Chapter 2
August 2, 1959
Dawn
Kelly woke up from her cramped sleep about the same time as the McCafferty's rooster, not sure if she'd be in trouble or BIG TROUBLE. Silently, she made a list of her sins as her mother would see them:
1. not coming in all night, nor reporting in (which hopefully would be ameliorated by the note she had left on her father's pillow, explaining what she might have to do);
2. sleeping in a garbage can (but it was clean);
3. not taking a bath on Saturday night after getting all hot and sweaty playing kick-the-can (no way around that one);
4. not brushing her teeth before going to bed (but she did brush right after dinner and didn't eat anything later);
5. not laying her clothes out for Mass (which she could get around by dressing real fast as she had planned);
6. bragging about being Grand Champion of Vicksburg (but she deserved it);
7. making a boy look stupid (but Lefty Owens is stupid); and
8. not being sorry for any of it (true).
Then she made a list of her sins as Father McGillis would see them:
1. bragging about being Grand Champion of Vicksburg (pride);
2. staying out all night and worrying your parents ("honor thy father and thy mother");
3. hurting Lefty Owens' feelings and hitting him with the coffee can (a venial sin subcategory of "thou shalt not kill"); and
4. not being sorry for any of it.
Finally she examined her own heart and tried to feel some real remorse, but she couldn't just yet, so she settled for saying her morning quick-prayer that Sister Mary Teresa had taught her in first grade:
"Good morning, dear God, I offer to you,
My thoughts, words and wishes, And all that I do."
She never added an Amen because it didn't sound like a Catholic prayer -- more like a poem to get God's attention and let Him know she'd check in later. Having settled up with God for the time being, Kelly listened for a neighborhood status report. The McCafferty's rooster had settled down and Kelly could hear Mrs. McCafferty feeding him and the six chickens that they kept in town in spite of the city ordinance. "Here, chick, chick, chick… here, chick, chick, chick…" then the squeak and double slam of the screen door as she went back inside with the four or five eggs she had found.
No one would be up at Rusty's house because Dr. Grant would be sleeping late after Saturday night in the emergency room and everyone was scared to make a peep until at least noon. Mrs. Travis would be out in the alley any minute to let her little rat-dog do his business. Kelly froze as she heard the old lady's cigarette cough and the nearby scratching of her dog's untrimmed nails in the dirt. Mrs. Travis heaved a thud of spit at the garbage can, then shuffled back to her yard, dragging the rat-dog by its leash.
Time started weighing heavily. Kelly had to play the organ for six o'clock Mass. Actually, she didn't have to because nobody besides herself cared if she showed up or not. The early morning Mass crowd just wanted to be quiet and left alone -- the gnarled old women with blue hair and blue veins clutching their cheap rosaries and constantly moving their lips; a few men of the same age staring at nothing and waiting for eternal life; one or two construction workers fulfilling their Sunday obligation before heading to work with a six-pack of beer; a half dozen nurses who had to leave early to make their seven o'clock shift at St. Paul's Hospital, wondering if their kids were going to eat a decent breakfast and do their chores before running off in all directions doing God-knows-what; and three or four of the oldest nuns with their saintly looks and awful secrets -- all of them joined together as one in the mystical union of Christ's body the church, two dozen souls scattered about a sanctuary that could easily seat eight hundred people, keeping their eyes cast down, never smiling or acknowledging their neighbors, their brothers and sisters in Christ, keeping holy the Lord's Day by faithfully attending Mass every Sunday, most of them every day, never killing anybody or robbing a bank or eating meat on Friday. Good people. All of them.
Kelly crept out cautiously (half expecting to see Lefty Owens coming down the alley after her), then ran to her bedroom window, scrambled in and breathed a sigh of relief. Turning around, she realized with a heart thump that someone was in her bed. She tip-toed closer and still couldn't see who it was. Gingerly, she lifted the cover and found pillows arranged to look as if someone were sleeping there, and one of her father's business envelopes addressed to "Kelly." She opened it quickly.
"Good morning, Grand Champion of Vicksburg! Sorry your mama and I didn't have a chance to tuck you in last night, but mama went to bed early and I was keeping an eye on the Everetts' garbage can, since they're on vacation this week. Do your usual good job at church. I'm proud of you! Love, Daddy"
Kelly closed her eyes and pictured her daddy's smile, then grabbed a navy blue skirt and white blouse from the closet, changing out of her shorts and top on the way to the bathroom. The hall clock struck five forty-five. Minutes later, she was on her bike, peddling downtown toward Holy Trinity.
