Bobbi Smith (13 page)
Authors: Heaven
“Then tell me what this meeting was about tonight. I want to know everything.” His voice was cold.
She quickly related everything she could remember. “According to the first book of clues, Father Bradford, Matt McKittrick, and I have to go to St. Louis. I don’t know what’s there or why. I suppose we’ll find out once we arrive.”
“St. Louis, eh?” He frowned. “Well done, my dear. Robert and I will be keeping track. Don’t think you can elude us.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not going to endanger my father’s life.”
He started to leave the way he’d come, through her bedroom window, then he turned back to say one last thing. “Remember, Alex, Bradford and McKittrick can’t help you. Only Robert and I can save your father. We’ll be keeping an eye on you. You’ll never know when we’re near. So be very careful for we’ll know your every move.”
Alex said nothing more, but waited until he’d climbed from the window. When he was out of her room, she quickly slammed the window shut and locked it. She was shuddering uncontrollably as she drew the drapes. Unable in her bedroom to quell the feeling that Philip was still nearby, watching her, haunting her with the power he held over her, she fled the room and spent the night, sleeping fitfully on the sofa in her father’s study.
Seven
Winn sat on the hard wooden bench in the train station and tried to ignore the heat, the smell, and the crowd. They’d been traveling for four days, and he was seriously wondering about the state of his sanity when he’d convinced himself to take this trek. He ached all over from being jarred by the less than comfortable train cars, his collar was tight, and he longed for a hot bath, clean, normal clothes, a bottle of brandy, a willing woman, and the peace and quiet of his London townhouse.
Reflecting back, Winn knew he’d decided to search for the crown because he’d believe it was what his uncle would have done. But with each passing mile, he was discovering more and more that he was nothing like his uncle. Edward Bradford had been a kind, considerate man. Winn was finding that he fell far short of his uncle’s genuine goodness, no matter what his uncle had told him on his death bed. His Uncle Edward might have believed him to be a good man, but Winn was beginning to have serious doubts.
It had all started that first day on the train. People saw his collar and came up to him. They introduced themselves and then would immediately begin pouring out their hearts to him. Winn had been taken aback by all the attention he’d received. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to listen or help. It was more that he didn’t know how. He’d consoled and sympathized when he could, but mostly, he’d just sat and listened. Winn wondered how priests were trained to deal with this outpouring of emotion. He wondered, too, if the many blessings he’d bestowed upon the other travelers really counted. Deep in his heart he hoped they did. The people seemed so desperate to believe that he could somehow help them just by uttering a few words over them, that he wanted to believe he did carry some weight with God, however small.
“Father?”
A woman’s voice dragged him from his thoughts, and Winn glanced up to see a cherubic white-haired lady standing before him.
“Yes, ma’am?” He started to rise.
“No, don’t get up. I just wanted you to have these cookies,” she said, pressing a small box into his hands. “You’re looking a little tired, Father, so maybe they’ll help.”
“Why, thank you, Mrs. . .. ?”
“Wilson, Father. Margaret Wilson.” She was beaming as he opened the box.
“I’m Father Bradford. Bless you, Mrs. Wilson. These cookies are just what I need.” They did look delicious.
“Oh, good. My train’s about ready to leave, so I have to go, Father.”
“You have a safe trip.”
“Thanks, Father Bradford. You, too.” She was smiling as she moved off to catch her train. She thought him the handsomest priest she’d ever met, and her heart was light as she hurried away.
“You’re a very nice man,” Alex said, giving him a soft smile. She’d been sitting quietly beside him for quite a while and had been watching him with those who came to speak to him.
“Thank you,” was all he answered, but he wondered what she’d think of him if she knew what a fraud he was. “Here, have a cookie.” He held out the box to her.
“Does this happen to you all the time? People coming up to you and imposing on you this way?” she asked as she took one and bit into it. “Ummm, this is good.”
“I don’t think of it as imposing,” he answered, taking a bite of a cookie of his own, though in truth he felt terribly uncomfortable and awkward giving blessings in public. He wondered if there was a course in blessings that priests were required to take when they were in the seminary. “If I can help one person, if I can change one heart, if I can brighten someone’s day just a little, then it will have been worth it.” He surprised himself by actually believing what he’d said.
