Love By its First Name Read online

  Only a few minutes after they were back on the road, both Julie and Angela fell asleep. Jerry began to think of how Ralph Kurtz resembled his own father. If he had gotten married in his twenties, instead of becoming a priest, would he have been like his dad and Ralph Kurtz? Maybe. His brother Scott was a lot like them. Jerry glanced over at Angela. She looked, even in sleep, tired and sad, just like his own mother did. His thoughts turned to his own family and why he had chosen to become a priest. Maybe he became a priest in hopes that people would love him. They respected his hard work and encouraging words, maybe even respected him, but love him? Probably not. He was just a role to everyone. Maybe not to Wayne. He wondered if he could share any of this confusion with Kathy or Marge or Rebecca. No, Wayne was the only one who might understand, Jerry concluded.

  Julie began to feel better as she was awake as they approached St. Louis. Interstate 70 had turned into an eight-lane expressway and the evening rush-hour traffic was bumper-to-bumper, and fortunately most of it was heading west to the suburbs. Julie kept saying, “Wow!” She had never been to a city larger than Aberdeen. She had slept through Kansas City.

  “Well, Julie, you think you could like St. Louis?” He could see only part of her face in the rearview mirror.

  “Gosh, I don’t know, it’s sure big.”

  Jerry glanced over at Angela. “What about you, Angela?”

  She shook her head wearily. “Any place has to be better than Aberdeen.”

  He found Rebecca’s address fairly easily. It was a little after four when he found her number in the midst of a huge condominium complex. He parked in the visitor’s parking area nearest Rebecca’s number. As he got out of the car, he said, “I’ll be right back,”

  * * *

  Rebecca jumped when she heard the doorbell. She was sure it would be Jerry but she looked through the viewer to make sure. He stood there in a black jacket, fidgeting and looking tired. Taking another glance at her appearance, jeans and a St. Louis Cardinals sweatshirt, she unchained the door. “Jerry, it’s so good to see you.”

  “Thanks, Rebecca, it’s good to see you too.” He made an attempt at a smile.

  “Come in, come in, and give me a hug.” Rebecca kept her smile and opened her arms to him. She would not let him know that she had spent the last hour nervously cleaning house and putting things in order. She also did not want him to know how uncertain she was about how to be with him, knowing his negative reaction to the article.

  Jerry slowly entered and put his arms around her. He held her more tightly than he had in Paris. “Thanks, Rebecca, for helping us out.”

  “Isn’t that what friends are for?” She had to work to make it sound casual. She stepped back before he had a chance to push her away. “Where is the rest of the ‘us’?”

  “They’re still in the car. I wanted to make sure you were home and, uh, that I had the right place. Rebecca, they’re tired and afraid.”

  “I’ll try to be nice.” He seemed to miss the sarcasm as he silently led her to his dirty Pontiac. Julie was sitting in the driver’s seat. “Jerry, you didn’t let that little girl drive, did you?”

  “Why not? She’s a good driver.” Now it was Rebecca who missed the sarcasm. When she looked up at him, he was smiling. She punched him lightly on the arm. “She climbed down from her perch in back,” he said as he opened the door. “Julie, I’d like you to meet my friend, Rebecca Brady. Rebecca, I’d like you to meet one of the bravest girls in the world.” Julie smiled weakly and gave Jerry a ‘come off it’ look.

  Rebecca took Julie’s hand. “Hi, Julie. Welcome to St. Louis.”

  Julie’s “thank you” was that of a scared mouse.

  Jerry bent over and looked at his other passenger. “And this is Angela, the brave mother who drove over a hundred miles when she could hardly see.”

  Rebecca, too, bent over and saw a woman whose face was so bruised, she could hardly see out of either eye. “Hi, Angela. Welcome.”

  Angela said ‘thank you’ in a voice even weaker than her daughter’s.

  Jerry went around the car to open the door for Angela as Rebecca held the door for Julie. He asked them which bags they would need for the night. They pointed them out to him while Rebecca led them to her townhouse. She noticed that Angela had a difficult time making it up the steps.

