The Surrogate, The Sudarium Trilogy - Book one (27 page)

1:48

Father Jimmy didn’t dare stay on the main highway much longer. For the moment, there was nobody in the rear view mirror, but with all the snow, he couldn’t see that far behind him. The mini-van could be on their tail, just out of sight.

“How much further?” Hannah asked.

“Usually, it’s a two-and-a-half hour drive from my parents’ house to the cottage. With this weather, it’s hard to gauge.”

The cottage, built by Father Jimmy’s grandfather and winterized by his father, was located on lakefront property near Laconia. Development had come to much of the area, but the family, valuing its privacy, had held onto their 50-acre parcel of land over the years. No one would think to look for Hannah there, Father Jimmy reasoned, and the town was close enough for food and supplies - and a doctor - when the time came.

“I’m scared.”

“You don’t have to be. Nobody’s following us.”

There was no need to share his fears with her. The important thing was to get off the highway and onto the back road, which only the natives and longtime summer residents knew and used. But the weather was making it hard for Father Jimmy to recognize a landscape that he knew by heart in the summer months.

Up ahead, he saw the outcropping of rock and just beyond it, the narrow two-lane road that wound over the back-country and ultimately came out a few miles south of Laconia. He took a right and immediately felt safer. The snow would quickly fill in his tire tracks. The mini-van would continue on the main thoroughfare and eventually give up the chase. He waited until the road straightened out and he could remove one hand from the wheel.

“You can relax now,” he said, patting Hannah reassuringly on the shoulder. “This is the short cut. In the summer, it’s beautiful. You can’t tell now, but the whole area is dotted with lakes. As a kid I hiked every inch of it.”

The road reverted to a series of sharp curves and Father Jimmy put his free hand back on the wheel. Roads like this were the last to get plowed and he could sense the slipperiness under the tires. On either side of the road, in dark clumps of fir trees, branches were beginning to sag under their burden of snow. The headlights were offering less and less help. Father Jimmy had to rely upon instinct and his recollections of the terrain.

They were descending a fairly steep grade, but fortunately the Ford was holding steady. Memory told him there was a farmhouse and a cornfield up ahead on the right, then the road would flatten out and the driving would become easier.

“Stop!” Hannah’s voice cut into his thoughts like a knife.

He automatically slammed on the breaks the car went into a skid.

A wooden barrier had been erected across the road. Nailed to the center was a red octagonal sign, difficult to read in the snow.

“What does it say?” Hannah asked.

Father Jimmy wiped the humidity off the inside of the windshield.

Vehicles prohibited beyond this point
!

Puzzled, he opened the car door and got out. On the other side of the barrier lay a large, open field. Had they passed the farmhouse without seeing it? He didn’t think so. It was a two-story building, fairly close to the road and hard to miss. What had happened?

“Are they working on the road?” Hannah called to him.

More likely, Father Jimmy thought to himself, the road simply gave out here. Something was wrong. Had he turned off the highway too soon, mistaking one outcropping of rock for another? In this storm, anything was possible. In any case, there was nothing to do now but backtrack.

Not wanting Hannah to panic, he said, “I came too far, is all. It’s not serious. I wasn’t paying attention.”

“Get inside. You’ll catch cold.”

As he turned, he saw the yellowish glow first, a faint ball of light piercing the snow, but growing brighter by the second. Then the ominous shape of the mini-van came into view. His heart started to pound wildly. Behind the flickering windshield wipers he could make out the driver and the confident smile on his face.

The mini-van eased to a stop and Dr. Johanson and Marshall Whitfield stepped out on to the frozen ground.

“How fortunate we meet you here,” shouted out Dr. Johanson. “You are stuck, perhaps? You need us to give you the helping hand?” He picked his way over the uneven terrain, advancing unsteadily toward Father Jimmy, the smile of triumph spreading over his lips.

The priest didn’t think twice. Sliding behind the wheel, he threw the Ford into reverse, sending it lurching backwards, so that it nearly hit the two men, who dove out of its path. Then shifting into drive, Father Jimmy floored the accelerator. The tires spun furiously, churning up a wall of dirt and snow.

Skirting the wooden barrier, he piloted the car out into the open field. In the summer, the cornstalks would be tall and thick, but for now the land was flat and free of obstructions. The back of the car swerved like a fish’s tail. Father Jimmy spun the wheel one way, then the other, before bringing the vehicle under control. On the far edge of the field, he made out a clearing in the trees. It was his guess that the road picked up there. If not, he didn’t know what he would do. There was no other escape route.

They had reached the middle of the field, when Hannah turned in her seat to look back.

