Chapter 132

word count 1252

Trudy plopped down on the wooden outhouse seat and let her water go. It streamed down, landing with a soft thud in the endless hollow below. The stench in the tiny box filled her nose with its unsavory vapors. This simplistic living could take time to get used to. She looked for paper to wipe herself but found none.

Then it was back to the kitchen again, walking in the inky darkness, holding the lantern high to see her way. Sister Esther awaited her, settled at the table with gauze and tape, sponges and a basin of water at the ready.

"Come here, dear! Let me change your dressing." She shot Trudy a shy smile,

Trudy sat. As she waited for the sister's ministrations, that lady spoke as she busied herself.

"This wound...how did you get it?" She asked matter-of-factly. But when Trudy heard the question, it produced pure panic. How could she tell this woman of the Lord that a thug has winged her with a bullet, a bullet intended to kill her?

"Well, I...er...slipped and fell."

Sister Esther looked at her, wide-eyed, her sapphire blues glowing. "Oh, I don't think so, miss! That's a graze wound from a bullet if ever I saw one."

"What?"

"Come on, dear! We all may be the sisters of mercy now, but we all came from somewhere else."

"Well, yeah." Trudy replied. Even so, she felt "dirty" around the sisters, regardless of their histories, they were women of the cloth now.

"You know, I'm not sure you've said much about yourself at all. Your name, for example."

"Trudy...Trudy Hunt."

“'Trudy,' now that's a pretty name.” Sister finished the dressing and went about the task of placing her supplies in a white metal box.  She slammed it shut. “When you're ready, you can tell me about the bullet wound. I've got to go to morning mass right now. Would you like to come?”

Trudy hadn't seen the inside of a church since that fateful day of getting her diploma in church. Her heart did nervous jumps at the thought of returning to that place she had so diligently left behind years ago. But Sister Esther's wide-eyed invitation would be difficult to turn down. Indeed, the invite bordered on simple hospitality, to share the life the sisters knew with a welcome visitor. She swallowed her reservations and smiled.

“Certainly, I'm right behind ya!” she said. “As soon as I neaten up my appearance.”

“Speaking of that, your clothes...they are a bit risqué for church. Would you mind changing? I'm sure Sister Martha would have a dress in your size.”

The critique of her clothes smacked Trudy in the face. No one had ever commented on her outfit before, at least not out loud to her. She looked down at her black lace, form-fitting dress. The stretchy fabric clung to her breasts, making two huge, lacy mounds, hard not to notice; while the length of the frock only reached to just below her crotch. Not much left for the imagination there. Perhaps Sister Esther made a good point.

Later, she sat, dressed in a baggy black jumper, in the back of the chapel, while Father Brown, who came from the nearby parish, performed mass. The sisters sang the liturgy like angels. But when Trudy heard their soft notes, it sent her mind back to being a kid, stuck in church when she didn't want to be. The old hymns came back readily, but they didn't make for the best of memories.

At communion time, the sisters formed a proper line to approach the railing. Sister Esther had cautioned Trudy not to go up for communion unless she wanted to confess her sins first. Confess her sins, ha! That would take a couple of days, hell, maybe a couple centuries.

But her conscience nagged her, the urge she had had lately to start over, be better, clean up her ways. It wouldn't stop.

That afternoon, she found herself in the confessional. When Father Brown came for mass, he always kept himself available for the sacrament before he went back to his regular parish. Unfortunately for Trudy, the sisters preferred this old-fashioned way, one to one in the confessional, rather than any sort of modern day group reconciliation.

Trudy sat kneeling in the dark when the drape on Father's side whooshed open.

What was she supposed to say? Sister Esther had told her. What was it? She remembered, sort of.

“Um, bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” Now she was supposed to list her sins. “I have lied, cheated, been mean to people. Oh, and I've slept with hundreds of men.”

A bump sounded on the other side, followed by a coughing spree, a very long one, before Father Brown spoke. “Excuse me?”

“I have lied, cheated...”

He broke in. “What was that about sleeping with hundreds of men? Are you one of the sisters?”

“No, no! I'm visiting. And I guess it's hundreds. I mean it's been a long time since I went to confession. All these years, so many men, it could be thousands, but I don't think so.”

He cleared his throat. “I think I'm going to need more information. Were you married to any of these men?”

“Well, sometimes. I have a little boy, so now and then, I'd marry one to give him a stepfather. Never worked out. Ya know, there aren't a lot of good men out there. I've looked high and low...”

“SHUT UP! I mean, quiet, my child!”

“Yes, Father.”

“It seems to me that you are self-centered, playing with other people's emotions as well as your own. I'm giving you a penance to do good works in service to others for three months. Each day, you must do three favors for someone, and practice five minutes of silence each day while you listen to the concerns of others. And of course, say three Our Fathers and twenty Hail Marys every day. While you're at it, ask Mary to grant you virtue and morality and the wisdom on how to be a model mother. Go in peace, my child!”

The curtain swooshed shut.

***
Buzz sat alone in the living room perusing the newspaper and enjoying a cold beer. The clatter of Mrs. Dunn in the kitchen washing up the dishes was a soothing sound, the kind of noise that transforms a mere house into a home.

He'd been thinking about Joe Tobin. He knew the guy had it in for him. Buzz 
had come close to being delivered to Tobin like meat from the butcher shop, wrapped up tidy and tied with string. Thank Gawd he'd managed to break free and thwart Mrs. Johnson's attempts to turn him over. But that still meant a disgruntled Joe Tobin was out there somewhere.

Finally, he decided to do something that had, at first, seemed unthinkable. But it was the right thing to do. He needed help. He grabbed his cell phone.

“Hi, put me through to homicide. Hey, Gil. Buzz here. Send a couple uniforms over here, would you? A couple of the better guys. I could use a protection detail. I've got a bad feeling about Joe Tobin, and as you know, I'm not up to par. Thanks, Gil.”

He hung up, feeling reassured. What he didn't know was that Joe Tobin and his thugs were already in his house in the kitchen. They had Mrs. Dunn gagged, and they were tying her to a chair.