An Unholy Mission Page 8

  When Timothea returned with a double helping of dessert, the two tacitly dropped a few barriers and settled into more casual girl talk and the business of getting to know one another on a more personal level. Timothea’s voice was mesmerizing, and despite its deep, resonant power, she spoke in such a way that only Olympia could hear her words.

  “I’ll tell you one thing, girl, that Sister Patrick is one tough lady. I’m gonna keep my head low, do my work and hope she don’ land on me.” Timothea nodded as she spoke, letting the soft remnants of a regional accent smooth and color the cadence of her words.

  “I hear you. I’m trying to stay well under her radar myself. She really ripped into Luther yesterday. I felt bad for him.”

  “She hit him pretty hard. That’s why I spoke up, but I’ll tell you right out, Olympia, I don’ like that man. He makes me feel all squirmy.”

  Rather than tip her own hand, Olympia only said, “Really, how so?”

  “Well, first of all, that big cross he wears. He’s always touching it, making sure we notice it. She hesitated. “And I think he’s making eyes at me, if you know what I mean.”

  Olympia nodded. She knew exactly what Timothea meant.

  “I’m a big woman, Olympia, I’m a big black woman, and there’s some white men out there think they want a little bit of that. Wouldn’t take it home and show the neighbors, mind you, but some of ‘em kinda like to try it on for size, if you know what I mean.”

  Olympia couldn’t help but smile at the forthright description and allowed that if it was any comfort, Timothea wasn’t alone. Luther made her feel much the same way, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly how.

  “You keep your fingers to yourself ‘round that man, girl, I don’t trust him.”

  Olympia put her freckled white hand over Timothea’s massive black one. “Thanks for the warning, my friend. I wonder what Sister Patrick thinks about him? He always seems to be trying to be so helpful.”

  “There’s lots of ways of gettin’ next to someone, girl. Time will tell, and speak of the devil, will you look who’s sitting the far end of the cafeteria having lunch with a priest?”

  Even though she was certain she knew who it was, Olympia turned anyway and registered absolutely no surprise or recognition when she saw Jim seated with Luther. “So he is. I wonder what they’re talking about?”

  “Well, if it’s a priest, it can’t be all that bad.” Timothea pushed herself back from the table. “Let’s get going, Olympia, I walk slow, and it’s getting on toward time we went upstairs.”

  “You get started, Timothea, I’ll dump the trash and return the trays and catch up with you. I’m looking forward to the maternity tour this afternoon. I love babies.”

  Timothea made a face and shook her head. “I don’ love the idea of that underground passageway. When I was little, my grandmother told me stories about secret tunnels where the slaves hid out. Some of them hid so long, they died there.” Timothea’s broad, dark face grew even darker. “I don’ like being underground, and I don’ like secret tunnels. You stick by me, okay?”

  “I’ll watch out for you. We’re in this together, remember?”

  Timothea’s smile bespoke her gratitude. With that, she turned and in her measured and elegant manner began to walk toward the door of the cafeteria past where Father Jim Sawicki and Luther Stuart were finishing their lunch. She could hear the two of them chuckling over something but couldn’t make out the words.

  As Olympia passed by his chair, Jim gave no sign of recognition and simply continued with his conversation. She made a point of fussing with her purse strap so she could eavesdrop for a few seconds before going off to catch up with Timothea.

  “This has been really helpful, Luther, I appreciate your taking the time.” Father Jim, black suit, Roman collar and all, was stacking the plates and flatware on his tray. “I know I’ll have some more questions, though. It’s really helpful to have a different perspective from my own Catholic one. Is it okay for me to call you again sometime after I’ve thought through the time frame and some of the logistics for this kind of project? It’s not going to happen overnight, and of course, I’m going to have to run it by the powers that be at the college before anything happens.”

  “Of course you can call me,” said Luther, handing over a cup and saucer for Jim to stack. “Who knew I’d be a resource to a priest? We never know what God is going to do next, do we, Father?”

