The Ferryman (30 page)

Inside, the receptionist told them that Father Jessup was expecting them. Janine hated the sterility of the place, the antiseptic smell that reminded her of a hospital. Of the hospital, the one that had been both retreat and prison to her after her baby had died. As though he sensed her discomfort, Father Charles laid a comforting hand on her shoulder and they followed a disheveled orderly whom the receptionist had instructed to take them to see Father Jessup. David walked quietly behind them.

“You must be important visitors,” the orderly said. “Father Jessup was holding court with some of the other residents before he got your call. He's been in the library ever since.”

“I've asked him for his opinion on a matter of theology,” Father Charles explained.

Janine snickered, a bit madly. It sounded so innocent, and also so hollow.

“Yeah, well, prepare for a lecture,” the orderly said with a laugh. “Cornelius has no problem offering his opinion when he hasn't been asked. I don't want to think about what he's like when people
want
to know what he thinks.”

Father Charles stiffened.

“Young man,” he snapped at the orderly, though the heavyset man with his untucked shirt and unruly hair hardly seemed of an age to warrant the description.

The orderly turned quickly, but did not raise his eyes. Father Charles's tone had been enough to tell him he had crossed a line. Enough for him, at least, but not for Father Charles.

“Cornelius Jessup, whom you so casually dismiss, is a brilliant man. He was my teacher.To this day, he is still my teacher.There are untold volumes of knowledge that you might attain simply by standing by to catch the pearls of wisdom that fall from his most august lips, and yet I daresay you would hardly recognize them. You know what they say about pearls and swine.”

The orderly knew he had been chastised, but seemed to have only the vaguest notion that he had also been insulted. “Sorry,” he said halfheartedly, “just kinda the impression you get, the way some of the other priests act around Father Jessup.They treat him like he's a crank, you know?”

Father Charles sighed. “I'm sure they do. Perhaps, however, one day you'll realize that it is possible to make up your own mind about your charges here, rather than relying upon the prejudices of others.”

“Sorry, Father,” the orderly said again.

“Let's move along,” Father Charles replied, giving the man not an inch.

After a moment, the orderly shuffled along the corridor again and they all followed.

The library turned out to be much larger than Janine would have expected, and much more richly furnished given the rest of the facility, particularly its exterior.There were high-backed leather chairs, and some softer ones as well, and at least two sofas that she could see. One entire wall was made up of high windows so the daylight shone in, but the other walls were lined with books, mostly hardback volumes.

The place was empty save for an attendant who sat behind a desk near the door.

“Father Jessup here?” the orderly asked.

“In back,” the attendant replied.

“We're all right from here,” Father Charles said, in a tone that would brook no argument.

Not that the orderly had any interest in giving him one. He glanced once at Father Charles and then fled the room, likely more than happy to return to changing bedpans or mopping floors if it meant not having to bear up under Hugh Charles's admonishing gaze.

A number of tall shelves on the far side of the enormous room created the illusion that the place was far closer to an actual library. Beyond those shelves, they found a long oak study table surrounded by plain wooden chairs quite different from the plush, comfortable furniture near the door.This was an area for study, Janine thought immediately. Not enjoyment.

The books also seemed different. The spines of a great many were leather, and some appeared to be quite old. Even newer-looking books shared one element, however. As Janine scanned the titles she realized that all of them were volumes on mythology and comparative theology.

At the far end of the long table sat a lone figure, a tall, thin man in dark pants and a green cardigan sweater. He had wispy white hair, pale skin, and a thin mustache, and he reminded Janine quite a bit of the late British actor David Niven, though he wore glasses with square, wire rims. This had to be Cornelius Jessup, and though he seemed quite spry, she gauged his age to be in the mid-seventies.

“Father Jessup?” Father Charles ventured.

The old man glanced up quickly, his eyes bright and alive behind his glasses. When he stood, however, it was with great difficulty. Pain flickered across his features before he pushed it away.

“Hugh, my boy,” Father Jessup said, his voice the rasp of a lifelong smoker. “You're looking well.”

“And you're still as dashingly handsome as ever. Still breaking the ladies' hearts, I'll wager,” Father Charles said.

Janine blushed, a bit taken aback by this exchange between the priests. As if he sensed her discomfort, Father Jessup glanced at her, then held out an age-mottled hand in her direction.

“Don't listen to him, my dear. I'm quite dedicated to my vows.”

“That's what breaks their hearts,” Father Charles retorted.

But the moment for humor had passed. Once Father Jessup had looked at Janine, he had not looked away. He studied her now with an intensity that made her squirm uncomfortably. All trace of amusement had gone from his face, to be replaced by a gravity that seemed dreadful to her.

“Seen something you can't explain, haven't you?” the old priest asked. Then he glanced at David. “Both of you.”

Father Charles gestured toward them. “This is David Bairstow, Father. A colleague of mine at St. Matthew's. And the young lady is Janine Hartschorn, formerly at St. Matt's and now at Medford High.”

Father Jessup nodded grimly. “Teachers.Well, I guess we'll find out what sort of teachers you are.”

“How do you mean?” Janine asked, surprised to find herself speaking at all.

But the old priest grinned. “Too many think once you can teach, you don't have anything more to learn. I guess you've already learned how wrong that approach is, just by what Hugh here's already told me.”

With a tiny grimace at the pain in his lower back and legs, Father Jessup reached out to shake both their hands. “Well, sit, then, and tell me what it is you've come to tell me. Trust me when I say it can't be any crazier than a lot of the things I've heard over the years.

“Fortunately for you two, I'm about the craziest old coot in the place.” He winked at Father Charles as he said it, but there was a bitterness in his voice as well. “Ask anyone; they'll tell you.”