With some difficulty, the mini-van, larger and more cumbersome, had managed to circumvent the wooden barrier. It was in the field now, too, and the tracks that the Father Jimmy had laid down in the snow were allowing it to gain ground on them.

He put his full weight on the accelerator and felt the back wheels whir. Without four-wheel drive, any attempts to increase the speed were self-defeating.

The mini-van was closing the gap.

The cracking noise was unlike any they had ever heard. It began as the rumble of distant thunder, then turned into a series of retorts, like rifle fire magnified a hundred times, dry and crisp. The sound seemed to race across the field, bounce off the nearby hills and race back again, coming at them first from one side, then from the other, as if they were under siege and the noise itself were attacking them. A shiver of terror coursed through Father Jimmy’s body. For he understood instantly.

No farmer would be plowing this area come spring. They were not driving across a fallow cornfield. They were on a frozen lake and the ice had begun to split.

When he had been younger and skated these lakes, the very sound he was hearing now had sent him and his buddies scrambling for the shore for their very lives.

He renewed his attention on the clearing in the woods before them. It wasn’t the continuation of the road, he realized now, but a boat launch in the summer months. He headed for it blindly, his ears alert for the peals of thunder that would spell out their fate.

Behind them the first crack appeared as a zigzag in the snow, like lightening etched on a sheet of parchment. Seconds later water was seeping up through the rift, widening it and turning it black. Up ahead the snow was still pristine, its surface unbroken. But Father Jimmy knew that the cracks branched off from one another. It was only a question of time before the weight of the Ford would precipitate another break in the icy membrane that separated them from the frigid depths.

Then came the loudest detonation of all, deep and primordial, the sound of nature itself in rebellion. In the center of the lake, the ice pulled apart, revealing a caldron of wind-whipped water, flecked with shards of ice. The mini-van, unable to stop, skidded forward inexorably. For an instant, the front end seemed to hover magically over the void.

The underside of the mini-van made a raw scraping noise, not unlike a scream, as the vehicle and its passengers slowly tilted forward on the sharp ice, then dipped down into the water, almost timidly, like a reluctant swimmer, testing the temperature. Then gravity took over, exerting its quick and lethal force. In a matter of seconds, the rear end of the van rose up into the air and the vehicle itself plunged headfirst into the darkness, down through the weedy depths of the lake, where the pickerel would gather in schools come July to escape the heat, until it lodged with a silent crash on the lake floor. The windshield shattered on impact, the thick chunks of glass settling gently into crevices and crannies, where they could have been mistaken for the lost booty of a careless pirate.

Father Jimmy judged that the boat launch was only 100 feet away. If their luck held, they would make it. Now 50 feet separated them from land. The car let out a violent shudder, as it made contact with the concrete runway. The wheels took hold on the hard snowfall and it scampered up the bank, like a small animal, running for cover.

On the distant side of the lake, a seriously battered automobile idled by the shore. Teri stood by the wooden barrier, watching incredulously, as the rear end of the mini-van, rose up in the air, and then, its taillights still flashing red, plummeted from view.

She also saw Father Jimmy’s car climb the far bank to safety.

“I thought you told me you didn’t have a plan,” she murmured to herself.

1:49

For a long while afterwards, they drove in silence.

Finally, he reached over and took her hand. It was hot and clammy to the touch. She looked ill. He asked if the road was making her sick and offered to pull the car over to the side.

“No. It will pass. It usually does. Just keep going. Please.”

“It okay. No one can hurt you now.”

“I wasn’t thinking of now. What am I going to do when you leave? I’ll be all alone in the middle of nowhere. What if the others find me?”

Father Jimmy thought of the group leaving the house on Waverly Ave. They would find new leaders to champion their cause, their zeal stronger than ever.

“You won’t be alone,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

“For how long?”

“How long would you like?”

“Forever.” Her laugh acknowledged the absurdity of the request.

“Forever it is, then,” he said, eyes fixed on the road.

Although the response surprised her, it seemed perfectly natural, too. It was what she wanted him to answer. She couldn’t say if she loved Father Jimmy, but she loved the gentleness in him and felt safe in his presence. And wondered if that didn’t make, after all, for a kind of love.

“Are you joking?” she asked.

“No.”

“You’re serious?”

“Very.”

“But Father—”

“No, call me Jimmy from now on.”

It was then she noticed for the first time that he was no longer wearing his priest’s collar. He had on a khaki button-down sports shirt and a crew-neck sweater. It made him look different. Younger. More innocent.

“You don’t mean—

“Yes. I’m not going back, either,” he said.