  The underground passage that connected Mercy Hospital to Boston Women and Infants Hospital was not the dark and spidery tunnel to hell that Timothea feared. Rather, it was spacious, well lighted, and still smelled of its most recent paint job. Brightly colored signs directed pedestrians to underground parking, the cafeteria, the radiology unit and various other departments within the two institutions that were accessible from the white-walled labyrinth that crisscrossed the underbelly of the city’s hospital district. Olympia knew that the morgue was also down here but didn’t see the sign for it, at least not right away.

  Even though it was a physical effort to walk at such a rapid pace, Timothea stayed close by Olympia’s side. Olympia could hear the woman’s labored breathing and slowed her steps. There weren’t many other people in the tunnel, and the two women could hear the sounds of their own footsteps echoing around them as they progressed. At one point, a man pushing a noisy rack of cafeteria trays and water jugs passed by. Later on, two gray-uniformed women, chattering in Spanish and dragging a huge canvas laundry hamper, smiled in greeting and disappeared into one of the connecting passages. But for long minutes at a time, the two chaplains were the only ones in sight or sound.

  As they walked along Olympia looked to see if there were signs for house phones or any sort of emergency alarm system for use in such an isolated place, but she didn’t spot any. She made a note to herself to ask Patrick about this.

  Timothea was right. As big and bright as this place was, after walking in it for what must have been ten minutes, Olympia didn’t like it either. Just then, as if on cue, an orderly pushing a flat, sheet-covered gurney around a corner almost crashed into the two of them.

  “I wonder where he’s off to down here?” mused Timothea.

  “The morgue,” said Olympia, pointing to the gurney. “I’ve seen those things before. It’s a special transport carrier that lowers the body under the protective sheet so that it’s not visible to passersby, especially the patients. I just learned about it yesterday.”

  “Can’t you walk any faster?” said Timothea.

  Ten

  Olympia and Frederick were high-stepping around the cats and finishing up the supper dishes when Jim Sawicki called. Olympia picked up the kitchen extension, hooked the handset under her ear and continued wiping and stacking the dishes that Frederick held out to her.

  “I saw you in the cafeteria with our mystery man,” said Olympia. “What’s your take on him?”

  “Mystery man is a good description,” replied Jim. “That is one curious gentleman.”

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, Olympia chuckled at Jim’s choice of words. It was so like him to be both precise and understated—and so unlike me, she added to herself.

  “Did you find out anything worth telling me? Like he’s a crazed axe murderer with a fixation on women clergy?”

  Jim wasn’t laughing. “Don’t know about that, Olympia, but I do think he bears watching.”

  “I know that already, Jim, but tell me why you think so.”

  Without a word, Frederick relieved Olympia of her dish towel and the plate she had been polishing for the last five minutes and set about completing the job himself. He pointed to one of the kitchen stools, but Olympia shook her head and took the phone into the next room.

  “Just so happened I walked in on him unexpectedly this morning in the Transition Unit. He didn’t know I was there until I actually spoke to him. At first I thought he was the patient’s parish priest. In my opinion, he was sitting way too close to her. I can’t be sure, but i
t looked like he might have been stroking her cheek or something. The divider curtain was pulled halfway. If he was, that’s a serious breach of ethics in our profession.”

  “Damn,” spat Olympia, shoving a cat off her lap. “I’ll bet you dollars to doughnuts, it was Nancy Farwell.”

  “That’s who it was. I saw the name over the bed.”

  Olympia began tapping the fingers of her free hand on the arm of her chair. “What did he do when he saw you?”

  He jumped up and seemed a little on the defensive. But when I introduced myself and said I was a college chaplain making a hospital visit, he began to relax.”

  “What then?”

  “I told him I was developing a field education course that would involve taking the students into a variety of non-church settings to see real-life ministry and chaplaincy in action. I asked him some questions about chaplaincy at Mercy and also for his thoughts about the role of the chaplain in a hospital setting. He lapped up the flattery and agreed to meet me for lunch.

