After securing Bessie on the lower level with the carriages, horses, and cargo being transported, the trio went above decks to enjoy the rare sunshine.
Helena felt a gap developing between Lane and Sigmund. Perhaps it had always been there, she was just not intuitive enough to recognize it. Helena wasn’t sure, but something happened, the last few days seemed to drive a wedge between the two men. She didn’t dwell on the subject, they were both much older than her, and if they couldn’t work their problems out, she wasn’t going to jump between them. Instead, she decided to enjoy what might’ve been her first ferry ride. She thought long and hard, and she could never remember being on a ferry before, or a boat or ship. It came to her, the astounding realization she lived in a city surrounded by water on three sides, and she never remembered being on the water, and here she stood not just on a boat but a paddlewheel steam-ferry.
The natural scenery flowing past was beautiful, but she found herself drawn to the mechanisms moving the craft through the water. Helena wanted to get closer and inspect the pistons as they drove the side wheel, but the spray and splashing of the ocean water kept her at bay. There was no way she was going to get wet in her powder blue summer dress.
The day seemed to drag on. The ferry was much quicker than going all the way around the south side of the bay, but it still seemed to take forever. The group had to wait for many carriages to be moved before they unloaded.
“The city really needs to consider building a bridge from San Francisco to Oakland,” Helena said impatiently waiting for their turn to exit the ferry.
Lane scoffed, “It’s too far, no one would ever be able to build a bridge that distance, and who would be fool enough to ever use it?”
“Lane, you really should read more. Haven’t you heard about the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City? If New Yorkers can do it, I’m sure Californians can do it probably in half the time and for half the cost,” Helena admonished him, “Think of the time it would save.”
Lane shook his head, refusing to argue with the child. Sigmund, unsure what to do lightly tapped Helena’s knee like a man patronizing his daughter. The whole incident infuriated Helena. She decided to stay quiet for the rest of the ride to the Christian Brothers.
They drove through vineyards long before they reached the monastery. Helena perceived everyone as they passed followed their progress. A few men in what looked like coarse brown robes crossed themselves as the trio drove by. It wasn’t harvesting season, but several workers still moved about, some dressed as monks, some Mexican, and a few Chinese. However, it would’ve been difficult distinguishing between them had it not been for their distinctive clothing and hats. Helena thought: Is that all that really separates us is our superficial outward appearance, our facade?
They crested a small hill and below in the Valley Helena viewed the monastery though it looked more like a farm or ranch than a religious order. Except for the stone church, and its three-story tower with the cross on top dominated the buildings, the rest being single-story wood and adobe structures.
Bessie pulled up as a large group of brothers left the chapel. The men stared slack-jawed, Helena had a hard time deciding if they gawked at Bessie or her. She noticed she was the only woman in a sea of brown robes.
“I say, good man, we would like to speak to someone in charge,” Sigmund said.
Three or four of the men closest to the automobile remain silent while pointing to the church.
“I guess we should go into the church. Lane why don’t you stay with the automobile to ensure our audience remains at a distance,” Sigmund said scanning the small crowd gathering.
“Sure, I’ll keep Bessie warmed up and ready to go. This place kinda gives me the creeps.”
Sigmund offered his hand for Helena to climb out of the back of the auto which she ignored getting herself on the ground.
He shrugged and motioned for Helena to take the lead, bowing as she passed, falling in three steps behind her.
Approaching mid-morning, Helena felt the heat rising on the east bay. However, when she walked into the stone church, the temperature dropped ten degrees. There was an odd, earthly chill in the air. Her footsteps echoed slightly on the stone flags, her heels, and cane clicking, then reverberating through the empty chamber. She could see a gray-haired man praying at the altar, either the back of his head shaved or inexplicably bald in a perfect circle. Helena stopped a few paces before reaching the praying man. His eyes remain closed ignoring her approach. Helena still in a foul mood tapped her cane on the flagstone three times attempting to get the monks attention, she failed.
Sigmund’s right arm reached to touch Helena’s elbow trying to stop her. Before he could, Helena cleared her throat loudly.
“Excuse me sir, but we’re in a bit of a hurry,” Helena said forgetting all decorum.
Sigmund stopped reaching for Helena’s arm and rubbed his forehead then straightened his hair.
“This place is nowhere to rush about Miss. Unless it is harvest time,” the monk spoke with a soft Irish accent while he moved from kneeling to standing in one fluid motion, his flexibility fantastic for the age he appeared to be. He turned to face Helena, somehow, he had moved to within a foot of her. She had to force yourself not to take a step backward.
“Now what can this humble servant of our Lord do for you, young lady?”
“My name is Helena Brandywine. I am searching for a lost friend,” Helena
