The Hawk: Part Five

  Arriving at St. Matthew’s Church a few minutes before five, Renee let the engine idle as she glanced in the rear view mirror. No one had followed her, no one but Sam knew, well, Sam and Pastor Jagucki. Marek had this Thursday afternoon free, but Renee hadn’t been the one to speak to him, Sam had. Although now it would be up to Renee, which meant she’d have to kill the engine, then get out of the car. Sam was waiting at home; he had offered to drive. Renee had considered it, in that Sam would make her walk up the steps and knock on the door. She could just pull away from the curb, drive around for a while, then go home, telling Sam she’d had one nice chat with the pastor, but it was all she had needed. Yet Renee knew that was bunk; while not betraying her confidence, if she did manage to exit the vehicle, Marek would note to Sam that no, Renee hadn’t attended their appointment. Sam had done the scheduling, but the rest was between Marek and Renee.

  She did turn off the car, tired of hearing the noise. Sam had talked about buying another vehicle; they had the money, and now that she worked Monday through Friday, it would be a practical purchase. Before her schedules, while a little erratic, blended better with his time at the VA hospital. Now she was like most working stiffs, and yes, another car would be a blessing. And it would be a way to spend some of that money that now made Renee wish on a daily basis for those three hawks. Maybe that painting, if it hadn’t been sold, might still be in their living room. The blue barn was the only special canvas they owned, then Renee bit her lip. If anyone saw the boysenberry vines, she would face an argument.

  Glancing at her watch made her sigh again. It was now five o’clock, and if she wasn’t going to meet with the pastor, she had better be on her way. Marek might be looking for her car and if he was, he’d be tapping his foot, growing angry that his time was being wasted. But Renee couldn’t drive away; something was keeping her there, well, keeping her across the street from St. Matthew’s. The last time she’d been here was for…. Renee blinked away tears. She had witnessed Lynne and Eric’s baptisms, but nearly a whole year had passed since Jane’s; how much had altered, in all of their lives, Renee allowed. She and Sam had learned the truth about the New Yorkers, which brought a small smile to Renee’s face. Then she frowned, for if it was possible, they would be at Jane’s party next weekend. But Stanford’s mother was dying, no way for them to travel. Laurie had actually called Sam last night, seeking Sam and Renee’s prayers for Michael, Stanford, and the rest of the Taylors. Renee had felt awful for all of them, then she’d wondered about Laurie’s request. That man wasn’t a devout Jew; he adored Sam’s pork chops. But Renee hadn’t wished to inquire about more than the particulars. She still wasn’t in the mood to consider beyond what the eye could see.

  For five minutes she pondered all that 1962 had wrought; Eric hadn’t changed, at least not into a hawk. Fatherhood was another story, which quickly Renee skirted around, but it bumped into Fran and Louie, which led Renee to those days back in the Nolan household and all those card games with her father. And chats with her mother, but Renee hadn’t mentioned any of her recent troubles to her mom. Marie was better with the messier aspects of familial life, which lately had meant problems for Renee’s brother Ritchie and his wife Brenda. Divorce wasn’t hinted at, only that Ritchie needed to dry out. When Renee’s oldest brother was sober, he was a good husband and father. Then Renee thought about Sam. He didn’t drink, didn’t smoke either, but cigarettes weren’t Richie’s main issue. He was probably smoking more now that he’d quit booze cold turkey; Renee could imagine ashtrays piled high at the Nolan dining table, which doubled as her father’s card room. According to Marie, Ritchie had been living there for a week and hadn’t touched a drop. Renee imagined her brother was doing the same as she had last autumn, playing hand after hand of poker. But unlike Renee, Ritchie was smoking cigarette after cigarette, probably aching for a beer. No alcohol was allowed in the Nolan family home, Eugene and Marie insisting upon that edict. But it hadn’t kept their kids from imbibing, although Renee only used whiskey medicinally. And Sam was the same.

