About me…

After a second sleepless night of worry, fear, and guilt, Jayzu left his cottage as soon as the sun came up to resume his search. He had no idea where Charlotte was, and so no idea where to start looking. He had searched everywhere. More than once.

What if she is dead? He dismissed that thought immediately. The fragrance of a dead yoomun would be a beacon to many creatures who fed on dead things. Besides, what would kill her?

If she fell into the Boulder Ravine, perhaps. Unlikely that she had starved to death after only a day and a half. Or maybe she is hiding from me. But why?

After Jayzu had seen Russ and Jade off after the party, Jayzu approached his cottage and caught a glimpse of a figure bolting out the door and running into the woods. “Charlotte!” He had called loudly and ran after her, but she had disappeared into the thick forest. He had no idea which direction she had gone.

He wanted to enlist the the usual young crows that hung around his cottage—who probably know exactly where she was. But none was around. They probably had all followed her.

 Anger and fear commingled in his brain and heart. Why did she not stay at the Treehouse? He knew he had only himself to blame for the mess he had made. Charlotte was innocent—twenty-some years at Rosencranz and suddenly her world changed.

Why did I leave her alone on her first day here? I should have called the others and postponed the party. I could have postponed with the excuse that Majewski was not going to be there.

For almost two days, he ran to and fro, hither and yon, zig-zagging and at times running in circles. He called her name until he was hoarse. 

She could be lost. Or hurt. Surely the crows would have found her…IF she wanted to be found. Why would she have chosen to stay hidden? -he had asked himself a million times. Finally it dawned on him: She saw the portrait.

His heart skipped a beat. What if—what if she heard me telling Jade she had only imagined seeing Charlotte? He tried to dismiss that thought—Charlotte had stopped speaking English and presumably understanding it many years ago.

Presumably…

But what if…

Jayzu’s cellphone rang loudly from his pocket. He pulled it out of and grimaced. Majewski. Dammit. He had ignored Majewski’s previous calls, though he had read a text message from Majewski—

Alfredo—I must speak to you. No one can reach you, so I am starting to wonder if something has happened. Are you ill? Again, please call me or I will notify the authorities to begin a search for you.

He had not replied. Why did I not? I could have texted him back and said I was down with a stomach bug.

I need to find Charlotte. The last person I need to talk to now is her brother. 

“Hello, Thomas,”

“Oh, uh, hello Alfredo.” Father Superior Majewski’s voice said. “I almost hung up. I’ve called you numerous times—I was about to call the police.”

“And I am so sorry,” Alfredo said. “My phone has been malfunctioning of late. This is the first time I have heard your call.”

The Basic Lie.

“Have you received my texts” Majewski asked.

“No.” 

Basic Lie #1.2.

“Cell phone coverage has been very spotty lately.  At least that was true.

Alfredo felt something akin to fear at lying to his superior, the Provincial Father Superior of the Jesuit Order in America, however tiny the lie. As if he would know. As if he were God Almighty.

In fact, Majewski had more power than God over Alfredo’s life. As always. From the days Alfredo was a graduate student, and Majewski his committee chair all the way through the present moment and beyond, he had the power to control Manzi’s life.

If Majewski finds out that his sister is on the island…

Alfredo shuddered. First he would be de-frocked, or perhaps first arrested, tried, convicted and imprisoned. No, first he would lose Charlotte forever. She would be sent back to the asylum. To the impregnable Kafka Memorial.

Alfredo clenched his teeth. That will not happen. As God is my witness, I will not allow that to happen.

“Well, I’m glad to have finally reached you,” Majewski said. “I am in Ledford, finally.”

“Again, my apologies, Thomas,” Alfredo said, maintaining a calm voice in spite of the fear consuming his guts. “We missed you at the party.”

The party. Day before yesterday. Forever ago.

“I had intended to come,” Majewski said. “I was detained by the demands of my office. But they’re gone now and I’m here. You’ve heard my sister disappeared from Rosencranz.”

A new chill snaked up Jayzu’s spine. “Uh, yes, I did. It was in all the news. I am sorry, Thomas. Do the police have any idea where she is?”

“Not yet,” Majewski said. “She apparently just wandered off—she may be dead somewhere in the woods. They are nothing but a pack of incompetent boobs at Rosencranz.”

Dead in the woods.

“The police found a body,” Majewski said. “But it’d been in the river a few days, so I couldn’t positively ID it. I’ve undergone a DNA test—which will tell if it is Stella or not.”

The body. It. This is his sister he is talking about, for God’s sake! 

“So, I’m here in Ledford,” Majewski was saying. “Yesterday I drove out to Kafka Memorial, where Stella would be had they not lost her. I needed to pick up her personal effects, and to perhaps find out what the hell happened to her. The receptionist out there was the same one at Rosencranz when Stella disappeared. She told me some interesting things about a visitor on the day she disappeared.”

“Oh?” Alfredo said, eyeing the forest beyond his cottage. Charlotte is in there somewhere. I must find her. Growing impatient to end the call, he resisted the urge to just hang up and later claim bad cellphone coverage. 

“Yes,” Majewski said. “Extremely interesting. You might also be interested in what she is probably telling the police.”

“Why would that interest me?” Alfredo said. He suddenly felt weak in the knees.

“Well, the police are looking for this visitor—a doctor who had suddenly started seeing her a few weeks ago. Turns out, there is no such doctor. But she thought this fake doctor looked so much like you, that you could be twins.” 

“That’s interesting,” Alfredo said blandly. Jesuit training taught him that. Now matter the calamity, betray nothing on your face or in your voice. Like a corpse.

“Indeed,” Majewski said. “Coincidentally this doctor impersonator showed up shortly after I told you about her. But no matter! You’re a priest and the receptionist is a complete airhead, and I plan to throw water on that idea. However, I thought I’d give you a head’s up that the police may be interested in talking to you.”

Jayzu knees gave way and he sank to the ground. 

“I do need to see you on other matters, however,” Majewski continued, “concerning the Patua’. I’ve been researching the church archives from the 16^th century. Far more interesting to both of us than the whereabouts of my sister. Can you make it into town today?”

“Oh? You found mention of the Patua’ during the Reformation?” There was no way Alfredo could refuse. “Of course I am interested!” Next week maybe but not today, he wanted to say. “I will call the Captain and arrange for him to take me to Ledford. I’ll try to be there tomorrow—it depends on his schedule.”

“I was hoping to see you today,” Majewski said after a brief pause. “Text me when you’re on the way, and I’ll meet you at the Waterfront dock.”

Majewski rang off. 

Jayzu leapt to his feet.

I must find Charlotte.

In the dead silence of the forest, I crawled back to the pond—I desperately needed water. My lips were almost stuck together and my mouth had the most horrid taste. I nearly drowned myself before I realized how far I had plunged my face into the water. I came up gagging and choking, but the bitter foul taste in my mouth was gone.

Instantly, I fell asleep and into dreams I could not understand. I am swimming. Fish below me and birds above me keep me from sinking. Fireflies with long tails of light wave as if in a breeze. Tiny red and purple mouths opened and closed as they swallowed fireflies, tails and all. 

During the Great Corvid Council meeting to name a new Aviar after Hookbeak’s death, Charlie heard Charlotte’s special call for him to come—which he had not heard since before she went to Rosencranz. Though somewhat relieved, Charlie was quite startled to hear Charlotte’s call for him the way she did when she was a child.

“Charlotte is calling to me, and I think she is in some kind of trouble,” he said to Starfire quietly. “I must go.”

“Charlotte had been missing since she left the Treehouse the day before. She had just dropped out of sight sometime during the afternoon and had not been seen nor heard from since.

“I’ll send word to you when I locate her,” Charlie said.

“Fine,” Starfire said. “Go on—all that’s left here is the wing-slapping.”

The voting was over—Starfire had been elected Aviar, and the Councillors were selecting the Chief Archivist of the Lattices to replace Starfire. As Aviar, Starfire named Charlie to replace him as the Chief Archivist of the Great Lattice. Charlie was the obvious choice—there were no others. Starfire had some competition from the reactionary wing of the Council—headed by Wingnut. But his faction was of such a small minority that Starfire was elected by the vast majority of Councillors.

Charlie flew off toward Charlotte’s calls which, stopped abruptly within a minute. The island was small and Charlie knew every inch of it. He continued in the same direction and found her within moments. She was lying in the grass, with her eyes closed. She was very pale. 

“Charlotte?” he said as he landed next to her, hoping she was breathing. 

She blinked a couple times, then smiled and opened her eyes.

I am laying face up in the grass with the sun on my face. Someone called my name. A dark shadow darkened the sunlight for a second. Fear surged through me for a moment—until I opened my eyes.

“Charlie!” 

“It is I,” he said and nuzzled my cheek with his beak.

“Are you alright, Charlotte?”

“Yes, now that you are here,” I said and sat up. “I called and called for you—our special call that no one knows about. I am scared, Charlie. He’s after me, Charlie. I tried to get to my little island that only you know about but I couldn’t find it, and I kept hearing him coming after me.”

“Who was coming after you, Charlotte?” Charlie said. “Jayzu has been frantically looking for you since yesterday afternoon, and—”

“Who is Jayzu?” I asked frowning and shaking my head. “But Charlie—I’m so scared Tommy is coming after me. I need to hide from him.”

“Tommy your brother?” Charlie asked, tilting his head to one side. “But he is not here, Charlotte. He’s been gone for a long time.”

“He came back,” I said.  “Estelle called him. She hates me.”

“Charlotte,” Charlie said. “Tommy is not here. But Jayzu, he is—”

“Jayzu Jayzu!” I nearly yelled. “I don’t know Jayzu. But Tommy, he is real, and he is coming for me and I am very scared and I need to hide from him. Promise me you won’t tell Tommy you saw me!”

“I promise,” Charlie said. “But let me lead you to a safe place where Tommy can’t find you.”

“Yes!” I gushed and swept him into my arms. “Yes!”

Charlie rode on my shoulder and guided me to the Great Cliffs above the river—where he said the ravens roost. Most of the way was an easy walk, but I had to climb high up to the ledges. I skinned my hands and nearly lost my footing a couple times, but I finally crawled to a ledge—and I rolled away from the edge until my back was against the cliff wall. It was warm and solid and Charlie said I would be safe here. 

The ravens who lived in the cliffs are not friendly to yoomuns. So even if Tommy followed me, he wouldn’t be able to get up the cliff. The ravens would beat him with their wings, Charlie said, if he tried.

I lay there for awhile, resting in the warm sun-baked rocks, breathing relief that I had escaped Tommy. Charlie was speaking with JoEd, who had flown onto the ledge a few moments after I rolled to stop against the cliff wall. A very large raven swooped in and joined them.

Their droning voices and the warmth of the rock wall made me very drowsy. I heard them speak of Jayzu. Why does everyone keep talking about Jayzu? I was so sleepy, I could not stay awake to hear any more. I wish I knew who Jayzu is.

Who is this Jayzu? 

Starfire plopped down on the ledge next to Charlie and JoEd. Casting an eye toward the sleeping Charlotte, he said: “Finally I meet Charlotte, but she is asleep among the ravens. What is she doing here? Where is Jayzu?”

“He is looking for her,” Charlie said. “But she has no idea who Jayzu is. She seems to  be confusing Jayzu with her brother—and she is terrified that he will find her,” Charlie told JoEd and Starfire in a hushed voice.” 

“She has memory problems?” Starfire said.

“Yes,” Charlie said. “She remembers almost nothing before she was taken to Rosencranz. Her brother was the one who found her hiding before she was taken away.”

“ I see,” Starfire said. He waddled over to the sleeping Charlotte and bent close to her face. Noting her blue fingers, he sniffed her around her face.

“But why would her brother be trying to find her?” JoEd said. “How would he even  know she is here?”

“Chances are he doesn’t know where Charlotte is,” Charlie said. “But, Thomas—as I understand yoomun religious schemes—is some kind of Super Father over Jayzu, who is only an ordinary Father. So, even though both Thomas and Jayzu are Fathers, though her brother caused her to be taken to Rosencranz, and Jayzu helped her escape.”

“That just doesn’t make sense,” JoEd said. “Tommy is the bad guy and Jayzu is the good guy—I don’t understand how she could mix them up.”

