Embracing Darkness (28 page)

“Is there an aunt or uncle?” Father Poole asked. “Grandparents? Godparents? Anyone at all I can call for you?”

No answer came from the boy.

“I won’t leave you here alone, Zachary.”

Phineas Poole knew his duties as a priest and good Christian: be compassionate; show charity to all; protect the innocent.

“So besides your father you have
no
one
?”

After a long pause Zachary sat back, having finished tying his shoelaces. “Yeah,” he said.

“Do you mean I’m right that you have no one or that you
do
have someone?”

“Yeah, I have
no
one
,” he lied.

He had his grandparents, of course, but he didn’t really know them and had no desire to live with two old people who would eventually discover that they couldn’t control him. Father Poole sighed deeply, took off his spectacles, removed a linen cloth from his pocket, fogged up his lenses, and began to wipe them. As he did so, Zachary remembered an old man at the bank a few weeks back when he’d gone there with his mother to cash the check her father had sent them. The old man looked affluent and took off his glasses to clean them the same way Father Poole was doing now. Then Zachary remembered a comment his father had made about how churches didn’t have to pay property tax and so must have more money than God. Zachary thought how he’d sell his soul to the devil for just one hour in the priest’s living quarters to relieve him of some of that fortune. Then he wouldn’t need his lousy parents or this priest or anyone ever again.

“Then you’re coming with me,” said Father Poole, putting his glasses back on. “I won’t let you remain alone here. I don’t want you to feel ever again as though you have no one.”

Zachary quickly jumped off the couch, and said, “Alright. Let’s go!”

The boy’s sudden enthusiasm took Father Poole by surprise, but it didn’t stem from gratitude for the cleric’s kindness. Zachary Black’s plan was simple. He’d already manipulated the priest, he thought, into letting him stay at the church. Zachary would stay one or maybe two nights; then, during the day, he would sneak around the place and find out where all the valuables were kept. He remembered reading an excerpt from
Les
Misérables
that his mother had given him during one of his home-school lessons
.
He recalled Jean Valjean’s being accepted into the bishop’s house, where the holy man gave him food and shelter. Jean Valjean in turn robbed the bishop of all his valuables. This was Zachary Black’s plan.

Arthur Nichols emerged from the kitchen just as Zachary was running up the stairs to get some clothes and a few odds and ends. “Where’s
he
going?” asked Mr. Nichols, still holding Jessica, who had now fallen asleep in his arms.

“He’s getting a few things together. I’m taking him back up to the church. He’s going to stay with me.”

“What? How? Can you do that?”

“I’m the only priest up there. I won’t have to answer to anyone. It’ll be fine.”

“I don’t like his eyes, Father. There’s something about that boy I don’t like.”

“Oh, come now! He’s a frightened boy, Mr. Nichols, frightened and alone. His hardness is a mask, a shield to protect him from his misery. He’s lost his mother, who apparently cared little for him, and now is leaving his father who beat him. He’s losing his home, a beautiful home that he’s lived in for who knows how long. Try to understand.”

The stairs were pounded by heavy footsteps as Zachary came hurriedly down. Over his shoulder he had a bag with the belongings he chose to take with him: two shirts, an extra pair of trousers, two pairs of clean bloomers, two pairs of black socks, his toy model horse, two of his favorite dirty magazines (courtesy of his father), a slingshot, and a pocketknife.

Entering the living room where the two men were standing, Zachary went over to the couch, lifted up a cushion, pulled out two more dirty magazines, and quickly shoved them into his bag. Father Poole was now holding little Jessica, who was still fast asleep with her head resting on the priest’s shoulder. Arthur Nichols stood before Zachary holding Jessica’s half-consumed glass of apple juice. Zachary Black stared at the three of them and, flashing a sinister smile, said, “I’m all set. Let’s go.”

SIXTEEN
The Newest Residents of Holly Hill
 

Father Poole and Arthur Nichols, accompanied by Zachary Black and Jessica Benson, reached the foot of Holly Hill at a little past 11:00. The cold, early morning November air numbed their nostrils, and the wind caused their eyes to water. Winter was quickly roaring in, and summer was now no more than a distant memory.