The silence was marked only by the swish-swish of the windshield wipers, laboring overtime. Finally, she said, “Can I ask you something, Jimmy.”

“Of course.”

“Who do you think this baby really belongs to?”

“I think he belongs to you.”

“So do I. I couldn’t stand it if he was ever taken away from me.”

“But I won’t let that happen.”

Although the Ford was barely traveling 20 miles per hour, Jimmy eased up on the accelerator. He asked himself how much longer they could continue. They hadn’t seen another car going in either direction for a while. It felt as if they were driving off the end of the world.

“Jimmy?”

“What?”

“Do you believe this child really is…you know, who the Whitfields said it is.”

“That’s impossible to know.”

“But what do you think?”

“I think …” What did he think? If the blood on the sudarium was Christ’s, maybe the child was divine. But the cloth could have had bound a beggar’s head or wiped a centurion’s wound. What if the blood was that of a leper, who’d come to Jesus asking to be cured; or a charlatan peddling trinkets on Golgotha the day of the crucifixion? Or what if it came from another time and place entirely, from someone who tilled the fields or murdered men or built houses or wrote poetry? There was no way to tell. Anything was possible. Faith was his only guide.

“I think,” he finally said, “that this child will be whoever he is and will do what he must. Like every child that’s born, he will have the opportunity to save the world or destroy it.”

The first piercing pain came upon Hannah with the swiftness of a fist hitting her in the stomach. She let out a cry. Then it was gone and for a moment, she was left wondering if she had really felt it.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes … how much longer now?”

She was acting as if nothing had happened, but he heard the complaint in her voice.

“I’m not sure. Perhaps we should stop at a motel now. This storm is only getting worse.”

She was grateful for the suggestion. “Could we?”

Ten minutes later, they spotted a sign for a Motel Six and Jimmy pulled the car up to the lobby. It was a relief for him to turn off the motor and rub his eyes. Hannah bent forward and tried to stretch the knots out of her spine.

The clerk in the office was watching a small television set behind the desk. With mild annoyance, he pulled himself away from an expose about celebrity breast implants.

“I need two rooms for the night.”

“Two rooms? Buddy, you’d be lucky if I had one. We’re all full up.”

“In this weather?”

“Are you kidding? They started arriving this morning before the snow began. Hell, as soon as the weather forecast was announced, our phone was ringing off the hook. The skiing is going to be awesome tomorrow.”

“Where’s the next closest place?”

“There’s a Radisson just down the road, but I can guarantee they’re full up, too. They’ve been sending people here.”

The clerk was right about the Radisson.

“I guess we have no choice, but to keep moving,” Jimmy told Hannah.

“Then, I think I’d like to ride in the back seat, if that’s okay.”

Her stomach felt different - the baby sitting lower in her abdomen than before. At least she thought that’s what it was. Normally, she would have talked over these matters with Dr. Johanson, but once that relationship started deteriorating, she’d stopped asking him any questions, and then, well…what happened, happened.

She remembered that the baby would drop eventually and that when it did, you were down to your finals weeks or your final days. She didn’t want to alarm Jimmy. This couldn’t be the moment, because the due date wasn’t until next week. Next Wednesday, by her calculations. Or was it Tuesday? And today was…what was today? … The last few days had left her mind a blur of fear and fatigue.

Jimmy balled up his parka into a pillow and helped Hannah lie down in the back seat. Then, he eased the car back onto the road. There was virtually no one about. The light from the street lamps was reduced to pale circles on the ground, while the Ford’s headlights reached no more than 40 feet ahead of the vehicle, then stopped, as abruptly as if they’d hit a wall. He adjusted the rear view mirror so he could keep an eye on Hannah.

She was breathing hard and shifting positions frequently, unable to get comfortable.

Now and then, a quiet moan escaped her lips.

He had never felt so helpless before, so cut off from the universe. He started to pray.

Faintly, through the black night and the white snow, he saw the reddish glow of a neon sign. The Ford was nearly upon it by the time he was able to read the letters:

COLBY MOUNTAIN CABINS

“Please tell me you have a room,” he said, before the office door had even closed behind him.

A portly woman in her 60s looked up from the paperback she was reading.

“I’m sorry, dear, nothing.”

The hope drained out of him. They couldn’t push on any further.

“Anything, I don’t care.”

“I’m afraid it’s the beginning of the ski season. The first good storm brings people out in droves. You should have made a reservation in advance.”

“What am I going to do?” he said to no one in particular. Jimmy looked at the sorry Christmas tree that stood on the check-out counter. The tiny colored lights were reflected in the reading glasses, perched on the end of the woman’s nose.

“I think my … my … wife … is about to have a baby,” he blurted out.