“Go find Jayzu,” Charlie said to JoEd. “Just tell him that Charlotte is with me, and at the moment does not know where she is. She is deeply frightened and is confusing Jayzu for her brother Tommy. Do not tell him where we are just yet. Starfire and I will find out what has caused this memory lapse. Jayzu showing up right now would not be helpful.”

JoEd flew off. He called out “Jayzu” every few seconds until he heard a reply.

“Over here!” Jayzu called back over and over again until JoEd came to a skidding halt at his feet. “Found her,” he gasped and fell over.

“Where is she?” Jayzu said, “Is she all right?”

 “My zazu and Starfire are with her,” JoEd said as got back to his feet. “She’s all right except for being confused about where she is. And when.”

“What do you mean?” Jayzu said, frowning. 

“Well, for one she doesn’t remember you,” JoEd said. “And, she thinks her brother Tommy is looking for her. She’s very scared.”

Jayzu sank to the ground. I should have known something like this would happen–that Charlotte would get lost in time. Immobilized by guilt, he could do nothing but shake his head.

===

A car pulled into the driveway and honked. “I gotta go, babe,” Russ said. 

Jade rose up out of her chair, and he hugged her close. 

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” she murmured into his shirt. Two and half weeks. Almost three.

Anxiety crawled into her stomach as she watched the car drive away. She had not been alone since those days in her apartment in Ledford, where she painted herself into madness. Chloe and Smitty took her home to the farm. And Russ came along soon after she began her recovery and had remained her rock of stability ever since. 

Though she didn’t feel rock-solid anymore—not since Russ and Jayzu had denied she saw what she saw. And they ridiculed me too—Alfredo with his lies, and Russ who believed him.

Though unused to being without him, the farm had been where all her security resided for most of her life—but would it still be without Chloe and Smitty too?

Everyone is gone.

WillowB wove himself between and through her legs, making her smile. She bent to the floor and picked him up, all 15 pounds. “Of course you’re coming to the farm with me!” 

Cradling the cat in her arms, she held him close and said: “It’s just you and me now, WillowB.”

She folded the newspaper and put it in the recycling box. Which reminded her to call and have The Sentinel stop delivery for two weeks. And the post office to hold their mail.

Jade packed a two-week suitcase of clothing and other personal items, her ‘traveling art studio’ consisting of a metal box for her brushes, oil paint, turpentine, and linseed oil. A separate category of luggage included several canvases, a sketchbook, pencils, and her painting smock. Cat food and bed went into the WillowB bag.

She looked forward to painting while at the Farm—a complete change of scenery, yet still familiar. And still home. I will title it ‘Going Home’—or perhaps ‘Coming Home’.  In either case, though she was completely angry with Russ for selling her out to Alfredo, and to be gone while she dealt with Smitty’s death without him.

Ever since Mrs Flanagan called, Jade had felt waves of longing for the farm where she had grown up. Where Smitty and Chloe had been the only parents she had ever known. Gone now, both of them. Smitty’s death a few days ago, and Chloe five years before.

Was it mere coincidence that Smitty had died the day she had seen her mother on the island? As if he somehow knew, and left my real mother a space to step into my otherwise orphaned life?

She closed all the windows, loaded up all the things she was taking to the farm. WillowB would ride in his travel carrier buckled into the passenger side of the back seat. He did not go placidly.

“We’re going to the farm, Mr B,” she said. “You love it there and it’s not that far, so just chill, okay?”

She wanted to call Russ, but he was on an airplane. With Vin.

After winding through the streets of their subdivision, she turned onto University Boulevard toward the Bridge Street ramp where she joined the line of cars heading toward Downtown. The river sparkled under a clear blue sky, while Wilder Island brooded in the dark shadows of its forests. Even when the sun was high in the sky, the trees allowed very little light in.

“You are in there, I know you are, my Mother,” she said out loud to the island as it passed. “Even if Russ doesn’t believe I saw you. I will find you, as God is my witness, I will find you again.”

Jade wasn’t quite sure which God she invoked; it wasn’t Alfredo’s God, that was certain.

Most of the cars took the 1st Avenue exit from Bridge Street into Downtown, toward the numerous high-rise buildings of glass and steel that rose like sparkling jewels from the otherwise flattish landscape. A few more cars exited at West Ledford, heading for the huge Farm and Tractor Supply mega-store.

Beyond Ledford’s city limits, Bridge Street reverted to its former name, in the days before there was a bridge: County Road 12N. Passing by junk yards of old, rusty cars, she thought of Sam, who took the old relics of modern America, chopped them up, welded them back together into wonderful sculptures.

This is his art-supply store.

Few people would ever see Sam Howard’s most breathtaking piece, rising from a small pond near the hermit’s chapel on Wilder Island. Comprising stainless steel and rusty parts of god-knows-what—the waste products of human enterprises—the rusting steel sculpture managed to call forth the divine presence within all living things. 

She had rarely if ever felt that so acutely.

Farm & Tractor Supply marked the end of urban civilization. A few patches of trees, the ruins of an old farmhouse with its rusting tractor gave way to mile after mile of cornfields on both sides of the highway, as far as the eye could see. Jade never tired of the patterns the rows of corn made as they marched up and down, first going one direction, then another.

A few trees congregated here and there around the occasional farmhouse, and lined the network of streams that headed toward the big river. Every mile or so, she passed a group of small white signs whose print was too small to read going by at 60 mph. But the logo was distinctive: AgMo, the farming conglomerate. She’d seen a plethora of their ads on tv. 

“AgMo’s bought up pert near all the farms around us,” Smitty had told her at Chloe’s wake five years ago.

“There was a lot more forest here when I was a kid,” she had told Russ when they’d first met. “And a lot more farms, but they were much smaller then. And patches of woods all in between everyone’s places, not just an occasional tree here and there.”

“Maize,” she heard Russ’s voice. “The proper term is maize, babe. Only Americans call it corn. The rest of the world calls this plant maize. Corn is a generic term for cereal.”

“Yes, Dr,” she had replied, grinning. “Maize.”

She liked to tease him sometimes about the very thing she loved about him. He was truly a geek—he knew a lot about a bunch of things, and freaking everything about plants. All the stuff she never had given a thought to. He brought her these little gifts of knowing, things she never knew about the things that grow in the ground.

Maize.

A shadow eclipsed the happy memory as reality struck. Today, Russ was with someone else. Someone who isn’t crazy. Someone who probably never had to be told what maize is.

They’d made up, more or less, after their last argument. Jade wasn’t really jealous of Vin, not in the usual sense at least. Short, stout, and “not as pretty as you,” Russ had said. But Vin could speak his language. Science. A conversation she could not participate in.

He doesn’t speak my language either. I don’t inspire him. Vin does. What if—

That thought frightened her.

What would I do without him?

Starfire finished his inspection of Charlotte and returned to Charlie.

“She’s eaten mildornia,” Starfire said. “In an amount sufficient to throw her into her lattice. Mildornia has evidently transported to a previous time before she met Jayzu. We will have to fetch her back, I reckon.”

“Yes,” Charlie said. “I smelled mildornia on her when I found her. And her lips were a bit stained until she drank some water.”

“Where did you find her?” Starfire asked Charlie. There is but one mildornia bush on the island. If she somehow found it…

Not even Charlie knew where the sole mildornia bush grew. Only the Chief Archivist knows. There hadn’t been time for Starfire to transmit its location since Charlie had only been appointed to take over the Archives a couple hours ago. He also needed to be taught how to make the mildornia ferment from the berries—which was used extensively in the Keeper sessions, where important information was emplaced in the Great Lattice shared by all. If you know how to access it though the Mildornia Trance…also invented by the ancient Patua’.

“Next to a pond,” Charlie said. “In the Deeps.”

“Truly?” Starfire glanced at the sleeping Charlotte. “I would not have believed a yoomun would be able to get that far into the Deeps.

The Deeps was a section of the forest that was much more overgrown than the rest of the island. Rodents and other ground creatures made a good living, while not being exposed to the owls or any other predator that moved about above the shrub line. There were no snakes on the island to trouble their existence. Once any rodent stuck so much as a whisker outside of the Deeps, it was a goner.

The Deeps is where the only living mildornia Starfire knew of within a days flight. None of the ground creatures or birds ate the fruit—due most likely to it hallucinatory properties—as well as it tasting perfectly awful. So the bush was safe enough—but ancient and solitary.

Mildornia was a hybrid the Patua’ had bred many centuries ago, of the type that is incapable of producing mildornia offspring. If in the unlikely but still possible event that a rogue berry could, all new mildornia must be grafted from another living plant. As this was beyond the capabilities of the corvids, the Chief Archivist’s duties included caring for the one Mildornia Bush.

“Will she snap back into the present when the mildornia wears off?” Charlie asked.

“Probably,” Starfire said. “When the Keepers come out the Mildornia Trance and the Archival Lattice, they return to their own minds—with no memory of what they did under the trance in the Archives.”

“So when Charlotte wakes up, she won’t remember hallucinating that Jayzu was her brother Thomas?”

“That is my guess,” Starfire said.

“It is good that she remembered her brother Tommy and how he chased her down and took her to Rosencranz,” Charlie said. 

“Why did she confuse Jayzu with her brother?” Starfire said. “It seems to me they are polar opposites.”

“That is odd,” Charlie said. “Perhaps that is because they are both what yoomuns call ‘Fathers’—which are designated yoomuns that have some special connection to their deity that other yoomuns presumably do not have. Tommy—or Thomas—is also Jayzu’s superior. He’s a sort of Aviar over the Fathers, I supposed.”

“I see,” Starfire said. 

“But something else might have spooked her,” Charlie said. “As if she suddenly stopped trusting Jayzu and she ran off and hid from everyone and everything…except me, thank the Great Orb.”

“Truly,” Starfire said. “I am perplexed though, as to how she was able to stumble upon the Mildornia Bush. I wonder how many berries she ate?”

“We will ask her when she wakes up,” Charlie said. “It is fortunate that her memory was jolted by eating the berries—which are rather inedible. Memories of most of her life seem to be lost…but if mildornia could unlock those times…suppose that I and/or a Keeper went under the trance tethered to Charlotte—could we reconnect the pieces of her memory with her lattice?”

“Interesting idea,” Starfire said. “We will need to research how or if the Patua’ used the ferment for such purposes, and the appropriate yoomun dose. Meanwhile, I am going to fly to the Mildornia Bush and inspect the area. I am most intrigued as to how Charlotte found it.”

I woke up disoriented, stretched out on the warmth of very hard rocks, leaning against a cliff. A bolt of fear rose up inside me, until I saw Charlie and a very large raven nearby talking to each other in hushed voices.

I sat up. “Charlie? Where are we?”

The crow waddled over to me, fixing his familiar blue eyes on me. As if he was smiling.

“We are on the Raven Cliffs above the river,” he said.

“Oh,” I said, frowning. “I remember climbing up the rocks to this ledge, and before that running scared through the woods with you on my shoulder telling me where to go. Running scared. But I don’t remember the cliffs or the large river below. I remember a small steam near my house, and the tiny island where I hid from Estelle, usually. Until that day she called Tommy.”

I looked into the dark woods nearby. “Did we shake him? Is he still following me?”

The raven joined us before Charlie could answer me.

“Charlotte,” he said, gesturing toward the raven with his wing, “this is Starfire, Aviar of the Great Corvid Council here on Cadeña-l’jadia.”

The giant raven bowed low with one wing stretched out parallel to the ground. “Greetings, Charlotte! I am pleased to meet you.”

I wondered if I should jump up and curtsy—so regal was this raven. Instead I brushed my hand across his wing. “Likewise I am sure,” I said. “But what about my brother? Is he gone? Did he follow us?” I wanted to crawl to the edge and look around, but the Charlie and Starfire blocked my way.

The two birds looked at each other for a moment. 

“Charlotte,” Charlie said and laid a wing on my arm. “Your brother is not here.”

“Oh, that is a relief!” I said. “I was afraid he would catch me and take me away.”

“Charlotte,” Charlie said a bit more firmly. “Your brother Tommy has not been here—not for many weeks. It was your friend Jayzu that was looking for you, but he does not want to take you away.”

I stared at him, frowning. “What?” I shook my head. “No, Charlie. He is here. He was chasing me and shouting my name and I ran from him. I ran and ran until I couldn’t hear him calling me anymore.”