A gentle glow shone in Alex’s dark eyes. “You’re very special, you know. There aren’t many men like you.”
Winn gazed at her, entranced. She was lovely, and he had the greatest urge to take her in his arms. Her mouth was soft and infinitely kissable, and he wondered how she would taste . . . sweet, delicious. . .. He amended his earlier wish for brandy and a willing woman. He still wanted his fine brandy, but it wasn’t just any woman he wanted right then, it was Alex . . .
He quickly ate the rest of his cookie and looked away. He wondered what she’d think if she knew his thoughts. “I’m really no different from most men.”
“Oh, yes, you are. You’re a gentleman above all else, and then to have dedicated your life to God and the church . . . That sets you apart. You’re a man to be admired.”
He ached under her praise, knowing she would soon change her opinion of him if she knew the truth. Still, he told himself quickly that he wasn’t really all that bad, for his motives were pure. He wasn’t carrying off this deception for his own personal gain. He was doing it because it was what his uncle would have done. According to Lawrence’s letter, his uncle’s faith would serve them well on the hunt. It was necessary for him to travel as a priest. He would do it, no matter how difficult it became. Hadn’t his uncle told him he needed more discipline in his life? Well, it didn’t get much more disciplined than this.
Alex’s nearness coupled with the suddenly suffocating heat of the station soon closed in on him. Winn knew it could be hours before their train finally showed up. It had been due in at ten that morning, and here it was already three in the afternoon. The station master had told them there was trouble up the line, and though they understood the necessity of the delay, it didn’t make the wait any easier. They wanted to get to St. Louis.
“I think I’ll go outside for a while,” Winn told Alex and Matt.
“We’ll stay in here, just in case there’s any word,” Matt said. He’d been reading as they’d waited for news of their connection, but even as he’d concentrated on his book, it had been impossible not to notice all the people who’d approached Father Winn to speak with him about their personal troubles. He wondered what would make a man like Bradford take up the collar. He guessed the calling had to have been strong and unwavering, and he admired him for his dedication. He doubted that he could handle it.
Giving the cookies to Alex and Matt, Winn left the station and wandered away from the tracks. He saw a bench a short distance off facing away from the station beneath a shade tree, and he headed toward it, wanting to relax and enjoy the fresh breeze.
“Father?”
Winn almost groaned out loud. All he’d wanted were a few minutes alone . . . a few minutes of peace . . . just a little time to himself. “Yes?”
He looked around to see a young boy of maybe eleven looking up at him with a very serious expression. The youth obviously hadn’t bathed or combed his hair in quite some time, and his clothes were ill-kempt and shabby.
“I was wonderin’ . . . Could I talk to you for a minute? In private like?”
Winn could tell it had taken a major effort for the boy to come up to him. “Well . . .” He was hoping to put him off, but when he saw the flicker of suspicion and doubt in the boy’s eyes, he couldn’t refuse him. “What do you say we go sit on that bench over there? It looks nice and cool.”
“Sure, Father.”
He led the boy to a bench.
The boy started talking the minute they’d sat down. “My name’s Bobby, Father, and I want to tell you up front that I ain’t Catholic.”
“I see,” Winn was perplexed. If the child wasn’t Catholic, why did he want to talk to him? “What can I do for you?”
“Well, Father . . .”
“My name’s Bradford.”
“Father Bradford,” he corrected himself and then went on in a combination of nervousness and bravado. “Is it true that if I did somethin’ real bad, you could forgive me for it?”
Winn stared at the child, wondering why someone his age would be worrying about doing bad things. He was little more than a baby. “Well, it depends,” he hedged, wracking his brain, trying to remember everything he’d been taught about confession in school. It had been a very long time since he’d been in a confessional.
“On what?” Bobby’s eyes narrowed as he studied the man he thought was close to God.
“On whether the person is truly sorry for the things he’s done.”
“Oh, I’m sorry all right. But Father, I just needed to know that you could forgive stuff . . . Big stuff, like even murder.”
Murder?
Winn turned a piercing gaze on him. “Yes, even murder can be forgiven, if one is truly sorry for his actions and repents.”
Winn turned a piercing gaze on him. “Yes, even murder can be forgiven, if one is truly sorry for his actions and repents.”