  Sam had no vices, Renee considered. He loved to cook, he always had. Before Korea, he’d planned to be a chef, over which he’d endured plenty of ribbing, especially from Renee’s family. But Sam had been the only one to serve in Korea, and of course when he came home, no one teased him about anything. Privately Ritchie had told Renee that he thought Sam had the biggest balls of any of them, even if now they weren’t worth a…. It had taken months for Renee’s husband to be able to walk again and working fulltime wasn’t a possibility. But over the years Sam had provided how many men with priceless advice, or simply listening ears. Then Renee glanced over at St. Matthew’s. Sam knew what she needed, but it wasn’t something he could proffer. She required someone objective to speak with, someone who could give to her the counseling Sam gave to the vets. He was a volunteer, but over the years it had turned into a career.

  Renee peeked at her watch; it was now ten after five. She sighed, then fiddled with the handle of her purse. Marek hadn’t come out searching for her, maybe he thought she had forgotten. Or rather she had chickened out. Had she? She was ten minutes late, which was rude. That notion made Renee grab her handbag, then open the car door. A stiff breeze hit her legs, making her shiver. That propelled her across the road, up the steps, but in reaching the church doors she stopped. Was she supposed to knock or go on in? If this was St. Anne’s, Renee would march inside. But this wasn’t her church; this was the Snyders’ place of worship, where Jane had been baptized. Then Renee bit her lip. She put up her hand, ready to knock, when suddenly the door opened.

  “Oh Mrs. Ahern, hello!” Pastor Jagucki smiled. “I was just taking these letters to the mailbox. Mrs. Kenny forgot to put them out earlier and I didn’t want her to feel bad when she came in tomorrow. Sometimes she gets so busy and….”

  “I’m sorry I’m late. I, uh, just got off work.” Renee hated to lie, but she was wearing her nursing uniform.

  “Oh, it’s not a problem. Go on in, I won’t be more than a few minutes.” Marek took the stairs, then headed for the sidewalk. Renee watched him leave, then she went into the church. She remained in the vestibule, unsure where he wanted them to speak. She was glad they were alone, for she truly didn’t want anyone to know she was seeking counsel. She hadn’t even told her mother about this, in part that Marie would have fretted that Renee was sharing something so personal with a non-Catholic. Besides, Ritchie was enough for Marie to consider.

  Renee gazed at the entryway; it looked similar to that at St. Anne’s, a large bulletin board with various flyers and sign-up sheets for church dinners and the like. Maybe Catholics and Protestants weren’t that different, then Renee smiled. Her mother would hit the roof if Renee breathed that idea.

  Yet, Renee didn’t feel that far from her spiritual roots, for this church was where she had become a godmother again. Somehow she could conjure that day, even for Fran’s involvement, and no pain resonated. Jane was only a tiny baby; Renee easily recalled her delicate cap with the thin white ribbons, and how tenderly the pastor had pushed that hat from Jane’s forehead, sprinkling holy water, bringing that child into this church. Yet not only this building, but into a vast Christian family, which included the Catholic Aherns. Renee was Jane’s godmother, but thinking about seeing that girl made Renee’s knees buckle. Jane was walking, but Renee had to take Sam’s word for that. Jane took her first steps last Sunday and Fran had witnessed it before Renee.

  How had Frannie felt, Renee wondered, or Louie? The twins would be…. Renee blinked away tears, then she turned around. How long did it take to walk to the mailbox? Maybe it was at the end of the block, or maybe the pastor had been stopped by a parishioner, or maybe…. But then Renee had been the one to dither in her car. She’d been hiding, no other way to put it. However, she was here now and maybe Sam was wondering how things were going. He’d be the only one, she clucked to herself. No one e
lse had any idea Renee was seeking solace in a non-Catholic place of worship.