“That was Jayzu,” Charlie said.

“Jayzu,” I said, shaking my head. “You keep saying Jayzu. I do not know him.”

Russ looked down at the landscape, thousands of feet below their ascending plane. A massive grid of cornfields cut by roads every mile in all directions, and occasional meandering streams and rivers.

Jade’ll be on her way to the farm about now.

The farm had been home to Jade her entire life, until he married her. He knew Jade had many happy memories of the place. And of Smitty and Chloe. As did he.

Over the years since they had gotten married, they had spent a few nights in her old bedroom room that had been left virtually intact. Jade had touched every single object on her dresser and had solemnly told him of the significance…of the ceramic jar full of buttons she had collected as a child: her favorite rock, the photo of her and Chloe and Smitty which needed no explanation.

Since the first days of their courtship he had not wanted to live without her. It’s not just that she washed his clothes, cooked dinner, and loved him in all the wifely ways. He did all the husbandly things—providing a good living, taking out the trash, getting the oil changed on the car, lighting the pilot on the furnace, making her feel safe.

He’d thought they were a perfect match. She was pretty high maintenance, though. Especially the last few weeks—she had been a royal pain in his ass. Right when I need to be focusing on my tenure review coming up, she decides to go nuts about her mythical mother.

Sure, he felt sorry for her, but it wasn’t exactly like she was an orphan. From everything she had said about her childhood, Chloe and Smitty were freaking saints. Everyone would be so lucky to have parents like that.

In the end, what had kept him from ever seriously considering leaving her was the one thing that everyone searches for forever and many never find:

She loves me.

“Speaking of lighting the lonesome darkness,“ Vin said, as if she heard his thoughts. “You’re fortunate to be married to an artist—I’m sure she helps balance out that rigid science brain of yours.”

Russ laughed.

“She is an amazing painter,” he said. “Though hard to live with sometimes. And I am not rigid.”

“Right,” Vin said with a snort. “So, what’d you do now to piss her off?”

Russ laughed. “How did you know I did something?”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Vin said. “I’m very observant. Now spill it. What did you do?”

“Well,” Russ sighed. “I told her that I had given a specimen of Jadum wilderii to you, and she had a cow.”

Vin frowned. “Why’d she have a cow over that?”

“Because she wanted me to have given it to her.”

“So why didn’t you? You did collect more than one specimen, right?” Vin said.

“Well, yes, but —”

“Did you give her one?”

“No, but—”

“But what? You named this amazing never-before-seen, rare flower after your wife, and then you give to another woman.” Vin said, shaking her head and frowning. “Are you insane?”

“What?” Russ said. “I told her you ripped it apart to study it. It wasn’t like I was giving you a romantic gift. I told her I’d get her another one as soon as we get back from Ecuador.”

He did not tell Vin that he had to abandon Jade to attend her foster-father’s funeral alone. Nor did he tell her that Jade hallucinated seeing her mother on Wilder Island.

Vin’s cell-phone went off. “Hold that thought,” she said as she answered. “It’s my wife. I bring her all sorts of specimens from my work. She loves them all.”

Russ frowned, trying to imagine what sorts of specimens.

“So, why didn’t you give her one of the other specimens you collected?” Vin said after she rang off.

“I need them for research!” Russ said. “I had no idea that naming a possible new orchid after my wife was a very special gift. I just don’t get it.”

“And now you’re flying off to South America with the ‘Other Woman’?” Vin said, shaking her head and glaring at him. “The woman who tore her flower apart.”

Russ sighed. “I guess I never saw it quite like that.”

“Guess not,” Vin said. “It takes more than binoculars.

All the angst his wife had introduced to his life faded as Russ drove the few blocks from the Commode to the University. Breakfast with Sam, Kate and Majewski had helped cheer him up, but nothing energized him more than his work. There was a ton of things he needed to organize for his upcoming trip to Ecuador, excitement overtook him as the Biology Department came into view. He looked forward to spending the entire day with Vin.

 She worked in a sort of sub-department shared by Biology and the Medical School. It was a natural partnership, they both agreed. The possible new orchid species on Russ found on Wilder Island had captured Vin’s interest. 

“Russ, you must let me analyze it,” she had insisted. “It could have exactly the alkaloid I’ve been looking for.”

That alkaloid was mentioned repeatedly in some of the ancient Chinese medicine recipes, but no one had been able to identify what it was, other than it was a miraculous cure for cancer. Vin thought Jadum wilderii might just be the answer.

How fantastic would that be? That he would not only find a new, undiscovered species of orchid that would also cure the most dreaded disease known to humans!

Russ pulled into the parking lot and into his designated slot. Up the steps at the back of the Biology building, two at a time. He passed by Alfredo’s door on the off-chance he was there. He wasn’t. Russ hoped he’d show up—he really needed some more samples of Jadum, and no one could get to Wilder Island where it grew without Alfredo’s invitation.

At his desk in his office, his email page opened as soon as he logged on to his computer. He smiled at the twelve messages from Vin. The words “HOLY BAI-JI JIAO!” blared at him. So like Vin. Her enthusiasm was loud and clear. He dialed her number from his cell phone.

“Come over here right now,” Vin said without greeting him and hung up.

Russ grabbed the small black case that contained his laptop and trotted down the stairs, out the double glass doors, across a small patio, and into BioMed. She worked in the basement, where all the analytical equipment was housed. 

“In case it floods or something, they want to make sure all this expensive stuff is the first to go,” she joked.

In fact, BioMed had recently increased its personnel, students, and research projects, and was literally bursting at the seams. Vin and her instruments were temporarily housed in the basement until the new facility was finished.

Vin was the smartest person Russ knew, having earned a PhD from Duke University Department of Pharmacology and Cancer Biology by the time she was twenty-four. Her senior thesis as an undergraduate was impressive enough to allow her to jump from undergrad straight to a doctorate. It helped that she had started college at the age of sixteen, having skipped two grades during her elementary school years.

Vin’s office fascinated Russ. His own desk was neat as a pin. But he was not in the midst of writing several proposals and papers simultaneously, while doing the research required for both. He never felt like he even approached her intellectual brilliance. Or her amazing ability to multi-task.

Vin sat at her desk typing rapidly on a keyboard behind several stacks of paper and journals, with a great many post-it notes of different colors sticking out of them.

“Have we cured cancer?” Russ asked with exaggerated excitement as he burst through her door.

“Oh, heavens, no!” she said without looking up. “That’s not our job, thank God! We just have to find bizarre little properties in ordinary things. Someone else will have to figure out how to cure cancer.”

After typing in a few more characters, she hit the last one with finesse and turned to Russ. “And we did. That is, you did.”

“Me?”

“You,” she said, grinning a she pushed the print key. A few seconds later, her printer came to life and spit out a single sheet of paper. She handed it to Russ without looking at it.

“Fantastic!” Russ said, shaking his head as he read the lab report. “But what did I do?”

“You found an orchid with the bizarre little properties we seek,” she said, laughing.“Your Jadum contains large amounts, relatively speaking of course, of the combination of alkaloids that have been shown in a scant few, yet positively eyebrow-raising laboratory tests to be highly effective in experimental treatments for cancerous tumors.”

Orchids had been the steadfast interest of Russ’s life, since he was a small child. Jade loved orchids the way most people love them: for their highly visible, very beautiful, very colorful, unabashedly exposed sexual organs. Vin loved them the way he did—as a scientist, fascinated by the gifts of Nature. And the gifts within gifts.

Vin had told him on a few occasions of her interest in Chinese medicine, borne largely out of the work she did. “Plants pretty much give us all the medicines and pain-killers we have,” she told him. “And we’re not the first ones to figure that out.”

Vin had been part of several projects that concerned some preliminary testing, she told him. “We discovered that at very high concentrations, about a hundred times higher than in nature, the Bai-Ji alkaloids found in some species of orchid stopped blood flow to tumors, at the same time switching off the gene that tells a cell to replicate itself infinitely.”

“That’s fantastic!” Russ said.

“It also killed the patient, a laboratory rat,” Vin said. “But that’s not our problem either, fortunately. We only care about how much of these alkaloids are in Jadum wilderii. And where in the plant the alkaloid resides— seems it’s unevenly concentrated in the flowers, with little to none anywhere else.”

“Jadum wilderii is not a typical orchid,” Russ said with a smile. That much he had learned when he first discovered it on Wilder Island. “That purplish blue color caught my attention. I had thought it might be due to atypical alkaloid concentrations in the flower.”

“And you were right, Dr Matthews!” Vin said. “Let’s get to work on merging our research and write this puppy up. Do you have a draft of your part of the paper?”

“Give me a minute,” Russ said. He withdrew his laptop from its case and opened it. He attached the file to an email. 

Seconds after he pushed ‘send,’ Vin said, “Got it! We’ll combine mine with yours today, take both home tonight, read, edit, and finish it off tomorrow. I’d like to get it sent off to Pharmacology Journal before we leave for Ecuador. It’s the best place to put out provocative hypotheses based on convincing, yet scant evidence. We’ll write a more involved, more data-laden paper later, after we get back.”

Majewski left the Commode for the police station, to possibly ID the body they’d found as Stella’s. He tried not to hope it was her. But it would surely make his life easier if it was.

God knows she had made everyone’s life harder. Mine. Mother’s. Her own.

When Majewski had last gone home to deal with Stella’s running away for the final time, Mother was hysterical. “Stella’s got herself pregnant. Pregnant!” Mother wailed into her hanky. “What will I tell people? How could she shame me like this?”

“Where is she now?” he had asked.

But Mother had only waved him away as a new round of sobs shook her shoulders.

Majewski found her—situated on a tiny island in the middle of the small stream that ran through the family’s property. She had constructed a rude shelter that almost  suggested a large bird nest—a network of branches interwoven with vines and pine needles. A teakettle, a cup, a frying pan, and a sleeping pad completed the furnishings. She was quite pregnant. 

He returned to the house, called an ambulance, and led the paramedics to Stella. Mother followed, wailing and wringing her hands. Expressionless and silent, Majewski watched the paramedics wrap a struggling and screaming Stella into a straight jacket. He felt nothing except a profound wish to be gone.

When the ambulance drove away, he couldn’t hear Stella’s screaming. But he could hear Mother’s histrionics. He gritted his teeth against her stream of angry recriminations peppered with bleating about how Stella had made her suffer so endlessly.

“And now this,” Mother had moaned over and over, rocking herself, perpetually hanky-dabbing at what he was sure were fake tears.

“She’s Rosencranz’s problem now,” he said tersely and walked out the door of the family mansion. He never went back home again, but for the one occasion of his father’s funeral. 

Mother made him Stella’s legal guardian, ensuring he would never be able to wash his hands of her. Every once in awhile over the years, Mother would pester him to approve a new procedure that might help Stella. He signed off on every single one, never asking for any information, including if these procedures were actually helping Stella or just burning up the family’s wealth.

After Mother passed, he set up a trust fund to pay whatever bills Rosencranz sent for her stay. There would be no more procedures, no consultations with doctors. Just her room and board. When the trust fund ran out some 6 years ago, Stella became the state’s burden.

And that was that, until Stella decided to re-enter his life and ruin it.

Divine Providence had blessed him lately; perhaps the body was indeed Stella’s. That would be the best thing. Nothing but misery had surrounded that girl from the moment she was born. Perhaps it was time she was delivered from all that.

He pulled into the police station and parked. Manzi, though—what the devil is going on with him?  It was so unlike him to be so incommunicable. And there was a great deal for the two of them to talk about. He could not wait to tell Manzi that his research into DiggyDocs had unearthed many interesting things. And then they’d talk about the paper they would co-write.

Detective O’Malley escorted Majewski to the morgue, and opened the door. The odor of bleach and blood nauseated Majewski, but he betrayed nothing. Like a corpse. A man in a white coat nodded and led them to a row of square white doors. He pulled the handle on one and a long drawer slid out.

Majewski choked at the gruesome sight of the nude woman whose bloated face was near unrecognizable. Her throat had been cut from ear to ear; the bloodless wound gaped open. He made the sign of the cross over the body with his right hand, resisting the urge to vomit.

“I am sorry,” O’Malley said. “This is never easy.”

“May the dear Lord Jesus receive you into his arms,” Majewski said to the pale flesh, “that you may finally rest in peace.” 

“Is she your sister?” Detective McDermott asked.