  “The other thing I picked up on is that he seems to have some sort of fixation with death and dying. He didn’t exactly use those words, but he told me that’s why he asked to be on the hospice unit. He wants to be with people in their final hours, says it’s what he feels called to do.”

  Olympia made a face. “Don’t you think that’s morbid?”

  “I do, and I don’t. There are lots of dedicated people who do hospice work as a way to give meaning to their lives, especially if they’ve lost someone and hospice helped them through it. What made me uncomfortable was not that he wanted to work with the dying but the way his eyes glittered when he started describing some of his experiences. I swear he even started breathing faster.”

  Olympia shuddered at the image which flashed onto her mind’s eye.

  “He’s definitely a little strange, Olympia, keep an eye on him. Remember what I said about documentation the other day. If you see him doing anything you think is odd or suspicious, write it down and date it. You may never need it, but if you do, you have it.”

  “Why do you say that, Jim?”

  “Maybe I detect a touch of the religious fanatic in there. That always sends up red flags for me. They can be unpredictable. I don’t know what else to say. He did agree to meet with me again when I told him I welcomed his perspective and would likely have some more questions. I flattered his ego, and he couldn’t resist. So stay tuned.”

  “That everything?”

  “No, it’s not. Would you believe I know your supervisor, Sister Patrick?”

  “You don’t.”

  “Talk about a small world. I went down to the Office of Pastoral Care after I talked with Luther, and there she was. It was great seeing her.”

  “Tell me.”

  As she listened to the next part of the story, Olympia began stroking her older cat, which was making a second shaky attempt to get onto her lap.

  “We went to the same Catholic grammar school in what was once the West End of Boston. We didn’t have much time. She had to go off to a meeting, but we had long enough. Her street name was Wanda Marie Kowalski, can you believe another Polack? She’s really smart.”

  “I figured that one out all by myself. You didn’t tell her why you were there, did you?”

  “Not on your life. She saw the collar and must have figured I was there on business. Said she knew I was headed for the priesthood and always wondered what happened to me. I let it go at that. I know where to find her if we need to, and we promised each other a meal together in the near future.”

  “So, she never knew about Paul?”

  “Negative on that, too, Olympia. That would have been, as they say, too much information, even for a nun as savvy as she is.”

  Olympia could hear Jim take a long breath. “Someday, maybe, but for now that stays between us.”

  Olympia waited for a few moments before saying, “Any more advice regarding Luther?”

  “Like I said, keep your eyes and ears open, Olympia. Now that I think about it, the charge nurse on the hospice unit made a comment about some of the chaplains not being the best and the brightest, but she didn’t go into detail. Despite the black suit and the dog collar, there was no reason for her to say anything about it to me.”

  “When are you going to see him again?”

  “He gave me his card and said I could call him. I don’t want to appear overanxious.”

  “One of my friends in the chaplain group, Timothea, the one you saw me with at lunch today? She told me he makes her uncomfortable, too.”

  “You think it might be a black-white thing? You know, black prejudice toward white men in general?”

  Olympia shook her head, even though Jim wasn’t there to see it. “I asked about that, Jim. She said no, it was definitely a man-woman thing.” She paused. “On a totally different topic, have you worked out a way to get some time off and come stay with us for a little R and R?”

  “Funny you should ask. You know that I’ve cut back to just one class at the college this semester, and I’ve just gotten permission from the Diocese to take a three-month professional leave of absence.”

  “Professional, not personal?” said Olympia.

  “The less said, the less to be mended,” said Jim.

  “My mother used to say that all the time. She also used to say it’s so much easier to apologize than to ask permission. So when do you move in?”

  “I’m still working out the logistics with St. Bart’s. You’re sure Frederick isn’t going to mind?”

  “Jim, the house is huge, and there’s always something that needs to be done. We just need a seven-day warning so we can clear out another room, but that will give us the shove we need to do it.”

