An Unholy Mission Read online

  Seventeen

  That afternoon at the chaplain cohort meeting, Sister Patrick informed them all that Luther had withdrawn from the program for personal reasons.

  “I haven’t been able to reach him by phone, but I’ve written a letter to him, saying that I hope he’ll come back and let us all say farewell the way we did when Alice Whitethorn decided to leave.”

  Timothea rumbled under her breath, “He damn sure ain’t no Alice Whitethorn.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t catch that, Timothea.”

  “I said something like there is no comparison between the two, Sister. I don’t mind saying it, and it’s probably not politically correct to do so, but I think that man is very troubled. I think he made a wise decision.”

  If the situation weren’t so serious, Olympia would have giggled, and it took all the professional control she could muster not to do so, despite the nudge of Timothea’s knee against her own under the table.

  Before Sister Patrick could respond, Jenny Abelard added, “Luther and I didn’t have much contact, so I can’t really say one way or the other. But I do know that he’s never once looked me in the eye, and when a person won’t look you in the eye, there’s something he’s not telling you.”

  Joel Silverstein put his hand on his chest and said softly, “He’s undoubtedly got his own problems, Sister, but then, we all do, don’t we? I think we should pray for him.”

  “Thank you for reminding us of who we are, Joel. You’re right. We all have our own issues, and I do think we should keep him in our prayers; but until I have a chance to talk with him in person, I think we shouldn’t say any more without him here to respond.”

  Through all of this Olympia remained quiet, but when she thought no one would notice, she passed a note to Timothea, asking if she had time for a coffee after the meeting. The woman hummed and nodded yes with her whole body, but she said nothing.

  Later, when they were seated at a corner table in the hospital cafeteria, the sounds of voices and the clatter of dishes offered them all the privacy they might need. Olympia wanted to know more about the woman seated across the table from her, but at the same time she didn’t want to pry or overstep her bounds. It was Timothea who dispensed with the social trivialities and got directly to the point.

  “I agree with what Joel said this afternoon. Luther may have his personal troubles, Olympia, but I have to say that I’m glad he’s gone. Other than standing way too close to me in the elevator a couple of times and calling me at home the day after Mrs. Farwell passed away, I really have had very little direct contact with him, but I have to tell you it’s enough to make me wonder how in heaven he got into the program. I thought this was supposed to be highly selective.”

  Then she grinned and pushed at Olympia’s arm. “’Course, dey let us two in, so I s’pect dey ain’t all dat se-lec-tive.” Then she shook her head, squeezed her eyes shut and laughed heartily at her own joke.

  “Wait a minute,” said Olympia, “he called you after Nancy Farwell died?”

  Timothea furrowed her eyebrows and nodded. “I thought it was strange then, and I still do. He wanted to know if I knew how she died, and then he wanted to know about the family and what they did when they got there. He actually asked me if they mentioned his name or asked for him. Can you imagine that? I couldn’t figure that one out. Talk about self-importance.” Timothea ended her sentence by biting an enormous chunk out of the apple fritter she’d ordered with her coffee.

  Olympia eyed the vanishing fritter and wished she had gotten something more emotionally satisfying than the sensible cup of yogurt she was about to pull open.

  How much should I tell her about my encounters with Luther Stuart? she wondered. Then she remembered Sister Patrick’s words of warning and decided she would say enough to be truthful but not reveal everything.

  “Well, I did have more contact with him on a day-to-day basis, and what you say is true. Figuratively and literally, the man got too close to me. I felt like I was always wishing he’d take a step back. He took it upon himself to start visiting Nancy Farwell, even though she was technically on my list. I can’t go into it, but it’s enough to say I think he got too close to her, as well.”

  Timothea put down her fritter. “You serious? That man come on to a dyin’ woman?”

  “Read between the lines, Timothea. I was standing across the room when I observed it, and I don’t think we’ve heard the end of it. “

  “M-m-m,” said Timothea.

  “But enough about that. I’d like you to tell me more about yourself, if you want to, that is. I remember you saying that you raised your son on your own and you were in business before you entered seminary. If I’m not being too personal, I’d like to know more. Tell me about your boy. I have two sons, a daughter I’ve recently reconnected with, and a six-week old granddaughter, Erica.”

  The two women sat for the next hour laying the groundwork for a friendship that even then both knew would continue beyond their work at the hospital. Olympia learned that Timothea was a widow. She had been born in Atlanta, Georgia, attended Howard University, and married her husband right after graduation. They had their one son, Stanton, within the first year, and her husband died in a freak accident when the little boy was four.”

  “I never wanted to marry again. Leron was the love of my life. That’s not to say I sat on the shelf, if you know what I mean.” This was followed by an exaggerated, full-body wink.

  Olympia assured her she knew exactly what she meant and went on to share some of her own story, starting with Laura, the child she birthed when she was seventeen and gave up for adoption; her one seriously incompatible marriage which, however, resulted in the births of her two marvelous sons. She described the entrance of Frederick into her life, followed by the miracle of reconnecting with her lost daughter and the birth of her granddaughter.

  “Whooooeeeee! Ya know, for a white gal you doin’ pretty good.”