It isn’t Stella.

After blessing himself again, he turned to the detective. “It could be her, Stella had long black hair…”

Tempting as it was to give a positive identification, Majewski resisted. He pulled his eyes away from the body. “But I cannot say it is not her, nor can I be sure it is. I am sorry, Detective.”

“No problem,” Detective McDermott said. “I didn’t expect you could; you said on the phone you had not seen your sister in a number of years. And this body is pretty messed up. But we always start here—recognition and identification of the body by a family member is always our preference.” 

The detective pushed the drawer back, but the image of the dead woman’s slit throat remained in Majewski’s memory.

Not Stella.

“Let me escort you up to the lab for the DNA test,” O’Malley said. “That’ll tell us everything.”

Majewski managed to nod and murmur, “Okay.”

“If it makes you feel any better, we were going to do the DNA test, even if you had positively identified her.”

Majewski followed the detective out of the morgue. At the lab, O’Malley stood aside and said, “They’ll scrape a cell sample from your cheek. We’ll send it on to be analyzed, and once we get the results, I’ll call you.”

Majewski left the police station, got into in his car and told the navigating app on his cellphone to provide directions to Kafka Memorial Hospital. He could never find the time, nor the inclination to visit Stella during her time at Rosencranz Asylum. Funny how he could now made the trip to the new hospital where she had never been. Perhaps it was because he knew she wasn’t there.

A pleasant, yet humorless female voice instructed him to turn right onto University Drive. The voice reminded him of a nun he had in catholic school in his boyhood, who enunciated every syllable so carefully, it took her twice as long to say everything.

It drove him nuts.

At 11 o’clock on the dot, the door to Kate’s office opened, and an exceedingly handsome, well-dressed woman stepped inside.

“Hello!” she said with a bright smile and her hand extended. “I’m Minerva Braun”

“Yes!” Kate said, taking Ms Braun’s hand. “Please come in!”

“Perhaps you know of my late husband, Henry?” Mrs Braun said as she took a seat.

“Uh, yes,” Kate said. Who doesn’t? It was hard to imagine this elegant woman across the desk had been married to a lout like Henry. “I had heard that he passed. My condolences.” Whatever  could she want with a small-time attorney like me?

A broad smile swept across Mrs Braun’s face. “Henry was a difficult man. But no matter!” She waved her gloved hand. “I do want to thank you for saving that enchanted island from Henry. I cheered you on when I saw the newscasts of the Friends of Wilder Island on tv.” 

She snickered behind the gloved hand. “I even donated to your cause, under an assumed name of course. Henry would have been enraged if he knew.” She grinned with the satisfaction of having bested the beast.

“It was my pleasure,” Kate said, feeling her shoulders relax. “I had a lot of help. We are all very happy the way things turned out.”

“Indeed,” Mrs Braun said. “I hope that the island remains forever safe and wild.”

“That’s the purpose of the land trust,” Kate said. “Perhaps you will consider becoming a board member?”

“In fact, I will!” Mrs Braun said. “But, there’s something else I need to take care of first.” She pulled off her gloves and stuffed them into her small leather handbag. “I want to change my name.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, and Mrs Braun laughed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” Kate said. “It’s just—”

“So soon?” Mrs Braun grinned wickedly. “Quite poor taste also, don’t you agree? I have not even buried him yet.”

“Deliciously poor taste,” Kate said, chuckling. She turned to her computer and started typing. “Are you taking back your maiden name?”

“Yes,” Mrs Braun said. “It was duBois. And I want to use my middle name, Gabrielle, as my primary legal name, or whatever you call it.”

Gabrielle?

Kate turned her head and stared. “Gabrielle?”

“Yes,” she said. “Gabrielle duBois. Is that a problem?”

“Ah, not at all,” Kate said. “It’s just that Gabrielle is an unusual name. See, during our  Friends of Wilder Island Arts and Crafts Fair, a woman named Gabrielle bought a painting at the silent auction we held to raise money to save the island.”

“That was me!” Mrs Braun said. Her eyes lit up, and the smile returned. “The Wilder Side—marvelous painting by my favorite local artist, Jade Matthews! I had donated it to the library, but it never got there.” 

Her face darkened and she frowned. “I never saw it again after that auction. It just disappeared. No one knew anything. But—” she shrugged and exhaled a long sigh. “I never asked him—I didn’t want to know, but I am sure Henry was behind it.”

The vivid image that Russ described of awakening in the dead of night to find Wilder Side burning on their front porch rose up in Kate’s memory. And her own voice saying, “I am sure Henry is behind this.”

“I’m so sorry,” Kate said.

“Me too,” Mrs Braun said. “The destruction of the beautiful painting broke my heart. But that’s over now, thank God. And Henry has left me a very wealthy woman. As a matter of fact, I’ve been thinking of asking Ms Matthews, that is, commissioning her for another painting. Do you know how I can reach her?”

“I do,” Kate said, smiling as she scribbled on a post-it note. “Here’s Jade’s cell phone number. I’m sure she’d be just ecstatic to hear from you.” 

Gabrielle put the note in her purse. “I’ll call her. Thank you.”

“All right, Ms Gabrielle duBois,” Kate said as she faced her computer. “That is a lovely name. You are essentially resuming your maiden name.”

“My full maiden name was Minerva Gabrielle duBois, after my Greek and French grandmothers, respectively. I want to get rid of Minerva. I always hated that name. I—well, I just want to make a new start. You know?”

“I do,” Kate said. “I started over here in Ledford, after a dismal failed marriage—we had no kids, so I changed my name back to the original. I also cut off all my hair.”

Gabrielle gazed at Kate’s flaming red hair, now reaching her shoulders. “I would not have had the courage to cut my hair if it looked like yours.”

“I was making a political statement,” Kate said, tossing her head.

She powered the printer on her desk and it spit out a single sheet of paper. She handed it to Mrs Braun saying, “Okay, sign this, I’ll notarize it, and as soon as I walk it over to the courthouse this afternoon, you will officially be Gabrielle duBois.”

“Thank you! I want Minnie Braun to disappear forever,” she said as she signed. “Along with her late husband.” She pushed the papers back to Kate. “There is one more thing I need you to do, Ms Herron.”

“Certainly. I am at your service, Ms duBois.”

“Well, perhaps two things. First, you must call me Gabrielle.”

“That would be my pleasure, Gabrielle,” she said. “You must also call me Kate.”

“Fine,” Gabrielle said and opened her purse. She withdrew her checkbook and without asking how much she owed for Kate’s legal services, she filled it all in, tore it from the book.

“Consider this a retainer for your services,” she said and handed the check to Kate.

Kate glanced at the check. $10,000? “Gabrielle, this is far too much for a simple name change. Please, I—”

“The second thing I want you to do,” Gabrielle said, holding her hand up to silence Kate, “is to begin the probate of my late husband’s estate. I’ll owe you much more than that, in the end. Consider it a retainer, or whatever.”

Kate’s mouth fell open, and her eyebrows nearly reached her scalp.

Gabrielle laughed again. “I love shocking you, Ms Herron—Kate. You are able to probate estates, are you not?”

“Uh, yes, of course,” Kate stammered. “That’s what I do. I’m honored. Thank you.” omg! Is this real? Probating Henry Braun’s estate! OMG! I can’t wait to tell Sam!

“I’ll have Jules Sackman send over the documents concerning Henry’s financial holdings and what-not,” Gabrielle said. And laughed again. “He was my late husband’s attorney. I sent him a letter this morning, firing him.”

Kate smiled and nodded. The last person she wanted to deal with over Henry’s estate was Jules Sackman. She drew a breath and said, “Good. He’s a smarmy bastard. Though I oughtn’t speak of one of my own in such a way—”

“But he is a smarmy bastard,” Gabrielle said. “Pretending to be concerned with me. Ha! He’s a liar and a thief, and if I never see that greasy smile of his again, it’ll be too soon. That’s why I gave you such a large retainer. You will earn it, I am sure. Chances are the estate will be excruciating to probate, considering Jules Sackman was involved in all of Henry’s finances. I’m surprised he somehow didn’t make off with all Henry’s loot.”

Gabrielle reached into her handbag and withdrew a compact disc. “Here is his will, by the way. Unless you need a hard copy?”

“If I do, I can print one out,” Kate said, willing her hand not to tremble as she reached for the CD. It was hard to maintain her decorum. She wanted to dance on her desk. And call Sam. I can’t wait to tell him!

“Wait!” Gabrielle said. “I didn’t even think of this until now, but will changing my name affect my inheriting Henry’s wealth?”

“No,” Kate said without even cracking the big fat smile that she was keeping trapped behind her teeth, “that will not affect anything. Women change their names all the time. And there is a paper trail, in case anyone wants to dispute it. But who would? Everyone in Ledford knows who you are.”

Gabrielle laughed. “In spite of my best efforts to stay hidden!”

“Low profile has its merits,” Kate said. She turned to her computer, and touched the keyboard, which made the monitor come alive. “Okay then, let’s get the probate of Henry’s will started. It always takes longer than anyone thinks.” She opened a file, hit the print button. “Do you need money in the meantime?”

“Not at all,” Gabrielle said. “You see, for years, I squirreled away a few pennies here and there out of the household and personal items allowances I received every month from from Henry. He was quite generous with me, in spite of his other breathtaking flaws. But on occasion, he wanted me to look like a wealthy man’s wife. Anyway, I invested what I had stashed over the years. I actually don’t really need his money to live on. That check I gave you came from personal funds.”

Kate laughed out loud. “Did Henry ever know you were doing this?”

“I think so,” Gabrielle said, laughing. “He never let on, but if anything, he’d approve—even the sneaky way I did it.” She laughed again. “What he would not have approved of is that I shopped for all my clothes at second-hand stores. Oh, some of them were pretty high-end, I grant you! For those public occasions, you know.”

“I love it,” Kate said, laughing with her. She reached behind her and pulled a stack of paper off the printer. “Here’s a couple documents I need you to sign, which authorize me to probate Henry’s estate, as well as the fee, which can be hourly or a percentage set by the courts.” 

Probating Henry Braun’s estate. It gave her goosebumps.

“Fine,” Gabrielle said. “Percentage will work better for you, I am sure. Henry was loaded. I’ll be hard pressed to spend all his money.” She pushed the signed document pile back toward Kate.

“Great!” Kate said. She arranged them in a neat pile and placed them in a file folder.

Holy freaking Universe! A percentage of Henry Braun’s wealth!

On his way to the new Kafka Memorial Hospital, following the map app’s explicit and repeated instructions which included ever-shorter distance to the next two turns, he entered the onramp to the highway. The scenery changed from urban to rural after a few miles. Majewski liked the patterns that the rigidly spaced and absolutely straight rows of corn made with the undulating hills. 

In his youth, this country had more forested spots—it wasn’t all cornfields back then. Better than miles of apartment tenements, though. Such was the D.C. landscape where he lived. For now.

Wilder Island rose dark and alluring in the sparkling river. Soon, he promised himself. Soon I will make you my home. But Stella’s face rose up in front of his island fantasies. Still an obstacle, after all these years. 

Why, Lord? Why?

On the nightly news, the hospital had offered lame excuses for their inattention. “We were in the midst of a move,” the spokesperson had said. “Ms Steele got lost in all the confusion. We did not discover her missing until it was time to load up the patients.”

“Two days later,” Majewski had snorted.

The news anchor asked why it was so easy for patients to just walk away. “This is the second such incident in a month.”

That was one of the reasons to shut the place down. It leaked like a sieve, apparently. The other patient had been found, however.

“Rosencranz is old,” the hospital administrator said, shrugging. “It was never designed to be a mental hospital. We lacked the infrastructure to emplace and maintain even the most rudimentary security. Though we did have several security cameras on the roof, but they did not record anyone leaving the premises without authorization.” 

The administrator neglected to mention that the cameras that might have showed someone walking away were covered by crows. But everyone knew that…it had been in all the news, repeatedly. The tv anchor had ended the story expressing hope that Charlotte Steele would be found alive. 

The good people of Ledford did too. And, they had cheered the crows for their part in Charlotte’s escape.

Majewski passed the turnoff to Rosencranz Asylum. The image of the gruesome, swollen face in the morgue rose up in his mind. 

