Embracing Darkness (33 page)

On the third step Arthur Nichols heard a thump at the opposite end of the hallway. Deciding that bed could wait a bit longer, he walked to the door behind which was Zachary and pressed his ear against it but heard nothing. As much as a disciplinarian Mr. Nichols could be during his days as a schoolteacher, he was afraid of Zachary Black and couldn’t rightly say why. It all came down to what he had said before about not liking the boy’s eyes. They looked sinister to him; what’s more, they looked evil.

After standing quietly in front of Zachary’s door for about a minute, Arthur Nichols turned on his heel and walked back toward the stairs. Spotting something shiny, he bent down to pick it up. It was a ring, a rather large one, made of gold with a cross on top. Nichols inspected it more closely, turning it upside down. He immediately spotted a tiny inscription inside the band: “To Phineas. May God always shine upon you in the priesthood.—Love, Mom.”

Mr. Nichols returned to the room where Jonas and Father Poole still were. Jonas had just finished pulling down the bedclothes and was removing his overalls as Father Poole came walking out the door. “Oh, Father,” Arthur Nichols said. “I found this in the hallway. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to lose it.”

Father Poole was baffled. Fitting the ring loosely around the first joint of his index finger, he twirled it slowly with his thumb. His friend noticed an air of disquiet on the priest’s face.

After a long pause Father Poole said, “You say you found this over there on the floor?”

“Yes,” Nichols replied, “not far from the steps. It’s funny that we didn’t see it before.”

“I would have noticed it,” said Father Poole, brooding over the ring. I have a habit of surveying the floor every time I clear the landing. We sometimes get mice, and I always keep a sharp lookout for them.”

“Were you aware that you’d lost this ring, Father? Did you know it was missing?”

Father Poole closed his eyes for a moment and then said, “This ring was a gift from my mother upon my entering seminary. I’ve only worn it a handful of times because she would always remind me of how expensive it was and how it would break her heart if I ever lost it. I haven’t worn the ring in years. In fact, the last time I wore it was for my ordination. That was a good many years before I came here. It’s been sitting in a ring box in my dresser all this time.”

Arthur Nichols quietly added, “Until now.”

Father Poole walked quickly over to the far end of the hallway. Mr. Nichols was quick to respond. “Do you think… ?” then stopped short of any accusation. “I mean, do you need any help, Father?”

Without turning around, the priest answered, “No, thank you, Arthur. Thank you for everything. You’ve been a great help to me today and to the children. Kindly let yourself out. I’ll handle this myself.”

Father Poole went into his study, retrieved one of his copies of the Bible, and then returned to Zachary’s room. He swung open the door. It was pitch black; there was no moonlight. Father Poole slammed his hand against the wall where the light switch was and the brightness of the solitary bulb lit up the room brilliantly as its glow radiated off the white walls. Zachary was asleep on the floor, facing the door. The sack that he had been carrying now acted as his pillow. Father Poole bent down and violently yanked it away, causing Zachary’s head to hit the wooden floor with a thump.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the boy yelled, and sat up. He began rubbing the side of his head and squinted his eyes, which were still adjusting to the light. At first Zachary thought it was Arthur Nichols. He knew that the man didn’t like him, a feeling that was mutual for Zachary, and assumed the man had come back to make trouble for him. As his eyesight adjusted, the boy made out the tall, slender build of the priest. His blond hair came into focus, as well as his black clothes and white collar.

“Whatcha fixin’ to do, Preacher? Kill me?” Zachary said.

The rain continued to tap against the window as a brief flash of lightning shot across the dark sky. A few seconds later a distant clap of thunder could be heard, which was quite rare for this time of year. Father Poole had decided not to come right out and reveal what he had found. He deeply wanted to give Zachary the benefit of the doubt.

“I see you’d already gone to sleep,” the priest said.

“I was until you done pulled my sack from under my head.”

“A bit hard to sleep without a blanket in a cold room smelling of paint fumes, wouldn’t you say, Zachary?”

“I managed.”

Father Poole walked over to the window. “Better to be sleeping in here than out there, I think,” said Phineas. “Am I right?”

“Preacher, I don’t know what it is you’re getting at, so… .”