  “Does that mean I qualify?” said Olympia.

  “Qualify for what?”

  “Being friends. I’ve got a best man-friend who is a priest, and I have another best man-friend I’m in love with, but I’ve always been too busy to have a real girlfriend. It’s nice being able to talk to another woman about things. My priest friend is gay, but he’s still a guy.”

  By way of a response Timothea leaned forward and said, “I’m not much of a cook, but I do a mean Indian take-out. If you ever need to stay in Boston some night, I can pick up a telephone as well as the next gal.”

  “I’d say that sounds like a wonderful idea, especially if we have a snowstorm, and I can’t get home.”

  “Or even if we don’t, and you can,” said Timothea.

  The two women said their goodbyes and got up to go their separate ways, Timothea to her well-appointed condo in West Newton, and Olympia, walking off through the connecting tunnel to visit Mrs. Mangiani and check on the twins. She had learned that morning that Baby Giovanni had survived the night, but she’d already been warned not to get her hopes up. One night didn’t mean anything more than that he had been granted a twelve-hour extension; but when she’d gone in to see him that morning, she had been pleased to see that the two brothers were together in the Isolette. Giovanni, the smaller one, was curled against his big brother, and although she was not any kind of neonatal expert, she was a mother and could swear that the smaller one was breathing a little easier and his color was better. Now she could go and see their mother.

  As she hurried along the underground corridor, she whispered prayerful encouragements to the babies and their mother. If the truth be told, Olympia didn’t like being down here by herself any more than Timothea did, but it was cold and dark outside, and the convenience of not having to put on her winter gear and dodge the traffic more than made up for her edgy nerves. Brightly lighted and clearly sign posted as it was, the tunnel was still a lonely, spooky space, more so after hours. It didn’t help to know that the morgue was down here. Olympia reminded herself th
at she was not/would not be fearful, but hearing the echo of her solitary footsteps, she instinctively quickened her pace as she passed the turn-off to the hospital morgue. A quick glance to her right told her no one was currently coming or going, but the row of drop-down gurneys lined up outside the door reminded her that it wouldn’t be long before someone would need to put one of them to use.

  “Olympia, this is a surprise. What are you doing here so late?”

  Luther Stuart had materialized out of somewhere on her left and was now standing directly in front of her, blocking her way.

  “Luther,” she gasped. “We’ve all been worried about you. Sister Patrick announced to the group that you’re leaving the program.”

  If she had been feeling apprehensive before she was intercepted, she was feeling seriously uncomfortable now. Luther looked pale, and his face was pinched, but it was his eyes that disturbed her. They seemed darker and more piercing than they had this morning. Probably the cancer, she thought, remembering how her sons looked when they were feverish. She could always tell by the look of their eyes how sick they really were.

  “I have withdrawn, Olympia. I just came back to pick up some things I left. I … I didn’t want to run into anyone, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t mention that you’ve seen me. That’s not too much to ask, is it?”

  Not responding directly to the request, Olympia said only that she had stayed later than usual and then decided to avoid the rush hour and go back and visit one of her mothers in Women and Infants.

  “Got time for a coffee?” He looked momentarily brighter.

  “It’s a little late for a coffee, Luther. I’ll be up all night, but I really would like to come back and talk with you. Can you wait until I’ve visited with my patient? I won’t be more than a half-hour.”

  He frowned and shook his head, the disappointment evident. “No, this is my only window. I still have your number, though. Can I give you a call and maybe someday when you’re in here, we could have lunch or something? We could go back to that pastry shop. What days are you in Women and Infants? I can’t remember?”

  “Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings until noon.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind, Olympia, and please, I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell the others you’ve seen me, okay?”

  With that, Luther turned to leave. As he walked away Olympia could see how slowly and laboriously he was moving, and she knew it wasn’t good.

  She checked the time. It was five-thirty. They would be having supper upstairs on the floors, so maybe she should go to the NICU first. The more she thought about it, the more sense it made. That way, if there was bad news, she’d be prepared; and if the news was good, they’d have something to celebrate. She stopped at the door, held up her badge and went directly to where she had first witnessed little Giovanni fighting for his tiny scrap of life. There was no doubt about it. His color was definitely better, and his tiny movements were less frantic and spastic. Beside him, his arm curled protectively over his brother’s midsection was big brother Stefano, sentinel and protector-in-chief.

  “Definitely improving,” said the nurse who had quietly come up beside her. “I wonder who came up with that idea. It’s not exactly in the manual, but I think it’s what made this little guy turn the corner.”

  Olympia just nodded and wiped her eyes. There were no words.

  Later that evening Olympia told Frederick about bumping into Luther and how uncomfortable she felt. “Being down in that maze of tunnels by myself was bad enough. Then he scares the living bejeezus out of me by appearing from nowhere. He told me he’d come in late because he needed to pick up some things he had left behind and didn’t want to run into anyone in the group. That made sense, considering how he just up and disappeared, but I didn’t like him saying he didn’t want me to tell the others. He asked if I would have lunch with some sometime, and was it okay if he called me, and then he just turned and left. I’ll tell you, though, he looked awful. ”

  “Maybe you should get together with him sometime, Olympia. You might find out what’s really going on with him, and if anyone in the world might be able to help him, it’s you. He sounds like he needs it, but if you do, be careful. No more meetings in underground tunnels with him. I think everyone’s made a pretty good case for him not being all there, as you Americans put it, but it’s also clear that the poor bloke needs help.”

