John Saul - The Right Hand of Evil

Janet nodded. "Actually, she was my husband's aunt-" she began, but Alma Morgan was already speaking again, this time leaning forward and clasping Janet's arm tightly.

"She wasn't crazy, you know. Don't pay any attention to what anyone says." Then, before Janet had a chance to respond, Alma Morgan was gone. Janet was still "trying to decide what the woman's words meant when someone else spoke.

This time it was the middle-aged woman who had been sitting at the back of the church. Now that the service was over, she'd pulled her veil back, revealing warm blue eyes that watched with amusement as Alma Morgan scurried out of the cemetery. "Now, the question-as I see it, anyway-is this: What is the exact state of Alma Morgan's sanity?" She smiled. "I'm Corinne Beckwith. My husband is the sheriff here."

Moving close to Janet, Ted extended his hand toward Mrs. Beckwith. "I'm Ted Conway. This is my wife, Janet. And this," he added, releasing Corinne Beckwith's hand to lift Molly out of Janet's arms, "is Molly, the true ruler of our house. Can you say hello to the nice lady?" he asked Molly.

Molly, just waking up, happily mumbled something, then demanded to be let down. A moment later she was darting off among the headstones, already lost in some game she'd made up in her own mind. And Ted, freed of his youngest daughter, set about charming Corinne Beckwith.

How can he do it? Janet marveled as she listened to Ted chat with the woman as if they'd been friends for years. How can he be so nice when he's sober, and so -

She cut the thought short, refusing to tarnish the moment by anticipating what the rest of the day might hold if Ted started drinking. Instead, she tuned into what Corinne Beckwith was saying.

"Just because what happened in that horrible old house took place forty years ago doesn't mean everyone's forgotten about it, you know." Corinne had fixed her attention on Ted as if she suspected he might be trying to hide something from her. "This is a small town, and people talk about things forever. And now with your aunt gone, we'll probably never know what really did happen that day."

"What 'really did happen'?" Janet repeated, frowning. "She had a nervous breakdown when she found her husband, didn't she?"

Corinne Beckwith's brows rose a fraction of an inch. "There was the question of the baby, too."

"The baby?" Janet echoed. "What baby?"

"The one Cora Conway gave birth to right after she found her husband hanging from the magnolia tree."

Janet's eyes shifted to Ted, and she could see that he was as mystified by Corinne's words as she. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm afraid neither one of us knows what you're talking about."

The other woman's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean no one ever told you your aunt was pregnant?" she asked.

Ted held up his hands as if to fend the question off. "Hey, I was hardly even born when all that happened."

Corinne Beckwith had the grace to be embarrassed. "Oh, Lord, what am I doing?" she said, disconcerted. "Why would you have known about it? It's probably nothing more than small-town gossip anyway," she went on in a rush. "And of all the places to bring it up-" She was still floundering when the priest stepped easily into the breach.

"And since we don't know what the truth was, maybe we shouldn't speculate about it." He gave Corinne a reproachful look, then extended one hand to Ted, the other to Janet. "I'm Father MacNeill. I'm so sorry about your aunt."

"It was a lovely mass," Janet began, automatically mouthing the words she knew were expected of her. But even as she made conversation with the priest, her mind was whirling. A baby? Aunt Cora had a baby? But surely Ted would have heard of it, wouldn't he?

"I understand you'll be moving to St. Albans," she heard Father MacNeill say. "We're looking forward to having the children in our little school, and all of you, of course, in our congregation."

How did he know the children were going to parochial school? Janet wondered. They hadn't told anyone. But then she understood-St. Albans wasn't Shreveport. Here, obviously, everyone knew everyone else's business. Which meant, she realized with a sinking heart, that everyone in town would know about Ted's drinking problem the first time he got drunk.

"Well, I'm not exactly sure all of that will be happening," Janet heard her husband say, and she instinctively braced herself for what might be coming next. Please, Ted, not here, she silently begged. Don't make a scene here. But it was already too late.

"I'm afraid I'm what you call a 'lapsed' Catholic," Ted went on. "In fact, I haven't been to mass more than half a dozen times since I was a kid."

Father MacNeill's smile faltered. "Perhaps I can change that-" he began.

"Don't count on it," Ted said flatly. "I just don't hold with religion. Never have. I don't mind my kids going to your school, but don't count on any of us showing up for church on Sundays."

The last trace of Father MacNeill's smile faded away. "Have you found a place to live yet?" he asked, and Janet relaxed as the priest seemed to shift the conversation away from Ted's lack of religious convictions. But as she listened to Ted explain that they would be moving into his uncle's house and converting it into a small hotel, Janet saw the priest's expression darken. "A hotel?" he repeated when Ted had finished. "Well, I hope you're prepared for a fight on that one!"

"A fight?" Ted asked. "Why would there be a fight?"

A veil dropped behind the priest's eyes. "Perhaps I'm wrong," he said quickly. Too quickly, it seemed to Janet, thinking that Ted had made a mistake in airing his religious views so freely. They'd barely arrived in St. Albans, and already he'd made an enemy. "It's just that in a small town, there are always objections to change, aren't there?" Father MacNeill said smoothly. He glanced at his watch, a gesture Janet interpreted as an excuse to cut the conversation short. "Good Heavens, look at the time," he said, betraying himself by putting a little too much surprise into his voice. "I'm terribly sorry, but I'm afraid I'm running late."

An uncomfortable silence spread over the little group as the priest hurried back into the church. Then Ted said, "Well, I guess I put my foot in it with him, didn't I?"

I guess you did, Janet thought, but bit back the words before she spoke them.

Corinne Beckwith, though, nodded. "Father MacNeill doesn't like having his toes stepped on. Not about religion, or anything else. But it isn't just what you said. I think it's your house, too."

"Our house?" Janet repeated. "What could be wrong with fixing up our house? I'd think everyone would be thrilled."

"Not around here," Corinne Beckwith replied. "That area's zoned residential, and I have a feeling there will be a lot of opposition to giving you a variance."

"But why?" Janet pressed. "If we're bringing money into the town-"

Corinne shook her head. "Money has nothing to do with it." She hesitated, then went on. "It's your family. There are a lot of people here who simply don't have much fondness for anyone named Conway." Her lips twisted into an apologetic semblance of a smile. "Welcome to St. Albans."

Father Devlin slowly emerged from his trance of prayer.

The church was silent; Cora Conway's funeral over.

Slowly, every joint and muscle protesting, he pulled himself to his feet and haltingly made his way back to the tiny cell he occupied on the top floor of the rectory. The cell was his penance, a penance he had assigned himself forty years ago, on the day he knew he'd failed. He'd resigned his ministry that day, turning over his church and his authority to young Father MacNeill, and retreated to his cell to spend whatever remained of his life contemplating his own sins.