An Unspeakable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 11

  She got up and stood in front of the mirror hanging over the dresser. She hadn't dared look at herself up until then. She never did when this happened. Slowly, she took off the sunglasses and unwound the scarf and stared at the woman with the half-shut blackened eye and swollen purple jaw. Margaret automatically reached for the glasses and then stayed her hand. If she had finally mustered the courage to leave Terry, then she would have the same courage to show her face. She had no idea what lay ahead of her, but whatever it was, it would begin with walking down the flight of stairs at the end of the hall.

  Eighteen

  * * *

  Sunday, May 13, 1860

  I do believe that spring is finally here, but in New England one can never be too sure. Soon I must make my way into Cambridge and more specifically to Harvard College so that I may inquire as to what steps are necessary that I might be admitted. Kind dear Jared offered to accompany me, saying that he had some business there as well, and for so long a journey it would benefit us both to travel together. I must write to my Aunt Louisa who lives in Cambridge and ask if I might stay the night with her for the journey is far too long to complete in a single day.

  I bought some seeds yesterday, which I will plant just outside the sunny window in my kitchen. I get such pleasure from my little garden. Just enough for one to tend and enjoy. I need no more than that.

  More anon, LFW

  * * *

  On Tuesday evening during supper Olympia thought she noticed a positive change in Bridget. The girl seemed less reticent and more willing to talk. She even seemed to be moving more easily. By now Bridget knew her way around Olympia's kitchen and was putting the dishes into the dishwasher. A hopeful cat was purring and weaving around her ankles.

  Bridget was lining up the forks and knives in the basket. “Did somebody forget to feed this poor guy? He's acting like he hasn't been fed in weeks.”

  Olympia rolled her eyes. “Don't believe a word of it. That cat could win an Oscar for best actor. He's been fed. He's just playing on your sympathy.”

  Bridget reached down and scratched the noisy animal behind the ears. “Fooled me. Hey, do we have any of those cookies left? If not, you want me to make some?”

  “You know me, Bridget, I'll never say no to a cookie. I confess I did eat the last of them, so sure, if you feel like it, go ahead and make some more.”

  Bridget began opening cabinet doors and laying out the ingredients on the countertop, then turned and looked over at Olympia.

  “So, when's Frederick coming? You told me once, but I forgot. Pretty soon, isn't it?”

  “As much as I would like it to be sooner, probably not before the end of April, well after Easter. I have a lot to do at the church where I help out. Even though Unitarian Universalists don't make such a big deal over Easter the way Catholics do, it's still a high-attendance Sunday. What about you? I know Holy Week is very important for you, Good Friday and all of that?”

  Bridget measured out the flour and dumped it into the mixing bowl, “Actually, I'm thinking about going back to the dorm. I've been talking to my roommate. She says she misses me, and I'm starting to miss my friends. This has been wonderful, and you have been so good to me, but I think it's time to get back to normal. I thought maybe I'd move back tomorrow.”

  She started to say something else and then stopped. “I should go back home on Easter Sunday, but just for mass and Easter dinner.”

  There was a look on her face that Olympia couldn't fathom, an enigmatic half-smile. Best not ask, thought Olympia. Just act normal. She's got so much on her mind. Olympia stood watching the girl measure, dump, and mix. She seemed content enough standing there, stirring the stiff batter and dropping spoonfuls of sticky dough on the cookie sheet. Maybe she is ready to go back. Olympia reached over and stuck her finger in the batter, licked it off, and pronounced it perfect.

  Later, with the smell of fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies filling the house, the two women sat on the sofa with a plate between them, working their way through the pile of warm delights and saying little. Olympia felt uneasy about Bridget going back so soon, but maybe Jim was right. She had done all she could do, and maybe it was time for the girl to move on.

  Olympia thought she saw the flicker of something cross Bridget's face but knew better than to ask. When or if she was ready, she would say what was on her mind. She also knew she had very little time left to try and convince Bridget to get some professional help. They might talk as they worked, but by now Olympia knew exactly how hard she could push.