So the four of them sat at the long oak table in the back of the library, and Hugh Charles slipped his old teacher a few cigars that Father Jessup quickly hid inside his sweater with a conspiratorial glance. The two men bemoaned the lack of good whiskey in the place.

And then Janine and David told their stories.

Father Jessup listened intently throughout, and Janine noticed that Father Charles was also paying close attention, though he had heard it all before.

When they were through, Cornelius Jessup leaned back in his uncomfortable wooden chair and rubbed his stiff back. His gaze drifted from Janine to David to Father Charles and then off to some distant point where only his eyes could see anything of importance. He reached inside his sweater and drew out one of the contraband cigars, peeled the crinkling plastic wrapper off it, and sniffed it exotically.

Then he clenched the cigar between his teeth and rose with difficulty from his seat.

“Give me a moment, would you?” he asked.

Then he began to drift amongst the books. For more than twenty minutes, while the rest of them made lame efforts at small talk, the old man puttered amongst the books, reading titles and, from time to time, pulling a volume off the shelf to peruse a few pages.

Then, abruptly, he abandoned the shelves and returned to the table. He slid in painful increments into the seat, cigar still jutting from his lips. Then he removed the cigar and placed it carefully on the table in front of him, lining it up as though he were a carpenter taking invaluable measurements.

Finally, he regarded them again. His eyes were narrowed slightly, deepening the lines on his face as he adjusted the square glasses that sat on the bridge of his nose, his hands shaking slightly.

“Let me first say that I believe you,” Father Jessup told them. “Everything that you've told me would be dismissed as ridiculous by the Church, of course, but that's good for business, isn't it? For us, I mean. The Church. In the fifty-seven years since I was first called to the service of God, I have seen a great many odd things. Sought them out, I should confess. It has earned me a reputation that is not entirely flattering.”

Father Charles began to speak, but the old priest shot a finger out toward him.

“Not a word from you,” Jessup commanded, and Father Charles obeyed.

“I have given my life over to the study of faith, my young friends,” Father Jessup continued, his eyes flashing and alive now with a renewed spark. “To belief. To spirituality and what is often perceived as the supernatural. So, yes, I believe everything you have told me.

“But there is one part of this story you've left out. It's a vital part, I think, and before I can formulate a hypothesis, it's a tale I should like to hear.”

Janine raised her eyebrows. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed David watching her. She shrugged.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“The first time you saw him, Janine,” the priest said gently. “During labor, when you lost your baby.You haven't talked about that at all.Tell me about that.Talk to me about what it was like to die.”

O
n the way home from the school, Annette stopped to pick up a few things at the grocery store. She had subbed for one of David's classes and had not been able to eat lunch as a result. It was never a good idea to go to the supermarket when she was hungry, so rather than just the milk, bread, and juice she had intended to buy, she also had a block of cheddar cheese, a bag of cookies, brownie mix, and a frozen pizza she knew she would regret buying.

Tired and hungry, she lugged her groceries from the parking lot to her building and managed the acrobatic feat of fishing out her keys and opening the doors without bothering to put anything down. Upstairs, however, her arms began to weaken and she was finally forced to put the bags on the landing to unlock her apartment.

Even as she swung the door open, the phone began to ring.

She grabbed two of the bags and used her foot to slide the other over the threshold.With a flick of her wrist,Annette tossed her keys onto the table and then slammed the door shut behind her. The phone on the wall in the kitchen was on its third ring when she snatched it up.

“Hello?”

“Hey, sexy.”

Annette could not have said why she blushed. Under normal circumstances, she was a hard woman to fluster. But ever since she had met Jill, that had changed just a little. There was something about this amazing, passionate woman that had her constantly off-kilter, butterflies in her stomach, as though she were back in eighth grade about to go onstage in the school play.

“Hi,” she replied, her voice almost unconsciously dropping to a low, feline rasp.

“What are you up to?” Jill asked, her tone playful as always.

“Right now?”

“Right now.”

“About to put some groceries away. Then ... it was kind of a long day, so I thought I'd jump in the shower.”

“Want some company?”

Annette leaned against the wall in the kitchen and crossed her legs. As though Jill were right there in the room with her, she smiled shyly and glanced at the floor. Her voice sounded so close, Annette could almost feel Jill's hands on her.

“I'll wait for you,” she said.

 
Talk to me about what it was like to die.

Janine flinched and looked away. Though she certainly understood what had happened to her—what had
almost
happened—no one had ever stated it to her so plainly, so boldly, before. It brought her back to that time, to the lost, drifting sensation that had overwhelmed her when she had ... almost died.

It was as though the memory enhanced her senses. All around her, the library seemed to come alive. Her hands touched the arms of the chair and found the wood hard and dry. A shiver ran through her.With amazing clarity, she glanced around at the wood and glass and leather-bound books in the room, so warm and masculine, and every line was visible to her, each a work of art. David gazed at her with love and concern, and she saw her own stricken reflection gleaming in his eyes. Father Charles had small crinkles at the edges of his eyes and mouth, and a spatter of white hair amongst the auburn at his temples. It was as though she could see each wrinkle, each strand of hair. He nodded for her to go on, as if to tell her it was all right to share this now, this pain of hers.

Father Jessup reached out and laid a cold hand, soft and dry as tissue paper, over hers. “I've upset you,” he said with that smoker's rasp. “I'm so sorry.”

“No.” She held up a hand almost as though she were blind, and shook her head. “No, it's okay. It's just ... I felt strange, suddenly. When I think about what it felt like ... then. To be so lost, everything so unreal, not like a dream, but like, I don't know, finding yourself part of a play, when you know it's not real but you can't seem to stop acting in it.”