Usually, she'd be chattering with Christi as they sped through the streets, but Christi Boudreaux and her mother were in Savannah this week for the wedding of Mrs. Boudreaux's sorority sister's daughter. Kelly wondered if the daughters of sorority sisters would be considered cousins and for a moment was jealous that Christi might form a relationship with this mysterious older girl from Georgia. Ridiculous. The girl was getting married, moving to Virginia and probably wouldn't even notice a little kid like Christi Boudreaux, although she was strikingly pretty with long dark curls and blue blue eyes. Kelly relaxed as she remembered the blood oath she and Christi had shared. They would always be closer than cousins.
Turning onto the concrete drive, barely braking the bike, Kelly jumped off and let it glide into the bushes behind the rectory. She took the stone steps two at a time up to the side door of the church, but stopped short as she noticed something out of the ordinary. Blinking, she looked again. For certain, there was Mr. Boudreaux's big, white Cadillac parked behind the church. Mr. B always went to Mass at noon. Always. Kelly was puzzled, but couldn't spare the time to think about it. With both hands, she pulled open the carved oak door and came under the spell of marble, stained glass and glowing candles. She dipped her finger in the holy water font, simultaneously genuflecting and making the sign of the cross, just as the altar boys entered the sanctuary to light the two candles signifying a Low Mass.
Kelly hurried to the back of the church to get the choir loft key from its hook inside Father McGillis' confessional. Although tall for an eleven-year-old, Kelly still had to go in and step up on the kneeler in order to reach the key. Just then she heard the unmistakable voice of Mr. Boudreaux in the adjoining penitent's booth behind her.
"Bless me, Father. I have sinned. It has been six months since my last Confession…"
Kelly turned to stone. She knew she must never overhear another person's confession. And Mr. Boudreaux, of all people. Why was he here so early?
"…adultery…"
It was that word she didn't understand -- the one they didn't explain very well when discussing the Ten Commandments in catechism class. Her mind searched for a clue.
"… no, I haven't told her…"
Kelly wanted to hide, to run away, to feel a cool marble column against her burning face. She couldn't move.
"… heartily sorry for having offended Thee and I detest all my sins…"
Clutching the choir loft key, Kelly fled from her shameful place out into the vestibule. Her hand trembled as she unlocked the door to the stairwell. All the secrets of heaven and hell swirled around her as she raced up the two flights to the organ loft, barely touching the creaky banister that usually caused her panic. Quickly, she opened the organ bench, took out the key hidden under the Saint Gregory Hymnal, unlocked the organ and flipped the "on" switch. By the time the big Hammond had warmed up enough to begin the processional hymn, Father McGillis was already at the altar and Kelly could feel him glaring at her for being late.
"Kyrie eleison…" he intoned. Lord, have mercy.
Now she would have to wait until the Offertory to play her first hymn. She knelt at the rail and looked down at the backs of people so familiar, but unknown, searching for Mr. Boudreaux, telling herself it had to be someone else, knowing it couldn't be, wondering about that adultery word. She couldn't see that Mr. Boudreaux had slipped out of the church, resolving to say his penance in the car and to return for twelve o'clock Mass as usual. And she couldn't know, because Mr. Boudreaux didn't realize it at the moment, that he would find himself driving aimlessly around town until he came to the house of his new secretary almost by surprise and that he would miss Sunday Mass today, for the first (but not the last) time in his life.
Kelly worried about Mr. B until the Offertory, then afterward became absorbed in watching the altar boys. She wanted to be one of them, with their long black cassocks and white lace surplices, flowing around the priest with a grace they never found in the classroom or on the recess field, lighting candles, kneeling, rising, responding to the Latin prayers by rote, flowing across the sanctuary to perform the countless necessary rituals, carrying the small crystal cruets filled with water and wine, flowing along the communion rail holding the shiny gold paten under each chin as the priest placed a small round cardboard host on each of the outthrust tongues.
Kelly wasn't sure if she should take Communion this morning after all her unconfessed sins of the week, but she convinced herself that none of them was mortal. Habit took over and she was descending the stairs, trying not to disturb the ancient wooden treads that creaked and groaned with the slightest touch, entering the sanctuary, flowing like an altar boy down the aisle to the Communion rail, hands together in Gothic spires pointing to heaven, finally kneeling at the rail, waiting her turn, smelling the church smells, fearing the unknown, trembling as Father McGillis poised the host above her eyes, trembling more as he waited and waited, why was he waiting, did he see all her sins, finally placing the host roughly on her tongue.
She escaped from Father's stare by turning to swallow in private, but her mouth was too dry. Almost choking, she rushed back through the church, up the stairs, creaking and moaning, telling everyone exactly where she was and how long it would be before the hymn would begin. At last safe on the organ bench, she took a deep breath, steadied her hands on the two manuals, adjusted the volume pedals with her right foot, placed her left foot on the lowest E flat and lost herself in the glorious music, hearing the beautiful words that no one was singing…
"Panis angelicus
Fit panis hominum
Dat panis caelicus
Figuris terminum.
"0, res mirabilis!
Manducat, dominum
Pauper, servus,
Et humilis."
