Bless Us Father
Authors: Kathy Pratt
Tags: #Family, #Mystery, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary, #Religion, #Crime, #Teen, #Young Adult
DEDICATION
This book is dedicated to all those victims of sexual abuse, whether at the hands of priests, adult relatives, sexual predators, or even older peers. We all lose our childhood innocence at some point in our lives, but some lose it in more damaging ways than others.
BLESS US, FATHER
By Kathy Pratt
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.
BLESS US FATHER This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.
Copyright © 2013 Kathy Pratt. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.
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There is no aphrodisiac like innocence.
-Jean Baudrillard-
CHAPTER ONE
September, 1963
Mary Margaret took her stack of books from the desk, tucked them under her arm, and ran down the hall to where her mother stood waiting.
“I don’t understand you. This is your first day of work and it just won’t do for you to be late, young lady.” Ellen Riley frowned at her daughter.
“And I don’t understand why I have to do this. Why do I need a job?”
“We’ve been all through this. You’re fifteen years old and need to be more responsible, that’s why. Hurry up now. What will Father O’Malley think if you’re late?”
“He won’t think anything, I’m sure,” she said, trying to push her way past her mother. “He doesn’t pay attention to what goes on around the parish. He’s too busy sipping on that bottle.”
“Mary Margaret Riley! You are getting very fresh and you know better than to speak badly about our Pastor. I should slap you.”
Mary Margaret cast her eyes toward the ground and quietly followed her mother out to the car. She climbed into the passenger side of the big Oldsmobile, slammed the door shut, and then turned away from her mother to look out the window.
“Mary Margaret, look at me,” Mrs. Riley demanded. “Are you wearing lipstick? And don’t commit the sin of lying to your mother.”
Mary Margaret rolled her eyes before turning towards her mother. “No, Mother. I am not wearing lipstick. Besides, I should be able to wear it. All the other girls do.”
Technically she wasn’t lying. It wasn’t lipstick, it was rouge. She’d bought a small pot at the Rexall drugstore and tried a bit on her cheeks and lips after school. It was way too red and she’d rubbed and rubbed, but couldn’t get it all off. She’d put Vaseline on her sore lips after all that rubbing.
“You know your school has rules against wearing lipstick, and I do, too. You’re lips are red and shiny. What’s your explanation? And need I remind you? I don’t care a whit what the other girls do.”
Mary Margaret looked out the window again, and paused to formulate the best answer. “The Santa Ana winds have been blowing all day. My lips were chapped and I put Vaseline on them. They’re sore, that’s all.”
She wished she could confide in her mom but she couldn’t. The other girls put lipstick on after school so they’d look good in case they met some boys on the way home. She wanted to be like the other girls in the worst way, but Mom thought it was just silliness.
Ellen Riley reached over and took Mary Margaret’s chin in her hand, turning her face to her.
“Ouch, Mom. That hurts,” Mary Margaret said, attempting to twist free from her mother’s grip.
“Don’t pull away from me.” After turning Mary Margaret’s head back and forth, she let go and turned the key to start the car engine.
Mary Margaret stifled a sigh of relief and looked back out the window. She hoped the job wouldn’t be as boring as she feared it would be. Four hours in the rectory every evening after school, answering the phones sounded dull as could be. Maybe, if no one was around, she would have time to call a few of the girls she’d met this year and get to know them better. She never got the chance to talk on the phone at home, her mom saw to that.
At least she could get her homework done while she worked, and she was going to make money. Fifty cents an hour. By the end of the week she’d have ten dollars! She could buy that skirt she’d seen in Lerner’s. The dyed to match royal blue wool skirt and sweater set. She’d had her eye on those for weeks, and had even tried the set on. She looked great in the slim skirt. With makeup and her hair up she should look at least eighteen.
More motivated now, she sat up straighter in the seat. “Will we be on time, Mom? I really don’t want to be late.”
“Yes, no thanks to your dawdling,” Ellen said. “Here we are now.”
They pulled the car into the parking lot of Saint Catherine Laboure Church and school where Mary Margaret had attended from the first through eighth grades. She was now in her second year of high school at St. Mary’s Academy for Young Women. She missed her old school and was glad to be back on the grounds, even if only to work in the rectory.
Mrs. Hunter, the housekeeper and cook for the priests, opened the door to the rectory when they rang the bell. “Hello, Mrs. Riley. And welcome Mary Margaret. I’m so happy you’re here to answer the phones. I can’t cook, clean and answer phones one more minute or I’ll lose my mind.”
She gestured to an office to the right of the entrance. “This is where you’ll be working, Mary Margaret. Just answer the phone and take messages unless there’s an emergency, then come and get me. I’ll take the request to the priests.”
“What’s considered an emergency?” Mary Margaret asked.
“Well, if someone dies or needs the Last Rights in the hospital, that kind of thing,” Mrs. Hunter explained.
Ellen Riley gave Mary Margaret a perfunctory peck on the cheek. “I’ll be back to pick you up at ten. Have a good evening.”
Mary Margaret watched her mother leave, then put her books down on the edge of the desk. “Mom said it’s okay for me to study while I’m here.”
“Oh, it certainly is. The phone calls always slow down at dinnertime anyway. Are you hungry?”
“No, Mom made me a sandwich before we left. I’m not at all hungry.”
“Remember, if you don’t have time to eat you can always eat here. I cook plenty. I never know when Father will have friends come by.” Mrs. Hunter looked around and seemed satisfied leaving Mary Margaret in charge. “I must get back to the cooking now. Please make yourself at home.”
Mary Margaret glanced over the stark office. It didn’t look very homey to her. The walls were a drab white, and Venetian blinds shaded the one window. Gray linoleum covered the floor. A blue vinyl sofa sat under the window, and an end table held a stainless steel lamp and a large green ashtray. The room smelled faintly of cigarette smoke. One side of the desk was placed against the opposite wall, and it was positioned so the person seated could see who was coming in the door. The desk was gray steel, with a long drawer in the middle and three drawers on each side. A typewriter and telephone sat on top, along with a large phone message tablet.
She wondered where the bathroom was and hoped she wouldn’t ever have to use it while she worked. Somehow, the thought of using the same bathroom as the priests made her uncomfortable.
Her algebra and English literature books were still unopened, so she sat down and opened her notebook to see what the homework was for tonight. She liked English literature the best, so decided to do the algebra and get it out of the way.
Deeply engrossed in her studies, she hadn’t heard anyone come into the room until the smell of sour whiskey stung her nostrils. She looked up to see Father O’Malley smiling at her.
“Mary Margaret Riley. Aren’t you the beautiful young woman? You look just like your mother did at your age. Some Norseman must have invaded Ireland from the looks of that blonde hair and those blue eyes. You’ve certainly grown up. Any boyfriends yet?”