The Fall(73)

I felt insulated by an invisible bubble. Like if I opened up my mouth and screamed the sound would be absorbed by nothingness, like I was in danger of becoming.

“She liked being out here too.” Catherine’s kind face appeared beside me. “You are a lot like her, you know. Not in appearance, she was fairer than you, and shorter, but she was just as fierce as you are. One of the strongest women I ever knew.”

“I don’t feel very strong hiding out here while my fate is left undecided. It makes me feel pretty helpless if I’m honest.”

My mouth involuntarily opened, spewing my emotions without thought. What did it matter at this point? She had more volatile ammunition to use against me if she wanted, like my location for instance. Exposing my vulnerability didn’t seem so bad in the end.

“Be at ease, child.” Her hand gently rose and brushed against my cheek. “He may act like his father, but deep down there is more of his mother in him. Even if he has tried to deny it, he is very much her son. He will be back for you.”

It was like the wind had been knocked out of me as I literally struggled to breathe. And not because she was so certain of Michael’s return.

“You knew his father?”

Usually when speaking about Michael, Catherine was always tight lipped. Abstract almost, but she knew a hell of a lot more than she had said to either of us. The man who’d impregnated Rose mentioned for the very first time.

“Yes, I knew him.” She nodded, her hand dropped from my cheek, gripping at the rosary beads she kept in her pocket. “Maybe we should go inside; there’s a breeze out here and you aren’t wearing a jacket.” She rubbed her arms absently, giving me a tight smile. “The last thing you would need right now is to catch a cold.”

“Who is Michael’s father? Was he married? Is that why she was hidden away? Did he force himself on Rose? Did she consider leaving the church and he rejected her?”

The questions fired out one after the other with barely a breath in between, leaving no time for Catherine to answer as I continued my hard line. “Was he involved in the church too? Was she worried about the scandal?”

“What?” Catherine stepped back, her face whitewashed as her feet struggled to keep her upright. “I thought you said Michael told you about his mother?”

“He did, he told me she was a nun here.” I took a step forward wondering if she was going to pass out. She sure didn’t look steady, any remaining color draining out of her skin. “He spoke to an old groundskeeper, someone who had been around when Rose was here. He told Michael about his mother, how she’d obviously felt the disgrace, hiding herself away and giving birth in private. He never found out who his father was.”

“Oh, God, forgive me.” Her eyes looked up to the sky as her hands shook. “You must never speak of what I just told you. He can’t know. Ever.”

Terror. Absolute terror shook within her. And not the kind you could fake. This wasn’t an oops-I-wasn’t-supposed-to-say-anything slip; it was a deep secret she had promised never to reveal.

“He has every right to know.” My blood turned cold as my voice rose. “You mean to tell me you knew who his father was this whole time and never told him? How dare you keep that from him. It doesn’t matter what sins they may have committed, they were still his parents.”

She would have undoubtedly been publically condemned by the Church. But I couldn’t believe an institution that preached forgiveness would turn their back on one of their own, especially when an innocent child had been involved.

“She didn’t commit any sins.” She closed her eyes and whispered, her body swaying as her shoulders sagged. “She was married and a good wife. Devout, who loved her husband.”

Her lids slid open as her hands wrung nervously in front of her. “But then he turned into a monster, beating her, forcing himself on her and no matter what she did, she couldn’t bring him out of the darkness. He desperately wanted children, blamed her for her inability to provide him an heir. So when she finally fell pregnant, she knew it would be a son. She risked her life leaving him, under the cover of night she ran without even a change of clothes. She left everything in the hopes of saving her son. That he might have a better life and not be part of that world.”

I felt sick. Unable to comprehend what she was saying even though deep down I had to have known the answer. My brain rationalizing that it could be anyone—that I couldn’t be right.

“Who, who is his father?”

My own body had trouble fighting gravity, the blood leaving my head in a rush as I held my breath.

“Franco Santini.” Her legs buckled from underneath her; her knees hitting the grass.

“What? How?” I joined her on the grass, my hand reached out to her torso, cradling her in my arms as I felt her entire body tremble.

She took a few minutes, using the time to try and compose herself as I held her. My fingers tightened around the heavy cloth that covered her slight body, willing her to keep talking. Needing her to keep talking.

“Rose was Franco’s first wife.” She took a breath, settling into the words. “When she left him, he looked for her, embarrassed that she had turned her back on the marriage. It made him look weak to his peers, that he couldn’t control his own wife. She had nowhere to go.” She nodded, affirming that there had been no other choice.