  “You may be right, Frederick. I do believe that he didn’t want to be seen by any of us, and then he bumps into me, of all people. I will tell Sister Patrick, but tomorrow is soon enough. What the …?”

  Olympia was interrupted by a screechy, grinding noise coming from the mantel clock she had found in a cupboard shortly after she’d moved into the antique farmhouse they now called home. Both of them turned to see the clock that didn’t work shaking and emitting the unpleasant noise that startled them.

  “Bloody hell,” said Frederick.

  “Uh oh,” said Olympia. “Something’s caught Leanna’s attention. I wonder what it is. She’s been rather quiet of late.”

  “Oh, no she hasn’t.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Your, or perhaps it’s now our, Miss Winslow has been quite garrulous of late. She’s been boinging and buzzing quite frequently over the last few weeks, in fact, ever since you started your chaplain program at Mercy Hospital.”

  Olympia shivered and remembered her grandmother saying that when you shivered and it wasn’t cold, it meant that someone just walked over your grave. Not exactly comforting.

  “I wish you’d thought to tell me, Frederick. That usually means she’s trying to get my attention about something.”

  “Gosh, and I thought she was just making my acquaintance.”

  Olympia shook her head. “It’s often her way of telling me to pay particular attention to what’s going on around me. It could just be that Miss Winslow has her own reservations about Luther Stuart.”

  To which the clock responded with a resounding, “Boinggggg.”

  “I hear you, Leanna,” said Olympia.

  Frederick twisted around in his chair and inclined his head in the clock’s direction and then turned back to Olympia.

  “On a totally different subject, Jim called today and wants us to talk about dates for his coming down here.”

  “Did he say exactly when?”

  Frederick nodded. “He’d like us to call him tonight. If it’s okay with us, he thought he might come for Thanksgiving and stay on through the holidays. He said something about the holidays being particularly difficult, and maybe this would be as good a time as any to make the break.”

  “Did he say which break he meant?”

  “He wants us to call him, Olympia. After that,” Frederick raised a lecherous eyebrow in her direction, “unless you are planning to be otherwise engaged, and if Miss Winslow won’t be offended, I’ve been entertaining several lovely thoughts which will likely require your full attention.”

  Eighteen

  The hospice unit charge nurse looked up to see Luther Stuart approaching the desk. He was holding his worn, black leatherette Bible in one hand and resting the other on the cross around his neck.

  “I’m Luther Stuart. I’m the chaplain assigned to this unit. I’ve come in here and visited patients in the evening before, but I’ve had to take a day job, and they said I could do my hours at night from now on as long it was all right with you.”

  The woman behind the desk looked slightly doubtful. “Well, I suppose it’s okay. What I mean is, I don’t have a problem with it as long as it’s okay with the powers that be. Trouble is, most of the patients are sleeping at night, and you might not have as much to keep you busy as you would during the daytime.”

  “I can keep myself busy,” said Luther, “and I’ll stay out of your way. Sometimes just sitting in the corner of a room quietly reading aloud from the Bible can be a comfort to a person, even if they can’t hear me. It’s really about just being there.”

&nbs
p; The nurse folded arms across the front of her flowered scrub shirt. “They can hear you, Mr. Stuart. Just because a patient appears to be sleeping, or even if that person actually is in a coma, many can still hear what is going on around them.”

  “Thank you, I’ll remember that. Now, is there anyone in particular that you think needs a visit, or should I just check on them all?”

  “Maybe Mrs. Frances in 420. She’s been restless all afternoon, but if she’s sleeping, don’t wake her. If she’s awake, knock on the door and ask before you go in. If no one wants a visit, you can go and sit in the family room with your cross and your Bible and let people come to you. I’ll tell them you’re there. Sometimes people don’t want a chaplain per se, they just want someone to talk to.”

  “Same thing, isn’t it?”

  “I suppose it’s a matter of perspective,” said the nurse.

  After he left the charge nurse wondered whether she should check in with Sister Patrick about this but dismissed the thought when she remembered that she had seen Luther there before. In fact, the more she thought about it, having a chaplain on hand, especially at night, could be really helpful. When the inevitable happened, as it regularly did on that unit, she wouldn’t have to go looking for one. She looked at the calendar on the corner of her desk. The approaching holidays never failed to increase the stress level of patients and staff alike, and the crises so often happened at night. The nurse nodded to herself and turned back to her log book. This could be a gift from heaven.

  After he thanked the nurse Luther went and looked in on Mrs. Frances. She was sleeping, but she was restless, picking at the blankets and twisting her head from side to side. He stood at the side of her bed and read the “Twenty-Third Psalm” and then went off to look in on the others. When he finished, he settled himself in the visitors’ lounge. He set his unopened Bible in his lap and began thinking back to when the circuitous journey to the present had first begun.