Chapter 12
Novas spun around and darted behind a group of trees, whose thin trunks did little to camouflage her. She prepared to scream, expecting the worst, but immediately relaxed as she watched Father MacClenny approach.
“You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing out here, Father; you should be resting. You…”
“Silence!” he snapped, interrupting her. He stopped about 20 feet beyind the grove. “I saw you.”
He emphasized whatever he saw by pointing a long, bony finger at her. “You were holding him against you, as if he were your lover.”
The words stunned Novas, but only for a second. “I was holding him as I would a child.” A good lie. “The medication has to make him caugh. I have to hold him to prevent injury.”
A sudden thought popped it’s way in. She didn’t hesitate. “I was holding another man just the same scarcely two hours previous. Consider that.”
“Just the same?” Father MacClenny didn’t disguise his ire. “Who?”
“You!”
The words and their meaning staggered the Father, and Novas could see he was still recovering from the ordeal of the day.
“When you were lying in the street, dead for all we knew, I held you the same way to provide you comfort, the same as I did for Stefen.”
“Stefen?”
“He has a name. He is our guest, he is in peril, and you don’t care enough to know his name?”
It was all lies, everything she said, but the emotions raging inside needed a channel, and hate was a good one. She didn’t exactly hold the Father as she had Stefen, but close enough for him to doubt. Before he could figure out a rebuttal, she stode up to him, grabbed an arm, and pulled him back toward the gate, almost causing him to stumble in her haste.
“You shouldn’t even be out here,” he mumbled, trying to recapture some digna.
“You shouldn’t even be out of bed,” she countered, trying equally hard to keep on the offense.
Her ferocity defeated him, and he allowed her to guide him to and through the back gate, which she slammed behind him.
“Go back to bed,” she ordered through the wall. “And stop spying on me.”
She heard a mumble, which sounded like agreement, and then footsteps fading away. She leaned against the gate, wondering what would happen next.
Stefen.
She had used his name in a sentence, a sentence full of accusations and deceipt about her feelings. The tears started flowing of their own accord. She could feel the hurt welling up and spilling out. She couldn’t tell anyone about her feelings, about the stirrings inside. She couldn’t even tell Stefen.
Suddenly, her tears were interrupted with stiffled laughter. She was supposed to confess to Father MacClenny every week. She could see it now.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I wanted a man to kiss my breasts. And, no Father, it wasn’t you. The part I want you to kiss is in another location, on the other side and down a bit.” That would go over big.
A sudden resolve overcame the tears and the laughter. She could beat this. Even a man with a name who stirred her wasn’t more then she could handle. Mind over matter, or over emotions in this instance. Mind over emotions. She could do this.
As she turned to enter the gate, a noise in the distance stopped her. She dropped down, becoming one with the trees and brush that hid the gate from outside view. Someone was coming. Many someones.
It didn’t take long for the objects of the noise to appear. They were not in formation, but were of a single purpose. Fortunately for her, they were not headed directly toward the gate, but in an obligue to bring them to and around the corner of the mission walls. They were heavily armed and in uniform, but not of any army she recognized. They were not Tephoe’s men; these men were far too organized. Not the army of the Ivory Coast, the country the mission occupied either, as the flag they carried was not orange-white-green. Nor was it the red and white stripes and the star of Liberia, the country the refugees were from. What flag was blue-white-red? France. What army of black men would carry a French flag? Rebels, organized. Not Liberian rebels, Ivory Coast rebels. Was another war coming to replace the one just ended? Were they now on the wrong side again?
As the soldiers rounded the corner and went out of sight, Novas slipped inside the gate. She could hear clammoring in the front, demands being made, and women’s voices answering them.
Stefen. He was in danger. Of what, she didn’t know, but the alarm sounded inside. If they found him…
“You nearly scared me to death. What are you doing out here, Father; you should be resting. You…”
“Silence!” he snapped, interrupting her. He stopped about 20 feet beyind the grove. “I saw you.”
He emphasized whatever he saw by pointing a long, bony finger at her. “You were holding him against you, as if he were your lover.”
The words stunned Novas, but only for a second. “I was holding him as I would a child.” A good lie. “The medication has to make him caugh. I have to hold him to prevent injury.”
A sudden thought popped it’s way in. She didn’t hesitate. “I was holding another man just the same scarcely two hours previous. Consider that.”
“Just the same?” Father MacClenny didn’t disguise his ire. “Who?”
“You!”
The words and their meaning staggered the Father, and Novas could see he was still recovering from the ordeal of the day.
“When you were lying in the street, dead for all we knew, I held you the same way to provide you comfort, the same as I did for Stefen.”
“Stefen?”
“He has a name. He is our guest, he is in peril, and you don’t care enough to know his name?”
It was all lies, everything she said, but the emotions raging inside needed a channel, and hate was a good one. She didn’t exactly hold the Father as she had Stefen, but close enough for him to doubt. Before he could figure out a rebuttal, she stode up to him, grabbed an arm, and pulled him back toward the gate, almost causing him to stumble in her haste.
“You shouldn’t even be out here,” he mumbled, trying to recapture some digna.
“You shouldn’t even be out of bed,” she countered, trying equally hard to keep on the offense.
Her ferocity defeated him, and he allowed her to guide him to and through the back gate, which she slammed behind him.
“Go back to bed,” she ordered through the wall. “And stop spying on me.”
She heard a mumble, which sounded like agreement, and then footsteps fading away. She leaned against the gate, wondering what would happen next.
Stefen.
She had used his name in a sentence, a sentence full of accusations and deceipt about her feelings. The tears started flowing of their own accord. She could feel the hurt welling up and spilling out. She couldn’t tell anyone about her feelings, about the stirrings inside. She couldn’t even tell Stefen.
Suddenly, her tears were interrupted with stiffled laughter. She was supposed to confess to Father MacClenny every week. She could see it now.
“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. I wanted a man to kiss my breasts. And, no Father, it wasn’t you. The part I want you to kiss is in another location, on the other side and down a bit.” That would go over big.
A sudden resolve overcame the tears and the laughter. She could beat this. Even a man with a name who stirred her wasn’t more then she could handle. Mind over matter, or over emotions in this instance. Mind over emotions. She could do this.
As she turned to enter the gate, a noise in the distance stopped her. She dropped down, becoming one with the trees and brush that hid the gate from outside view. Someone was coming. Many someones.
It didn’t take long for the objects of the noise to appear. They were not in formation, but were of a single purpose. Fortunately for her, they were not headed directly toward the gate, but in an obligue to bring them to and around the corner of the mission walls. They were heavily armed and in uniform, but not of any army she recognized. They were not Tephoe’s men; these men were far too organized. Not the army of the Ivory Coast, the country the mission occupied either, as the flag they carried was not orange-white-green. Nor was it the red and white stripes and the star of Liberia, the country the refugees were from. What flag was blue-white-red? France. What army of black men would carry a French flag? Rebels, organized. Not Liberian rebels, Ivory Coast rebels. Was another war coming to replace the one just ended? Were they now on the wrong side again?
As the soldiers rounded the corner and went out of sight, Novas slipped inside the gate. She could hear clammoring in the front, demands being made, and women’s voices answering them.
Stefen. He was in danger. Of what, she didn’t know, but the alarm sounded inside. If they found him…
posted by John | 3:49 PM
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