Love By its First Name Read online

  As he was washing his hands, he glanced in the mirror at his long-sleeved, button-down shirt with vertical green and medium blue stripes. His trousers matched the blue in the shirt. He smiled as he thought of Rebecca’s note in the package, “Just thought you needed another shirt, and pants to go with it. My donation to Holy Mother Church. Blue looks good on you. Love, Rebecca.” He frowned at himself as he thought of the many times Rebecca entered his mind since her visit. When Bill Johnson saw his blue pants, he called out to his wife, “Hey Gail, look at this, blue pants! Maybe we’ll make a normal human being out of him yet.”

  Jerry went into the little office, sat down at the desk, and picked up his Breviary to pray Vespers and Compline, the last ‘offices’ of the day. The first few years of his priesthood, he had ‘read’ the Divine Office religiously, as a moral obligation. He had angrily dropped the practice when he read that he could be ‘excused’ from the Divine Office if he sent a certain minimum donation to some Catholic mission society. Since his arrival in Paris, he had gone back to it, not out of a sense of duty but as a spiritual exercise. He found it helpful in a way he had not before. Before he opened the prayer book, he saw the letter Rebecca had sent with the shirt and pants. He was surprised, he rarely, if ever, left a personal letter open on his desk. He started to put it in a drawer and decided to read it again.

  Dear Jerry:

  I hope you like the shirt and pants, a token of appreciation for your kindness during my stay in Paris. I really enjoyed my brief visit there, especially my time with Marge and Alice, and with YOU, of course. At least once a day, I’m sitting at that picnic table near the lake and horses and talking to you.

  It is near midnight and I thought of calling, but knowing that you get up with the chickens out there on the prairie. I thought that I would write. I like to receive letters—hope you do, too. I can’t re-read a phone call.

  I’m really getting to enjoy Denise and Rene, my mentees, you know. I gave them a tour of the office and then took them home for dinner. They were properly impressed. I think I’m planting a seed for them to think about college.

  I had dinner tonight with a wonderful man I met. He is an attorney, but one with a conscience! He works for the American Civil Liberties Union and is on a mission for human rights and social justice. He talks like you! I think you’d like him. We talked till midnight. It would be wonderful to speak with you again.

  Love, Rebecca

  He wondered if he would have talked to her differently if he had read the cheery letter before he called her about the article? No wonder she was ticked off at him. He frowned as he, again, felt a bit jealous of the ACLU attorney. He mumbled to himself, “That’s pretty stupid, Haloran.”

  He put the letter in a drawer and picked up the Breviary. The first Psalm was Psalm 69 and began:

  Save me, God! The water is already up to my neck!

  I am sinking in the deepest swamp, there is no foothold;

  I have stepped into deep water and the waves are washing over me.

  He put the book down and leaned back in the desk chair. He thought about what the Psalmist was experiencing when he wrote his poem. What did the water symbolize to him? And what was the swamp? He mumbled to himself, “I am up to my neck in confusion and loneliness. Is it a swamp?” He shook his head as if to clear it and began reading again. When he was finished, he watched the ten o’clock news and went to bed.

  He awoke with Plato growling. Jerry glanced at the digital clock, 3:30 a.m. “Oh hell, not the graffiti artists again,” he said. He jumped out of bed, put on his pants and shoes and headed for the door without turning on the light. He put on his windbreaker and picked up the flashlight. Someone rang the doorbell. The vandals wouldn’t ring the bell, surely. Most of the farm workers didn’t have phones. Maybe someone was very ill out at the dairy or egg ranch. He turned on the porch light and looked through the miniblinds. It was a disheveled little woman all bundled up like a babushka. He opened the door.

  Recognizing Angela Kurtz and seeing her bruised face, Jerry quickly opened the storm door. “My Lord, Angela! Come in, come in.” Angela limped into the room. Jerry offered to take her coat but she sadly shook her head. He gently took her arm and directed her to the couch. Angela winced as she gingerly sat down.

