The priest was pointing at the cross that surmounted the steeple. “I can’t prove it,” he said, “but I suspect an engineer spent weeks figuring out exactly where that steeple had to be, and exactly how high, in order for the shadow of their cross to fall across our door. Now of course,” he went on, “it only happens a couple of times a year, you understand, so I suppose it could be only the coincidence they claim it is. But if you ask me, it is just another way for those Protestants to try to stick it to us!”
“Father!” Myra breathed, shocked by the priest’s words. Her eyes flicked toward Angel, who didn’t seem as shocked by what the priest had said as she was.
“It’s a joke, my child,” the priest quickly assured her, his smile fading as he saw the look on Myra’s face. “I’m sure they meant no harm at all.” He held out his hand. “I’m Father Michael Mulroney, but everyone calls me Father Mike,” he offered.
Myra took his hand for only the briefest of moments, introducing herself and Angel as she did so. “We just moved here from Eastbury.”
Father Mike nodded. “Ah, the very ones Father Raphaello wrote me about,” he said. “It will be wonderful to have you as part of our parish. Not as many of us as there are in Eastbury, I’m afraid.” The mischievous twinkle came back into his eyes. “Maybe we just didn’t get here in time.” He nodded toward the huge stone edifice across the street. “If we’d come in 1632, the way they did, maybe we’d have a building like that too.” Now he sighed heavily. “Not that we could fill it, even if we did. These days…” He let his voice trail off, but Myra knew exactly what he meant. The last few years, donations even to the church in Eastbury — where there hadn’t been even a breath of scandal — had dropped so low that she’d been the last person Father Raphaello had been able to pay to take care of the rectory.
“Well, now you’ve got us, and I have a husband too, so that’s three,” Myra said.
“And I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” Father Mike told her. Then his voice and expression took on a note of regret. “But I’m afraid I’m not going to be able to give you the work you had with Father Raphaello. We’re just too — well, I’m sure you know as well as I do what the last few years have been like.” Taking Myra’s arm, he led her up the steps toward the front door of the church, with Angel following. “And where might you be living?”
“On Black Creek Road,” Myra told him. “It’s a small house, and it needs some work, but I understand it’s one of the oldest houses in town.”
The priest’s eyes clouded. “The house at the Crossing?” he asked. “Where all those terrible—” He stopped abruptly, then said, “Oh, dear — what am I saying? I—”
“It’s all right,” Myra said stiffly. “We know what happened in the house.”
More people were coming up the steps now, and Father Mike began introducing Myra and Angel, then excused himself to go prepare for the mass.
Just before she followed her mother into the church, Angel looked around for Houdini one more time.
The cat was sitting across the street, its tail neatly curled around its feet.
An hour later, as they were leaving the church and saying good-bye, Father Mike took Myra’s hand in both of his. “I’ve been thinking,” he said. “And it occurs to me that maybe I can find some work for you. Not in the rectory, but here in the church itself.”
“But you said—” Myra began.
“I know what I said,” the priest cut in. “But I’ll find the money someway.” His eyes shifted over to Angel, then returned to Myra. “It’s a good place to be,” he said. “The church can shelter you from many, many things. So I’ll just find the money, and that’s all we’ll say about that.”
A few minutes later they started the walk home, Father Mike’s words echoing in Myra’s thoughts.
What had he meant by that?
Did he think there was something she needed sheltering from? Maybe she should have told him that the Holy Mother had been looking after her for years already, coming to her in visions when her problems were the worst.
And why had he looked at Angel just before he said those words?
The questions so completely occupied her that Myra Sullivan never noticed the black cat following them home.
Chapter 12
NGEL SULLIVAN TURNED THE CORNER ONTO PROSPECT Street and saw the old brick building that had once been all of Roundtree High School and now served as the main building. It sat in the middle of a large lawn studded with huge pines that looked even older than the building itself. Behind it were the newer buildings, scattered over the four full blocks the school now occupied, but none of them had the warm and friendly look of the old original building. White shutters flanked its windows, tall columns rose a full three floors to support the roof in front, and the roof itself was ornately peaked and dormered. There was even a widow’s walk high on the main peak, though Roundtree was nowhere near the coast, so there would have been no captains’ wives waiting for their husbands to return from the sea.
Angel paused across the street from the school, just to enjoy the warm feeling running through her. It was a completely different feeling than the one that had gripped her in Eastbury every morning, and she was certain it wasn’t just because the school in Roundtree was so much prettier than the drab block of grime-covered bricks that was Eastbury High. No, this was something more.
This was a whole new beginning, in a town where no one knew her except for her cousin.
Where no one had ever heard of Mangey-Angey, or Daddy’s little Angel, or any of the other things she’d been called ever since kindergarten.
As she started across the street, she found herself smiling, wondering who Nicole Adams would start in on now that she was gone. But she banished the thought as it came into her head — nobody should be treated the way Nicole and everyone else had treated her.
But that was all behind her now, and when she got up that morning to see a bright and sunny sky, Angel wished she had clothes just as bright as the morning. But there was nothing in her dresser or closet, and in the end she’d dressed in her usual drab sweatpants and a blouse with a bulky sweater over it. Still, she felt different, and that was what counted.
At her feet, Houdini rubbed up against her leg. Just as he had yesterday when she and her mother had gone to church, the cat had appeared this morning — seemingly out of nowhere — and walked along with Angel all the way to school. The only difference was that with her mother not there to shoo him away, the cat had never been more than a foot from her. Now, across the street from the school, Angel bent down to scratch his ears. “See you later.”
Crossing the street and starting up the steps toward the front door, she smiled at two girls who were talking to a wavy-haired boy with eyes that were the same blue as the clear autumn sky.
Neither of the girls nodded back, and the boy didn’t seem to notice her.
They were busy talking, Angel told herself. They probably didn’t even see her.
She found the principal’s office, got registered, and was given her class schedule and a locker assignment. “Here’s your combination,” the secretary told her, handing her a slip of paper with four numbers written on it and instructions on how many times to turn the lock in each direction. Angel gazed glumly at the combination — she’d just barely learned the one in Eastbury, and now she had to learn a brand new one.
Her homeroom was here in the main building, and so was her locker, and with a half hour before the first class started, she had plenty of time to find all her other classrooms, so at least she wouldn’t have to suffer the embarrassment of being late and having everyone stare at her. She even got to her first period classroom early enough so she was the first one there.
“ ‘Angel,’ ” the teacher said, reading her name off the registration form. “That’s a pretty name. I’m Mrs. Brink.”
