Pegasus in Space (12 page)

Sister Kathleen acknowledged the introductions in a sort of daze. Then Sister Epiphania came rushing out to stand beside her and the introductions were repeated. Sister Kathleen was aware that Carmen Stein was looking about from one knot to another of giggling girls, who had now realized the orphanage had received visitors of some importance. She did notice the tension in both Ms. Stein and in Tirla.

Suddenly, interrupting Lance Baden just as he was about to explain their presence here, Tirla went rigid and pointed.

“She’s there.”

“Yes, she is,” Carmen replied, a rush of relief and inexplicable joy flowing across her face.
Lord, but she’s broadcasting enough frustration and outrage for even Tirla to hear it
. “May we?”

“I don’t understand,” Sister Kathleen began, automatically taking a step to impede any invasion of the orphanage space.

“It is all right,” Lance Baden said, stepping forward and taking her hands in his.

And suddenly Sister Kathleen knew it was, though she didn’t know why or how. These people, even the gawky boy, radiated goodwill and confidence in the rightness of their presence here, this evening in the little orphanage outside Bogra. Kathleen Rose stepped back, wondering how they had disarmed her so completely.

“Oh, I’m so happy for her,” Sister Epiphania said in a tremulous voice.

“Happy for who?” Kathleen asked, staring in amazement at her fellow nun.

“You know?” Lance Baden asked Epiphania who smiled beatifically at him.

“For Amariyah, of course,” ’Phania said as if that were obvious.

“I don’t understand,” Kathleen said, shaking her head.

The dark girl, who looked part-Asian, was hurrying through the yard, past Amariyah’s former garden, the boy following in a most unusual gliding step. Ms. Stein followed more slowly, as if savoring the moment.

“Yes, we are come for Amariyah Bantam,” Kayankira said. “It has taken a long while to go through all the records after the flood, Sister Kathleen.” She held out a sweat-stained journal and opened to the page containing a photograph. Kathleen was arrested by the picture of a much younger Amariyah, sitting straight and proud between two lovely people who obviously adored their child.

“Oh!” The odd distancing Kathleen experienced was obliterated by a sense of tremendous loss, the loss of Amariyah. “Oh, dear Lord, I don’t think the child ever did wash her hands and face, or comb her hair. It’s all full of dead leaves.”

“Ah,” and Kayankira smiled understandingly, as if she knew all about the garden and Amariyah’s most uncharacteristic attack on Lila. “It is as nothing, for the essence of the child is known.”

The two Sisters now hurriedly followed the others toward the tree. How had this Tirla seen Amariyah? She was on the far side of the thick tree trunk, not at all visible from the gate. Yet, as the visitors, the nuns in their wake, skirted the girls, Tirla had reached Amariyah. She hunkered down and began talking earnestly—in Bangla—to the blue-eyed orphan. The tall boy hovered behind Tirla as Ms. Stein joined them, the most beautiful smile on her face as she leaned down, touching Amariyah gently on the forehead.

“We have come for you, Amariyah Bantam. You will have a garden all to yourself and no one will defile it.”

Those remarks stopped Sister Kathleen in her tracks, blinking in astonishment. Then it suddenly dawned on her that these people were psychics. They could read minds—and feelings. She hugged herself, even though she knew that the Church was tolerant of such phenomena, and worried about what her mind might have revealed to them.

Just then the squeal of brakes and the smell of petrol in the heavy air distracted her. Father Salih, too? Well, they had had the courtesy to inform him. That was correct. As if the photograph were not confirmation of her unusual waif’s identity. But she must know more before she released the child to their care. Ms. Stein was not a relative; although she was dark, she bore no resemblance to Amariyah. The birth mother had the same black hair as her daughter, with glints of red. Both parents had intelligent blue eyes.