  “I’m afraid that the bedrooms are on the second floor. I hope that’s okay,” Rebecca said apologetically. Angela wore faded brown slacks and an old out-of-style coat. Julie was in jeans and a denim jacket that had seen better days. Both of them looked at the living room as if they were on a strange planet.

  Rebecca hoped they would be able to make themselves somewhat comfortable. Jerry arrived with two small suitcases and a plastic bag full of clothes. Rebecca took one of the suitcases and said, “If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you your room. We’ll let Father Jerry sleep on the couch.” The four slowly went up the stairs. Jerry set the suitcases down in the guest room and quickly went back downstairs.

  Rebecca left the mother and daughter upstairs to take a shower and change clothes. As she descended the stairs, she saw Jerry slouching on the couch with his legs extended out in front of him, his lanky frame seemingly taking up half the room. “Nice place you have here, Rebecca.” He looked around, taking in the whole room. Rebecca followed his eyes as he looked over the off-white walls, chairs, and white plastic-and-glass tables.

  She could tell by his expression that he really didn’t like her taste in furniture. But she was more interested in how Angela and Julie came to be dependent on Jerry for their safety. He had told her only that he had a mother and teenage daughter who needed a place to stay to get away from a vicious and violent husband and father.

  “Jerry, how did Angela and Julie come to be in your charge? Do they live in Paris?”

  The priest pulled his legs in and sat up straight. He said in a soft voice, “Rebecca, you remember me telling you about Melanie Kurtz?” Rebecca nodded. “Well, Julie is the younger sister you were worried about, and, of course, Angela is her mother.”

  Rebecca put her hand over her mouth, stifling a scream. She sat down on the other end of the couch and whispered, “Oh, my God. Jerry, did the stepfather rape Julie?”

  Jerry whispered, “He tried to, but Angela tried to stop him and he beat her. Julie tried to help and he hit her so hard she was knocked out. I hope that it was his first attempt at the rape. Of course, I haven’t asked her yet.” Jerry went on to tell her as much as he knew about what had happened.

  “I don’t know about you, but I need a drink. Want one?”

  “Got something strong?”

  “Red wine, white wine, brandy and I think I have some scotch.” She had bought all four this afternoon.

  “Scotch on the rocks sounds good, if you have it.”

  She headed for the kitchen feeling very sad about her poor guests.

  Rebecca gave him his scotch and held up her glass of white wine and, attempting a smile, said, “May all visitors to St. Louis enjoy a new beginning in life!”

  Jerry looked puzzled for a moment. “I’ll drink to that.” They touched their glasses.

  Rebecca whispered, “Jerry, Julie and Angela look so awful. They have been through so much.”

  “Yes they have. Rebecca, Marge said they might have concussions. Marge was worried about them making the trip. You think we should get them to a clinic or emergency room?”

  “I don’t know. Let’s ask them when they come down. I don’t think they’d want to have a doctor poke around at them tonight. But then--”

  Julie came down the stairs, followed by Angela, who took each step very slowly and carefully. She held on to the rail with both hands. Julie had on clean but wrinkled jeans and Angela wore an old cotton-print dress that drooped below her knees. She had on the same scuffed brown loafers she arrived in. At least this woman had the good sense to run away. Rebecca wondered why she ran to Jerry? Wasn’t there anyone else in her life she could turn to? She couldn’t be much ol
der than Rebecca herself, but looked decades older.

  When Julie reached the bottom of the stairs, she looked at Jerry and smiled. She said to the reporter. “Nice place you have, Rebecca.”

  “Thank you, Julie.”

  Angela seemed exhausted when she reached the last step. “I hope we’re not causing too much trouble, Miss Brady.”

  “Not at all. And please call me ‘Rebecca.’” She meant it. “I’m fixing lasagna for dinner, is that okay?” They both thought it was fine. Jerry got up and said, “I’ll help out Rebecca. Kitchen’s aren’t just for women anymore.”

  “They are in our house.” Julie sounded bitter.

  As they sat down to dinner, Rebecca announced that the lasagna was made from a recipe from one of Jerry’s parishioners, Marge Woerner. This prompted Julie to exclaim about what a great priest Jerry was and how they missed him at St. Gabriel’s. “You remember, Father Jerry, how you used to have us all sing that dumb song about the old lady and the fly?”