  “If we left a little early, I could start bringing stuff back into my dorm room. That way it won't be so much all at once.”

  Olympia looked at Bridget. There were so many things she wanted to say. She certainly looked better, but there was still a part of the protective wall of silence around the rape and the sexual abuse that Olympia had never managed to get beyond.

  “Leaving early is no problem, Bridget. I always have things to do in the office. There's a letter buried somewhere in the depths of my computer that I need to find and finish up. But are you sure you're ready?”

  “I have to get back to my regular routine one of these days. The sooner the better, don't you think?”

  The opportunity to speak her mind lay before Olympia like Pandora's box. What havoc might she wreak if she said what she really wanted to say? What unimagined damage might she cause if she said nothing? Ordinarily Olympia was not one to hold back, but one wrong word now could undo the fragile trust so newly built between them.

  “I've enjoyed having you here, Bridget. It's been kind of like having a daughter. Even if I only borrowed you for a couple of weeks, it really has been nice.”

  “It's been nice for me too, Professor.” Bridget raised her eyes from the cat and looked directly at Olympia. “I'll never forget how good you've been to me.”

  Something in her voice. What is it?

  Olympia smiled fondly at the girl. “Come on now, it's not like I'll never see you again. I'll be seeing you in class tomorrow, and again two days after that. Just because you're going back to the dorm, it doesn't mean you can't come back here if you want to.”

  Olympia shifted in her chair and resettled a ruffled cat. “I was thinking, maybe you should re-enter a little bit at a time, you know, when you do go back, maybe stay in the dorm just until Friday and come back here weekends. I'd love to have you here for Easter. Hell, I'd even go to mass with you as long as I could get to my own church on time.”

  Bridget giggled. “Professor, you're a minister, and you just said ‘hell.’”

  “I've said a lot worse than that, my girl, and I no doubt will again. Ministers are human.” Olympia smiled and winked at the girl sitting opposite her.

  “I'll think about it,” said Bridget. “The college empties out on holiday weekends. If I did go back home, I wouldn't go until Sunday afternoon. They'll let me stay in the dorm. My father will have a fit when he finds out I won't be home on Good Friday, but I don't care what he says anymore.” She paused and then whispered, “But I do worry about my mother. I wish there was a way to help her, you know, get her out of there.”

  Bridget licked her finger and retrieved the cookie crumbs in her lap. “I'll let you know if I change my mind and decide to come out here after all. That is, if that's okay with you?”

  “Sure, but why don't you just call your mother on the telephone? You could meet her somewhere and at least talk. She's probably worried about you.”

  Olympia knew she was stepping onto thin ice. If Bridget tried calling her mother, she would learn that Margaret had left home.

  “I'll call her after I go back.”

  The window of opportunity was closing.

  “Bridget, if you really think you're ready to leave, I can't stop you. But if it turns out to be too much, remember, you can come back anytime.”

  “You said that, Professor.”

  Olympia heard the click of the latch as the window between them closed and locked.

&nbs
p; The next morning Olympia parked the van in front of the dorm, and Bridget pulled a battered suitcase out of the back. Before she turned to go in, Olympia held out a baggie containing the last two cookies.

  “Better you have these than me, but I hope you'll come back and make me some more.”

  Bridget smiled that same curious smile Olympia had noticed the other night, but she accepted the cookies. Then, on impulse, threw her arms around Olympia. “Thank you for everything, Professor. I hope you have a nice Easter.”

  “I'm certainly going to see you before then,” said Olympia, but the girl had already disengaged herself from the hug and started up the steps of the residence hall.

  There it is again, that catch in her voice, a quaver.

  “Take care,” whispered Olympia, hiking herself back up into her van. She still had time to grab a coffee and clear her head before the first class.

  It seemed like forever, a lifetime ago, that Bridget had been inside her room at the dorm. The room hadn't changed, but she had. After making sure that her roommate was out, she locked and bolted the door and undid the lumpy package she'd hidden in her back pack. She counted out the fourteen Percocet tablets, a double economy size bottle of one thousand aspirin, and a full quart of one hundred fifty-proof rum.