  She stared again at the bulletin board, but scanning names, few were familiar, and none were of Snyder. But Eric and Lynne would be gone for most of April, four weeks spent in that city, yet not all of it at Stanford and Laurie’s. Although, depending on when Constance Taylor passed away, maybe the Snyders wouldn’t stay at Michael’s apartment. Maybe they would spend those extra days with Stanford’s cook. Eric and Lynne were going to Queens and Renee had been looking forward to their stories about that part of the trip, but how might she hear them if she wasn’t able to be in the same room with them? Sam would tell her, but it wouldn’t be the same, for Eric’s deadpan wit would provide much of the humor, Lynne’s gentle additions making Renee’s eyes water for the hospitality shared, no matter the locale. Stanford’s cook couldn’t wait to meet Jane; she’d probably spoil her rotten. All those New Yorkers, including Laurie’s clan, would give that girl anything Jane wanted, which eased the pain in Renee’s chest. She couldn’t even manage to visit her godchild, much less attend her first birthday party.

  That’s why Renee was here, because Sam had insisted. He wouldn’t force her to accompany him in a little over a week’s time, but he had called the pastor, setting up this appointment, which between Renee’s belated appearance and whatever was keeping Marek busy was turning out to be quite a bust. Maybe this was indicative of Renee seeking…. What was she here for, other than to make Sam happy? She was here because…. Because her husband thought she needed help. She needed to talk to someone because he didn’t want to lose her. He’d nearly lost her a couple of times last year, although for some reason Sam had made amends, and so had Renee. Yet this was clearly her problem and Sam had done what he could and hopefully he’d be cooking dinner when she got home. That was supposed to be at six; Marek had asked for nearly an hour for this first meeting. The only meeting, Renee scoffed, and that was if he managed to show up again.

  She wouldn’t come back; this one was a wash, and it hadn’t even started. Had she sabotaged it perhaps, but then Marek wasn’t helping, where was that Pole? Marching to the front doors, Renee opened one, then peered out. Then she smiled; the pastor was being lectured by a rather squat older woman who kept pointing at the bare flowerbeds on either side of St. Matthew’s front steps.

  Renee had never met Mrs. Harmon, but that had to be her, from how Eric had described her and how strongly she made her point, which must be about the lack of spring foliage. Marek had his back to Renee, but he waved his arms, making his objections known, and from the bit Renee could overhear, those protests were relayed in a thicker than usual Polish accent. Usually he sounded European, but it was an ambiguous inflection, occasionally tinged with a British nuance which Renee always loved. Marek Jagucki was never hard to understand, always speaking intelligent language delivered with a charming continental inflection. But now he sounded peeved, which Renee had never previously detected. But from all Renee knew about Mrs. Harmon, the pastor carried a heavy burden, and she wasn’t even a member of St. Matthew’s.

  She wasn’t Catholic either, but Renee didn’t ponder beyond that. She strained to catch what they were arguing about, for now the conversation had turned slightly acerbic. That was more from Mrs. Harmon’s tone, although Marek’s accent was deeper, yet his volume didn’t increase. Mrs. Harmon’s did; she squawked that ever since this Pole had arrived, the daffodils were late. That somehow it was his fault and she was going to speak to St. Matthew’s board of trustees. Something had to be done about the missing daffodils.

  Renee grew puzzled, for distinctly she recalled those flowers at Jane’s baptism. They had outshone the wilting tulips as everyone milled about while Eric and Lynne said goodbye to the pastor. Renee recalled that day so clearly; it had been much warmer than the weather now, and even though she’d had to face Fran having twins, at least Jane was a member of God’s family. It hadn’t occurred in Renee’s church, but this one was fine, it was better than no church at all. The daffodils had caught Renee’s attention, for it was May already, all other spring flowers nearly dead. Then everybody had driven to the Snyders; Laurie had helped Renee and Sam set out the food, all the Canfield kids hollering for lunch. That day, even for the confusion Renee felt over Frannie’s twins, had been one of the most joyful in Renee’s life. Cradling Jane during that baby’s baptism was as close as Renee would ever get to that event within her own life. It had meant more than all the nieces and nephews Renee had held in similar circumstances. Renee knew why that was; she had assisted in that little girl’s birth. It would be the only birth Renee would ever witness.