“I’m only saying, Zachary Black, that I saved you from abandonment. I don’t expect you to understand fully my motives for doing so, or to appreciate the risk I’m taking by letting you stay here. All I ask is that you be grateful and know there is someone here for you, even if your parents have all but disowned you. A stranger took you in because you are a child of God.”

Zachary rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “Preacher, I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

The rain began to let up, in contrast to Father Poole’s temper. “What can you tell me about this?” he said, throwing the ring to Zachary.

The boy, confused, reached for the ring, which had landed on his crotch. He picked it up slowly. “So what are you saying, Father?” he said coldly. “You wanna say I
took
this from you?”

“How do you know that was what I was going to say?” the priest replied.

“That’s what you’re fixin’ to do, ain’t it? Accuse me of burglarin’?”

“Zachary, did you take this ring from my room?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“All I want is a simple answer, boy. Yes or no?”

“It’s late, Preacher. Can’t we do this in the morning?”

“YES OR NO?”

The boy’s eyes narrowed when the priest shouted at him. He tossed the ring to the side, stood up, and went for his shoes. “I’m not welcome here. I can see that. If you wanna blame someone for thievery, you best go ask that darkie in there. Ain’t it always them that’s stealin’?”

As Zachary shoved his right foot into a shoe, Father Poole began to undo the cord of Zachary’s sack. The boy turned quickly and snatched it away from Phineas.

“You ask me to be respectin’ your property. Then you’d best be respectin’ mine!”

He tried feverishly to retighten the cord, but not before Father Poole lunged at him and grabbed it again. The two pulled back and forth as in a tug of war until they heard a loud rip. The bag’s contents spilled onto the floor.

“GODDAMN IT!” Zachary shouted, throwing his piece of sack to his feet.

There lay two adult magazines, a pair of black socks, a gold-plated crucifix from the dining room, a pair of trousers, a toy horse, a pocket watch, gold cufflinks, two shirts, an array of silverware, a gold chain with a cross on it, bloomers, an opened pocket knife with dried blood on the blade, an imitation Fabergé egg, a glass ashtray, a slingshot, two gold-plated candlesticks, and a bird feather.

Father Poole’s mouth dropped open. He never thought that this boy, who should have been grateful to him for his kindness and generosity, could ever do such a thing. Zachary was now cowering, waiting for a thrashing, but the priest simply stood there, gazing down at the proof of sins this boy had committed.

“Thou shall not steal, Zachary. Were your parents not God-fearing people? Did they not teach you about truth and morality?”

Zachary didn’t say a word. He too remained frozen in place, staring down at the contents of his bag.

“My spare pocket watch, our silverware, my good cufflinks, our candlesticks and crucifix.” Phineas bent down and picked up the gold chain. “Did you take this cross from Mrs. Keats?”

Zachary still kept silent. Father Poole sighed in disapproval. “I want to help you overcome your wretched life, boy. Truly I do, but I can’t abide stealing. This afternoon I thought I had reached into your soul, found the source of your anger, and tamed it. But now I wonder. Are hate and dishonesty all you know?”

Father Poole put the chain in his pocket and collected all the other articles that belonged to him and the church. He then started to leave, stopped at the threshold, and put his free hand up to the light switch. “You’re still welcome to stay if you wish,” Father Poole added, “but I want you to know something. If you do stay, you’ll need to start pulling your own weight around here.”

“Alright,” the boy replied. “I mean, I ain’t got no one else.”

Father Poole expected to feel an ache in his heart when he heard this, but he didn’t. He now saw Zachary Black for what he was—someone without a conscience, a boy who perhaps had no soul. He dropped the Bible onto Zachary’s bedding.

“I’ve always said in my sermons, Zachary Black, that there is good in all men, but I’m not so naïve to think that all men lead good lives.” Father Poole pointed to the Bible with his chin. “Read it, Zachary. It may give you a better idea of how we, as children of the Lord, are expected to behave. It might teach you things I can’t.” And with that admonition Father Poole switched off the light, wished the boy a good night, and slowly closed the door.