  Jerry pulled up a chair in front of her and Plato sat down beside him. “Angela, tell me what happened? May I get you anything?”

  The poor woman began to cry as she looked at the floor. “Oh, Father, I’m so sorry to disturb you in the middle of the night.” She looked up at him and he could see her face clearly for the first time. One eye was swollen nearly shut and her forehead and cheeks were purple and red. Her expression seemed to beseech him to understand. “I, uh, oh, just didn’t know what to do or where to go. And, I, uh, thought of how kind you were to my Melanie and I came to you. I’m sorry.”

  He winced when Angela mentioned his so-called kindness to Melanie. She was too preoccupied to notice. He reached out and touched her hand. “Please don’t apologize, Angela. I’m glad you came.” He knew she needed some kind of medical attention but there was no doctor in Paris. He wondered how she managed to drive the hundred and more miles from Aberdeen. He wished he knew more about first aid. “Let me get you a cold cloth for your eye.” He stood and said, “I’ll be right back.”

  He gave her the cold cloth and a glass of water. Haltingly and with many tears, Angela told him what had happened. She had gone to bed at ten and soon after heard her daughter, Julie, scream. She ran to Julie’s room and found Ralph attempting to rape her. Angela screamed and headed for the telephone to call the police. Ralph intercepted her and knocked her to the floor where he kicked her face, ribs, and hips. Julie had tried to stop him but he hit the girl so hard she passed out. He told Angela that if either of them reported him to the police, he would kill them. She ended by saying, “Father, I, we, couldn’t stay.”

  The same rage he had felt when Melanie was killed boiled inside him, but he said softly, “Where is Julie now?”

  “She was asleep in the car when I drove up.”

  “I’ll go out and check on her.” Jerry put his coat back on and picked up the flashlight. Before he opened the door, he turned back to the battered woman huddled on the couch. “Angela, I’m glad you got out. We’ll find some real help for you.” She looked up and attempted a weak smile.

  He kept the flashlight low as he approached the car. As quietly as possible, he opened the door where Julie, slumped in the seat, was sleeping. She jumped when the cool air hit her. She quickly put her hands over her face and crawled to the other side of the car. “Don’t hit me.”

  Julie, too, had bruises on her face. Jerry whispered, “Julie, it’s Father Jerry. You’re safe now.”

  She slowly opened her eyes. Jerry moved the flashlight so she could distinguish his face. She moved a little closer. “Father Jerry? How did we get here? Where is my Mom?”

  “She’s in the house. She drove here. Why don’t we go in and get out of the cold? Okay?” Julie got stiffly out of the car. She was able to walk, but Jerry held her arm as they made their way into the house.

  After Jerry fixed hot cocoa for them, they talked about what they could do. They ruled out calling the police in Aberdeen because Ralph would make bail. Both Julie and Angela were convinced he would kill them if he could find them. Jerry learned that Ralph had switched to the midnight to eight a.m. shift at the warehouse. He had gone to work with another fellow after the attack. Immediately after he had left, they had begun packing clothes and whatever else they thought the car would hold and headed for Paris. Both of them had severe headaches. Jerry wondered if they had concussions.

  “Angela, do you have any relatives who could help you?”

  “My parents live in Lawrence, you met them at Melanie’s funeral. Father, I can’t involve them. I’m sure Lawrence will be the first place Ralph will look. There’s no one else. Ralph wouldn’t let me visit them. At the funeral, that was the first time I’d seen them in y
ears. Neither one of them are well.”

  Jerry wanted to shout, “Angela, this is the twentieth century; women don’t need to get permission from their husbands to visit their own relatives!” He realized he would have to notify Angela’s parents and encourage them to get a restraining order against Ralph. He began thinking of people who could help. A seminary classmate of his was Director of Catholic Charities in Denver. That would be far enough away. Jerry ruled him out as too much of stickler for rules, he’d want to go through legal channels, even if Julie and Angela’s lives were at stake. He might find someone in the parish that would help but then Ralph might think of him, just as Angela did. After mentally going over everyone he could think of, he remembered that Rebecca had mentioned a friend who was a social worker in St. Louis. He glanced at his watch, four a.m. He turned to Angela as she stared at the floor. “Angela, would you be willing to go to St. Louis if I could find a place for you there?”

