“A Catholic priest?” Sarah asked in amazement. Was it possible one of the Irish priests had overcome his prejudice enough to visit an Italian woman in prison?
“I expect that’s the only kind there is,” the matron told her humorlessly. She was a large woman with pitted skin and a hairy mole on her chin. “Better give ‘em a few minutes. We had to send for him ’cause she almost died last night. She probably needs whatever mumbo-jumbo they do.”
“Is she ill?” Sarah asked in alarm. “Does she need a doctor?”
“No, she ain’t
Sarah shouldn’t have found the reference so distasteful. She’d been instrumental in getting Mrs. Donato arrested in the first place, after all. “If you don’t mind, I’ll wait until the priest is finished,” Sarah said, moving off to find a place where she could wait without disturbing anyone. She tried to imagine the kind of despair that would cause someone to put a noose around her neck and choke herself to death. She imagined killing one’s child could produce it.
Sarah had to wait only a few more minutes before she saw a black-clad figure emerge from the cell the matron had indicated. She recognized the young priest from St. John’s, the one who had been so hostile to her request for money to bury Emilia. His expression was grave, and he started when he saw Sarah looking at him so expectantly.
Plainly, he couldn’t place her.
“I’m Sarah Brandt,” she reminded him. “I came to the church to ask for help to bury Emilia Donato.” She saw the recognition in his eyes, but his expression didn’t lighten. “How is Mrs. Donato?”
“She’s alive,” he said grimly.
“Did she really try to hang herself?”
He pressed his lips together. “She made a noose out of her undergarments. I guess she didn’t realize that she wouldn’t die instantly. Someone heard her choking, and they were able to cut her down. Thank God they did. Suicides can never see the face of God, Mrs. Brandt. They can’t even be buried in consecrated ground.”
The priest was acting as if Sarah were responsible for this outrage. “Can murderers see the face of God?” she countered.
The color rose on his neck, but he managed to control his temper. “Repentant sinners can, and we are
“She told the police she killed her daughter,” Sarah reminded him.
“No, she didn’t.”
Sarah stared at him in amazement. “She wouldn’t be here if she hadn’t confessed.”
“I have no idea what happened when the police arrested her, or what they forced her to say, but she didn’t kill her daughter.”
“But she confessed!” Sarah insisted. She knew Malloy would have made sure of her guilt before he put the woman in jail.
The priest gave her a pitying look. “Not to me. I’ve heard many confessions in my life, Mrs. Brandt. People seldom lie to a priest – what would be the point? My job is to absolve them of their sins, and I can’t do that unless I know what they are. People also know I can’t reveal their secrets, and those who are dying are especially careful to bare their souls before facing the final judgment.”
“Is Mrs. Donato dying?”
“She will most likely be executed for murder,” he reminded her impatiently. “She was very anxious to confess after attempting suicide. As a priest, I can’t reveal the secrets of the confessional, but I can tell you what she
“She might be too ashamed to admit it,” Sarah tried, as dread formed a hot lump inside her. “And why else would she have tried to kill herself?”
“I don’t speak Italian, so I didn’t understand all of it, but she did something to the girl, treated her badly. I couldn’t understand the reason, but she’s sorry for it now. She blames herself because the girl is dead, but she didn’t kill her. Although what that will matter now, I have no idea. The police have her, so they aren’t likely to keep looking for the real killer. Why should they bother?”
“I need to speak with Mrs. Donato,” Sarah said, knowing Malloy would bother if he knew Mrs. Donato was innocent.
“Why?” he asked, losing control of his temper at last. “So you can force her to say she’s guilty?”
“Father… O’Hara, is it?”
“Ahearn,” he corrected.
“Father Ahearn, I’m not interested in seeing an innocent person convicted of murder. I wanted justice for Emilia, and falsely accusing her mother won’t accomplish that.”
“And what good will it do if she does manage to convince you she didn’t kill the girl?” he scoffed.
“It could get her out of jail, for one thing,” Sarah snapped back, losing her own temper. “Have you forgotten I came to you for help – help you refused to give me? You’ve got no more right to judge me falsely than I do to judge Mrs. Donato. I’m surprised that you are here.”
He sighed. “You judge me too harshly, Mrs. Brandt. As to Mrs. Donato, speak to her, then,” he said, “for all the good it will do. I don’t know what she can tell you that will save her. Everyone in this place claims to be innocent. Proving it is another matter entirely.”
“I’ve had some experience doing that, Father,” she informed him.
“Have you had experience convincing the police they’ve arrested the wrong person?” he challenged.
“As a matter of fact, I have.”
She’d shocked him. He stared at her for a long moment, probably trying to judge whether she was lying or not. Apparently, he decided that she wasn’t. “I wish you good fortune, then, Mrs. Brandt.”
“Perhaps you should pray for me instead,” she countered.
He nodded solemnly. “I will.”
“And let me know if you learn anything that might help Mrs. Donato.”
“You mean if the real killer confesses to me?” he asked with the ghost of a smile.
“I know you couldn’t tell me that, but any other information you find, anything at all…”
“Of course,” he promised. “I’ll speak to Father O’Brien, too.”
“Thank you.”
He hesitated a second, and then he made the sign of the cross over her. “A blessing,” he explained. “Now see what you can learn from Mrs. Donato.”
Sarah felt a chill when she entered the narrow cell, which had been literally carved out of the stone. The single window high in the wall let in little light, and Sarah could barely make out the figure sitting huddled on the thin straw mattress covering the bed.
“Mrs. Donato?”
She was rocking back and forth, probably to comfort herself, and she gave no sign that she had heard.
“Mrs. Donato, I’m Sarah Brandt. I knew Emilia at the mission. I brought you some food after she died,” she reminded her.
“Go away.” The woman’s voice was hoarse, but whether from weeping or from the near-hanging, Sarah didn’t want to guess.
“I spoke to your priest outside, Father Ahearn. He asked me to help you.” This wasn’t exactly true, but Sarah figured the blessing would cover a few white lies.
Mrs. Donato didn’t say a word, but at least she turned to look at Sarah. “Why you help?”
A fair question. “I don’t want to see an innocent person punished, and I don’t want to let a killer go free,” she explained.
“Why you care?”
A better question. “Because I liked Emilia.”
She was studying Sarah more closely. “I tell you about sailors,” she remembered.
“Yes, you did. You told me that Emilia was the child of the devil.”
Mrs. Donato closed her eyes and moaned, a sound drawn from deep in her soul. Almost instantly, the matron appeared in the doorway. She’d probably get in trouble if Mrs. Donato tried to harm herself again. Sarah gave the
