An Unholy Mission (26 page)

In response to Timothea’s worried look, she said, “I know this might be hard for you, but someone has to stay here in case she shows up. She expects us to be here.”

“But …”

“I want you to pray for her, Timothea. We may need that more than anything.”

As they all began to gather up their things, the code blue alarm came over the speaker system. Patrick paused and looked at Timothea. “You might as well pray for that one, too.”

Jim Sawicki hung up the phone and turned to Frederick. “Olympia’s missing. They’re checking now to see if she ever made it to the hospital.”

Frederick turned pale. “Oh, God.”

Jim held up his hand. “She has identification with her. God forbid, if she had been in an accident, we’d have been called by now. We can be concerned, but there’s no need to panic until we have something concrete to panic about.”

“I don’t believe a word you’re saying, Jim.”

“Neither do I.”

Their helpless frustration was interrupted by the simultaneous ring of the telephone and the furious clanging of the mantle clock. Frederick grabbed the phone out of Jim’s hand.

“Watkins, here. Frederick Watkins, you bloody fool. I’m Olympia Brown’s fiancé. Oh, God. We’ll be there within the hour.”

Frederick hung up the phone with a crash and turned to Jim.

“That was Mercy Hospital, Olympia’s in intensive care.”

Sister Patrick, Timothea, Jenny and Joel were hovering around the bed, not unlike Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s lost saints, when Olympia opened her eyes. Her mouth felt and tasted like it had been glued shut. Coherent speech and any kind of coordinated movement were impossible. Patrick saw the eye-blink over the green oxygen tube and ran for the nurse while Timothea reached for Joel’s and Jenny’s hands and began to praise the Lord. Olympia thought she could hear a man screaming, but that, like everything else in her emerging consciousness, seemed to be coming and going as she did her best to pull her way out of the fog that immobilized her. As her vision cleared more rapidly now, she looked into the faces of her friends, then at the amazing array of wires and tubes that were connected to her body.

“Wha …?” Olympia shifted her eyes from side to side. It was the only movement she could control.

“We don’t know yet, is the answer to your question, but we’ve got a pretty good idea.” Sister Patrick had come back into the room with the floor supervisor right behind her.

The nurse went through the ritual of checking Olympia’s vital signs and gave her and the assembled cohorts a big smile and a thumbs-up.  “We just got the blood back. She was hit with a tranquilizer, the kind they use to stun animals in the wild. It easily could have killed her, but because her assailant shot through her clothing, he must have missed by a little bit. Good thing he did.”

“How do you know it was a man?” said Patrick.

“That’s him screaming,” said the nurse. “He’s at the other end of the hall. They brought them up together. He was unconscious on the ground beside her and still had the needle in his pocket. One of the local funeral directors had come for a pickup and found them both in the alleyway outside the door by the morgue. She was under the sheet on the gurney, and he was lying in the snow. Good thing the guy had the presence of mind to act as fast as he did.”

“What guy? What presence?”

“ Timothea, Wanda, where is she?”

Frederick and Jim burst through the door in a dead heat to get to Olympia, who licked her gluey lips and smiled up at them all. “Phrederiph? Jmmm?”

The assembled chaplains made room for the two men at the bedside, and Timothea made the introductions. In the excitement no one saw Sister Patrick and the nursing supervisor slip out of the room and into one of the private conference rooms just as another scream shattered the air. In fact, no one around the bed seemed to take any notice.

When Patrick and the floor supervisor were out of earshot, the nun turned to her colleague. “So what’s with Luther Stuart? I’m going to go and talk with him, but I want the word from you before I do.”

“In a word, he’s dying of end-stage, untreated pancreatic cancer. He’s in agony and won’t let us give him anything for the pain. He keeps screaming that God won’t let him die. Legally, we can’t do anything. Even if we could medicate him, he likely wouldn’t last more than a week. We’ve got to get him into a private room. All that howling is agitating the other patients.”

Patrick shook her head. “He’s as crazy as they come, a true paranoid; but he presents rationally, so you’re right. You can’t touch him without his permission as long as he’s cogent, and that’s debatable.” The nun stood up and smoothed her grey wool jacket over her skirt. “I’m going down to talk with him.”