  She looked at him sadly. “Father, I don’t have any money.”

  “If I can find a way, would St. Louis be alright? How about you, Julie?”

  Julie was leaning back on the sofa with a washcloth over her forehead and eyes. She mumbled, “I don’t care.”

  Jerry went into the office and quietly closed the door and dialed Rebecca. The phone rang three times and then her answering machine came on. “You have reached...” Rebecca’s voice came on over the recorded message. “Just a damn minute while I turn this damn thing off.” After a few knocks and screeches, Rebecca was back on, “This better be good, it’s four a.m.!”

  “Rebecca, this is Jerry Haloran.”

  “So you’re going to start harassing me at night, is that it? “

  “No. I need some help. Sorry for waking you. It’s important.”

  “It better be important. The chickens aren’t up yet are they?”

  “This one is. I’ve got someone here who needs help?” He told her the basic story and then asked, “Could your social worker friend help? I can’t remember her name.”

  “It’s Helene. She probably can, she’s pretty well-connected around here. I’ll call her and call you right back. How will they get here, if Helene can find a place?”

  “I thought I would drive them over.”

  “Are they able to make such a long car trip?”

  “I don’t know, but I don’t know how else I can get them there. Do you know what to do for bruises, black eyes, and possible concussions?”

  “God, they’ve been hurt bad, huh? No, but, of course, you have someone there who does. Remember, Marge was a nurse before she went for her doctorate in chemistry.”

  “To tell you the truth, I’d forgotten that. I’ll call her and take them over to her place. Call me there.” He woke Marge up and when she heard a bit of the story, said, “Jerry, get them over here now! I’ll see what I can do.”

  Jerry bundled Angela and Julie into his car and headed for the farm. While Marge was ministering to their wounds, Rebecca called to let him know that Helene was sure she could get them into a safe place in St. Louis. She knew of three shelters that were for women and children in their situation. Rebecca asked him to stop by her place first and she’d give them directions or let them stay overnight if they had to wait until Tuesday. She’d take off work by noon to make sure she would be there to meet them. She gave him directions to her house. After he got off the phone Marge took him into the kitchen and informed him that both Julie and Angela looked like they might have broken ribs and possibly concussions, and that they should see a doctor as soon as possible.

  “Marge, time is a real problem. Here’s what I’m thinking: Ralph Kurtz, the perpetrator, will start looking for them as early as eight-thirty this morning. I thought I would load up their stuff in my car and have Angela follow me to Aberdeen in hers. We would park her car in the long-term parking at the airport and then head for St. Louis. Could they make it that far and that many hours okay?”

  “I’m not sure. If Julie could stay lying down, I think she’d be okay. You’d have to wake her every two hours to make sure. Angela’s right eye is so swollen, she can hardly see. And with at least a severe headache and those broken ribs, I don’t know how she drove to Paris. She couldn’t drive back.” Marge stopped and then said, “I’ve got an idea. I have a cousin near here who has two boys, twenty and seventeen. I’ll bet I can get them to drive Angela’s car to the Aberdeen airport tomorrow. One can follow to bring the other back. How would that be?”

  Within half an hour Jerry, with his car packed nearly to the ceiling, Angela riding shotgun and Julie lying on top of all the luggage, led a procession through, and out of, Paris. Not a soul saw the parade. Dale, one of Marge’s two cousins followed in Angela’s car and Daryl, the second cousin, followed him in the pickup. Jerry glanced at his watch, it was five-thirty. He was sure they would make the airport by eight. Dale and Daryl were very shy and even seemed sullen. They drove a light colored pick-up. He shook his head at the thought that they could be the graffiti painters, but Plato hadn’t growled at them, so he dismissed the thought. Jerry led the boys to the airport and to the long-term parking lot. He gave each of them twenty dollars for gas and for their trouble, He thanked them, and asked them to keep their mission “in the family.” They wouldn’t, of course, this would be a big event in their lives. All Paris would know by the time he got back, so he told the boys he was putting the woman and girl on a plane, but he didn’t say to where. They had made it by seven forty five. He waited a few minutes until he was sure the boys were out of the parking area.

