“I am Brother Murphy. I’ve been blessed as the head brother of this monastery. I will do whatever I can to help you.”
Helena swooned slightly, “I’ve had such a difficult journey, I am a little lightheaded, may we sit down?” Helena began moving to a pew.
“Of course, we can, at times I forget my manners, we seldom receive female visitors,” the old brother sat next to Helena in the pew. Sigmund set four rows back letting Helena take the lead.
“I have been looking everywhere for my friend I was told she might be here.”
The brother appeared shocked, “I’m sure that is not possible. There are no women living, nor working here.”
“She has been missing a week. Might she have disguised herself and hid among the men?”
“We received no new converts or employees in the past week. Why do you believe so completely your friend is here?”
Helena pulled out the wine cork and the locket with Missy’s picture. “I was told that this cork might’ve come from here, and this picture is of Missy before she cut off all of her hair. These are the only two clues left behind. I hoped that you would help me find her,” Helena began sobbing, she reached for a hankie from her handbag.
Brother Murphy rolled the cork over his fingers while studying the picture. “I’m sorry Ms. Brandywine I don’t believe I’ve ever met anyone that looks like this photo I’m sure I would’ve remembered. The cork could be ours it would be from one of our wines we sell to the Cliff House. But I must say we are moving more into Brandy than wines. It appears to sell better, and it will support our mission more completely.”
Helena, her face half concealed by her handkerchief as she feigned wiping tears, watched the brother as he spoke, “You’re sure you’ve never seen her before?”
“Miss Brandywine, I’ve lived here ten years since we formed our mission. I have not met that many women in the last ten years I’m sure I would remember her.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, I was hoping a man of God would help me find Missy. Maybe the name rings a bell, Missy Whitaker of the Nob Hill Whitakers?”
The brother shook his head, “No, I’m sorry. We’ve not been selling wine that long, predominately to the Cliff House and a few other higher-end establishments in Oakland and San Francisco. I don’t believe I’ve ever met any Whitakers.”
“You said your mission here, what is your mission here?” Helena asked holding her hand out for the locket and the cork.
“As Jesuits, we believe that education is key to ending poverty. We began selling our wine in hopes of supporting our schools, educating poor young men reading, writing, arithmetic and in the ways of God.”
Helena so wanted to ask, ‘What about the young women?’ But decided to keep her mouth shut, she had questions.
“Do you know anything about the Sisters of Napa Valley?”
What could only be described as a darkness cast over Brother Murphy’s face. “You’ll not be wanting to get involved with that lot. They are nothing but a bunch of witches, who will all burn in hell for their affronts to God and nature.”
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?” Helena asked.
“The Jesuits are a Catholic order, Miss Brandywine we believe that witchcraft is the devil’s work, magic and miracles are reserved for our Savior and his saints. Mortals that make pacts with the devil will burn in hell, we are sure of it,” said Brother Murphy as if orating to his congregation.
“Are mechanical inventions the devils work as well?”
“I might seem a zealot to you, but understand we are made in God’s image. Mechanical devices are not inherently evil, but like all things, they must be used for Gods greater good, not the entertainment or folly of sinners,” Brother Murphy, made the sign of the cross as he finished his sentence.
Helena grew uncertain what to say after the man’s tirade, “Thank you for your time, I am sorry we interrupted your prayers,” she got up to leave.
“Miss Brandywine, be wary of the choices you make. I feel your immortal soul hangs in the balance. May the Lord walk with you and bless you,” he motioned his hand in a sign of the cross over her. He continued, “Remember evil is always looking for a way to take you over, to steal your soul.”
“Erm thank you?” hit with a sudden urge to remove herself from the frosty environment. She wasn’t sure if it was the cold stones surrounding her, sucking up the heat in the chamber or the Brother’s emotional outburst. Sigmund fell in three paces behind her, Helena turned her head and whispered, “This place scares me.”
The bright sunlight warmed both her spirits and her body once they exited the chapel. Lane sat parked not far away lounging in the driver’s seat prepared to leave. “Time to go?” Lane asked as they approached.
“There’s nothing for us here. I don’t think there ever was,” Helena said.
Witches of Napa:
It wasn’t a far drive from the Christian Brothers winery to the Martinez ferry landing. There was no scheduled ferry to take them from Martinez to Cuttings Wharf, the closest dock to Napa Valley. Sigmund found a steam-powered flat bottom launch capable of carrying Bessie and the trio, yet small enough to make it up the river.
The bay here looked different from what Helena had seen before. The river snaked through a floodplain, and on either side acres and acres of fruit trees spread out to the brackish water edge. The orchards chaotic with activity, men, women, and children picking the ripening fruit and loading them into horse-drawn wagons to destinations unknown. The three dug into the basket full of food at Lane’s request, he had been hungry since leaving San Francisco.
As the ferry pulled into the dock, she was assaulted by a cacophony of noise and action as boats were being loaded with boxes brimming with fruit. Helena was surprised
