money in the green plastic garbage bag in the trunk of his Porsche.
And all this time it had been parked here and there on the streets all over Carmel!
On Thursday morning, well before sunrise, he headed back up to San Francisco. He was at the St. Francis at Gubbio parish office when it opened. He plunked the heavy garbage bag down on the receptionist’s desk. “Miss Mollie,” he said to the elderly woman, “this is an anonymous donation for the rehab center. I wish I could tell you more, but that’s all I can say.”
“And that’s all you have to say, Reuben,” she replied, not even looking up as she reached for the phone. “I’ll call the bank.”
Hell, I’m a reporter, Reuben thought as he walked out, hoping and praying he’d find Jim in the church. They can’t make me divulge my sources. Jim was nowhere to be found. And a call to Grace soon confirmed that no one had heard from Jim. She was relieved to hear that Reuben would stay at the Fairmont for now.
Sometime after noon, he was awakened in the Fairmont suite by a call from Felix.
“Listen, I know your brother’s missing, and I know how concerned you are,” Felix said. “But is it at all possible for you to come home now?”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“There’s a little girl here, Reuben. She says she’s run away from home, that she wants to see you. And she won’t talk to anyone but you.”
“Oh, my God, this is Susie Blakely!” said Reuben.
“No, it’s not Susie,” said Felix. “This little girl is about twelve. She’s English. She has a beautiful English accent, as a matter of fact. It’s just a joy to listen to this child talk. Her name is Christine. She’s quite the little lady, though she’s been crying since she arrived. She was wet through as an abandoned kitten! She took something like four buses to get to Nideck and then the Forest Gentry found her walking along the road in the rain with her backpack. And in patent leather slippers. Elthram carried her up here. We’ve been doing our best to comfort her. She was at the Winterfest, I mean the Christmas party, Reuben, and I do remember seeing her there with a schoolteacher, but this little girl will not tell us her last name.”
“Wait a minute. I know who this is. The schoolteacher, her mother—she was wearing a beautiful old- fashioned hat in the village. She’s blond, with long hair.”
“Yes, that’s the woman. Exactly. She came with a whole class of schoolchildren from San Rafael. But I don’t know the name of the school. And she was wearing the most charming vintage Chanel suit. Quite an unforgettable woman. Very pretty. Who is this girl, Reuben?”
“You tell her not to worry, you keep her there, please, Felix, take care of her, don’t let her leave. And tell her that I’m coming, and I’ll get there as soon as I can.”
30
IT WAS THE LONGEST JOURNEY between San Francisco and Nideck Point Reuben had ever made. And all the way there, he prayed that this was the gift from God to Jim that it seemed.
It was dark by the time the Porsche pulled up to the front door, and he ran up the steps.
Christine was in the library, sitting very primly on the Chesterfield in front of the fire. She’d had her supper, though Lisa said at once, the child had scarcely touched it. And Christine was crying again, with a damp knotted handkerchief twisted in her hands.
She was small-boned, dainty, with straight blond hair that hung down her back, trimmed only with a black grosgrain headband. And she wore a pretty A-line navy blue dress trimmed with white cuffs and collar. Her stockings were white and she wore black patent leather pumps. She was quite dry, of course, Lisa explaining that all her clothes had been washed and pressed. “She is the tenderest creature,” said Lisa. “I have a bedroom ready for her upstairs, but she can come sleep in the back with us if you want.”
The girl didn’t look up when Reuben came in. He sat down quietly on the Chesterfield beside her.
“Christine Maitland?” Reuben whispered.
“Yes!” she said, staring up at him. “You know who I am?”
“I think I do,” he said. “But why don’t you tell me more about who you are?”
She sat very still for a moment and then she crumpled into soft, violent crying. And for a long time he just held her in his arms. She turned and rested against him, sobbing, and then after a long while, as he stroked her hair, he began to speak.
He told her gently that he thought he knew her mother, that if he remembered correctly her mother’s name was Lorraine.
She said yes to that in a small, broken voice.
“You can tell me anything, Christine,” he said. “I’m on your side, honey. You understand?”
“My mom says we can never talk to my father, never tell him about us, about me and my brother, but I know my father wants to know!”
He didn’t ask the obvious question—which was, Who is your father? He let her go on.
And suddenly it all came pouring out of her, how she wanted to see her father, how she’d run away from her house in San Rafael to see her father. Her twin brother, Jamie, didn’t care about their father. Jamie was so “independent.” Jamie had always been “independent.” Jamie didn’t need a father. But she did. She did with all her heart. She had seen her father at the Christmas gala and she knew he was a priest, but he was still her father, and she just had to see him, really, really had to see him. And on the news they said terrible things about her father, that someone had tried to kill him. What if her father died without her ever talking to him, without ever knowing he had a daughter and a son? Couldn’t she stay here until her father was found? “I am praying and praying for them to find him.”
In a quaking voice she laid out her dreams. She’d live at Nideck Point. Surely there was a little room where they could put her, and she wouldn’t be any trouble. She’d walk to school. She would do chores to earn her food. She’d live here in this house, if there was just the smallest place for her, and her father would see her, and he would be happy to see her, to know he had twins, a daughter and a son. She knew he would. And she could live here and see him in secret and nobody would ever have to know that he was a priest with two children. She would never tell another soul. If there was just the smallest room, the smallest room in the attic or in the basement, or in the servants’ wing out back. They’d taken a little tour at the party, and they’d seen the servants’ wing. Maybe there was a really, really small room out there that nobody else wanted. She wouldn’t be any trouble at all. She didn’t expect anyone to help. If only Reuben would tell her father, just let him know.
Reuben thought for a long moment in silence, holding her tightly, still stroking her hair.
“Of course you can live here, you can live here forever,” he said. “And I will tell your father right away that you’re here. Your father is my brother, as you know. I’ll tell him just as soon as I can. I’ll tell him all about you. And you’re right. He’ll be happy, oh, happier than you can imagine to know you’re here. And he’ll be happy to see your brother, Jamie. Don’t you worry about this.”
She sat still staring at him as if she were out of breath. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She was amazed. She was a lovely little girl as far as he was concerned, and he was once again fighting back tears. She was precious, adorable … all that. She embodied those endearing words and more. She was sad, however, terribly sad. He couldn’t remember if her mother was half as pretty. If she was, then she was a beautiful woman.
“You really think he’ll be happy,” she said in a timid voice. “My mother said he’s a priest and it would be terrible for him if people knew.”
“I don’t think that’s true at all,” he said. “You and your brother were born before he ever became a priest, isn’t that right?”
“My grandmother wants us to go back to England,” she said, “without us ever talking to my father.”
“I see,” Reuben said.
“She calls my mother every week, telling her to bring us back to England. And if we go back to England, I’ll never see my father again.”
“Well, you’re going to see him,” Reuben said. “And you have grandparents here, your father’s parents, who will be happy too.”
