stepfather, had made Lorraine promise before he died that she would tell them when the right time came. They had the right to know the identity of their true father. But they knew their father was a Catholic priest, and for that reason they could never approach him until they were fully grown. “They understand,” she said, “that any talk of children would be the complete ruin of their father.”
“Oh, but Lorraine, it’s the opposite,” said Reuben immediately. “He must know. He would want to know. He will acknowledge these kids privately and immediately. Lorraine, he’s never forgotten you—.”
“Reuben,” she said in a soft voice, laying her hand gently on Reuben’s hand. “You don’t understand. Your brother could be forced out of the priesthood if this becomes known to him. He would have to tell his archbishop. And the archbishop could simply remove Jim from his ministry. It could destroy him, don’t you see? It could destroy the man he’s become.” Her voice was low, urgent and sincere. “Believe me, I have investigated this. I’ve been to your brother’s church. He doesn’t know this, of course. But I’ve heard him preach. I know what his life means to him now, and Reuben, I knew him very well before he ever became a priest.”
“But Lorraine, he can secretly acknowledge—.”
“No,” she said. “Believe me. He cannot. My own lawyers have investigated. The climate in the Church today would never allow it. There’s been too much scandal, too much controversy over the priesthood in recent years, too many famous priests compromised by the revelations of affairs, secret families, children and such …”
“But this is different—.”
“I wish it were different,” she said. “But it’s not. Reuben, your brother wrote to me when he decided to become a priest. I knew at the time that if I told him about these children he would not be accepted in the seminary. I knew he thought he’d somehow caused the death of my pregnancy. I realized all that, and I thought it through. I consulted my own Anglican priest in England on the matter. I talked it over with Professor Maitland. I made the decision then to let Jim go on thinking that I had lost the pregnancy. It wasn’t a perfect decision, not by any means. But it was the best decision I could make for Jim. When these children are older, when they are adults—.”
“But Lorraine, he
“If you love your brother,” she said softly, “surely you must not tell him about these children. I know Jim. I don’t mean to offend you when I say that I know him intimately. I know Jim better than I’ve known almost anyone in my life. I know the battles he has fought with himself. I know the price of his victories. If he is forced out of his ministry, it will destroy his life.”
“Listen to me. I understand why you’re saying this,” Reuben said. “Jim’s told me what happened at Berkeley. He told me what he did—.”
“Reuben, you cannot know the whole story,” she gently insisted. “Jamie himself doesn’t know the whole story. When I met Jamie, my life was in tatters. In a very real way, your brother saved my life. I was married to a sick man, an older man, and that man brought Jamie—I mean Jim—into our home to save my life. I don’t think your brother ever knew the full extent to which he was manipulated by my husband. My husband was a good man but he would have done anything to keep me happy and keep me with him, and he brought Jim into our little world so that Jim would love me, and Jim did.”
“Lorraine, I do know this.”
“But you can’t know what it meant to
Reuben was quietly astonished.
“Oh, he had his demons,” she said, “but he’s vanquished them all and found himself in the priesthood— that’s the whole point—and I cannot repay the love he gave me by destroying his life now, not when the children are happy, well cared for, well provided for. And not when I chose not to tell him about the children before. I must bear the consequences of letting him believe that our baby died. No, Jim cannot know.”
“There has to be some solution to this,” said Reuben. He knew in his heart of hearts he had no intention whatsoever of keeping this from Jim.
“I should never never have let the children come to the Christmas gala here,” Lorraine said, shaking her head. “Never. But you see, the academy in San Rafael had three invitations to the party, and I was expected to bring the eighth grade; and Jamie and Christine were simply beside themselves with excitement. Everybody was talking about the festival at Nideck Point and the Christmas banquet, the Man Wolf mystery, all of it. They begged, promised, cried. They knew all about you from the news, of course, and they knew you were Jim’s brother. They so wanted to come, just to see their father in the flesh, one time, and they promised to behave.”
“Believe me, Lorraine, I understand completely,” Reuben said. “Of course they wanted to come to the party. I would have wanted to come, too.”
“But I shouldn’t have brought them,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Someday when they are no longer children, when they’re adults, yes, they can meet their father. But not now. He’s far too vulnerable for us to approach him now.”
“Lorraine, I can’t believe this! I want to tell my mother about this. Look, I don’t mean to be crass, believe me, but the Golding family and the Spangler family—my mother’s people—are huge supporters of the archdiocese of San Francisco.”
“Reuben, I am aware of that. I’m sure your family’s influence paved the way for Jim to be ordained. He told me in his letter that he’d been completely honest and contrite with his superiors about his past. And I don’t doubt that. They approved his sincerity, his repentance; and no doubt there were the donations to smooth the way.” Her voice was so softly eloquent and persuasive. She made it seem all very logical and fine.
“Well, they can smooth the way now for him to see his children in private, damn it!” said Reuben. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I mean I have to call my mother. My mother will be ecstatic. And I have to find Jim. The problem right now is nobody knows where Jim is.”
“I know,” said Lorraine. “I’ve been following the news. So have the children. I am worried sick about Jim. I had no idea Jim’s life involved such danger. Oh, I wish we had not brought this problem to your very doorstep at this time.”
“But, Lorraine, this is the best time. Jim’s miserable right now over the death of this young priest in the Tenderloin.” How he wished he could tell her more, but he could never tell her—or anyone else—more. “Look, these children are going to help bring him back to himself.”
She was not convinced. She looked at him searchingly, her soft eyes full of compassion and concern. What a gentle person she was. She was exactly as Jim had described her. She sighed and sat with her hands composed in her lap, working at the clasp of her purse much the way Christine’s hands had worked obsessively with her handkerchief.
“I don’t know what to do then,” she said. “I simply don’t know. It’s all so remarkable. They were resigned. They only asked to see their father from a distance. They wanted to know what he really looked like. And I didn’t think it would do the slightest harm. We came to the festival in the village and then on to the banquet here at the house. Jim looked right at us and didn’t recognize me, didn’t notice them. I had prepared the children for this. There were plenty of children at the party. There were children everywhere. I tried to stay out of Jim’s way entirely. The last thing I wanted was for Jim to see me—.”
“That’s why you didn’t wear a hat, why you took off your hat before the party.”
“Excuse me?”
“Never mind. It’s nothing. Go on. What happened?”
“Well, Christine was so upset. She is so easily upset! She’s always fantasized about her father, dreamed about him, written stories about him. She started drawing pictures of him as soon as she heard about him, though she hadn’t the faintest idea what he looked like. I should have known how actually seeing him in the flesh would affect her. She started to cry. I should have taken them home then. But I didn’t. And then towards the end of the party, this very small thing happened, such a small thing.” She shook her head. Her voice was filled with sadness. “Christine saw Jim walking out to the pavilion with a little girl. He had the little girl’s hand in his. He was talking with the little girl and with an older woman, a grandmother perhaps. And when Christine saw him with that little girl, you see, smiling at that little girl, and talking to that little girl—.”
“Oh, yes, I can imagine,” said Reuben. “I know that little girl. Yes. And I can see why this happened, what Christine felt. I understand everything. Lorraine, will you stay here tonight, please? Please stay here while I talk to
