“I have to have faith in something or someone right now. I need it.”
Father Barnabas smiled. “So do I. That’s why I took a moment to myself.”
“Talk to me. Why are you going after Danner? Does he know too much about you, maybe too much about what the Ezra Bonafel court case was all about?”
“I’m not supposed to discuss the court case.”
“To hell with that. I’m going to find out anyway. One of Catherine’s CIA buddies is investigating it. Sealed or not, he’ll know everything about it soon.”
Barnabas’s smile faded. “I’m sure he will. The CIA can be very efficient … and ruthless. But he’s got to be very careful.”
“Why?”
“Tell the CIA to drop it, Joe.”
“Talk to me. What was so bad in those transcripts that they sealed the records? Why did the judge do that?”
Father Barnabas was silent.
“Why?” Joe asked again. “Why did the judge do it?”
The priest finally shrugged. “Because I asked him to do it.”
“You did it? Why?”
“Because it would have hurt people who were vulnerable.” He shook his head. “You’re not going to give up, are you? If I tell you, will you call off those CIA bloodhounds?”
“Maybe. If I think you’re telling the truth. But you can be sure that I’ll let them dig until eternity if you don’t tell me anything.”
The priest smiled faintly. “You’re tough, Joe.” He looked away from him at the horizon over the ridge. “The Ezra Bonafel charge was brought by Ezra’s mother, Dorothy. She claimed I had imprinted false memories through hypnosis on Ezra. The memories were of sexual abuse inflicted on Ezra as a child by his father. She refused to believe that the abuse had happened … although Ezra believed she knew about it.”
“What made her think that the charge would stick?”
“I’d done a few papers in medical journals on the possibility of being able to imprint or erase memories. Ezra had blocked out what had happened to him as a child, but the memories began to come back to him during therapy. His mother went berserk. Actually, she was probably more unstable than Ezra. She loved Ezra and couldn’t admit even to herself that she would permit him to be hurt. She had to have someone to blame.”
“And that was you?”
“Oh, yes. She had to make Ezra believe that I was the enemy and not she. I knew she didn’t stand a chance of winning and that it was going to hurt her and Ezra far more than it did me. I tried to talk her out of pressing charges, but she wouldn’t agree. The best I could get was a trial with the least possible publicity in a small town south of Atlanta.”
“She lost the case?”
“Yes. And she suffered a nervous breakdown two weeks after the judge handed down his decision. Ezra stood by her. I believe the responsibility of taking care of her helped them both to heal.”
“And what helped you to heal?”
“The knowledge that I’d tried to do the right thing.” He grimaced. “But it brought me to the point that I realized that my patients sometimes needed more help than I was able to give. I had to do some serious thinking.” He looked back at Joe. “Don’t let those court records surface. It would hurt Ezra and his mother too much. Maybe God’s helped them to forget all that pain they went through.”
“No bitterness?”
“Why would I be bitter?”
Joe studied him in surprise for a moment. Because a woman had done her best to destroy him? No, he could tell that Father Barnabas was sincere. “No reason.”
“You believe me?”
“I believe you.” He turned away. “I can’t do anything else. Who am I to argue with a man Ben thinks is golden?”
Father Barnabas chuckled. “Not only do I ‘shine,’ but now I’m golden? I must be truly blessed.”
Joe glanced at him over his shoulder. “Do you know, I think you just might be at that.”
* * *
A FEW MOMENTS LATER, Joe sank down across from Ben at the fire. The boy was sitting with his chin resting on his raised knees, his gaze fixed on the fire.
Joe was silent for a moment. “Weren’t you even curious about where Ted Danner was going beyond that ridge?”
“No. I could tell he didn’t want to tell me. There are things I don’t like anyone else to know, too.” He smiled. “But he liked me to be here when he came back from the place. At first I thought he was just being nice to me, but I think maybe he was lonely like I was.”
“Past tense. You’re not lonely any longer?”
He shook his head. “I’m … full now.”
“What?”
“There were so many things I didn’t understand. Everyone around me seemed to see everything so clearly, and I couldn’t. And the things I could see, they couldn’t. I was different.”
Yes, he was, and Joe didn’t know what to answer. “Different isn’t always bad.”
“But I’m not different. I was wrong.” Ben smiled. “None of us are different on the inside. Or if we are, it’s only good.”
“And because of that, you’re not lonely any longer?”
“I think that’s it.” He was silent a moment. “I get confused. There’s so much that comes when she touches me.”
Joe stiffened. “She?”
“I didn’t tell you the truth.” Ben stared into the fire. “I told you that I didn’t know how I knew that when I woke up that first morning that everything was all right.”
“That was a lie?”
“That was the first night the dream came. She told me. She said, ‘Don’t be afraid, Ben. Not of anything. There are no demons unless you let them into your heart. Some things might hurt you, but they don’t matter. Look beyond them, and all you’ll see is all the beauty inside you.’” He smiled. “Fancy words, but somehow I knew what she meant. That was nice. It made me feel … safe.”
“Who is she, Ben?”
Ben looked at him. “Why do you ask me? You know her name. I knew when you were talking to me in the tent that she’d talked to you, too. I could feel it. It was almost as if I could see her beside you.”
“Did you?” Joe said, through the tightening in his throat. “Is that why you decided to bring us here?”
“I trust you,” he said simply. “You dream about her, too. You wouldn’t lie to me or do anything bad.”
“Listen, Ben, I’ll try to keep my promise to you. But I don’t know what’s going to happen.”
“Neither do I. But she told me not to be afraid of anything. But you’re afraid, aren’t you, Joe?”
He wished he wasn’t afraid. He wished he could embrace the same glowing simplicity and faith as this boy who seemed to have reached out into the mist and touched Bonnie because of that same simplicity. But he didn’t have the right to sit and wait and hope. He was the one who had to take responsibility and not wait for help. It was Eve who was in danger.
And nothing must happen to her.
Joe nodded. “I’m afraid. But I’m glad you aren’t.”
Ben was studying him. “It’s the woman in the photo, it’s Eve.”
“Always.” He paused. “She’s Bonnie’s mother, Ben.”
His eyes widened. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it would mean anything to you. I didn’t know about the dream.”
He nodded slowly. “Ted mustn’t hurt her. It would be bad.” Then his expression cleared. “But we can help her. And we mustn’t be afraid.”
Because Bonnie had told Ben that he shouldn’t fear anything.
“I’m going to sleep now.” Ben was curling up on the ground, facing the fire. “I like it here. Do you hear the wind through the trees? It’s kind of like a song…”
“Would you like some coffee?”
“No, I want to sleep. The times I’ve come here with Ted, the dreams have come. I think it’s easier for her here.…”
“You’ve had more than that one dream?”
He nodded, his eyes closing. “She talks to me. She tells me things. She teaches me. She makes me understand, and every time she leaves me I’m … bigger, fuller.”
“Do the dreams come even when you’re not here?”
“Yes, but not as often.” He cradled his cheek beneath one hand. “She likes it here. The animals … the deer…”
“Eve would like to know that.”
“Tell her…”