Рита Браун - Cat's Eyewitness

Not only was he rescued by one of Albemarle County's biggest softies, he was doted on by her neighbors, Claudia and Andy Lynn, who loved creatures as much as Meredith did. The result was that Paddy was insufferable—plus he had a new girlfriend, named Twisted Sister.

"Worthless he may have been, but he was fun." That was all Mrs. Murphy had to say on the subject.

"While they're talking about love, you know Mom is figuring out when she's going back up to the monastery." Tucker thought the main course smelled mouth-watering.

* * *

Nordy Elliott was already there, lugging a heavy camera. He thought if he went alone and in the dark, he could shoot the footage he desperately wanted: a close-up of the Virgin Mary's face. And he was certain he could sneak in and not be detected. He was wrong.

18

Sweat poured down Nordy Elliott's face; a line of sweat rolled down the middle of his back. The heavy camera added to his distress. He'd been smart enough to park well away from the iron gates. Footing was treacherous. He'd pitched and fallen flat on his face but managed to keep the camera intact.

Breathing heavily, he approached the statue, which shone with a silver glow in the waxing moonlight. The skies, clear for a change, throbbed deep electric black, a black seen only in winter.

The crunch of his boots frightened Brother Mark at the statue. The men startled each other.

Nordy ordered, "Don't move."

"Don't give me orders," snapped Brother Mark, tucking his rosary in his robe's deep pocket. He stood up as Nordy walked to the front of the statue. He observed closely the look on the reporter's face when he beheld the tears of the Virgin. Rapture. This wasn't the rapture discussed in religious texts. This was the rapture of greed, greed for fame, for a bigger market, a national show. Without hesitation, Nordy swung the camera eyepiece to his own eye, his fingers numb with cold, sweat still running down his back. He held his breath so the camera wouldn't shake, the whirring sound of the motor being his reward. Nordy congratulated himself on shooting for two minutes, stopping, moving, then shooting from a different angle.

"All these shots are up toward her face. I need one where I'm level or shooting down." He spoke as if thinking out loud, not as though speaking directly to Brother Mark. He took a step back, slipped a little, and caught himself. He gingerly picked his way to a tree, put the camera on the ground, and, with difficulty, swung up.

"Her face is beautiful in this light." Brother Mark slid his hands into the heavy sleeves of his gray woolen robe.

"Mmm, hand me the camera, will you?"

Brother Mark picked up the camera, hoisting it over his head while Nordy leaned down and grabbed it with one hand.

"Heavy."

"I don't know how Priscilla does it."

"Oh, you can get women to do anything. I envied you that when we were in college."

"You tell them they're beautiful, smart, and that you want them. Works ninety percent of the time. You were always to the left of Pluto, Mark. You were out there spinning in your solitary orbit. Still are." Nordy hiked the camera to his eye, getting good footage of the statue. "This is going to look great."

"People need to see the tears." A pious tone informed Brother Mark's voice while he ignored the insult. "They need to feel that the Blessed Virgin Mother is crying for them."

"Uh-huh." Nordy cut the motor. "Here." He handed down the camera, then slid down the tree trunk backward. "I don't believe man is descended from the apes."

Holding the camera, Brother Mark found this observation peculiar. "Of course we aren't descended from the apes. Man is created in God's image."

Nordy laughed. "We aren't descended from apes because we'd climb trees better."

"You know, Nerdy really is the right nickname for you." Brother Mark handed the camera back to Nordy. "You have no feeling for beauty, no faith."

"I do, just not in the same things that you do," the reporter honestly replied with humor in his voice. "If you kneel like when I first walked up here, it would make a great shot."

"No."

"Why not? No one will know it's you; pull the hood over your head."

"No."

"What if I shoot you from the back?"

"In the back is more like it, Nordy. You'll walk over anyone to get ahead. The answer is no. Besides if Brother Handle found out, he'd—" Brother Mark stopped, listened carefully. "You'd better get out of here. Someone's coming."

"Maybe I can get them to let me shoot them praying before Our Lady."

With urgency, Brother Mark said, "And have your camera smashed? Then you've got nothing. You've got your footage of her tears of blood. People will see the miracle. Now get out."

Nordy now heard the footsteps coming closer. He ducked down the back side of the statue, slipping down the slope into the woods, where the sliver of moonlight wouldn't reveal him. He'd worked too hard for this footage to have it destroyed.

Brother Andrew's voice called out, "Who's there?"

"Me. Brother Mark."

As Brother Andrew came into view, he walked faster. "Who were you talking to?"

"No one."

The lanky monk looked down at the footprints, slick in the packed-down snow. There were so many footprints. "Who would be up here at this hour?"

"No one."

"Why are you here?"

"To pray. Why are you here?"

"I don't know." Brother Andrew shivered as a fresh wind rustled the dry oak leaves and pine needles, which wouldn't drop until spring growth. "I needed to think."

"This is the best place to do that. I come here as much as I can."

"Are you sure you were alone? I would've sworn I heard voices. Sound carries on a clear, cold night like tonight."

"Yes," Brother Mark lied.

Brother Andrew stared at him, then quietly said, "I don't believe you. If you know what's good for you, you'll go back to your cell."

19

Makes me sick." Harry turned up her nose.

"It's supposed to be progress." Susan slowed her station wagon as they passed the brand-new post office, under construction on the southwestern side of the railroad overpass.

"There wasn't one thing wrong with the old building. It's small, but Miranda and I made out okay."

"Miss it?"

"I do and I don't." Harry stared out the window as they drove north toward White Hall. "I miss seeing Miranda every day, and I really miss her orange-glazed cinnamon buns." Harry laughed. "I still see her, but it's not the same as working together. She spends more time with Tracy now." She paused a moment, turned toward Susan. "I expect she'll marry Tracy, don't you?"

"I expect." Susan laughed.

"Know what I miss about the post office?" Harry returned to Susan's original query. "Reading other people's postcards."

Susan smiled. "You were right to leave. It was time. You can do more and you will."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence." Harry meant it. "I alternate between not having a care in the world and dire panic."

"If you would remarry Fair, honey, much of your financial stress would lift."

"Is that why you married Ned?" Harry bit her lip.

"I married Ned because I was nineteen and pregnant with Danny, which you well know."

"Would you have married him anyway—later?"

"Yes." Susan nodded.

"This love stuff is too complicated." Harry sighed.

Susan braked as a squirrel foolishly dashed in front of the station wagon. "It can be."

"Do you love Ned?"

"Where did that come from? Oh, never mind." Susan took her right hand off the steering wheel and waved it dismissively for a second. "I do love him—more than I knew I did. I'm scared to death I'm going to lose him."

"Could you cheat?"

"Anyone could, given the right or wrong circumstances."

The temperature had soared to fifty-four degrees, and the melting snow and ice created flooded ditches, jammed culverts. In some places, creeks had jumped their beds. All one could hear was melting water, running water, water sloshing underfoot or over-foot. Susan slowed on some curves as water flowed over the black asphalt. The road to White Hall was twisty.