“Where is she?”

“In the car.”

“Good heavens.” The book slid off the woman’s lap. “Get her in here immediately.”

In the short time he was in the office, the car had been covered with a layer of wet snow. He couldn’t see Hannah until he opened the back door. Her eyes were wide and she was panting.

“I think my water broke.”

The woman peered over Jimmy’s shoulder in astonishment. “We’ve got to get you to a warm place. Try to get up, dear. It’s only a few steps.”

“I can’t move,” Hannah whimpered. “It’s happening. Now.”

“The garage is out back,” the woman said to Jimmy. “Pull your car in there. There’s a space next to mine.”

With unexpected alacrity for one of her age and bulk, she disappeared around the side of the office and had the garage door up, when the Ford approached. The garage was filled with lawn furniture and gardening tools, all the left-over paraphernalia of the summer season. A bare light-bulb burned overhead.

The woman cracked the back door of the car and looked in. “Can you get out now, honey?”

Hannah shook her head no. The contractions were coming stronger in giant waves of pain that rippled through her and left her spent once they passed. She was experiencing a kind of primal ebb and flow over which her mind had no control. Her body had taken charge and seemed to be operating independently of her will. She had an overpowering urge to bear down.

“I’ll be right back,” the woman said, dashing out of the garage.

“Jimmy?”

“I’m here, Hannah.” He slid in the back seat, and propped up her head and shoulders on his lap. As another contraction hit, she latched on to his hand and squeezed tightly.

“It’s okay,” he said, brushing her forehead with his free hand, wanting to take away some of the pain. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

In a moment, the woman was back with a younger, curly-haired woman in her late thirties. “She’s a doctor,” the older woman explained. “There’s usually one or two staying here. I knocked on every cabin door until I found her.” She was proud of her ingenuity in a crisis.

“Are you having contractions?” the doctor asked.

“Yes.”

“Let me take a look.”

Hannah’s tights and sweat pants were soaking wet, and the doctor was unable to peal them off her. She spotted a pile of lounge chair pads, stacked neatly in a corner, and ordered the older woman to lay them out on the garage floor.

“Quick,” she barked. “We’ve got to get her out of the car.”

While Jimmy supported Hannah’s upper body, the doctor guided her lower body onto the mats and promptly ripped away the encumbering clothes. Once again, Jimmy cradled Hannah’s head in his lap. Dropping to her knees, the doctor spread Hannah’s legs and saw that the infant’s head had begun to emerge.

“This one’s not about to wait for anybody,” she said. “The baby’s crowning.”

The irresistible urge to push came over Hannah and a rhythmic intensity seized her pelvic muscles. Perspiration drenched her face.

“Atta girl! You can do it. Breathe deeply. You’re doing a great job.”

With one final push, Hannah let out a cry and the child dropped into the hands of the doctor. A gush of blood flooded the top mat.

The hush in the garage seemed to extend to the world outside. The wind died down momentarily and the tall pines stood still and stately. The doctor lifted up the baby and massaged its back. There was a gasp, as the baby sucked in its first breath of air, followed by a healthy wail.

The doctor laid the child on Hannah’s stomach and tied off the umbilical cord. “Congratulations,” she said. “You have a beautiful baby boy.” Then she wrapped him in a white towel with Colby Mt. Cabins embroidered in script along the edge and placed him gently in Hannah’s arm.

The shock of black hair was what Hannah saw first, then the blue eyes, and the little hand scrunched up into a fist… and then she stopped seeing details and felt the wholeness of the tiny being, who was nestled against her breast.

“No matter how many times I witness it, it’s still a miracle,” marveled the doctor.

“I think he looks just like his father, don’t you?” the older woman cooed.

It was then that Jimmy noticed that other people were present in the garage, too. Word had spread through the cabins that a child was being born that very minute and curiosity had brought them out to verify it for themselves. In the doorway that connected the garage with the office, there was a couple with a boy of nine or ten. A group of college kids hung back awkwardly and watched from the driveway. Nobody spoke, content to admire the blonde mother, the handsome dark-haired father and their shining child.

The young boy, who had been straining for a better view, ventured forward timidly.

“This is for the baby,” he said. He held up a blue ball with small silver stars on it. “I have another one just like it.” He placed the ball on the mat beside Hannah, stepped back and asked, “What’s his name?”

Hannah looked down at the baby, and the bright eyes seemed to look back at her. Then she tilted her head so she could see Jimmy.

“What are we going to call him?”

There in the garage of the Colby Mountain Cabins, somewhere in New Hampshire, while the snow fell silently, everybody waited for the answer.