christine in a torrent like that of the previous evening, but this time without tears. Schliemann's gaze was rapt upon her. The priest held both of Christine's hands between his own. Now and then he punctuated her narrative with a murmur of encouragement. It was unnecessary; Christine seemed reluctant to stop for breath.
Louis waited for a pause in the flood of horrors and cleared his throat. Both his guests turned toward him. "Will the two of you be all right without me for a couple of hours? I have another errand to run."
Alarm flashed across Christine's face. She started to rise, but Schliemann squeezed her hands and she subsided.
"Certainly, Louis. Christine and I will be fine. We'll hope to see you, say, around two?"
The tension drained from Louis for the first time that day.
"If not earlier, Father. Take good care of her for me."
***
Mill Neck Road was badly pitted and rutted. Louis's truck jolted and jounced down the old forest cut-through until he thought his kidneys might bounce out through his nose. He knew Malcolm didn't care, but it offended him that a road should be left in such condition.
As always, he pulled the truck off the road and as far into the evergreens as he could manage. The last quarter mile to Malcolm Loughlin's trailer was necessarily a walk. Even the best four-wheel-drives would have little chance of bulling their way through the forest that surrounded Loughlin's home.
As usual, Loughlin was there. He showed no surprise at the visit. Not having a phone, he had to accept Louis's visits as they occurred. Of the two of them, Louis was made more uneasy by the state of affairs.
The two of them had settled into their usual chairs in the trailer's tiny kitchen before Louis spoke.
"Malcolm, I'm going to have to put off what you asked me for. I'm sorry."
Loughlin's expression remained neutral. "Why is that?"
"Because I hate to disappoint you, of course."
"No, no, why won't you be able to do it?"
"Oh. Sorry. I've taken up a conflicting obligation. It's likely to consume all the time I have."
All the time I have left.
Loughlin stared at him from under lowered brows. "Do I get to hear about this 'conflicting obligation' that takes precedence over a prior commitment?"
Louis recoiled. "You never let up, do you? You won't cut any slack for a sick man?"
Loughlin tossed his head in irritation. "I know about the 'sick' part. But a man keeps his word once he's given it, or he dies trying. Are you still a man?"
"Grow up, Malcolm." He took a grim pleasure at seeing his mentor stiffen. "I did not give you 'my word.' You said you'd give me something I wanted if I'd do something for you. No promises were involved. Well, I can't, or won't, take your pick, and now you can feel free to withhold what I asked you for.
Capisce?
"
Loughlin's mouth curved minutely. "That's better. But I'd still like to hear about it."
"Why?"
"Because I know how much you wanted my part of the bargain. Whatever this other job is, it has to be a blockbuster."
"Oh, it will be difficult, all right. I've picked up a stray, and I have to prepare her for the big bad world. She's been badly hurt, has no one and nothing."
"Tell me."
Louis did. It took some time. Loughlin remained silent to the end, and after.
"Well? Comments? Questions? Expostulations of disbelief?"
The old warrior shook his head. "I could have guessed. Oh, not the specifics, but that it would be something like this. Why did you never marry, Louis?"
Louis cocked his head in puzzlement. "It takes two. I never found the right woman. Why do you ask?"
"Do you think you would have wanted to be a father?"
"Of course! There's not much point, otherwise."
Loughlin rose from the table. He went to the window and stood staring out at the trees that kept the world at bay.
"No, not much point at all."
==
Chapter
6
Louis let himself back into his house at ten after two. He found Christine and Father Schliemann in the kitchen. The priest was sitting at the table, apparently at his ease. Christine was at the counter fumbling with coffee fixings.
"Louis! I trust your errand went well?"
"About as well as could be expected, Father. Did you and Chris have a nice chat?"
Schliemann smiled. "Delightful. She's been so many places you and I could never imagine."
Christine jumped back from the counter as the coffeemaker gave vent to a loud, raspy belch. She might have fallen backwards had Louis not caught her by the elbows and steadied her.
"Easy, Chris. It does that now and then." He sidled around her and lifted the coffeemaker's lid to assure himself that she had put in water. She had.
"Father, I've got something new on the computer upstairs that I'd like you to see. Care to take a quick look?"
"Certainly. We'll be right back, Christine." She sat at the table, staring at the coffeemaker, while the priest followed Louis up the stairs and into his office. Louis closed the door behind them.
Schliemann went to Louis's desk and slumped into the chair. A moment later he was hunched over, balled fists pressed to his breastbone, shaking violently. Louis went to him and laid a hand on his shoulder. The priest was slow to recover his self-control.
"You didn't exaggerate in the slightest, Louis."
"No, Father, I didn't see a need."
Schliemann resumed an erect posture and fought down the last of the tremors. He had the look that comes from having been forced to hear things one wants to disbelieve.
"If it was that hard to hear about, great God in heaven, what it must have been like to live through!"