Zachary could see the church at the summit and realized there was no road for a car. He observed instead a narrow path that led up to the rectory’s steps. His nose began to throb again from his father’s blow. He clasped the bandage that Dr. Honigmann had managed to put on him after setting the bone, something Zachary didn’t appreciate because he believed that the repair of his broken nose hurt worse than when he’d broken it. Zachary squeezed it a little harder and felt a sharp pain shoot to his temples. Part of his white bandage suddenly became stained red, and a small amount of blood trickled from his nose. A wave of frustration came over him at the prospect of climbing the hill, which seemed to be longer than it was steep.

Jessica was beginning to fidget in Mr. Nichols’ arms, so he passed her over to Father Poole. “Honey,” Mr. Nichols said, “you’re going to need to be still for Father Poole. Otherwise you’ll need to walk. That is, unless the boy here wants to hold you.”

Zachary curled his mouth and glared at him. Mr. Nichols saw the boy scowl and immediately turned away, playing over in his mind what he wished he could tell Father Poole right then and there, if only the boy weren’t walking three feet beside him.
It’s
his
eyes,
Father.
As
I
said
before,
there’s
something
behind
those
eyes.
I
can’t
quite
make
it
out,
you
understand.
Perhaps
it
comes
from
working
for
so
many
years
with
children.
You
kind
of
get
to
know
who
the
good
ones
are
as
well
as
the
rotten
apples.
Be
careful
of
this
one,
Father.
He’s
got
a
mean
streak
in
him.
I
can
see
it.

Father Poole took a deep breath. “Okay, Zachary. This is what we call “The Path to Salvation,” salvation being that white building at the top with the steeple.”

Arthur Nichols noted the boy’s rigid expression, similar to what he’d seen many times at Wheelwright Academy. It was the way a teacher reacted to a student whose homework wasn’t done correctly or whose behavior was less than congenial. It was an air of contempt mixed with subtle anger and disappointment; mostly a cocktail of feelings reserved for those later on in years who’ve had practice with disillusionment. In Arthur Nichols’ view, Zachary gave the impression of a boy not yet matured into manhood but whose bitterness was already quite unmistakably ripened.

The group then began the ascent. About halfway up the hill Zachary slowed down, his respiration sounding labored. He hunched over and put his hands on his knees. Arthur Nichols pointed to the boy with his chin. It seemed peculiar to both men that they had more energy than a teenager.

“What’s the matter, boy?” Nichols asked.

“I’m fine,” Zachary snapped.

“It’s really quite beautiful from the top,” Father Poole interrupted, trying his best to break the obvious tension between Arthur Nichols and Zachary Black. “You can see the whole of Holly, as well as all the surrounding farms. And if you look to the south side of the summit, you’ll be able to see the dome of the Exeter Town Hall in the distance. Our own town hall pales in comparison, I must admit.”

These last words caught Arthur Nichols’ attention. As a lifelong resident of Holly, he agreed that his town was overshadowed by the far more prosperous community of Exeter.

“Everything is smaller in Holly,” he replied, “even the rats.”

Father Poole chuckled at the comment Arthur Nichols had made, but Zachary stopped, causing both men to follow suit. The boy straightened up before Nichols.

“Who are you callin’ a rat?” Zachary said, with anger etched in his face.

Arthur Nichols was speechless. He didn’t mean anything offensive by his choice of words. It was simply a coincidence that he had chosen a word that could make for a good joke as well as offend a boy who, as close as any human could, resembled a giant rodent.

“Why did you say ‘rat’?” pursued Zachary. “My mamma and daddy always called me a rat when they were talking about me. They’d say, ‘Where’s the rat got to?’ and ‘See if the rat wants dinner’ or ‘Tell the rat to clean his room.’ Why should you be any different?”