“Good luck,” said the nurse. “I don’t envy you.”

Within the hour Olympia was sitting up in bed and asking for something to eat. Her chaplain cohorts had withdrawn, and she was alone with Frederick and Jim when Patrick and the floor supervisor returned.

“If you can hold down some food, we can probably release you in a couple of hours,” said the nurse as she removed the oxygen tubes and took the plastic clothespin clamp from Olympia’s fingertip.

“Gee, I feel better already,” quipped Olympia.

“You should be resting, Olympia. You need to save your strength.”

The nurse leaned over and examined Olympia’s pupil reflex with a small flashlight. “Actually, once that stuff wears off, she’ll be fine. They can’t leave half-drugged animals to fend for themselves in the wild. It hits hard and then wears off really fast. Good eye response. You’re almost ready to go. Pass the food test, keep it down, give us some nice clean urine and you’re out. ” She clicked off the flashlight and left the room.

Olympia now had the use of her arms and legs and was about to try walking when Patrick came back into the room and pulled the door shut behind her. She looked badly shaken.

“You’re a very fortunate woman, Olympia. Luther Stuart just tried to kill you.”

“But …”

“I’d like you all to sit down, and I ask for your complete confidentiality before I say any more.”

Frederick pulled out a chair for Sister Patrick, and Jim sat on the end of Olympia’s bed. Frederick looked around for another chair. Finding none, he pulled up the commode, closed the cover and sat, waiting for Sister Patrick to continue.

“This likely will not come out in a court of law, because Luther is probably not going to live that long, although I believe there will be a formal investigation. He believes that God has called him to intervene in situations in which human beings are mechanically kept alive when they otherwise would have died. He tried to kill you because he believed you were going to interfere with his mission. He says he’s helped a number of people find their way home, and as soon as he’s better, he’ll go right back to doing it. There’s no way of telling whether he’s actually done anything or this is all part of his delusional construct.”

“But from what you said, he’s not going to get better,” said Frederick.

“I’d say it’s a matter of days—agonizing, horrible days. He won’t accept treatment for the pain because he says God is testing him.”

“That’s awful,” whispered Jim.

“The point is, we need to find out for sure if he actually killed anyone while he was sneaking in here, pretending to be a chaplain. We have a record of his attendance, and we have a record of the dates and times patients passed on that floor and in other parts of the hospital when he was on duty. Trouble is, if a death is expected, we almost never do an autopsy. There’s no reason to. He says he’s done it many times. He’s also half out of his mind with pain, but the other half is making perfect sense for a raving lunatic.” 

“So what’s next?” asked Jim. “Do you want me to go in there and offer him the Sacrament of the Sick and Dying?”

“I already asked. He told me he’s not Catholic, and he’s not dying.”

Olympia sat up and swung her feet off the bed. “I want to go down and see him.”

“Good God!” said Frederick. “The man just tried to kill you, and now you want to go visit him? Have you caught it from him? Are you out of your mind, as well?”

“I need to forgive him, Frederick, and I need to say goodbye. In his own twisted way, he loved me.”

“Hold on …”

“No, Frederick, I can do it, and I want to do it alone. You can help me walk down to his room, and you can stand outside the door, if you want, but this is something I have to do.”

“If she can walk on her own, then let her go,” said Jim.

That night, seated around the fire in Olympia’s living room, no one was saying very much until they heard something fall to the floor in the kitchen. Frederick got up to find Thunderfoot standing in the middle of an empty pizza box, happily chewing on the remains of a cheesy crust.

“Anyone want tea?”

“Actually, my darling, I’d like a huge glass of wine.”

“Make that two,” said Jim.

Frederick opened the cupboard in the kitchen and returned with the bottle under his arm, three glasses laced in the fingers of one hand and a corkscrew in the other. Olympia winced, but he managed to get it all to the coffee table without mishap, and in one grand pour he emptied the bottle.

Olympia took a huge double swallow, blew out a long breath and said, “I needed that.”

Jim was swirling his wine and holding it up to the light. “Now what? I mean, what can possibly happen next?”