  Jerry looked at the ceiling as if to say, “I don’t know anything about that.”

  “You know, you’d lead us all in it and then the nuns would get mad at all of us.” Julie laughed a delightful, little girl, laugh. “Father, sing it for us! Please!”

  Jerry hesitated then smiled. “Okay, maybe we all need a little laughter.” He began, “I know an old lady who swallowed a fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps, she’ll die.”

  It was a dumb song, but delightful. Rebecca watched Julie as she looked admiringly at Jerry. She wondered if it was Julie’s idea to go to Paris when they ran away. Julie joined Jerry in the singing and after three verses Rebecca joined them each time they got to “She swallowed a spider that wiggled and jiggled and tickled inside her. She swallowed the spider to catch the fly, I don’t know why she swallowed a fly, perhaps she’ll die.” Jerry and Julie made all kinds of shaking movements as if the spider had crawled down their shirts. Rebecca laughed as she joined them. Even Angela smiled weakly. They all laughed at the end.

  “I can see why the nuns got angry at all of you. Was Father Jerry always upsetting the nuns, Julie?” Rebecca was only partially serious. Julie showed no signs of having a concussion.

  “Mostly Sister Mary Agnes. She’s an old fussbudget.”

  Angela spoke for the first time. “Now Julie, you mustn’t talk like that.”

  “Well, she is.” Julie turned to Rebecca. “There’s one song Father Jerry taught us that Melanie and I really liked. It wasn’t dumb. Melanie and I used to sing it all the time.”

  “Would you sing it for me?” Rebecca asked.

  “If Father Jerry will join me. Would you?” Julie gave him a cocker-spaniel pleading look.

  “I don’t know what song you’re thinking of, Julie.” Jerry didn’t look like he was in much of a mood to sing another song.

  “Who Has Touched the Sky. You remember, Father, don’t you?

  Jerry looked a bit shaken when he heard the name of the song. “Yeah, I remember. I didn’t know it was yours and Melanie’s favorite.” He seemed reluctant but said, “Okay.”

  Julie had a beautiful soprano voice to go with Jerry’s baritone. It was indeed a touching song. Rebecca clapped loudly and Angela joined her.

  Julie was smiling when she said, “You know, Melanie and I used to argue about the next to last line—’Knew love by its first name.’ I said it was someone who had fallen in love with someone special and Melanie said no, it was someone who just knew how to love, like Father Jerry! What do you think Father?”

  Jerry seemed to be embarrassed or puzzled or even hurt by the simple question. Rebecca told herself to ask him about it later. He said, “I really don’t know, Julie. Maybe it’s both. I’m glad that Melanie thought of me that way.”

  “Well, Father, do you know love by its first name?” Rebecca asked lightly, hoping to perk him up.

  He surprised her by simply saying, rather grumpily, she thought. “I don’t know.” And obviously wanting to change the subject asked Julie and Angela how they were feeling. They said they were tired and felt a lot of pain here and there but they were sure they could wait until morning to see a doctor. Their heads still hurt but they were convinced they did not have concussions.

  Jerry helped Rebecca with the dishes and then asked her if she would like to take a walk. He needed to limber up after the hours in the car. They were still in the kitchen when he whispered, “I’ll invite Julie, hope she says no.” Rebecca did, too. Not surprisingly, Julie declined. Rebecca showed her how to use the remote control on the television. Rebecca put on a down jacket and Jerry his black windbreaker.

  It was quite cold as they walked about a block with their hands in their pockets. Jerry kept looking around at the complex. “This place is huge. I’ll bet the whole town of Paris could live here.”

  Rebecca chuckled. “Probably. There are four hundred units. Not many children though, at least I don’t see many.” She led them to a cinder running-path that was still inside the complex walls. “I run here most mornings, once around is one and a half miles. I usually do two rounds.”

  “If you want to run, please do. I’m too tired to do it myself.”

  “Me, too. Want to walk all the way around?”

  “Sure. So, how’re things going with your ACLU fellow?”

  She looked up at him and smiled. “Why do you want to know? You jealous?” It would be nice if he was, she thought.

  “No, just wondering.” He sounded nervous and maybe a bit defensive.

  “Are you still angry about the article?”