  She wanted to go back and see her mother one last time, but that would have to be when she knew for certain that her father was out. She wanted to see Eileen as well. Maybe she could catch her after work. Once everything was in order, the last thing she would do would be to put a letter explaining everything in the mail and ask Father Jim to pray for her soul.

  There was a big Catholic church near the college. She knew that on Holy Saturday afternoon no one would take notice of a college student with a plastic bag under her arm going into one of the confessionals. Even if she was a sinner, she would take her last breath in a holy place, but until then she needed to convince Olympia and anyone else who might think to take notice of her that she was feeling better and getting on with her life.

  Nineteen

  The week before Holy Week was always quiet at Meriwether, and Olympia was grateful she had only two classes that day. She closed her date book, took a long drink of her coffee, and with a loud groan hit the start button on the computer. There was no longer any question that this would be her last year of teaching. The Bridget situation was taking a toll on her energy. Why did she always get so involved with the troubled ones? You know damn well why, Olympia.

  After a few minutes of pushing buttons and nosing around with the mouse, she gave up trying to locate her original letter of resignation and began to construct a new one. She would have time over the weekend, without Bridget being there, to fine-tune it and give serious thought to the changes that leaving academia would make in her life. But however determined she was to occupy her mind, her thoughts kept returning to Bridget and wondering how well she would manage the transition back to the college.

  Then there was the matter of her own daughter. That was another letter that Olympia was composing in her mind. Maybe if she wrote a letter to her and had it placed in her file, and maybe if her daughter read it and learned that not a day passed that Olympia didn't think about her and pray for her to contact her, then maybe … Maybe what?

  Later that day when Bridget came in for her class, she seemed almost as she had been when Olympia first met her at the beginning of the semester. She was laughing and joking with her friends and attending to her work. The only thing that would stick in Olympia's mind later on was when the students were leaving, Bridget came up to her and thanked her for trying to help. Hearing the word trying disappointed Olympia. She had hoped the time they had spent together was more than just a worthy effort and wondered if she would ever really know. Bridget was so terribly wounded, and there had been so much left unsaid on both sides. But she did look better. Maybe she really is on the mend.

  Olympia knew she needed to let go and allow the girl to get herself back on track. People did survive such things. Maybe she'd try and catch up with her again before the end of the week.

  By Thursday afternoon Olympia had moved her thoughts and concerns about Bridget and her retirement off to the side as she geared up for her Easter duties at her own church. She had a children's sermon to write, Easter flowers to send to her mother, and maybe enough time to pick up something new to wear to church on Sunday and when Frederick arrived. Olympia smiled. She really was looking forward to his visit, and as much as she wanted to help Bridget, she was relieved the girl had decided to return to the dorm. At least she and Frederick would have time to renew their acquaintance without an audience.

  Olympia was pulling on her jacket when she heard the staccato clip of approaching footsteps and looked up to see a wild-eyed Bridget burst through the door. She was out of breath from running.

  “Oh, Professor, thank God you're still here. My mother's left home!”

  “What do you mean? Here, sit down.” Bridget pulled up a chair but perched at the very edge of the seat.

  “My sister only found out last night when she called to talk to her and got my father. That's when he told her. Said he wasn't going to tell anyone because he figured she'd be home by now. He was drunk, so she didn't get much else out of him. I still can't believe it.”

  “Where do you think she might have gone?”

  Bridget pressed her palms together and frowned. “Maybe she finally had enough. I'm glad she's out of there, Professor, but I'm worried as anything. I mean, like, is she okay?”

  Olympia considered her words. “Your sister Eileen has no idea where she is? What about your priest? He might know. It certainly can't hurt to ask.”

  Bridget shook her head. “I can't say anything to him. Then everybody would know.”