“Dear God Almighty,” he murmured. “Save me.” He prayed for an end to his torture. Prayed for Stella to be gone. Truly gone. Not just missing somewhere, haunting him for the rest of his life. All the way gone.

It was bad enough that Stella’s birth ruined his plans for his life, and here she was again—about to ruin his plan to have the only thing he ever wanted. Scholastic adoration.

Majewski looked over his shoulder as he changed lanes to pass a slow-moving truck. He switched on the radio. A familiar melody came from the classical music station on the radio. Ah, Chopin. When he was a boy, his father had introduced him to the “Pride of Poland,” as he’d called the greatest composer that ever lived .

No one in the history of classical music had ever done the piano so proud as Chopin, his father always said. Majewski tapped his fingers in the air above the steering wheel, playing along.

Suddenly, the map app jarred him back to the present, ordering him to turn right onto Hospital Drive in one mile, then into a vast, largely empty parking lot of Kafka Memorial Hospital. Grateful for the number of spaces close to the building, he parked the rental car and walked up the stairs to the entry.

A rather sour-faced woman sat behind the enormous reception counter, fanning herself as she watched him enter. “May I help you?” she asked in a tone that suggested she’d rather not.

“Good day, Miss. I’m Father Thomas Majewski—” He placed his calling card on her desk.

She glanced at it, and her face brightened immediately. She jumped to her feet, straightening her skirt on the way up. “Oh, Father. I mean, Father Superior! Forgive me! I had no idea.”

Much to Majewski’s great amusement, she curtsied as she said, “I’m Dora Lyn McMann, Father. And just so you know, I am Catholic.”

“Oh, no need for that, Miss McMann,” he said. “I am not a king, just a lowly priest.”

“Well, okay, but I am so sorry, Father, I hope you forgive us. You’re not going to sue us, are you, Father?”

“Whatever for?” Majewski said, frowning and tipping his head to the side.

“For losing your sister the way we did.” She looked again over her shoulder. “Probably I shouldn’t remind you. I bet you’re worried sick about her, aren’t you?”

He stared speechlessly at her. He had never once worried about Stella.

“Yes, of course,” he said, blinking away his surprise at the question. “I’m sick with worry. But I have no intention of holding the hospital responsible. My sister often wandered off as a child.”

Dora Lyn fiddled with the things on her desk in small jerky motions that reminded him of the sparrows on his office windowsill back in Washington.

“Well, perhaps, but it shouldn’t of  happened.” Dora Lyn sniffed. “Mabel—she fills in for me on the weekends—well, she did not follow protocol that day. She didn’t get the visitor signed in properly, I mean it’s just so basic.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head. “Nothing like this would ever have happened on my watch, Father.”

“I’m sure it wouldn’t have,” Majewski said, smiling. “Do you have my sister’s medical file? As I told you, I have not seen her in many years, and it may be that her medical history is all the family will have of her memory.”

Majewski had never been interested in his sister’s medical history, never asked a single question to anyone about her. That Stella remained institutionalized told him everything he needed to know. She was alive and someone else was taking care of her. But now—since that hospital administrator had said on the nightly news—that there was a vault of old records still at Rosencranz. Hopefully the file he had requested would tell him everything he needed to know.

“The doctor said he could make Stella speak English again,” Mother had informed him. “He said he has a completely natural remedy that will block her brain from letting her speak crow ever again.”

That was well before Majewski knew about Wilder Island, and that his protege Alfredo Manzi had the same gift as Stella—if you could call it a gift. No one would ever consider Manzi insane. And, Stella had not uttered a word of English in more than 20 years.

“They said they found a body, Father,” Dora Lyn said, her eyes wide with fear. “It’s not her, is it, Father? Charlotte’s not dead….is she? Tell me please!” 

“I don’t think it’s her,” Majewski said. “But we won’t know until the DNA tests come back.”

“Oh, what a relief!” Dora Lyn said. “I mean, well—I hope it isn’t her.” She picked up a manilla folder and waved it at Majewski. “Anyhoo, I made a quick copy of the her file for you before the police came and took it.”

The police have her file? The thought filled him with dread. He had hoped see it before the police did. Rosencranz in its day was quite trustworthy to keep the family’s secrets forever—but what if—?

As he reached for it, Dora Lyn pulled it away and folded one arm on top of the other.—with the file firmly in her grip. 

“See, most of her medical history is on the computer,” Dora Lyn said, tapping her chin with a forefinger. “Except these few things I found laying around. I hope it helps—I mean I know it probably won’t help find her but—”

She paused her finger tapping and said:  “If only Mabel’d done her job, we’d know for sure who was there that day.” She unfolded her arms and pointed a corner of the file folder at Majewski. “You know, maybe someone should talk to that doctor fellow that visited her a couple times, you know? He might know something.” She rolled her eyes toward the ceiling.

“I’m sure the police will talk to everyone who saw her within the few days or even weeks of her disappearance,” Majewski said and looked at his watch. “Including visitors.”

“See, that’s the thing, Father,” Dora Lyn said. “Charlotte, see, she never had a single visitor, in all these years—and I was here when she got here, so I would know. Then outa the blue, he walks in, this Dr Robbins. Lord, was he handsome!” She clucked, shaking her head, one hand floating up to her bosom. “And very, very nice. He even brought me flowers.”

“Very nice of him,” Majewski said. “May I have the file plea—”

Dora Lyn sighed and refolded her arms with the file again tucked under. A faraway look came over her face. “Charlotte, she just adored him. I could tell. We women can tell those things, you know. I guess I had kind of a crush on him, too.” She  giggled behind a chubby, freckled hand. 

Majewski shifted his weight to the other foot and looked at his watch again. He resisted the urge to reach out and just grab the file.  Good Lord,  just give it to me!

“But see,” Dora Lyn prattled on. “He talked to her. I mean they talked. We never er could understand the strange language she spoke, but he did, that was for sure. They had real conversations. And she laughed a lot. I never heard her laugh until he came.”

“This doctor that came to see Stella—” Majewski said, his forehead wrinkled. “He  actually talked to her?” Someone who speaks the Patua’? “What’s his name? Did he write any reports of his visits for her file?”

“His name was Dr Robbins, Father. He had the most amazing eyes!” Dora Lyn said, opening hers wide. “Dark, really dark, but warm somehow. I could just have fallen right in. But—”

She frowned and looked up at the ceiling. “But now that you mention it, he didn’t make any reports of his visits that I know of. See, Charlotte’s file was missing the first time he came, and I told him I’d try to find it, but I guess we both just forgot. And then I found it when we moved. But I didn’t know how to get a hold of him.”

“This Dr Robbins, who asked him to visit my sister?” Majewski said, frowning. Since she had become a ward of the state, he had pretty well discarded all thoughts of her. Until he visited Wilder Island….

“Don’t know,” she said, shrugging her shoulders. “I assumed it was your family. But I do know he was so nice! Even when I couldn’t find her file. Most docs get all nasty and impatient when we can’t find a patient’s file.” She narrowed her eyes into slits for a moment.

“But not Dr Robbins. He was just as sweet as pie. You know who he reminds me of, though?” She pointed at Majewski with a short red fingernail. “That really handsome professor, you know the one who lives on Wilder Island and talks to crows? I think he’s a Father just like you. Do you know him? I forgot his name. It wasn’t Robbins.”

Majewski’s mouth dropped open, and he raised his eyebrows. “Alfredo Manzi?”

“Yeah! That’s him!” she said. “I seen him on tv the other day, oh, you know, when Mr Braun’s paddleboat was giving people free rides and stuff. You know, when they were trying to save the island? Not Mr Braun, but that Professor. I forget what he taught—oh wait!” She slapped her forehead with one hand and giggled. “Of course! He taught classes about Crows!”  

“Ornithology,” Majewski said.

“What?” Dora Lyn looked confused for a moment, then shook her head. “Yes, that. Anyhoo, this professor fellow—gad, if he wasn’t almost the spittin’ image of Dr. Robbins, though. Except for that sexy white streak he had right here.” She brushed a couple fingers through her hair above her forehead. “And he wore glasses. Other than that. Coulda been twins. He even talked just like the professor, all stiff and formal like. It was just adorable.” She sighed, smiling.

The floor felt suddenly soggy under Majewski’s feet, and he reached for the edge of Dora Lyn’s desktop to steady himself.

Manzi visited Stella? Why didn’t he tell me?

Dora Lyn’s dreamy smile faded, along with her face.

 “Are you all right, Father?” She darted around her counter, grabbed his arm, and pulled him a few steps to a chair. He sat down heavily, beads of sweat dotting his brow.

“Let me call a doctor!” she said. 

“No, no,” Majewski said, holding up a hand in protest. “I’m fine, really. Just a bit of jet lag.”

“And the shock about your sister, Father,” Dora Lyn said. “Let me at least get you some water.

Majewski nodded.

Dora Lyn brought him a glass of water, and fussed over him for a few moments. “There!” she said, “Your color’s coming back. What else can I bring you Father? A candy bar? No? Cup of coffee? A sandwich?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Majewski managed to choke out. “Just bring me the file, please.”

He stood up. Dora Lyn hovered near his elbow—ready, willing, and able in case he needed her. “Let me call someone to help you to your car, Father!”

Majewski handed the empty glass to her. “Thank you, Dora Lyn, but I am fine, really. And I must be on my way. If I can have that file, I’ll be going.”

“Sure thing, Father,” she said. “But first I’ll need you to sign a release form. You just stay put, and I’ll bring it all to you.”

When she returned, Majewski signed the form, and she handed him the file. He frowned, “It seems rather thin.”

“I copied everything there was, Father,” Dora Lyn said.

The few sheets in the file were merely ledgers of the billing for Stella’s residence, and the payments the family trust had made, but only up through 1987.

“Where is the rest of it?” he asked. “Where are her medical records?”

“Well, Father.” Dora Lyn grimaced. “We switched to computers, oh, more than ten years ago. Things got so messed up and some of the patient’s stuff just didn’t get into the system. Everything from before computers was paper, you know, and had to be typed.  And then it had to be scanned in. We just didn’t have the manpower.”

She grinned and held up a fist. “Or the woman-power!”

“What did they do with the old paper records?”

Dora Lyn shrugged. “God, that was so long ago,” She gazed up at the ceiling for a few moments. “There were tons of records, Father. We spent months getting them into the computer, and then we shredded everything. Except for the files in the vault, which no one knew how to open anymore. It rusted shut years ago after the basement flooded. Maybe the rest of your sister’s file is in the vault.” Dora Lyn said. 

“How many files are still in that vault?” Majewski asked.

“Don’t know, Father,” she said. But that’s where they stored the older records, from before your sister came—about five, oh, maybe six years before we got the computers.” She shrugged. “But I don’t know for sure  if anything’s in that vault, so please don’t quote me on it, Father.”

“My lips are sealed,” Majewski asked. “Is that vault still there?”

“I reckon so,” Dora Lyn said. “It was built into the foundations of the house.”

With every passing mile after he left Kafka Memorial Hospital, Majewski’s anger morphed to guilt, and back to anger again—a complicated creature that continuously reviled him, then absolved him. Stella had been a wicked, disobedient child—he had the letters from his mother to prove it.

But Manzi… At one time just a few weeks ago, he had wished Manzi could visit Stella. Why didn’t he tell me he did?

It was easy to be more angry with Stella, as if it were all her fault. Which it was. If she hadn’t  walked off. If she had not ever been born…

“I don’t know about you,” Vin said as she turned away from her computer and stood up. “But I could use a good strong cup of coffee.”

“Sounds good to me,” Russ said. 

They walked to a coffee shop on the main drag near the campus and ordered coffee. Vin talked about her childhood. “I didn’t have much of one. My mom raised me by herself. She had worked as a waitress since she was 16—right after she had me. She was determined that at all costs, I would not end up like her. Uneducated and pregnant as a teenager. So I had no toys—just books and school. I skipped two grades, and so had no friends. But, I managed to graduate magna cum laude and got snapped up immediately by the School of Medicine at the university here in Ledford.”

“So you made your mom proud,” Russ said. 

“I might be a bit fun-impaired,” Vin said, “though well educated and well paid. But, enough about me—tell me, were you always a geek?” 

Without waiting for him to answer, she went on: “I imagine you were curious about everything—a total know-it-all, just like you are now. You probably read every science book in the school library by the time you were in fourth grade.”