  Finally Marek walked away from the still belligerent Mrs. Harmon. Renee stepped back inside St. Matthew’s, feeling a little guilty for eavesdropping. She waited at the last pew as the pastor entered the church. He slowly closed the door, then turned toward her, his face ashen, his shoulders slumped. Renee met him in the middle of the vestibule. “Oh Pastor, can I get you a glass of water?”

  Marek gave a weak smile. “Aren’t I supposed to be ministering to you? But yes, let’s step into the kitchen. I suspect we both could use a drink.”

  Renee let him lead the way and she wondered if he meant merely water or perhaps something a little heartier. At that moment she wouldn’t mind a whiskey; it would ease her heartache and perhaps bolster her confidence. She needed to tell him how sorry she was for wasting his time, and for how he’d been verbally attacked by someone not even a St. Matthew’s member. Renee was sorry for many things, that she’d been listening to their conversation, that Sam had gone to the trouble of arranging this meeting, and that…. “Pastor, shall I make some coffee?”

  Renee made excellent coffee, it was about the only culinary task she did well. Growing up in a houseful of drinkers, she’d learned to make it strong, her brothers requiring a good dose of sobriety within a few cups of joe. Renee’s parents were the only ones who didn’t drink, other than wine at communion. But each of Gene and Marie’s kids did, even Renee, every once in a while.

  “Just water, please.” Marek sat at the table while Renee rummaged through cupboards until she found glasses. She filled two, then handed one to Marek, sitting across from him with her own cup. They sipped, not speaking, while Marek rubbed his temples. Then he sighed. “That woman can give me such a headache.”

  “Do you need some aspirin?” Renee felt awful, for he looked to be in terrible pain.

  He nodded, but motioned for her to remain seated. She was glad, for she hadn’t seen aspirin while looking for the glasses. He pulled out a drawer, removed a bottle, then shook some tablets into his hand. Renee didn’t see how many, nor did she offer advice. If it had been her, three or four might not have been enough.

  Sometimes Ritchie swallowed five, if his tremors were that bad. Five aspirins were too many, in Renee’s opinion, but Ritchie never asked his younger sister. He just took the pills, then waited for them to ease his pain. Renee never expected him to quit for good; he had sabbaticals, as he and Tommy would joke. Tommy had sabbaticals too, but his bouts with booze were never as disabling as Ritchie’s. Tommy hadn’t been kicked out of his house since Renee had been living at home, waiting for Sam to get back from Korea.

  As the pastor returned to his seat, Renee studied his face. He didn’t look as debilitated as Ritchie sometimes did, but he was as pained as she’d ever seen him. Marek again rubbed his temples, then he shook his head. “She reminds me of someone from home, a rather bitter woman who caused my mother no end of trouble. I never thought I’d find someone so disagreeable here in America.” Then he smiled. “But unhappy people are everywhere.”

  Renee nodded, thinking about some of her former colleagues at the hospital. Those women had been the instigators of all the nasty gossip when Lynne had been working, some of whom attended St. Anne’s. If they knew Renee was at St. Matthew’s and why…. “Some people are just horrible, nothing you can do.” S
he sighed as she said it, for the truth behind it and for how drained Marek still appeared.

  He nodded, then drank the rest of his water. “I’m just sorry that it’s happened today. I’d reached the post box, was on my way back. I think she was waiting for me, she was coming back this way, but her house is on the other side of the block. Circling like a vulture, that’s what my mother used to say.”

  Renee noted his tone was still very Polish-sounding. He spoke with that inflection when he talked to Jane, but it changed the meaning of his English. With Jane, it came across gently, paternally Renee had always thought. Now he sounded defeated. Renee took another sip from her glass, then she cleared her throat. “Well, I should be leaving.” She glanced at the clock over the doorway; it was five forty. By the time she got home, Sam would have dinner waiting, and she could tell him that while she had seen the pastor, it probably wasn’t something she’d need to do again.

