Anna met Jack’s eye over the girls’ heads and understood that he had most probably reached the same conclusions she had come to. There would be time enough to talk about it, once they were back home again. What she had to do now was prepare herself for Father McKinnawae.
She had to keep her thoughts to herself, but the girls put question after question to Jack. He answered each question honestly: no, he didn’t know when the orphans would be coming to live here; he thought that most of them must be at the mission in the city and that they would all be boys. Whether there would be room for girls as well at some point was another question he couldn’t answer. He was sure there would be classrooms, and lessons, and chores. And mass, most probably every day.
If Vittorio might be here, with the priest?
Jack answered without hesitation. Vittorio was gone away with the Mullen family, who loved him and would care for him.
Anna wondered what the girls were imagining about the interview to come, if there had ever been opportunity for them to talk to a priest outside of religious services. Because she had spoken to this particular priest. She had told him about these girls who had survived so much, and in turn he had gone to the Mullens.
The letter Anna had written and rewritten had never been mailed. Or more to the point, it had found a different target. Anna had not been able to explain the whole series of events to herself until Margaret brought out Rosa’s exercise book, every page filled to the margins with careful lettering.
Rosa had been eager to learn to read, and Margaret had worked with her every day. She was just far enough along that she could work out short, simple sentences. Mornings she would glare at the newspaper as if it were holding back secrets she was determined to discover. She would point out words she knew, and ask about others. And she did the work Margaret assigned her, and more, every day. One of her favorite things to do was to write out her own name, along with the names of all her family, father and mother and sister and both brothers.
“She’s very diligent,” Margaret said. “You see she filled this notebook in a week. I said she could use scrap paper from the bins until I had time to get her another one. I should have been more careful, but it never occurred to me—”
“You’re not at fault,” Anna said. “And neither is she. It’s not the best way to resolve the situation, but it’s done now. We’ll have to make the best of it.”
“I’m afraid I indulge her,” Margaret went on anyway.
Jack shook his head at her. “She’s curious, she wants to learn. It’s not a matter of giving her more sweets than are good for her. I think the girls are fortunate that you have so much time to spend with them.”
It was one of the kindest things Anna had ever heard him say, and it made her ashamed to have been so dismissive of Margaret.
? ? ?
AND NOW HERE they were, about to confront Father McKinnawae. When Anna thought of him she saw the unapologetic dislike and disdain he felt for her. He had warned her not to test him, and that had not been an empty threat.
He came out to greet them before Jack had brought the rig to a stop. Anna’s expression was grim, but the priest smiled broadly at her, his cheeks puffing up like pink pillows.
“Dr. Savard,” he said, all polite good spirits. “How very good to see you again. I thought you might stop by.”
For a split second Jack had the idea that Anna was going to punch the priest in the face, as hard as she possibly could. The image was so strong in his mind that he put a hand on her upper arm—and felt the flexing of her muscles.
He held out his other hand to the priest. “I’m Jack Mezzanotte, Dr. Savard’s husband. And these are our wards, Rosa and Lia Russo.”
McKinnawae had a firm handshake. He barely glanced at the girls before his gaze shifted back to Jack.
“And you are a doctor too?”
“He’s a police detective.” Rosa spoke up clearly, without hesitation, and with none of the deference Jack would have expected. Anna seemed to have lost her voice entirely but he could feel her tension, every nerve twanging.
McKinnawae said, “An Italian detective.”
“Detective sergeant,” Jack said.
One eyebrow shot up as if this news surprised him.
Jack had nothing against priests, in general. In his experience some of them were harmless, some meant to do good things but did just the opposite, a few managed to help, and even fewer took joy in raising hell out of bloody-mindedness, contempt for the world, and ego.