“Guilty on all counts!” Russ laughed as he raised his hand. “But I was incredibly average scholastically. I just loved the natural world of plants and animals. I barely stayed in the house at all in the summer time.”

“Except to eat, right?” Vin said with a knowing grin.

“Yup,” Russ said, grinning back. ”See, my dad and I built a treehouse in our backyard,” he said. “I practically lived there in the summer time. I spent all day up there. And night. Other than to eat, I only came down to crap.”

Vin cracked up. “I’m surprised you didn’t just pee off the Treehouse—being a guy and all…”

“Well, duh!” Russ said, laughing with her. “I did say ‘only to crap’.”

“Wise lad. So what’d you do in the treehouse all day long,” Vin said. “Spy on the neighbors?”

“How’d you guess?” he said, with a cheesy grin. “My dad gave me some high-powered binoculars. I saw everything that went on outside, and a few things through windows with no curtain.” He told Vin how he had watched Mrs Robinson step out of the shower, naked in all her glory. 

“Right in front of the window!” 

“Had no idea you were such a perv,” Vin said, giggling at him. “Ogling the neighbor lady’s boobs.” 

“I am not a perv,” he said, leering back at her. “I never had a sister, and my mother was of the opinion that nakedness had been invented by Satan. I was just a perfectly normal, curious lad.”

“A curious lad with binoculars,” Vin said, still laughing.

He loved her laugh—so robust and light-hearted.

“I am a scientist,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “I need good tools with which to observe my universe.”

“Very noble,” Vin said, turning in her seat to salute him. “Thank you for carrying the torch of knowledge across the lonesome darkness of ignorance.”

“My pleasure,” he said.

The afternoon flew by. In her office, Vin and Russ each at their own laptops, stitched together the paper they’d present at the conference. She read through it quickly and said, “This is the ‘shitty first draft stage’. But it’s short, sweet, to the point. But let me spice it up with a little more data here and there.”

He could feel the energy surging through her—vivacious, infectious energy that picked him up and swept him away. She printed out two copies and handed him one. “Let’s go eat and then take these home and mark ‘em up. Unless you need to go home and make amends?”

“I really should go home,” Russ said, as he glanced at his watch. “But give me a moment to call Jade. She may be painting, and would rather not stop for dinner.”

He hoped.

He rose from his chair and left Vin’s office to call Jade. He stopped at a sitting area—thankfully no one was around, it being Saturday. He sat near a small water fountain and dialed home.

Jade picked up after five rings.

“Hi, Hon,” he said, careful to not sound angry, nor too cheerful.

“Everything okay?” she asked after a moment.

“Uh, yes, everything is fine. No worries. I’m just checking in. It’s almost dinner time. I can stay here and work if you want to keep painting.”

That didn’t come out the way he wanted. Trying to be light-hearted, he blundered on. “But I can also leave now. And finish up at home.”

“Come home,” Jade said, without hesitation. “I’ll warm up the pizza.”

“Terrific!” he said, “I’ll be ready to eat when I get there! See you in a bit, babe.”

He was disappointed to turn Vin down for dinner, there was much they could still discuss about their paper. But he was already in the doghouse with Jade.

Russ arrived home with a bouquet of flowers and a box of chocolates. “I’m sorry about this morning, babe.” He set them both down in the kitchen and turned to hug her.

She let him kiss her forehead. “I am too.” She took the flowers, put them in a vase with some water and set it on the kitchen table. 

Majewski woke up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding. He sat up and leaned back against a pile of fat pillows. Dora Lyn’s voice echoed inside his head—a continuous reel.

 “…this professor fellow—gad, if he wasn’t the spittin’ image of Dr. Robbins, except for this sexy white streak he had right here. Coulda been twins. He even talked just like Dr Robbins, all stiff and formal. It was just adorable.”

This could ruin everything Majewski wanted, and planned, for his retirement. I’ve got to talk to Manzi.

He flicked the television on and remotely scrolled through all the channels, paying no attention to what was flashing by. The old Rosencranz asylum rose up on the tv screen, followed by Stella’s blurry picture. Detective McDermott talking about DNA tests.

“We will continue to look for Charlotte Steele until we find her,” McDermott said to the camera.

How could Manzi have been so duplicitous? So two-faced? To sit there while I talked about my sister and never ONCE did he mention he had actually been visiting her!

The tv reporter droned something about bodies in the river. Majewski’s eyelids felt so heavy he could not keep them open. 

He drifted in and out of sleep, flailing around in his bed for much of the night. He rose a few times to use the toilet, as was becoming increasingly more common these days. His anger with Stella and anxiety about Manzi not answering his phone kept him from easily going back to sleep.

As his anger abated somewhat, reason and rationality took over. I need to get Manzi off that island to someplace no one will ever find him. Until this blows over. After which,  he would bring Manzi back, and resume his plan for scholarly research and publications. Of course he would not need to be first author on all of the papers they would publish together. Just the first one.

He got up and took some aspirin for his pounding headache. He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels until he came to one called, ‘Branded With a Bad Tattoo’. The show was just what he needed—a silly, meaningless diversion. Majewski shook his head between chuckles when a woman wanted the tattoo of her ex-boyfriend’s name removed from inside her thigh. 

How on Earth did God’s most magnificent creation ever devolve into such an imbecilic species?

Majewski drifted off to sleep at some point after the show featured devils masquerading as angels; a tattoo tattoo artist cleverly concealed two red horns in a little cherub’s curly blonde hair and turned the red devil’s tail with an arrow on the end into a red rose.

The owner of the tattoo was a tall, willowy woman with black feathers that poured down her back, almost to her knees. She held a basket of purple berries that she fed to the curly blonde infant child in the folds of her apron.

Henry hunched forward, holding his chest as pain shot outwards. “Help me—,” he gasped. The beeping noises from all the machines hooked up to him went wild in relentless alarm.

Minnie pressed the ‘Call the Nurse’ button and stood by Henry’s side, holding his clammy hand until the nurse arrived. He was pale as a ghost, belching and passing gas profusely. She tucked herself into a corner as the nurses and doctor worked on Henry.

After a few minutes, the doctor turned to Minnie, stripped off his gloves and said, “We’re going to need to intubate him, Mrs Braun. The nurse will give him a sedative, and then we’ll insert a tube to help him breathe.”

After the sedative had been administered, Henry sank into unconsciousness. Minnie sat in her chair next to his bed and again took his limp, clammy hand. She could feel his life slipping away.

She closed her eyes and whispered: “Dear Jesus. Well, here he is. All yours, finally. Thank you for ending our suffering.”

Henry opened his eyes once and blinked. An expression of surprise overtook his face, and he was gone—eyes wide open. She did not call the nurse, due back any second to prep him for the intubation. Better they make the discovery. And they did.

Someone shoved her out into the hallway, and shut the door. Jules Sackman came up from the lobby and sat quietly waiting with her. They worked on Henry for 33 minutes before the doctor came out shaking his head.

“I’m sorry Mrs Braun. We couldn’t save him.”

Minnie pushed past the doctor and entered Henry’s room. She stared at his dead pasty face on the white sheets. She held his dead hand, closed her eyes and pretended to grieve his passing.

In fact, she was thanking the good Lord for giving her what she asked for.

Deliverance.

Jules touched her elbow and said, “Come, dear, let me take you home.”

Smiling wanly, Minnie allowed him to steer her from the hospital elevator through the lobby, where she nearly bumped into a young man on crutches coming in the front entrance as they were leaving.

“Really, Jules,” she said irritably, “you should have held the door for him. For heaven’s sake, he’s on crutches!”

“And you’re a classy lady,” Jules said, smiling down at her. “He should have waited for you.”

They left the hospital and rode in silence in the back seat of her Bentley. My Bentley. Not Henry’s. Mine. Everything is mine now. She dabbed her eye, hiding a smile behind her hanky. My life…Henry’s wealth…mine.

God’s will. Finally in her favor.

The driver pulled into the garage. Jules got out of the car and gripped her elbow, steering her to the door.

“Thank you, Jules,” she said, pulling her arm back. “But I am fine. I really need to be alone tonight.”

“Are you sure you’ll be alright?” Jules asked, a look of almost genuine concern on his jackal face. “I am happy to stay with you tonight.”

“I’ll be fine,” Minnie said, giving his hand a quick squeeze. “Really, Jules. Thank you for everything, but I’m exhausted. It’s been a long grueling day.”

A long grueling week.

She’d hated sitting at the hospital all day every day, watching Henry sleep, or cough uncontrollably in his delirium. Or mumble recriminations at his doctors, the nurses, Jules—anyone and everyone who failed him.

Weeks of obsessing over his foolish Ravenwood Resort had culminated in a disastrous party he threw on Wilder Island. Henry had come home covered in bird droppings—evidence of the bird’s comments about his plans.

Henry had been a complete nutcase when he was awake, going on and on about how a million crows had pulled down that old trestle bridge of his great-great grandfather’s. And to top it off—they gave him bird flu.

She had helped him clean up. He smelled so horrid, she had to hold her breath. Then she fed him, fantasizing about sneaking her whole bottle of Xanax into his mashed potatoes.

He had babbled like a child as she put him to bed. The next day, he went violently crazy, destroying nearly everything in his office, including the portraits of his beloved namesakes, the Henrys. Even Henry Braun IV, who he had sworn to avenge.

The crows had beaten him, too.

Henry ordered Jules to have every crow on the island and in Ledford exterminated. Immediately. 

“I’d be arrested,” Jules had replied, flicking a bit of lint off his jacket. “Crows are protected vermin around here—you know that.”

Minnie had actually enjoyed Jules’s visits—before he helped Henry become obsessed with owning Wilder Island. Jules had encouraged Henry by constantly denigrating the Catholic Church, and belittling Jesuit Brother Maxmillian Wilder—who had lived as a hermit on the island a hundred years ago. With the crows. To the people of Ledford, Brother Maxmillian was an entrenched local folk hero, who was said to talk to crows. Indeed, Brother Wilder was said to have been half crow himself. 

The special reverence for Brother Max, as some liked to call him, also applied to crows, and their raven cousins. Many places of business, as well as parks and subdivisions used these otherwise unloved birds as their brand:

The Cross-eyed Crow Brewery; Red Raven Restaurant; Crow’s Foot Shoe Store; The Crow Bar; Ravens Crag Cliffs climbing gym—among many others.

When Jules discovered the Jesuits had gotten Brother Maxmillian to obtain the island under the 1862 Homestead act, he had wondered why. “There must be something of value— why else would they bother with this inconsequential chunk of dirt.”

He’d contacted the Geology Department at the University, inquiring about possible mineral wealth on the island.

“None whatsoever,” they told him.

And not enough trees to make logging worthwhile, Jules mused. “What did they really want?”

Jules knew very well how much Henry hated crows. So he dropped a few not-very-subtle hints about Henry buying the island, and developing it into a resort, with a Riverboat Casino parked right on the River. Henry loved Riverboats. And Jules loved Casinos.

Henry had laughed when Jules had suggested he could re-name the whole island “Ravenwood Resort”. 

“After, “Jules had said with a wicked sneer, “you de-nude of trees, and the stench of all those stinking black birds.”

In fact, the stinking black birds and many others from far and wide had saved Wilder Island from Henry, whose plan to destroy Ledford’s beloved icon ended up only destroying Henry.

Jules finally left after Minnie had thanked him repeatedly for being there for her, and promised she’d call him if she needed anything. As if he had anything she wanted. Right now, all she wanted was to be alone.

She went to the plush living room she had rarely been in, other than to vacuum and dust. “It’s so cold in here,” she murmured as she lit a gas fire in the fireplace. She turned her back to the fire, waiting for it to warm up, and called Father Manzi. 

Right to voicemail after the first ring. She’d lost count of how many times she had called, and he had not returned a single call—not even after she had reported that Henry was dead. She wondered if something had happened to him.

I hope he has not fallen ill.

Sighing, she looked out the window of the mansion. My mansion. The river sparkled in the mid-afternoon sun, though Wilder Island seemed as dark and foreboding as ever, concealing its many secrets within its endless shadows.

The portrait of Henry looked down upon her from above the mantle. His drunken rage before the ambulance came had not ended with the shredding of the portraits of his ancestors, for whom he was named. Virtually nothing in his office had been spared. Nearly all that could be reduced to shards and splinters, Henry had smashed to smithereens.