  Renee didn’t wish to speak of all this, then she grimaced. Ritchie never wanted to completely give up drinking; he just wanted to smooth out things with Brenda, then slowly return to a habit that might one day do irreparable harm to his marriage, and perhaps himself. Then Renee shivered. Her parents didn’t drink because both sets of her grandparents had found early graves all because of booze. How much did it hurt Renee’s mom and dad that nearly all of their offspring had succumbed to that Irish curse? There were varying levels, not all of her siblings were lushes, but many of them seemed to require more than a few stiff belts. Ritchie was the worst; he was an alcoholic. Renee stared at the water in her glass; she had wanted a whiskey. Then she gazed at the pastor. His coloring was a little better, his eyes not so tired. He smiled at her in a manner that sometimes Father Markham did days after she had made confession. She might have noted a good chunk of her misdeeds, but not all. Yet, he never called her on it, that wasn’t his place. It was up to Renee to admit her problems, whether to a priest in the confessional booth or to what she couldn’t bear to speak of, which haunted her very soul.

  Yet, with this Lutheran minister, the words waited right on the tip of Renee’s tongue. A deep swelling pain rushed up from her throat as if she might be sick. Was that how her brother felt when he drank too much, vomiting up what otherwise would kill him. Would keeping this at bay harm Renee? It was damaging to her relationship with her godchild, her Lutheran godchild. Renee began to cry, for she missed Jane so deeply, perhaps even more than she missed Robbie. With that little boy it had been a future denied, a relationship never undertaken. But with Jane….

  Renee had cuddled that little girl even before Lynne had. With the most tender care Renee had placed that tiny newborn into her mother’s arms, then learned that girl would carry Renee’s name as one of her own. Renee had presented Jane, with Sam’s assistance, to this pastor in order for Jane to receive a most precious sacrament. And how many times had Renee changed Jane, bathed her, read to her? Far more than with any other of Renee’s godchildren. Reaching for a napkin from the holder in the center of the table, Renee blew her nose with force. Then she balled up the napkin, trying to stem the flood of tears. But they flowed as if a dam inside Renee’s chest had exploded. All the words she ached to say were being expelled within a river of sorrow that rocked Renee to her core.

  Ten minutes later, after she was breathing normally, Marek moved from her side. He’d sat next to her sometime during that breakdown, but Renee wasn’t sure when. Now he stood, patting her shoulder. “I’ll call Sam and tell him you’ll be a little late. Or that if he prefers, I’ll run you home. Then he can come back with me for your car. Better for you to not be behind the wheel anytime soon.”

  Renee nodded. How many times had she implored Ritchie to let Brenda drive him, and their children, home from a family function? No use getting himself killed, but Renee had never mentioned who else was in his car. Yet, it wasn’t only the person with the problem who was hurting. The whole family was involved and that made Renee ache. Sam said he couldn’t live without her and last summer, when they had been fighting, Jane had suffered from terrible colic. Renee had never believed those issues were related, but maybe they were. Jane would be away for most of April; would she remember Renee when the Snyders returned? Renee didn’t think she could attend Jane’s party in just over a week’s time, but eventually, she sighed. She didn’t want to be so lost, like Ritchie, from those she loved.

  And from who loved her; deep within Renee’s heart beat the awareness that Jane did love, and need, her Auntie Renee. It wasn’t vanity, but the truth, and God’s will. She was Jane’s godmother, which wasn’t a token association that could be forgotten. In speaking for Jane at the baptism, Renee and Sam both had pledged to look after that girl’s spiritual well-being. Maybe Renee wouldn’t be as responsible for Jane as she was to her Catholic godchildren, or maybe denominations had no bearing. Yet, how would she attend the party, how could she hear Jane call for her mother in that most prized manner? Renee wasn’t sure, even with all the tears she had wept.

  “Well, he said he’d be glad to come back with me for your car.” Marek smiled, then retook the seat closest to Renee. “He said dinner’s ready and asked if I had any plans.” Then the pastor chuckled. “I said I didn’t, but if you needed a quiet evening….”