  “Priests are supposed to keep confidences, aren't they? It's worth a try, I mean, just to set your mind at ease.” Olympia could feel the sluggish tick of the seconds crawling past as she waited for the girl's response.

  “Even if I did call him, I wouldn't know what to say. You know, family secrets and all that?”

  “Clergy often know more than they can say. He might be able to help you. Like I said, it certainly can't hurt.”

  Bridget stood and began to pick at her jacket zipper. “I'll think about it. Maybe I'll go over there when I know my father's at work and leave her a card or something. There isn't time to mail it.”

  “Do you think that's a good idea, Bridget? What if he came home unexpectedly, or he was already at home and drinking? I really think you should stay far away from there.

  “I don't know, Professor. I probably should talk to Father Jim. I just …” Bridget turned and started out the door.

  “Are you sure you don't want to come home with me tonight?”

  Bridget shook her head. “No, this is better. I'll call you if I find out where she is.”

  Olympia got up to hug the girl, but she was gone before she could even manage a pat on the shoulder. She was beginning to feel a faint breath of hope. If Bridget did call Jim, he would certainly find a way to say that her mother was safe without revealing where she was, and that might be enough to get Bridget to open up a little. Then, maybe somehow between them they might be able to get Bridget the help she so desperately needed. Olympia got up and reached into her skirt pocket for her keys. Maybe things were looking up.

  After locking the office door, she went out into the late afternoon sun, climbed up into the old van, and started the engine. As she backed up and pulled the wheel down hard on the left to turn out of her space, she noticed the steering seemed to be off, and she could hear a grinding sound that seemed to come from the left front wheel directly underneath her. She braked hard, stopping the car mid-turn, and got out to find her front left tire flat and twisted half off the rim.

  And that very same instant, back in her home in Brookfield, the antique clock she'd found at the same time she had discovered Miss Winslow's diary, fell off the mantel and crashed to the floor.

  Olympia sat
in her chair watching the evening news and, much to her surprise, enjoying her solitude. She had a glass of wine in one hand and was idly stroking the two cats curled in her lap with the other. She was not thinking about Bridget or her retirement letter or the price of tea in China or the aggravation of calling a nearby garage and getting her tire fixed. She was doing her best to think about a wispy-haired man with a charming accent who, in a couple of weeks, she would welcome into her home, and later on that same evening, into her bed.

  That's when she saw the clock on the floor. She went over and picked it up, dusted it off and blamed it on the cats. But when she was getting ready for bed, she noticed a light coming from the upstairs bathroom and realized that she hadn't been the one to turn it on. She put two and two together and realized that Miss Winslow was trying to get her attention.

  Three thousand miles and a five-hour time difference away from Brookfield, Massachusetts, Frederick Watkins was doing much the same as Olympia, pondering the possibilities in days and weeks to come. He, too, was smiling. It was after midnight, and he was looking around the bachelor bed-sit which had been his home for the last four years, wondering if he would ever return to it and if so, for how long? He was also thinking about the woman he would be living with for the next three months. Besides his very real and occasionally embarrassingly apparent anticipation, he knew there was much more to this than the physical attraction.

  Frederick had fallen flat on his face in love with Olympia, and the last time they were together, he attempted to propose marriage, but she wouldn't let him finish the sentence. She said something about it being too soon and not to rush things, but he knew there was more. What was it? Maybe this time he'd find out.

  Earlier that evening he had dutifully called his parents and asked after their health and well-being and wished them a Happy Easter. He had done his laundry, and even though it was weeks away, he'd begun to lay out the clothes and assorted sundries he planned to take with him. To the jumble on the bed he added a book for the plane, the bottle of seduction-champagne, and finally, a small, blue velvet box containing an antique platinum and diamond ring which had been his grandmother's. This he hoped to bestow on Olympia as a token of his affection and honest intentions. When he was in her home in Brookfield that past Christmas, she had left one of her rings on the bathroom sink, and he'd slipped it on for size. It fit his left baby finger perfectly. When he returned to England he had taken his grandmother's ring to a local jeweler and had it cleaned and resized.