Two things survived his rage-out: his portrait—Henry Braun the 5^th, and the last prized bottle from his obscenely expensive wine collection, due to the simple fact that both photo and wine were out of Henry’s reach, downstairs.

Minnie picked up  the wine bottle and with great ceremony, she pulled the foil back from the cork, pierced it slowly with the spiral end of the corkscrew. She wound the corkscrew down, pulled the cork out of the bottle, and sniffed it. She shrugged, and set both cork and bottle on the mantle.

From the hutch, she withdrew eight crystal goblets.

“Those are worth $2500 a piece,” Henry had told her about a million times.

She threw one at the hearth and smiled as she watched the glass explode.

“Tomorrow,” Minnie said as she picked up another glass and hurled it at the hearth. “I will ask Jesus’s forgiveness for the hateful thoughts and sinful, wasteful actions I am about to commit.”

She lined up the remaining 6 goblets on the coffee table. One by one, she carefully poured his priceless ruby-colored wine into each of the delicately engraved crystal, making sure all had equal amounts, until the bottle was half empty. 

One by one, she held them up to Henry’s own portrait. “May I rest in peace, Henry. Thank God you’re gone.”

One-by-one, she brought each goblet to her lips, tilted her head back, chugged it, and heaved every last one of Henry’s precious heirloom crystal goblets from Germany at the fireplace. So very gratifying, the sound of glass shattering.

She chucked as she hurled the half-full wine bottle at the stone fireplace, and laughed as the alcohol ignited for a few seconds before flaming out.

Free at last.

In the morning, Minnie sat on the patio with her morning coffee, several days of newspapers, and a pounding headache. It was worth it, though. She could still hear the sound of shattering priceless crystal. It still made her smile.

In spite of the hangover, she enjoyed sitting in the morning sun, relishing the freedom of this day. She’d been back and forth to Kafka Memorial every day since Henry got plastered with bird crap.

Henry is dead. But now what?

Unaccustomed to the empty space his absence brought, she didn’t miss him, per se. But they’d been married for over 40 years, sharing a habitual partnership that neither had the will nor the energy to fight about or end. She’d spent a portion of every day taking care of Henry—not that she resented that in any way. She was simply doing her part in their working relationship. She lived her role. As did Henry. He provided. She lacked nothing he could, or would give her.

Though she had prayed daily for deliverance from Henry, she had never thought that would happen until her own death. She had never made a plan for what to do with her life if she outlived Henry. She had never asked for his death. Only that he somehow become not there.

But now what? Now that he wasn’t there.

Minnie sighed and picked up the newspaper on the top of the pile. She gasped at the headline:

Police Find Body in Search for Missing Rosencranz Woman

Charlotte Steele, the caption read under the same sketchy picture of the woman  who had walked away from Rosencranz. Oh, I hope it is not her!

Her only discernible feature, the article said, was long black hair encircling a sad face. A fisherman found the body floating face down in the river…been there for several days… 

“It may be impossible to get a positive identification,” the lead Detective, Sergeant O’Malley said. “We have asked the staff at the hospital for help. The police have also asked a family member for blood sample for a DNA test. 

“We are heartbroken and dismayed,” the family member said. “We continue to pray that she will be found alive.”

The article went on to repeat her history at the institution—Charlotte had lived within the confines of Rosencranz for almost 25 years. She had arrived pregnant, while it was a place for unwed mothers—but only for the daughters of wealthy families who could pay for secrecy.

Why was Charlotte kept there after Rosencranz became a mental hospital? Was she insane? How could she just vanish? 

The last paragraph noted that the old Rosencranz facility was for sale, and interested parties should contact Peggy McFarland at the Crawford Realty, 345-8976.

From Dulles Airport, waiting for his delayed flight to Ledford, Majewski dialed up Kate Herron, the attorney he had hired to probate the legendary hermit Brother Maxmillian Wilder’s estate. He had also supported all of her efforts to form the Friends of Wilder Island Conservation Trust, both financially and in spirit.

The celebration of their success happened yesterday—he had tried to flee DC on Friday, but was unable to shake loose of his many obligations. Finally, his secretary got him a seat on a flight that would leave Sunday morning. Majewski would have to miss the usual Mass at the Cathedral, but everyone understood the reason for his absence.

The body the authorities found in a Midwestern river might be his missing sister.

“Yo, Padre! What’s up?” Kate’s cheerful voice sounded in his ear.

“I have finally been able to leave D.C.,” he said. “I arrive tonight, late.”

“Welcome!” Kate said, “We missed you at the party! What kept you away?”

“Oh, the usual administrative nonsense associated with my exalted title,” he said, chuckling. “But I am on my way now, which is all that matters. I, uh, need to get hold of Alfredo, but he doesn’t answer his phone. Where is he?”

“He’s on the island, I’m pretty sure,” Kate said. “Sometimes he forgets to charge his cell phone. And sometimes he has no coverage.”

“Yes, maybe so,” Majewski said. “I do want to visit the island again, so if you talk to him, please tell him I have arrived?”

“Of course,” Kate said. “Meanwhile, Sam and I are meeting Jade and Russ for breakfast in the morning. Why don’t you join us? We can fill you in on the raucous party we had celebrating our victory over Henry.”

“I’d be delighted!” Majewski said. “I’ll buy. We’ll celebrate again.”

Continuous airport snafus and bad weather delayed Majewski’s intended arrival in Ledford until almost midnight. A hotel shuttle waited at the curb as he exited the terminal with his suitcase into the stiflingly humid air. After getting in, fastening his seat belt and nodding to the other passengers, he checked his cell phone.

Several messages had come in since he left D.C., but none from Manzi. Too late to try and call again, Majewski put the phone back into pocket. Maybe in the morning.

On the highway toward the city, Majewski stared out the window.

They found a body… 

Stella had been missing for two days before anyone even noticed. He supposed it was understandable. Invisibility seemed to surround her—her one redeeming trait. Whether at an institution or out in the woods somewhere was immaterial—it mattered not to him as long as she remained invisible.

In some other scenario, he might’ve wanted to include Stella in his research project  of the Patua’ language that she and Alfredo shared. Today, he only used her to convince himself that such language is more widespread. Alfredo was a more reputable source for such a claim—he is not in or escaped from a mental hospital. 

In his academic career, Manzi had achieved enough recognition for his scholarship, which gave him substance and credibility to the idea that humans and animals might share a common language.

Upon his return from his first trip to Wilder Island, Majewski had started writing a manuscript: The History of the Patua’. Not exactly a catchy title, but he didn’t care. Time to change that later, if need be. In the past two weeks since he’d left Wilder Island, a sketchy outline had morphed into actual sentences and paragraphs.

The Provincial Father Superior of the North American Jesuits had privileges at all the libraries owned by the Order, as well as a good deal of the Pope’s library—though much of that had been off limits to underlings such as himself. Fortunately, the Church had been working on a project to create an online catalog of the writings of historical church figures, as well as scans of old manuscripts.

As a linguist, Majewski had been invited to join the group of scholars working on the Digital Doctrine Project—referred to by the group as “DiggyDocs”. 

From anywhere in the world, Majewski could access the DiggyDocs ancient manuscripts which had been scanned before being locked away in airtight vaults. To his great astonishment, when he had typed “Patua’” into the search engine of the database, the first manuscript that popped up was a ledger, dated 1523. In that year, the Church purchased huge quantities of grain from the farms of the Patua’ all over Europe and the British Isles.

“So they were real.” Astonishment gave way to excitement, and he was swept away in DiggyDocs citations and manuscripts that went back hundreds of years.

Evidently the Patua’ had once been a robust population, with farms and apothecaries all over Europe and Great Britain. The food produced by the Patua’ had carried many through the famines that had devastated what seemed like the entire world after the Great Plagues of the Middle Ages.

The Patua’ were masters of cross-breeding; their seeds and produce, as well as their medicines, were much sought after throughout the lands. The Church frowned on most folk-medicines as the work of witches, particularly those that caused altered states of consciousness. 

Majewski found a citation, buried deep in DiggyDocs, of a small band of Patua’ zealots that consumed fermented berries until an ecstatic madness overtook them. The Church might have looked the other way, or at least settled for a robust scolding of the sinners for their public drunkenness. This was not mere public drunkenness, however.

Holdovers from the pagan past, these enclaves popped up every now and then to celebrate the reincarnation of the soul. As this was heretical to Church doctrine, the Holy See had no choice but to stamp out the heresy wherever and whenever it popped up—which it had tried to accomplish frequently over the centuries, without success.

In fact, a journal article dated 1971 stated: “…the idea of reincarnation, while forbidden to Catholics, is as alive and well today as it ever was.”

Majewski knew that his History of the Patua’ project, focussed on the language between humans and the corvids would likely be viewed by the Church as heretical. That in itself somehow excited him, perhaps because he had never achieved any sort of real recognition in his career with the Church, nor in his prior years in academia. Unlike Manzi, Majewski was not known in academic circles for anything. Annoying the powers that be would be an amusing and scholarly substitute.

The story of his predecessor Father Superior Antoni de la Torre and his nephew, Brother Maxmillian Wilder—both Patua’—had intrigued Majewski from the day Snowbell knocked the fake Treasure Island book off his shelf. The letters inside had astonished him—more so since his visit to Wilder Island—where he discovered Antoni de la Torre, his nephew Brother Maxmillian Wilder, and Alfredo Manzi shared the same Patua’ heritage.

That the honorable Jesuit Father de la Torre, so high up in the hierarchy of the Order, was also Patua’ had blown Majewski’s mind. De la Torre’s trust in the Almighty to deliver the mystery of the Patua’  into the right hands at the appropriate time impressed Majewski. 

Via a cat. 

He, Father Superior Thomas Majewski, was the right man at the right moment. 

Divine Providence

Knowledge of the Patua’ within the Jesuit Order had evidently ended with Antoni de la Torre. It would be up to him, the Father Superior Thomas Majewski, to keep this knowledge, and this unique language, from disappearing.

Father Superior De la Torre’s apparent Patua’ heritage would prove useful. Majewski could always maintain that he was merely reporting the historical evidence of a prior, and well-respected Provincial Father Superior’s ancestry and opinions. Nothing heretical about that. Besides, if he could uncover a vast Jesuit Patua’ presence…

Funny that the language and the humans who spoke it were called ‘the Patua’’. As a linguist he knew well that many such hybrid languages existed, and were termed ‘patois’, but none had ever been an amalgamation of inter-species languages. Manzi believed the Patua’ language of the crows harmonically overlaps the language of humans in much the same way. 

To be the one who introduces the world to interspecies verbal communication? That would be a gift beyond measure! 

Majewski found mention in DiggyDocs that told of a certain firebrand among the Church’s Cardinals who had begun a campaign to drive the wickedness from the land, which had been causing the people much trouble over the years. The usual culprits were crop failures and famines, plagues and droughts. And witchcraft, which undoubtedly caused all that.

Cardinal Bellagio had determined that the evil that had sickened the land and the people was due to the heretical and devil-worshipping activities of the Patua’, as was evident by their frequent, unholy rituals and visitations by crows. He lobbied the Pope to excommunicate the evildoers, and use his Templar army to drive them from Europe—much as they had driven the Infidel from the Holy Land in the centuries before.

The Pope refused.

So what happened to the Patua’? Majewski wondered.

Was it genocide? Or a Diaspora? Where did the Patua’ go? Did they go anywhere? did they just disappear and dissolve into the ‘regular’ human population?

“Somewhere back there,” Majewski murmured to the computer screen. “The truth of the Patua’ is hidden.”

Though Majewski searched for evidence of wholesale slaughter or exile of the Patua’, he found almost nothing. Fortunately, DiggyDocs provided more clues than the whitewashed official Church history

The Jesuit Order, aka the Society of Jesus, was established in the 16th Century, at the end of the Protestant Reformation, as a Counter-reformation measure to introduce reforms by the Catholic Church. Corruption ruled, namely the mental attitude that allowed and even encouraged bribery, lascivious behavior among the clergy, and near-complete lack of the spiritual ability to rise to the occasion of Christ’s teachings upon which the Catholic Church was supposedly founded.

