Рита Браун - Cat's Eyewitness

"Wait a minute. Moses pitches a fit because the Hebrews are worshiping a golden calf, but these people can lay down and sob in front of a statue?" Pewter's tiny nostrils flared when she caught a whiff of the buzzards as the wind shifted.

"That's why people are what they are, Pewter. They can rationalize anything. Reality is pretty much irrelevant to them. It's what they make up. It's why they suffer so much mental illness. How many alcoholic cats do you know? Cats on Prozac? Because sooner or later in human lives, in the life of their nation, reality intrudes and it's always unwelcome, a big, fat shock. They just go off." Mrs. Murphy wobbled her head to make her point.

The other two laughed.

"Can't reconcile reality with illusion or delusion," Tucker noted.

"Tucker, that's almost poetic." Pewter's pink tongue unfurled when she spoke.

As they neared the site of the statue, the animals could hear people saying their rosaries. Harry and Susan couldn't hear it yet.

Harry stopped. Susan collided into her and they fell down.

"Dammit, Harry, you should have given me warning."

"Sorry." Harry sat on the cold frosty snow for a moment to catch her breath.

"Come on." Susan, up first, held out her gloved hand.

Harry scrambled up. "Let's start with the outbuildings closest to the statue."

"The glassed-in greenhouse below, the garden cottage, the chandler's cottage. The other outbuildings and shops fan out all along the back high ridge."

"I wish we could go over the Virgin Mary with a fine-tooth comb." Harry sighed.

"Springtime," Susan answered.

"That will be too late." Harry stayed down on the slope away from the statue.

They passed the pumphouse and the greenhouse, electing to go to the chandler's cottage first since they could see figures inside the greenhouse.

The heavy door to the chandler's cottage was shut against the cold, snow piling by the door. Smoke spiraled out of the chimney, then swooped down low as though a large hand pushed the gray smoke flat.

Harry opened the door.

"Harry." Brother Mark smiled. "I'm glad you're here. Business has been light given all this weather. Hi, Susan. You know, it's not the same around here without Brother Thomas."

"I can well imagine." Susan loved the odor of the different candles. "What are you doing in the candle shop?"

"Brother Frank put me here today since Brother Michael, who usually runs this shop, you know, is coming down with a cold." He watched as Mrs. Murphy and Pewter marched directly to a small hole in a floorboard by the corner. "I knew there were mice in here! Every now and then Brother Michael complains of a chewed candle—never one of the tallow candles, always beeswax."

"Does Brother Michael make all these candles?" Susan admired a huge taper.

"He has help."

"Do you ever make any?" Harry inquired.

"No. It's a little too artistic for me. I mean, I can pour the wax in the molds, that part is okay, but it's when Brother Michael wants colors. I mess it up." He brightened. "I can collect beeswax with the best of them. They call me when they get stuck."

"Mountain honey." Susan could drink an entire jar of honey and savor every drop. However, the calories would send her right over the edge.

"Brother Prescott has charge of the hives. Funny to think of him in beekeeper's garb. Of course, the hives are in the same places they have been since the nineteenth century. Got 'em at the edge of every meadow."

Harry had sidled up to the computer as Susan and Brother Mark chatted. She noted that the computer was new, sophisticated.

Brother Mark caught her observation out of the corner of his eye. "Something, isn't it?"

"I thought you all had old stuff." Harry admired the thin flat screen in front of her.

"We did. Brother Prescott and I talked Brother Handle into a new system. Every shop is connected. Brother Frank can sit in his office and call up sales figures when they are transacted."

"What about Brother Handle?" Susan asked with seeming innocence.

"He's got the best." Brother Mark leaned forward and said conspiratorially, "About all he can do is turn it on. Great piece of equipment wasted."

"I would guess a lot of the brothers don't know how to use a computer." Harry couldn't take her eyes from the screen, its resolution crisp and clean.

"Uh, it's an age thing. I mean mostly it's an age thing. The brothers running the shops had to learn, didn't much like it. The others don't use them."

"Did my great-uncle know how to use one?" Susan asked.

"He could do anything. If it had a motor or was wired, Brother Thomas could figure it out."

"He was pretty amazing," Susan agreed.

"I know you're down there," Mrs. Murphy called into the mouse opening.

A high voice called back, "And down here we'll stay."

Another voice yelled, "Hairy brute."

Mrs. Murphy stuck her paw in the hole.

"Wouldn't you love to grab one!" Pewter's pupils grew large in her chartreuse eyes.

As the cats fiddled with the mouse hole, Tucker sniffed everything. All was in order.

"Do you own a computer?" Harry asked.

"No." Brother Mark pointed out a candle in the shape of a cat.

"Girls." Harry pointed to the candle.

The cats glanced at the object, then returned their focus to the mice between the floorboards and the joists.

"I'll buy this for the kitties." Susan reached into her jeans' pocket for bills. "Brother Mark, do you think you'll remain a monk?"

He paused a long time. "It was easier when I had Brother Thomas to turn to, to work with. Now I feel pretty much alone. I don't know if I'm cut out for the contemplative life."

"Darn." Susan dropped her money, bills fluttering to the floor.

Harry bent down to retrieve them and her .38 gun handle clearly showed in her jacket pocket.

"What are you doing with a gun?" Brother Mark's voice rose to a higher register.

"Forgot to put it away after target practice," she fibbed.

"Stuff it down in your pocket. Everyone's jumpy around here."

"You think Brother Andrew killed my great-uncle?" asked Susan.

"I don't know." Brother Mark accepted the bills, his palm open. "He had the best opportunity for it."

"It is strange," she concurred. "Don't all those people at the statue work on your nerves?"

"No, not really. They need help and comfort. And they're generous. Even the poor ones leave something. I believe that Our Lady will intercede for them. She may not give them what they ask for, but she'll give them what's best."

"Yes," Susan simply said.

"She ought to do something about these mice," Pewter piped up.

Slyly, Harry reached for the keyboard but didn't touch it. "Brother Mark, did you know there's a Web site dedicated to Our Lady of the Blue Ridge? If you send money, the person posing as a brother will pray for you or say a rosary."

"No."

"I'm not kidding." Harry's hands hovered over the keyboard. "Want to see?"

"Uh—well, yes, but if a brother walks in here you'll have to bail. No personal use."

Deftly, Harry typed in the Web site address, Brother Mark hanging over her shoulder. When the photo of the Blessed Virgin Mother, tears bloody on her cheeks, appeared, he gasped.

Harry scrolled up text and Brother Mark read quickly. Then the door opened and she clicked off the computer, stepping back so Brother Mark could step forward as though he was making a sale.

Brother Frank walked in, his face soured at the sight of Harry. "Here to meddle?"

"That's a Christian greeting," she shot back.

He considered this. "Well, what are you doing here?"

"Candles." Susan pointed to the bag into which Brother Mark was placing the cat candle and a fat beeswax candle.

"Are the cats and dog buying, too?" Brother Frank scowled.