"Neither you nor I will ever know, Father, and perhaps that's for the best. Overall, what do you think?"
The priest sighed. "Overall, I agree with your original statement. She's the bravest creature I've ever met. And one of the luckiest."
"What?"
"In whose hands is she now, Louis?"
"Oh. Thank you."
Do you really think that's a sign of luck, Father? Remember this morning? I scooped her up because there was nobody else to do it, not because I'm the right man for the job. That proposition would have been doubtful even if I could expect to live forever. And we both know I can't.
"I don't see a guilt problem, by the way. It's fear, not guilt. She fears retribution for the killing, but by all indications she considers it justified."
Louis nodded. "I'm glad. Retribution I can protect her from. But even so, I wanted her to meet you. Thank you for coming today."
Schliemann's eyes were solemn. "Will you be able to care for her as she needs to be cared for?"
Louis smirked. "Wouldn't you say it's a bit too soon for her to enter a convent, Father?"
"Louis!"
"Sorry, couldn't resist. Of course I'll take care of her. I assume I'll have your help if I need it?"
"Yes, of course." The priest rose to his feet and made a show of gathering his dignity about him. "We mustn't leave her alone too long, you know."
Louis felt a surge of anxiety. "Why is that, Father?"
"She might try to cook."
***
Father Schliemann was warm and gracious in bidding them good-bye at the rectory steps. Christine was reluctant to let go of his hand. As they drove off, Christine's gaze remained on the old priest as long as it was physically possible. Louis tried not be too obvious about noticing.
The drive home passed in silence until they had turned onto Alexander Avenue.
"Why did you give him that D'Alessandro name?" she said.
Louis shrugged. "You picked it. Said it had a nice sound. Have you decided that you don't like it after all?"
She looked at him blankly. "No, it's pretty. You mean I can keep it?"
He chuckled. "Your name is what you say it is, Chris. If you want to be Christine D'Alessandro, then that's what you are. I mean, who you are." He paused. "What about a middle name?"
"Do I need one?"
"Most people have one. Some people have two."
"How many do you have?"
He grinned. "My full name is Louis Dylan Aloysius Redmond."
"Wow. I think I'll stop with just one."
"Okay, so think about it a bit."
She shook her head. "Don't need to. Let's make it Marie."
"Someone you knew once?"
"Yeah."
He wheeled the truck into his driveway, killed the engine and set the parking brake. "Christine Marie D'Alessandro. I like it. It has a lot of wear in it." He turned to her. "Say it to yourself a lot of times, Chris. You want to be used to it before you take it out into the world, okay?"
For the first time since her arrival in his life the previous day, she produced a full-bodied smile. Louis's breath came short. Even with the multitude of scars she bore, she was stunning when she smiled.
"This feels like a big deal. I mean, you don't choose a name for yourself every day."
"Most people never do it at all, Chris."
"Shouldn't there be some kind of ceremony or something?"
"What do you have in mind?"
She cocked her head. "Well, when a new guy joined the Butchers, all the other guys pissed into a bucket, and then they dumped it over his head."
Louis choked and coughed it away. "Maybe not that ceremony, Chris." Realization came to him; he swallowed once. "I know a ceremony that might be nice."
Her expression became serious. "Tell me."
He thought a moment and shook his head. "No, let's just do it." He opened the door and sprang out of the truck in his usual fashion. He was at the door of the house when he realized that Christine was still in the truck.
Oops. Stupid, stupid. Surprises are not things she's learned to enjoy.
He walked back to the truck, went to the passenger side door, and opened it. Christine sat there motionless, not trying to hide her fear.
"Sorry, Chris, that was dumb of me. It's a simple little thing. No pain or blood involved. I went through it when I was a lot younger, and I promise you, I didn't even notice. Trust me on it? Please?"
She nodded once and leaped out of the truck, landing in his arms. Her stride as they entered the house suggested that she was having second thoughts about the whole business, and was struggling to suppress them.
"So what do we do?" Her voice quavered.
"Just come with me." He took a chair from the kitchen table, and gestured her toward the master bathroom. She followed. He placed the back of the chair against the vanity and bade her to sit. When she had, he leaned her head back over the sink, draped a face towel over her chest, and had her fold her hands just below her throat.
"I'll be right back." He sprinted to his bedroom. Atop his dresser stood a silver ewer his mother had left to him, that he sometimes used as a vase. He assured himself that it was empty and clean and stood a moment, cradling it.
It's appropriate. She's coming newborn into the world in every way but the strictly biological. She doesn't have to understand it today any more than a baby would. And it doesn't require a priest. Anyone can do it.
When he returned to the master bath, she was still as he had left her. She was smiling tremulously, but he could tell that her fears were straining her control and would soon repossess her. He stroked her hair once.
"Chris, I will never hurt you."
She nodded, but said nothing. He filled the ewer from the tap.
"Tilt your head back a little further and close your eyes."