Bobby had been holding his breath while he’d waited for his answer, and he let it out audibly when he replied. “Father, even if I ain’t Catholic, will your forgivin’ work on me?”
“Forgiveness comes from God, not from me. I’m only his instrument here on Earth.”
Bobby’s gaze was intense as it met Winn’s, and Winn felt as if the child could almost see into his soul. “Father, I did some bad things . . .”
“Do you want to talk about them?”
“Well, I ain’t really sorry for some of what I done. My old man, he used to beat me. He’d get all liquored up and come home and beat up on me and my ma.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, so am I. But Father, I shouldn’t have done it, but I ran away. I couldn’t take it no more, so I hopped a train and here I am.”
“How long have you been gone?” Winn saw the despair and loneliness the boy had been trying so hard to hide.
“Almost a month, and I been doin’ all right. I’m eating pretty regular, and all, but you know . . .” He lifted pain-filled eyes to the priest. “I didn’t tell my ma good-bye. I just snuck off in the middle of the night. I miss her, Father. I miss her bad. I worry about her, and I know she’s worrying about me, and I don’t want her to worry no more.”
Winn heard the agony in his voice and understood his struggle. “You’re on the verge of manhood, you know. You’ve proven yourself intelligent and resourceful by handling yourself so well around here. Can you read?”
“I went to school for a little while, but I ain’t too good at it. I had to stop going and earn some money to help my ma. I got two little brothers and a sister.”
“Here’s what I want you to do.” The boy had suffered more abuse in his few years than Winn had known in his life. He thought of the boy’s poor mother trapped in a marriage to a drunken, vicious man, and he wondered how he could help them.
The boy listened raptly as the priest spoke.
“I want you to go home to your mother. There is no one in the world who loves you more than she does. Things won’t be easy, but at least you’ll be together. Find the parish nearest your home, and tell the priest there that I sent you to him. Tell him your problem and ask for help. Have him talk to your father.”
Bobby looked frightened. “What if it only makes him mad?”
“Does your mother have any relatives?”
“I got an uncle who owns a farm.”
“Tell your mother to contact your uncle and take you and your brothers and sister and go live with him. If your father refuses to get better, you have to get away from him.”
Bobby brightened considerably at the thought. He knew how miserable his mother was, and he’d been hoping for some way to escape from his father. “Can you forgive me, Father, for running away and leaving my ma all alone?” he asked.
Winn touched the boy’s shoulder, then his head. “Your sins are forgiven, Bobby. Go and sin no more. You’ll be the man of the house now. Remember to be kind.” He pronounced the blessing over him solemnly and with great feeling. “Come with me.”
“Where we going?”
“We’re going to buy you a ticket home. There’ll be no more hitching rides on trains for you. I want to make sure you get home to your mother safely.”
Bobby gazed up at him with wide, worshipful eyes. This man had worked a miracle. He was sending him home to his mother, and he was paying his way. “I’ll send you the money for the ticket when I get it.”
“No,” Winn stopped and turned to look down at him. “I’m not worried about the money.”
“But I don’t like owing people, Father.”
“Then the way I want you to pay me back is to go home and succeed. I want you to work hard and take care of your mother and your sister and brothers. I want you to study hard and learn how to read. Then, when you are making some money of your own and feel that you want to pay me back, I want you to take that sum and use it to do good. Pass along the goodness to others, and it will multiply.”
Bobby blinked as he stared up at him. He saw the earnestness in Winn’s eyes and believed every word he said. “I’ll do it, Father. I’ll make you proud of me.”
“Good boy, Bobby.” Winn clamped a hand on his shoulder as they went to the ticket window. “Where’s home, Bobby?”
“Pittsburgh.”
“I want a ticket to Pittsburgh, please. And how soon will the boy be able to leave?”
The agent told him within the hour, and he bought the ticket and handed it to the boy, then gave him a few dollars to help him on the trip. “Remember what you promised.”
“I won’t forget, Father. Thanks!”
Then in a totally unexpected move, Bobby threw his arms around Winn and hugged him tight. He’d been afraid to approach the priest in the beginning, but now he knew it was the smartest thing he’d ever done in his life. He knew what he was going to do. As soon as he gathered up his things from where he’d stashed them, he was going home to his ma. He’d missed her and could hardly wait to see her again.
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