“I have come as fast as it is possible to travel,” Father Salih was explaining as he joined those now observing Amariyah, Tirla, and Carmen Stein. The boy, Peter, still hovered, not intruding but very interested. Lance Baden and the Bureau Chief had stopped a distance from the trio, and now turned to shake hands with Father Salih. “Sister Kathleen, Sister Epiphania, it is all according to protocol. The bishop of Dhaka himself is
reassuring me. He is calling me on the system.” In excitement Father Salih often reverted to a purely Bangla cadence. “He is giving his approval for these good people to take our Amariyah with them. They are being most respectable folk, to guard, guide, and educate her. I am giving you reassurances on that head.”

Father Salih tended to be overly courteous but Sister Kathleen thought he would bow himself off his hips any moment if he weren’t careful. His eyes kept flicking to Amariyah, seated under the tree. She had ignored the approach of Tirla and Ms. Stein but when the woman had so gently touched her, she had begun to shake off her apathy, regarding them with gradually widening, surprised eyes.

“Oh, dear Lord,” ’Phania murmured distractedly in Kathleen’s ear, “just look at the state of her. Her hair,” a little moan, “and she didn’t really wash her face before supper.”

“No one has noticed, nor is it important,” Kathleen replied, sighing for the hole she knew would be Amariyah’s absence from her life. But at least the mystery of the orphan from Sirājganj was solved. Her parents had been married; she had been loved and cared for as a child.

Lance Baden, whose accent she had now recognized as Australian, was addressing her. He was holding out official-looking documents, handing her his personal card. Blinking at it, she saw that he was from the Adelaide Center, not bureau, of the Parapsychic.

“Kayankira has been assisting us in finding young Amariyah. I knew her parents, Tony and Nadezhda Bantam. We met at area conferences, Sister Kathleen, so when he and his wife were listed as missing, I tried—unsuccessfully, I’m sorry to say—to locate them. We had assumed that Amariyah, here, had also perished. Carmen Stein,” and he gestured to the woman who was now kneeling in front of Amariyah and gently holding her by the hand, “located her this morning.”

“You are psychics, aren’t you?” Sister Kathleen heard herself asking.

Lance gave her an understanding, kind smile. “We are.”

“She loves things that grow,” Kathleen said, and then pointed to the raked space by the outside fence. “Her garden! She could make anything grow, even in the dry season.” Kathleen blinked, wondering why she should think that would interest this man. Absently she handed the documents to Father Salih, who had politely stretched out his hand for them.

“Really?” and the single word was imbued with keen interest, not bored inquiry. “We shall encourage it.”

“She’ll settle in better with you if she has a garden.” Then Kathleen gave herself a stern shake. “Where are you taking her? Does she have family?”

“Yes. She will have family now.”

“Blood kin?” Kathleen didn’t know why she insisted.

“No, closer.”

Then Father Salih intruded on this quiet exchange, tapping the documents he was still holding. “Ah yes, now we know her surname. You must sign here, Sister Kathleen,” he said, handing her the papers and his pen. Then he turned around so she could use his back as a writing surface and she signed in her distinctive scrawl. Father Salih filled the space for witness with his precise tight handwriting.

“I think she’s glad to be going,” Sister Epiphania murmured to Kathleen, sounding upset.

“If she goes to where she will have a garden that will not be uprooted,” Kathleen began, “she will not fret.” She paused, controlling her private regret at losing the girl. “She is sure to be happy among those who are now her guardians.” Kathleen turned back again to Lance, touched his arm. “Is she psychic?”

“Possibly. That is why Carmen was able to locate her. She is young yet. Who knows where her Talent will lie?”

“In gardening, of course,” Sister ’Phania said, as close to being indignant as her gentle soul could get.

“Yes, gardening,” Lance replied. “Exactly so.”

The other girls had turned silent, their wide brown eyes watching. Lila had thrown the end of her sari over her face and she was visibly fuming that so much attention was being paid Amariyah. She glowered as Tirla, holding Amariyah’s hand, walked with the boy Peter and Ms. Stein to where the other visitors were standing.

“She
wants
to come with us,” Tirla announced to all as if there had been any doubt. “She’s to have a garden.” Tirla stopped and uncannily turned to stare at Lila, who gave another shriek and buried her face in her hands. “We will see that no one disturbs it.”