  “No, I’ve gotten over that. I’m sorry I was so grumpy on the phone when I called. It’s been a hell of a week.”

  “In what way?”

  “As expected, I was called into the Bishop’s office. He ordered me to give a sermon retracting everything I had said in my sermon in June and which was repeated in your magazine. I refused and had to threaten to call a news conference again to keep from being thrown out of the priesthood.” He chuckled.

  “What’s so funny? It sounds kind of serious to me.”

  “The Bishop called me a ‘free thinker’ and turned purple when I thanked him for it.” He chuckled again.

  “I take it that he meant it as an insult or condemnation.”

  “The latter. That was the lesser of evils for the week. Plato was shot the day before your article appeared.”

  Rebecca stopped in her tracks and put her hand over her mouth “Oh, no, is he, is he, uh, dead?”

  Jerry looked down at her and said, “No. He was shot in the front right leg and it didn’t break the bone. He’s limping around a bit, but he’s okay.” He hesitated a moment and then added, “They… Rebecca, you won’t put this in the magazine will you?”

  It must be important for him to ask that, she thought. “Whatever it is, I’ll promise not to, okay?”

  “They painted big letters on the side of the church saying: ‘Beware the Anti-Christ who hates unborn babies. He’s gonna die.’”

  “My God, Jerry, that’s awful! What did you do?”

  “I called Joe Gaffin, the sheriff, in case there had been other incidents or would be more. We took pictures and I painted over it. We decided not to tell anyone so that whoever it was wouldn’t get any publicity from it.”

  “Are you worried? I would be.”

  “A little. I keep the door locked more often now and keep Plato in the house.”

  Rebecca reached out and took his hand. “Jerry, I’m sorry to hear about Plato, and the threat, of course.”

  He continued to hold her hand and responded, “Some kind of nut was sure to throw a kind of fit sometime. I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.”

  She wanted to continue holding his hand, but he let go and as they resumed their walk. Rebecca told him about St. Clair’s home, a shelter for women and children in danger. When they returned to the condo, both Julie and Angela were nearly asleep on the couch. Rebecca gave Jerry a sheet; pillow, and blanket for the couch
and the three women went upstairs. Rebecca really wanted to give Jerry a kiss but only waved as she followed the two up the stairs.

  CHAPTER 11

  You are a refuge for the poor, a refuge for the needy in distress,

  A shelter from the storm, a shade from the heat…

  Isaiah, 25:3-4

  Jerry was standing in a room next to a church sacristy. There was a bed in the room and a dark-haired, naked woman was lying on it. He didn’t know the woman. She was quite beautiful and he was aroused. He started to take his jeans off and then remembered that he was supposed to concelebrate a Mass with the Bishop in a few minutes. The woman spread her legs and began to stroke her pelvic area. He didn’t have any black pants and he was sure the Bishop would be angry if he went out on the altar with jeans beneath his vestments. Maybe he could find a chasuble long enough to cover the jeans, he thought. The woman said something to him. He took off the jeans and then his shorts. He climbed onto the bed. There was a loud, impatient knock on the door. “Father Haloran, are you in there? Are you ready for the Mass?” The “Father Haloran” was repeated again and again and a woman began to say “Jerry” and again, “Jerry.” The female voice was pleasant but wasn’t the voice of the woman on the bed. He was sweating; he didn’t know what to do. He heard “Jerry” again and felt a woman touch his hand. Her hand was soft and sensual. He was mumbling something. What was he trying to say?

  He opened his eyes. Rebecca was kneeling beside the sofa, holding his hand. She was wearing a rose-colored robe. He was sure he looked lost as he ran his free hand across his forehead. He looked at his hand. It was wet with sweat. Rebecca smiled. The blankets were bunched around his middle. Thank God. He raised himself up on one elbow and shook his head.

  “Bad dream?”

  “Yeah, pretty bad.”

  Rebecca put a finger to her lips, made the “shh” sound and pointed at the top of stairs.

  Jerry lowered his voice. “Good morning.”

  “You were sweating up a storm and shaking your head and mumbling, ‘No, I can’t. No, I can’t.’ I was afraid you would wake up the girls. Do you remember what you couldn’t do?”