  “No, of course, please join us.” Renee nodded as if to emphasize her words. “I feel so sorry for wasting your time this afternoon, it’s the least we can do.”

  “There is no wasted time Renee.” Marek clasped her hand in his. “Not even arguing with Mrs. Harmon. God has a plan for all things, although I must admit I have no idea what I receive from that woman’s presence.” He grinned. “God must think I need more patience. When it comes to Mrs. Harmon, indeed I do.”

  “Well, you’re a saint, I’ll say. I’d have knocked her into next week if she spoke to me that way.”

  Marek laughed, then stood, offering his hand to Renee. She grasped it, then was glad for his gentle squeeze. They stared at each other, but she wanted to look away. In his brown eyes, she saw his response, and it had nothing to do with her previous words.

  He wanted her to return for a proper conversation, but not about grouchy people or missing flowers. Yet, he didn’t want to impose his wishes, for this had to be her decision. Then Renee wondered how this man’s eyes could translate all that. Maybe in the same way Eric painted what he witnessed, yet it was relayed in a manner far more deeply than language could convey.

  “Pastor, I realize today was, well, a wreck.” Renee smiled, although it hurt. But a more damaging pain waited if she didn’t address this now. She shook her head, a nurse’s instincts hard to ignore, even if she was the patient. “Do you think, I mean, if you had some time next week….”

  “Tuesday at five is free.” His voice was soft as he squeezed her hand again. Then he released it. “I would like us to continue this chat.”

  Renee nodded, although very little had been said. She had wept plenty, was that the same? It was a start, she allowed, albeit small. Yet, those tears had hurt bitterly. Was it worth it, she wondered momentarily. Was it worth dredging all that heartache?

  She looked around the kitchen, thinking back to the dinner, before Eric’s August show, and how Marek had coerced all the men into doing the washing-up, even Stanford Taylor. Renee smiled, then flinched. In the far corner hung a painting of Marek and Jane. Renee had seen this canvas, but not the finished piece. She was stunned at the way Marek held her goddaughter as if he was her father. Yet, there was separation between them, although she wasn’t sure how Eric had deftly woven that into the scene. Neither subject faced out, for which Renee was grateful, not having to look into Jane’s gorgeous eyes. They were Sam’s eyes and Renee had a soft chuckle. Those blue eyes hadn’t changed from the day Jane was born.

  “I hung it there because I can see it when I wash dishes.” Then Marek smiled. “Plus, I’m a little greedy. It’s a very special painting and I d
on’t wish to share it with merely anyone. Mrs. Kenny’s quite fond of it, tells me I should put it in the library. But I think it works better in here.”

  Renee nodded, then approached the canvas. She knew the other one was being admired in some European country. Then she glanced back at Marek. Were any Polish museums on the tour? Probably not, due to the Iron Curtain. But how many people would enjoy the pastor and Jane, as Renee thought of that other painting. This one was different; Jane was a little older, which Renee could see, even from Jane’s profile. Her hair was longer, her smile more broad, her….

  How had she altered since Eric started this, at the end of last year? Again Renee glanced at Marek, his face hard to read. He too saw something distinctive in this piece. Renee was glad for it to be slightly hidden away. Not everyone should get to enjoy it.

  She sighed, then stepped his way. “Next Tuesday at five would be fine, if you’re sure you have the time.”

  He nodded, then smiled. “I’ll put it on my calendar now. Then we can leave. I’m starving, to tell you the truth, and your husband mentioned chicken cacciatore. Oh, I hope I’m not spoiling a surprise.”

  “No, Sam said something about it to me this morning. I’ll meet you in the vestibule.”

  Marek smiled, again clasping her hands. Then he turned around, heading for the doorway. Renee was on his heels, but right before she left the kitchen, she looked back. The painting was nearly out of sight; one had to be near the sink to see it. Yet, what a treasure for somebody willing to scout it out. Then Renee sighed, mulling that over as she waited for Marek to drive her home.

  Chapter 90