With that, Tirla led Amariyah, who did not so much as look in
Lila’s direction, toward the gate. As if in a daze, Amariyah turned back and, folding her hands in front of her chest, gave the two Sisters a deep bow.

“I thank you for your help and kindness,” she said in a formal tone. “I leave in sadness.”

Only Carmen and Tirla knew that there was no sadness at all in her mind as she proceeded to the ground vehicle.

“Go with God, child,” Kathleen said, making a quick sign of the cross at the departing orphan.

“Oh, dear, dear, dear,” Sister Epiphania said, wringing her hands until Kathleen patted them reassuringly.

“You will forgive our haste, Sister Kathleen, Sister Epiphania,”Kayankira was saying with much saluting and bowing. “We have come far today, we must return. We will send you a picture of Amariyah in her new home. She will be encouraged to write you. You will be happy for her. We are happy to have found her.”

Father Salih was again folding himself near in half, agreeing with everything the Delhi Bureau Chief was saying, which Lance Baden reaffirmed as they reached the ground vehicle and began climbing into it, Tirla ushering Amariyah in front of her, then sitting protectively beside her. The boy seemed to slide upward and took the jump seat while Lance settled in the driver’s seat with Kayankira beside him. Sisters Kathleen and Epiphania waved, Father Salih kept bowing, and then all the remaining girls—except Lila—rushed to the fence to wave and shriek farewell, good luck, and be healthy. The nuns made the sign of the cross and bowed their heads in prayer.

It took all Sister Kathleen’s store of reserve to continue with the evening. First she had to reassure Father Salih, who was having second thoughts—even though the bishop had authorized the transfer—about the sudden departure of the little one. Then she had to comfort Sister Epiphania and see the girls into their dormitories and settled for the night. Lila had been reduced to total silence by the inequity of Amariyah’s leaving when
she
was still in the orphanage and unmarried.

Her duties ended, Sister Kathleen climbed into the scant privacy offered by mosquito netting in the tiny room she shared with Epiphania. As she said her rosary, calmness seeped through her, and her aching, empty
heart. She fell asleep and dreamed of Amariyah in a garden of unusual blooms and plants, all thriving because of Amariyah’s loving care.

A
mariyah herself was asleep at this point, held on Carmen Stein’s lap as Peter Reidinger took them back to Jerhattan, their mission accomplished.

“S
he’s got a psionic mental signature,” Dorotea told Rhyssa when they had put the sleeping child to bed in the room Tirla had once occupied in Dorotea’s neat little house on the Henner estate. Despite her eighty-odd years, Dorotea sat bolt upright on the edge of her chair. Perhaps the glass of brandy was out of character for what she called her “sweet harmless old lady” look, but she needed the drink. The pregnant Rhyssa was sipping cranberry juice.

“You can’t guess what? Telepath, telekinetic, telempathy?” Rhyssa asked. Dorotea was their preeminent assessor of psychic abilities.

Dorotea shook her head, sighed in a heavy gust, and took another sip of her drink.

“Much too young to assess but it
is
there. She had quite a traumatic day.” Dorotea held up her hand as Rhyssa started to protest.
No, not the kinetic jump. She was fast asleep in Carmen’s lap. Lance Baden knew better than to give her more to deal with
. “No, I got the awful distress of that little witch uprooting her plants just to be malicious. That garden meant more to Amariyah than anything else. Food or drink or shelter. She doesn’t like water.” Dorotea grinned. A bath had definitely been in order for the dusty, disheveled child before settling her between clean sheets. Tirla had solved the little contretemps over getting into a bathtub by flinging off her own clothes and climbing in first. “Except to use on plants, of course.”

“It’d be normal for her to have a trauma about water, nearly drowning in the flood,” Rhyssa said.

“Hmmm, yes,” Dorotea murmured through the glass at her lips. She took a good swig. “However, she’s unlikely to have
that
particular problem here in Jerhattan unless she falls in the fish pond. Since she also has no
living relatives, and she
does
exhibit Talent, we’ll just have her made a ward of the Center. We’ve done that before to rescue children from far worse circumstances. Besides which, I can use help in the garden now it’s springtime. Or supposed to be.”