“Well, the world isn’t going to stop because of what happened today. If I feel okay, then I’m going back to the hospital tomorrow, and at the moment I feel all right. We’ll see. Ask me tomorrow. There are only two more days after that, and then we’re off for the holidays. On Christmas Eve I’m going in to the women’s shelter with Timothea to help Jenny. Then Timothea’s going off to stay with her son for a couple of days. On Christmas day Patrick and Joel are going to be at the hospital, and I’m having a quiet dinner with my sons, you two and the cat. The day after, Boxing Day, both sons and Laura and the baby are all coming here for dinner. That was a brilliant idea, Frederick. It worked for everyone.”

“I have my uses.”

“Your sons are okay with it?” asked Jim.

“They’ve decided they want to meet their sister and their niece.”

Jim and Frederick simultaneously held up their glasses, and Olympia leaned back in her chair and smiled through her tears.

“I suppose that means we’ll have to get a Christmas tree,” said Frederick.

“We can do that this weekend.”

Jim took a sip of his wine and declared it … tolerable.

Olympia sighed and looked up at the ceiling. “I keep thinking about poor Luther.”

“I never asked what happened when you went in to see him,” said Jim.

“He thanked me for being so good to him, apologized for hurting me and then started to cry.”

“Poor bastard,” said Frederick.

“God have mercy on him,” said Jim.

December 24, 1861

The hour is late and everyone is asleep. The day has been consumed with Christmas preparations—decorating the house with holly branches and fresh greens, all the while keeping one curious cat and one curious little boy from rearranging it all before our wondering eyes. I hold a new respect for women who have numbers of children. Even with Aunt Louisa’s help I feel I should have more arms and legs than I possess. Meanwhile, I am determined that Jonathan’s first Christmas shall be a happy one. The gentleman from across the street has given us a little Christmas tree and also offered to take us all to church in his carriage. I accepted at once because the roads are rutted with snow and ice, and walking with an active little boy and an unsteady older aunt would have been most difficult. He has shown me many kindnesses and does not ask questions.

Perhaps one day in the New Year I shall ask him in to tea.

More anon, LFW

Sister Patrick called Olympia on Christmas morning to say that Luther Stuart had died just before dawn, and she and Joel had been there with him when he passed. In response to Olympia’s unasked question, Sister Patrick said only that they would have a circle of remembrance in the chapel when they returned in January, and until then, at least, she should consider the chapter closed.

Twenty-Five

On Boxing Day, Olympia’s antique farmhouse in Brookfield was full to bursting with holiday cheer and the shy curiosity of a newly constructed family trying to get their arms and hearts around what it all meant. Olympia would refer to them eventually as the in-laws, the out-laws, and the by-laws. Mercifully, they arrived sequentially so that each round of introductions went a little more easily than the one before.

Randall, her younger son, was the first to arrive. He loudly announced himself at the back door and declared he was going to be in charge of coordinating the meal. He prided himself on concocting incredible vegetarian creations for his mother and offered to do that and bring the turkey, as well. The latter he’d stuffed and partially cooked and planned to finish it off while he and his brother Malcolm, also a formidable cook, did the vegetables.

Jim, of course, was in charge of the wines. Frederick and Olympia spent one of the days before Christmas making traditional apple and mince pies, as well as a genuine English Christmas pudding, complete with silver charms and a lucky sixpence.  Laura, when she called to get directions and finalize times, asked if she could bring the appetizers. With the baby and all, she thought they would be the easiest to transport.

Olympia had the good sense to stand back and let the day unfold as it happened rather than to try and orchestrate it. Her children, all of them, were adults now, and what would be would be. The boys had known Jim for years as the Christmas and Easter uncle who brought the really good wine. Frederick had been in the picture for only a year, but he’d passed all the tests. Even though Olympia had told them all about Laura and shown them her picture, today they would actually meet her in person and come to terms with who and what she was—and oh, yes, by the way, establish their newfound status as uncle to baby Erica. It would be a lot more than just a holiday meal to digest, and it was already giving Olympia a touch of nervous stomach.