THEO
IT WAS a slippery slope, Tula May staying with Solomon when Mrs. B was too tired; it would be good tidings for the bishop. He’d twist it into a plan to rid our town of our “savage heretic.” I decided I’d make arrangements for her to stay with Imogene until we could find out what happened to her family. A child could do Imogene some good. Besides, the authorities would have just tossed her in with strangers. At least with us, she had Solomon. She was a troubled little girl, sweet, but sad. I’d like to say all she needed was God, but I think God knew what she needed, and what He sent was Solomon. No one knew better than I what that meant to a lost child.
As night fell I dropped my white collar, tin soldier, and rosary on the dresser, then picked up the phone and jiggled the brown cord. “Lucy?” Clicked twice. “Lucy?”
“Yes, Father Theo,” she yawned. “I’m here.”
“Connect me to Imogene’s, would ya, love.”
“Hello?” Imogene said, picking up on the first ring.
“Immie, what do you know about Tula May’s parents?”
“They’re crazy,” she said. “I know that much.”
“I mean—”
“I know what ya mean.”
The crumple of cellophane came across the line as she opened a new pack of cigarettes.
“No,” she said. “We don’t know where they’re off to this time, and since Marge died, they have no one to babysit the kid. Stupid people.”
“What a mess,” I said, picturing Marge who’d lived in that log cabin for the last half-century. Solomon had taken her elk meat. She made him blackberry preserves—doubt two words ever passed between them. After Marge’s daughter dumped Tula May, Marge had lugged her around. But Marge up and died about six months ago. Bad heart, doc said. Afterward, Tula May’s parents—her mother and some guy—came back for awhile.
“Anyway,” Imogene chimed back up. “Solomon asked if she could stay here for awhile. I said yes, starting tomorrow night. I need to . . . well, you know, make a place.”
Her words hung in the air. She hadn’t opened the other bedroom door for years. The baby’s things were in there and hadn’t been touched. Who knows, having Tula May stay with her may be healing. Or devastating. Either way, a child was in need, Imogene had a big heart, and as usual, Solomon was two steps ahead of us all.
“Thanks,” I said, downing two aspirin. “We’ll chat tomorrow then.”
“Theo,” she caught me before I hung up, her voice a whisper. “It won’t be for very long, will it?”
“I don’t think so, love.”
“Okay,” she said letting out a deep breath. “What do you plan on doin’ about Toreck?”
“He’s done his time,” I said, opening the jar of Solomon’s ointment, which smelled of rotting eggs and burned my eyes.
“What did you do in that war,” she said, “wait for them to knock on your grass hut, invite you to a duel? NO! You laid in wait till they were right on top of you, and then BOOM! You surprised them. Didn’t you? You weren’t a priest then, you were a soldier. Try to remember how to protect yourself for God’s sake.”
“Grass hut?” I said. “Duel? You’re watchin’ too many Bogart movies.”
“Well,” she said, “our lives are changed now. Can’t you finally live yours?”
I rubbed the awful-smelling balm into my hip. “Not havin’ this conversation again.”
She took a long drag. “I think your penance has been enough. Kiernan wanted to be a priest, but you, you’re just payin’ a tab you don’t owe.”
“Trust me, Immie, it’s my tab . . . Now, how can I help you with that room?”
“No,” she said clearing her throat. “I’ll take care of it alone.”
I recalled the letter from Mamaí telling me what had happened with baby Christina.
“Sis, remember what Mamaí used to say?”
She remained quiet on the other end of the line.
“When God leads you to the edge of a cliff,” I said, “trust Him fully. Let go! One of two things will happen. Either He’ll catch you when you fall, or He’ll teach you to fly.”
There was another long silence. Had I said the wrong thing?
“Ohhh Father,” Lucy whispered, “that was beautiful.”
“Lucy?”
“Yes?”
Then I heard a soft disconnect. “Imogene?”
“She hung up, Father. Did Fiona really say that?”
“Lucy! Dammit, girl, get off the line!”