St. Anthony. I went up to her and asked where I might find the priest. She pointed at the confessional where a red light was on. I went and sat beside it, waiting patiently, and eventually he came out.
“Were you still waiting for confession?” he asked, in a voice that still betrayed a hint of the Irish.
“No, thank you, Father. I was wondering if a young Chinese woman had come here, seeking sanctuary.”
“She did indeed.” His lip curled with distaste. “Wanted my help in getting her away from some man. Probably her pimp, since the only women here are prostitutes. I told her there was nothing I could do for her.” He folded his arms expressively over his cassock. “This used to be a good Italian and Irish neighborhood, you know, before those Chinese came and took over. And the last thing we want is Chinese women here—then the men won’t ever want to go home again if their womenfolk are allowed to come here, and there will be no getting rid of them.”
“So a young Chinese woman did come to you—about five or six days ago?”
“My housekeeper found her hiding in the church after the last mass of the day, when she went in to tidy up the hymnbooks. Brought her to me. I told her I was sorry but I wasn’t going to get involved in Chinese business. They’re a violent people, you know. You should see the killings that went on when the tongs were at war. Men shot and stabbed in broad daylight as they walked down the street or sat in the restaurants. I have to make sure I stay out of it.”
“So you sent her away—where did you send her?”
“I’ve no idea. I told my housekeeper to feed her and then get rid of her.”
“May I speak to your housekeeper then?” I asked
“I suppose so. What is your reason for seeking out this girl?”
I was about to say that I had been hired by her husband to find her, but instead I heard myself saying, “I want to help her.”
“Come along then,” he said. “Herself should have some tea on the table about this time. No doubt she can tell you in great detail what she told the girl—she loves the sound of her own voice.” As he talked he made his way through the church, through a back room, and opened a door that led into the rectory.
“Mrs. McNamara,” he called. “We’ve got company for tea.”
A woman came scurrying down the hall toward us, wiping her hands on her apron as she came. For a moment I thought I was seeing a ghost, as she looked just like the woman who ran the shop at home in Ballykillin.
“Tea’s all ready, Father,” she said and gave me a broad smile. “And there’s plenty for visitors too.”
We went together into a rather shabby dining room where a table was laid with teacups, scones, and fruitcake.
“Sit yourself down, my dear,” the priest said. “What was your name?”
“Molly Murphy, Father.”
“That’s as good an Irish name as you can get, isn’t it?” He nodded to Mrs. McNamara. “We don’t get too many Irish at the church anymore. It’s all Italians these days. And Polish. Not like the old days, is it, Mrs. McNamara?”
“Indeed it’s not, Father. Most of them don’t even speak English and I hardly ever get a good chat, except with the father here.”
“Never stops,” he muttered to me.
Tea was poured and I ate heartily of the scones and cake.
“Miss Murphy’s here asking about that Chinese girl you found. Any idea where she went?”
“No, Father,” Mrs. McNamara said. “You told me to get rid of her, didn’t you? So I had to send her on her way.”
Then she did a strange thing. I looked up and caught her eye, and she winked at me.
“I’d best be going then,” I said. “I really don’t know where to look now. Maybe she’s hiding out in one of the local parks, but that would be dangerous for a young woman alone.”
“I’ll see her out, Father,” Mrs. McNamara said. “You put your feet up for a while.”
She led me through the rectory to a door at the other end. As soon as we were out of earshot she whispered to me, “She’s upstairs now, the poor thing. And I’m that glad you’ve come for her because I hadn’t a clue what I was going to do with her.”
“She’s here? In the rectory?” I asked, my voice echoing louder than I intended through that high hallway.
She put her fingers to her lips. “Shh. We don’t want himself to hear. Well, I couldn’t just turn her out with nowhere to go, could I? So I put her in one of the rooms on the top floor. His reverence never goes up there—can’t climb all those stairs any longer. So I’ve been feeding her and trying to find what to do with her next. I’ve always been too impulsive, you know. Let my heart rule my head. I’d never have married that drunken lout McNamara if I’d stopped to think about it. But, my, he was handsome when he was a lad. How I suffered for it afterward. Knocked me around something terrible, he did.”
“Is he still alive?”
“He is not, God rest his poor soul. Killed in a street brawl, five years after we came to America. I came to the good Father here as housekeeper twenty years ago.”
I was trying not to show my impatience.
“So do you think you could take me up to see the girl now? I’ve come to take her off your hands.”
“Thank the Blessed Virgin for that,” she said. “I mean, what could I do with the poor thing? She couldn’t stay up in our attic forever.” She glanced back down the hall. “Come on then. Tread quietly or you’ll have himself snooping after us. He’ll have nodded off in a minute and then we’ll be all right.”