“That’s not what I meant at all, Zachary. I want you to know that I would never say anything to hurt anyone, especially a little boy. I would venture to say that most people are like that.”

Zachary reacted slightly to Arthur Nichols’ use of the phrase “little boy.” He replied, “I only know what my mamma and daddy said. And daddy always claimed that I was rodent-like.” He then continued walking, rather fast now and seemingly not out of breath.

They reached the top of the hill two minutes later. Zachary had beaten them up there by just short of half a minute. With his back still to them, Zachary ogled at what he could see of the great maple just beyond the rectory. Only a small portion of the branches was visible from where he was standing. He also perceived that it was the only tree on the hill and appeared to be immense. Although he had lived in Holly his whole life, Zachary, who never went out much, had never before seen Holly Hill or its solitary maple.

Instead of walking up to the rectory, Zachary turned right and walked around the building. Father Poole passed Jessica over to Arthur Nichols and asked him to bring her inside to Sister Ignatius.

“She’ll be all too happy to take the babe from you,” said the priest. “She’ll also have a variety of questions, I’m sure, such as why I came back with Jessica and who that boy is out back. Tell her I’ll be in presently to explain.”

After the two men parted, Father Poole traced Zachary’s steps in the dead, flattened grass. When he cleared the side of the rectory, he watched Zachary approach the trunk of the great maple. Zachary was looking up at the vast branches, noticing how the limbs twisted and curved around one another, and he began to feel intimidated by the thought of trying to climb such a monster. He began kicking at the trunk and knocked off large pieces of bark.

“That tree is an old and dear friend of mine,” Father Poole said kindly. “I’ll ask you to treat her with respect.”

The boy stopped kicking and stomping. Still keeping his head down, he walked around to the tree’s other side from the left. Father Poole put his hands in his pockets, lowered his head too, and walked around the tree from the right.

“Nothing makes any sense right now, I’ll bet.”

The boy said nothing.

The priest’s nostrils whistled slightly as he inhaled the cold air. He glanced up into the tree as Zachary had done moments earlier, but not with the trepidation that the boy had felt.

“Notice anything interesting about the tree, Zachary?” Father Poole asked.

Zachary kept his head down, his eyes still fixed on his feet.

“Look up at her, Zachary.”

He didn’t but instead started kicking the trunk again.

The priest sighed. “Alright, boy. At least listen.”

With these last words Zachary studied the wide expanse of dead grass, which by now was dry and brittle. He even ceased the assault of his foot on the tree.

“You hear it?” asked Father Poole.

There was a faint sound of chirping high up in the tree.

“Look up into that great old tree, Zachary.” said Father Poole.

He did.

“You hear the chirping of a baby red tip hawk. Its nest is perched high in the tree. You can see it clearly. The mother hawk is gone now. She’ll leave him with enough nourishment to fend for himself. He’s still a fledgling, but in time he’ll be strong enough to fly and catch his own food, yet he still cries for her.”

“I know you’re crying inside for your mother,” Father Poole continued. “I know she left you, and I bet you feel a bit like that fledgling up there. But he’ll survive, and you’ll survive, won’t you? ’Cause you’ve got a friend now who will protect you.”

Zachary immediately gave his back to the priest.

“I meant what I said back at your house, boy. I don’t want you to feel as though you’re alone.”

“Why do I feel that way then?” Zachary asked.

Phineas could see the tears well up in Zachary’s eyes. He quickly brought the boy to his chest and hugged him tightly. Zachary reciprocated. Phineas then took his right hand and stroked the boy’s head, letting his thick locks of reddish brown hair run through his fingers. Zachary withdrew, pushing Father Poole away with the heels of his hands. He wiped his eyes and sucked the snot that had collected in his nose back into his throat and swallowed it.

Father Poole beamed at the boy, feeling as though he had broken through the hardness that comes from years of neglect and resentment. “I’m going to get you settled inside,” he said. “We’ll put you in your own room with your own bed. And you can come and go as you like. Mrs. Keats will prepare all your meals for you, and you will stay here until… .”