During this time of great turmoil, the Patua’ came to be reviled as sorcerers, and many had fled into the Holy Orders, for safety. The Jesuits alone seemed to understand who the Patua’ were, perhaps because many of them were Patua’ themselves. The Order sheltered them from the bigotry of the ignorant, as well as, at times, from the Church.

Antoni De la Torre was among the Patua’ who had become Jesuits, and had risen to height of Father Superior. Were there others? Other Patua’ in the Jesuit priesthood?  Majewski surmised that as the Patua’ declined in the general population, Patua’ numbers diminished among the Jesuits as well. The Holy Orders have never been without political prejudice and bigotry. 

The Patua’ might have been kept alive through an underground secret society among the Jesuits, of which Antoni de la Torre was perhaps a member. Did De la Torre send his nephew, Maxmillian Wilder, to the island in 1852 to avoid persecution? Majewski hoped to find the answers to his questions deep within the cyber-bowels of DiggyDocs. 

Majewski was a linguist, however. He actually cared little about what happened to the Patua’—if anything. His heart’s delight was words and the structural parameters of language. What if he could be the first to determine an inter-species language? He, Thomas Majewski, could be the one to bring this to the attention of the entire world. With Manzi as 2^nd author …

He planned to stay in Ledford for only a day or so. Then a couple weeks, at least, on the island. With Alfredo. Researching, discussing, writing, critiquing—he had abundant personal leave stacked up. He could not wait.

He stayed up reading and taking notes far into the night, until his eyelids would not stay open. Falling into bed, sleep overtook him quickly. 

The alarm on his watch went off. He got up, showered, shaved and dressed, though he wasn’t due for breakfast with the Friends of Wilder Island for another hour or so. 

He punched in Manzi’s number; after many rings, voicemail picked up. After not listening to the greeting until the final beep notifying him it was over, he said, “Alfredo, I am now in Ledford. I’ll be meeting the Friends in an hour for breakfast at the Commode. Please join us. Otherwise, do call me. I have some very exciting things to tell you.”

Majewski drove to the Komodo Dragon, aka ‘the Commode’, where he was to meet Kate, Sam, Russ, Jade, and hopefully Alfredo for breakfast. He was early. After buying a local newspaper from an outside stand, he entered the cafe.

“Just yourself this morning, sir?” the matronly hostess asked as she pulled a menu from a slot next to the cash register.

“No, ma’am,” he said. “There will be 5 of us.”

“Certainly. Right this way, sir,” the hostess said and led Majewski to a table next to the windows.

 “Thank you,” he said, glancing at the large red stuffed Komodo dragon hanging from the ceiling above the adjacent table. He took the seat with his back to the grotesque creature, but he felt like it was staring down at him. 

“Just coffee until my friends arrive.” He flipped open the Sentinel—Ledford’s daily rag—and glanced up at the red beast lurking over his shoulder.

“Sure thing, sir,” the hostess said, winking at the dragon.

A few moments later, a waitress brought a coffee pot and filled his cup. “Cream and sugar, sir?” she asked.

“I’ll order when the others come,” he said, without looking up from the newspaper.

“Okey dokey,” the waitress said and placed a bowl with small packets of sugar and containers of creamer on the table. Rolling her eyes, she walked away.

The article on the front page of the Sentinel concerned him—though not much more than a general re-hash of yesterday’s news that the police had found a body that might be the missing Rosencranz woman. But the last paragraph caught his waning attention:

    Several Rosencranz staff members remain at the facility boxing up the old paper records for shredding.

    “Some of these records have been there for decades,” an official said, “dating back to the very beginning of Rosencranz Asylum.”

    Hobart Rosencranz, the original builder and owner of the Rosencranz mansion had died penniless after squandering a considerable fortune. His sister Edith turned the lavish mansion into a home for unwed mothers. And when that became an outdated societal attitude, an asylum for the mildly mentally ill.

Majewski looked up from the paper and frowned. What kind of records? There weren’t supposed to be any records.

But what if…

Kate and Sam were almost seated before he noticed their arrival.

“Yo, Padre!” Kate said. “It’s good to see you!” She slid into the booth next to him.

“Sorry you missed the party,” Sam said as he slid in next to Kate, his thigh aligning along hers.

“Not as much as I am!,” Majewski said, half rising from his seat. “I had to stay in Washington as trophy-host to a gaggle of holy men from Rome.”

Kate snickered. “Trophy-host?”

“Yes. I felt like some form of useful idiot providing a stage setting for their displays of self-importance.” He lowered himself back into his seat.

“Useful idiot?” Kate said, her eyebrows arched upward. “You OK, Padre?”

“Forgive me,” Majewski said with a nervous laugh. “It was an exhausting week. And I had so wanted to come to the celebration.”

“Well, better late than never!” Kate said. “Oh, look! It’s Russ!” She waved her hand over her head.

The waitress conducted Russ to the table and set a carafe of coffee down. “Serve yourself!” She said with smile and put the menus on the end of the table.

“You made it!” Sam said, as Russ took a seat. “Where’s Jade?” 

 Russ  stared for a moment at the red Komodo dragon swinging from the ceiling above Majewski’s head. “Not feeling well,” he said as Kate poured him a cup of coffee. “But she sends her love.” He turned to Majewski. “Greetings, Thomas! What brings you to Ledford, now that the party is over?”

“Yes, well,” Majewski said, “a couple things, actually. I managed to get away for an entirely different reason than the party. Perhaps you heard the news about the woman who walked away from Rosencranz Asylum?” As the three nodded, he continued, “She is my sister.”

“What? No kidding?” Russ said, raising his eyebrows. “I mean, of course you’re not kidding—I’m just shocked.”

“So, the police want you to identify the body they found in the river?” Kate said. “The paper said  the body is badly decomposed though. How awful you have to do this.”

“Yes,” Majewski said after a slight hesitation. “They want my DNA also.”

“Hopefully it’s not your sister,” Sam said, stirring several packets of sugar into his coffee.

After a moment’s hesitation, Majewski said, “Yes.”

“I hope they find her alive,” Kate said.

 “Yes,” Majewski said. He turned to Russ. “So Jade’s not feeling well? Is she all right? I was hoping for a reunion with all the Friends of Wilder Island—including and especially Alfredo. But I have not been able to get through to him.”

“Yes, Jade’s fine,” Russ said, “within parameters of being Jade, I guess. She was up all night painting. I could barely wake her up, let alone drag her out this early. Plus, we found out when we got back from the island that her foster dad Smitty has died. She’s kind of busted up over that.” 

“Oh no!” Kate said, her hand flying up to cover her open mouth. “I’m so sorry to hear that! I’ll give her a call later.”

“May God rest Smitty’s soul,” Majewski said. “And bring the Peace of Jesus into Jade’s heart in this time of grief.”

The waitress came back and collected the menus. She held them underneath her arm and quickly scrawled out their orders on a pad. She asked the usual questions—bacon or sausage; how’d you want your eggs done; toast or English muffin; wheat or white…

“It’s good she has art to turn to,” Sam said after the waitress left. “She got all inspired on that walk you took after the party. The island’ll do that.”

“Well, I suppose,” Russ said. “She doesn’t ever seem to lack inspiration. Though, who isn’t inspired by Wilder Island?”

Majewski shook two sugar packets a couple times before ripping the tops off and dumping the contents into his cup. “Myself included. I was really looking forward to spending some time on the island.” He glanced around the table as he stirred his coffee. “But I cannot get ahold of Alfredo—he seems to be really busy with something, or very distracted.”

“He seemed pretty distracted at the party,” Russ said.

“What do you mean?” Majewski said, frowning.

“Well, he was kind of jittery and kept looking out the window,” Russ said. “And he didn’t go with Jade and I on the walk we took. He said he would catch up, but he never did.”

The waitress appeared with their breakfast and quickly unloaded their plates onto the table. “I’ll be right back with more coffee.”

“After our walk,” Russ continued, “we got back to the cottage, and there’s this note on the door from Alfredo that said he was sorry he missed us, and that we should meet the Captain at the inlet at 3:45.”

“That’s pretty weird,” Sam said. “That he’d let you wander around the island alone like that.”

“Yeah, it was,” Russ said. “But then he shows up, cool as a cucumber. Though he definitely seemed eager for us to leave. Which was okay. Jade was freaking out, and I needed to get her home.”

“Why?” Majewski asked as he chopped his over-easy eggs into bits. “Did something frighten her?”

“Well, yes,” Russ said and sighed. “We had gotten separated on her walk, and I spent the better part of an hour looking for her. I finally found her, but she was totally flipped out. She said she had just seen her mother.”

“Her mother?” Majewski said, his fork suspended above his plate “Whatever would her mother be doing on the island?”

“No idea,” Russ said. “Jade doesn’t either. She actually has never seen her mother. There’s some mystery around the circumstances of her birth. She’s never known where her mother is or was, or even if she is alive. But she insists her mother is trying to find her now.”

“Where is Jade’s father?” Majewski asked.

“She doesn’t know who he is.” Russ said. “Or was.”

“So,” Majewski said, “she’s an orphan?”

“Not exactly,” Kate said. “Smitty and Chloe raised Jade—they were like parents to her.”

“Yes,” Russ said. “They sort of adopted her when she was an infant. But she’s been obsessed about her quote/unquote real mother lately.”

“’Sort of adopted’?” Kate said, wrinkling her forehead. “What does that mean?”

“Yeah, they never did change from being foster parents to adoptive ones,” Russ said. “I have no idea why. Jade doesn’t have a birth certificate, either.”

“Had she been trying to find her birth mother?” Majewski asked. “Many adopted children are very curious about where they came from.”

“Not exactly,” said Russ. “Jade thinks her mother has been trying to find her.” He spread a pat of butter onto his toast followed by a dab of orange marmalade. “A few weeks ago she suddenly started having dreams about crows breaking into our house and stealing her jewelry. She’s been obsessively painting crows and portraits of her mother ever since. Even though she has no idea what her mother looks like, or even if she is alive.”

“Her painting,” Sam said, nodding. “The one in her art show last month. She called it Ave, Madre. She said it was how she imagined her mother.”

“Hail, Mother,” Majewski said, nodding his head slowly. “Interesting. If it was not her mother, then who did Jade see?”

“No one,” Russ said, shrugging. “Alfredo assured her there was no one else on the island. It was a complete hallucination. But she insisted she saw her mother. Still does.”

“Did she say what the woman looked like?” Majewski asked.

“Conveniently, just like her painting,” Russ said. “Long black hair, pale blue eyes. The one now hanging in Alfredo’s cottage—he bought it at her gallery show.”

“I’ll say a prayer for her,” Majewski said. “But—” he paused to dab his mouth with his napkin. “Perhaps I’ll just take a trip out to the island myself. How can I call the Captain?”

Kate and Sam exchanged glances.

“Hard to say,” Sam said, shrugging. “The Captain’s always there at the docks whenever I need to go to the island, but Alfredo’s always expecting me, so I reckon he sends him.”

“Does the Captain have a cell phone? Do either of you have the number?” Majewski asked.

“I don’t think he has a phone,” Kate said.

The waitress materialized, filled all their coffee cups, and handed the bill to Majewski. She took his credit card and left.

“Thanks, Padre!” Kate said.

“Yes, thanks. It was good to see you, Thomas,” Russ said and stood up. “Sorry I can’t stay and hang out with you, but I’ve got to get to my office. I actually think I may have found a new orchid species on the island. I’ve already named it—Jadum wilderii. After my wife.”

“Lovely!” Kate said. “Pretty romantic, Russ! Good on ya! She’ll love that.”

“Maybe,” Russ said, shrugging one shoulder.

“Wonderful!” Majewski said. “But seriously, Russ, what do you think Jade saw on the island?”

Russ shook his head and shrugged. “Nothing. Crows. My wife sees a lot of things that aren’t there.”

“And she paints them,” Sam said. “So that the rest of us can see what we think is not there.”

“On that note,” Russ said, “I’m off to see the wizard.”

“You are the wizard, Russ,” Kate said. ”Remember?”

Russ grinned as the others laughed. “Ok, then, I’m off to be the wizard.”

“And I too must get to work,” Kate said. “I’ve got a new client coming in an hour and need to pull my act together. What are you up to today, Padre?”

“After my meeting with the detectives,” Majewski said. “I’m driving up to the new mental hospital—they want me to sign some papers, or something. And I want to talk to the folks that let a mental patient just wander off like they did.”