  Julie woke up and said she was hungry. Jerry was, too. “How about you, Angela, ready for breakfast?” He tried to sound cheerful.

  “I guess I should eat something.”

  He didn’t want Julie and Angela to be seen, nor did he want to explain what he was doing riding around with a car packed to the gills and a woman and teenager in the car with him. He headed for a McDonalds’ drive-through.

  Julie slept easily and Jerry was often sleepy himself and had to work to stay awake. Once, the powerful blast of an air-horn startled him and, glancing at the dash, he noticed he was going only forty-five miles an hour. The horn startled Angela and Julie. Julie put her head back down but Angela stayed awake as they drove through Kansas City.

  The traffic was lighter east of the city and they made good time for over an hour. He began to worry about Julie and was relieved when he heard, “Father Jerry, I’m hungry. I need to go to the bathroom, too.”

  Jerry glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Julie’s bruised face and pained expression. “A sign just said, ‘Odessa, three miles,’ we’ll stop there.” Odessa had a Burger King. As they entered, Jerry wondered what kind of picture the three made, a tired but obviously unhurt man with a teen-age girl with a black eye, and a battered, limping woman with a bruised face. Several people looked their way, probably thinking he had beaten his wife and daughter and now was making up for it by taking them out to Burger King. He winced and a cold chill ran down his spine as he thought of Ralph Kurtz.

  When he picked up their food and sat down at the table, Julie asked, “Father Jerry, you okay?”

  He tried to smile. “Sure I am, sweetheart, why do you ask?” He was glad that she felt well enough to think of him.

  Julie gave him a weak smile. “Oh, you just seemed kinda sad.”

  He leaned across the table and whispered, “I thought some people here...” Jerry looked around. “probably think I beat you and your mom up and now I’m taking you out to eat.”

  Julie looked startled. “You wouldn’t do that! You know what Ralph did once?” She didn’t wait for his reply. “He knocked Melanie around and then said he would take us all out to dinner. Melanie wouldn’t go and he beat her some more.”

  Angela, looking very fearful, whispered, “Julie, people will hear you!”

  “He did! I hate him! I don’t care who knows!” She had lowered her voice, however. Leaning toward Jerry, she asked, “Father Jerry, have you ever beate
n anyone up?”

  Jerry hesitated a moment. “Sort of. I knocked your stepfather’s head against the bricks in front of your house the day Melanie was killed.”

  Julie’s eyes widened in disbelief, then she smiled. “You did? ... I’m glad you did! I wish you woulda killed him.”

  “Now, Julie, please don’t talk like that. It’s a sin to think that way.” Angela shook her head.

  “I can understand her feelings, Angela, and I think God can, too. That day and last night when you told me what happened to you and Julie, I have to admit I wanted to kill him.” Because Angela looked so puzzled, he went on, “I’m quite sure I won’t but the thought and feelings were there just as they were when Melanie died. So I can understand Julie, and God is more understanding than I am.”

  Jerry vividly recalled that day. When Ralph Kurtz heard that Melanie had been run over by a truck and that she was dead, he had muttered, “What a stupid little shit. That ain’t even the way to the school.” Jerry had jumped up and pulled Ralph up from the chair and demanded that they go outside. He told the chubby man not to talk negatively about Melanie and to support Angela. When Ralph said, “You talk like Melanie was your own, Holy Man. Were you diddling my little girl?” Jerry lifted him up by the collar and bounced his head against the bricks and hissed, “Listen here, you evil little bastard, you go in there and take care of your wife. And you go to the city morgue and identify the body—Angela can’t do it.”

  He shook his head as if to get rid of the thoughts and feelings that went with that awful day.