Zachary stared at the door for several seconds before picking up the Bible. He opened it and began reading: “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth. And the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God moved upon the face of the waters. And God said, Let there be light: and there was light. And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness. And God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And the evening and the morning were the first day.”

It was at that moment that Zachary understood what darkness really was—something not yet touched by God. And he related to it, he who’d never been helped by God, never loved, never watched over. He was, as his name suggested, black like primordial darkness.

About halfway through the night, Zachary was awakened by the sound of his door creaking open. He quickly sat up and asked, “Who’s there?”

Sister Ignatius walked into the room and flicked on the light switch. Again Zachary squeezed his eyes shut at this nocturnal visit.

“Damn, lady! Don’t you people sleep ’round here? I can get a better night’s shuteye sleepin’ in a barn!”

“Watch your mouth, boy,” the nun scolded. “That kind of language is not permitted around here. You show some respect.”

Zachary chuckled. “Oh really? Didn’t I hear you telling that gimpy groundskeeper to keep his goddamn eyes off your t-i-t-s?”

The nun grimaced at the comment before touching the freshly painted walls, sliding her flattened palm up and down them. “This is my spare room,” she said. “It’s my room for quiet time. I want you to use one of the other rooms. There’s one over by the stairs on the other side of the hallway. It has a bed.”

Zachary sneered. “Yes, I know. The preacher’s got that darkie sleepin’ in there.”

“Darkie?”

“How do you like that? Give a darkie a bed, and make a white boy take the floor?”

“Are you sure that’s how it happened?”

“What do you mean?”

“That bed is more than large enough to accommodate two boys your age.”

“I won’t bed with no colored.”

“I see.”

“That priest knew it too, so he let me come in here. No bed and the place reeking of paint.”

“Ah yes!” replied Sister Ignatius. “The paint!” She closed her eyes, lifted her head slightly, and took in the odor. “We’ve had this room painted several times over the past few years. Every couple of weeks, as a matter of fact.” It was as if, for a split second, she had forgotten to whom she was talking. “Never mind, boy. The point is that you shouldn’t be in here. I want you to find another room. There are plenty throughout this rectory.”

Zachary reluctantly got up and headed for the door. “This is a big place,” he said. “Why ain’t there lots more people living here?”

Sister Ignatius didn’t answer, and after several seconds of silence Zachary assumed that she wouldn’t. As he walked out the door, the nun said, “It’s a good thing there
is
room, boy. Room enough for you
and
the black boy to sleep separately.”

Morning came just a few hours later. Father Poole eagerly ran down his private staircase to the second floor and raced over to the last door on the left. He was eager to see whether Zachary had run away during the night. He opened the door slowly. To his dismay the room was empty. It was nearing 6:30, and Mrs. Keats would be setting breakfast on the table in half an hour. The priest closed the door and then heard voices downstairs. Sister Ignatius and Jessica had come over from the Benson house for breakfast.

Father Poole then realized that he needed to check on Jonas. With all his worrying over Zachary, he’d all but forgotten the other boy. He walked down the hallway and knocked on Jonas’s door. “Are you up, son?” he inquired.

Jonas opened the door slowly, apparently wide awake.

“Did you sleep well, son?” Father Poole asked.

“Yes sir. I sleep fine las’ night. Thank you for the use o’ your bed, sir. It was mighty comfortable.”

Father Poole thought that the boy was going to mention his parents and then break down into hysterics, but he didn’t. Together the two walked down to breakfast. Sister Ignatius was already sitting at the table, where she had placed the large typewriter that usually sat on her desk in the room just outside Father Poole’s office. She began to type. Phineas told Jonas to make himself comfortable in the sitting room, pointing in its direction. He assumed that Jessica had either gone there or was visiting Mrs. Keats in the kitchen. Either way the little girl would be safe with someone older to watch her.

“What are you doing, Sister?” the priest inquired.

“Good morning to you too, Father,” Sister Ignatius said in an unapproachable tone.

“Forgive me. Good morning, Sister Ignatius.”

She grunted and continued typing. Her mood swings were at times more than Father Poole could bear, but he breathed in deeply and looked up at the ceiling as if begging the Lord for strength to tolerate her abrupt shifts from congeniality to indifference and derision.