  “It will be a week or two before I know for sure.”

  “Does that mean you’ll be here for Christmas?”

  “If I wouldn’t be a bother.”

  “Jesus, Jim …”

  “Well, considering that we were speaking of Christmas, after all—there is a connection, you know. Seriously, thanks, Olympia.”

  Olympia hung up the phone, tucked the bony old cat under her arm and walked back out into the kitchen to join Frederick. She was troubled and needed to sort this all out, and Frederick, among his many attributes, was a highly intelligent, live-in sounding board. That is, when he isn’t distracted or making a deliberate business of distracting her. Olympia smiled at the wayward thought and looked at her watch. Later.

  “I only heard your half of that conversation,” said Frederick, looking up at the woman he loved, “but what I heard was not at all comforting. What are you going to do?”

  “I’m not sure. Jim’s undoubtedly right. I probably should start recording some of the stuff that’s troublesome, but on the other hand, maybe I’m just overreacting.”

  “I heard you tell Jim that your friend Timothea isn’t too fond of Luther either.”

  “Jim thought that could be a race thing, and so did I, but Timothea assured me it wasn’t. I’m still thinking about having a talk with Sister Patrick, but right now, it’s just a collection of uneasy feelings. Besides, ratting on a colleague is very tricky business. It could really backfire.”

  “All the more reason for documenting specifics, Olympia. Then, if you really do have a case to present, you have evidence.” Frederick put down his dishtowel and stretched. “You want me to come in there one day and have a bit of a scranny? Nobody in there knows me either.”

  “What the hell is a scranny? It sounds like something nasty you might pick up in a public toilet if you forget and sit on the seat.”

  “I keep forgetting we speak two different languages. A scranny is a focused look around. Want me to?”

  “No, thanks, Frederick, not yet anyway. You always hear people say, that where there’s smoke, there’s fire. The trouble is, I just don’t know what kind of a fire I’m looking for.”

  “You don’t think you’re in any kind of danger, do you?”

  Olympia recalled J
im’s recent words of concern and warning. “No, sweetheart,” she said, deciding not to worry Frederick. “I think Luther is an odd duck, and I’m not sure whether he’s chaplain material, but I certainly don’t feel threatened by him. He makes me uncomfortable, but no, he doesn’t scare me. There’s a difference.” Olympia paused and then added, “Don’t forget the cancer possibility. That would freak anybody out.”

  Frederick agreed and pointed toward the kettle on the stove. “Cup of tea, dear?”

  “No, let’s wait on that. What you didn’t hear was that Jim’s managed to get a leave of absence from St. Bart’s, and he’d like to come and stay here with us for a while. We’ve got a spare room upstairs. That poor kid from Dorchester stayed in it last year. Bridget. You remember me telling you about her, the abuse victim.”

  Frederick nodded. “So what’s the problem? We have a room with a private bath. What else would a man need?”

  “I thought we might clear out the room across the landing and make it into an office or a sitting room for him. Then he’d have a space that is totally his own. I haven’t gone in there other than to open windows in the summer. It’s full of junk, but I don’t think it needs much more than a cleaning and a good airing out. Who knows, we might find something interesting in there. This house is full of surprises.”

  “Would you like me to freshen it up with a new coat of paint?”

  “No, Frederick, I don’t think I would.”

  When Olympia visited Elinore Banks on Wednesday, she learned that she’d be going home the next day. The woman was simply beside herself with happiness, and Olympia promised that she’d be sure to come back to say goodbye before she left the hospital. Now, on the big day, Olympia stood in the doorway of her room and waited. Elinore and her daughter were talking with the social worker finalizing the home health care and physical therapy arrangements. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in lavender slacks and a lavender and white flowered jacket, holding her handbag on her lap. If it were not for the smile wrinkles and the halo of fluffy white hair, Elinore could have been a little girl in her Sunday best. She was beaming in childlike anticipation and told Olympia with a wink that she was waiting for her boyfriend to arrive and complete the picture.