The Wolves of Midwinter (The Wolf Gift Chronicles 2)

“But Lorraine, he can secretly acknowledge—.”

“No,” she said. “Believe me. He cannot. My own lawyers have investigated. The climate in the Church today would never allow it. There’s been too much scandal, too much controversy over the priesthood in recent years, too many famous priests compromised by the revelations of affairs, secret families, children and such …”

“But this is different—.”

“I wish it were different,” she said. “But it’s not. Reuben, your brother wrote to me when he decided to become a priest. I knew at the time that if I told him about these children he would not be accepted in the seminary. I knew he thought he’d somehow caused the death of my pregnancy. I realized all that, and I thought it through. I consulted my own Anglican priest in England on the matter. I talked it over with Professor Maitland. I made the decision then to let Jim go on thinking that I had lost the pregnancy. It wasn’t a perfect decision, not by any means. But it was the best decision I could make for Jim. When these children are older, when they are adults—.”

“But Lorraine, he needs to know. They need him and he needs them.”

“If you love your brother,” she said softly, “surely you must not tell him about these children. I know Jim. I don’t mean to offend you when I say that I know him intimately. I know Jim better than I’ve known almost anyone in my life. I know the battles he has fought with himself. I know the price of his victories. If he is forced out of his ministry, it will destroy his life.”

“Listen to me. I understand why you’re saying this,” Reuben said. “Jim’s told me what happened at Berkeley. He told me what he did—.”

“Reuben, you cannot know the whole story,” she gently insisted. “Jamie himself doesn’t know the whole story. When I met Jamie, my life was in tatters. In a very real way, your brother saved my life. I was married to a sick man, an older man, and that man brought Jamie—I mean Jim—into our home to save my life. I don’t think your brother ever knew the full extent to which he was manipulated by my husband. My husband was a good man but he would have done anything to keep me happy and keep me with him, and he brought Jim into our little world so that Jim would love me, and Jim did.”

“Lorraine, I do know this.”

“But you can’t know what it meant to me. You can’t know the suicidal depression I suffered before I met Jamie. Reuben, your brother is one of the kindest people I’ve ever known. We had such happiness together, you simply cannot imagine. Your brother is the only man I’ve ever loved.”

Reuben was quietly astonished.

“Oh, he had his demons,” she said, “but he’s vanquished them all and found himself in the priesthood—that’s the whole point—and I cannot repay the love he gave me by destroying his life now, not when the children are happy, well cared for, well provided for. And not when I chose not to tell him about the children before. I must bear the consequences of letting him believe that our baby died. No, Jim cannot know.”

“There has to be some solution to this,” said Reuben. He knew in his heart of hearts he had no intention whatsoever of keeping this from Jim.

“I should never never have let the children come to the Christmas gala here,” Lorraine said, shaking her head. “Never. But you see, the academy in San Rafael had three invitations to the party, and I was expected to bring the eighth grade; and Jamie and Christine were simply beside themselves with excitement. Everybody was talking about the festival at Nideck Point and the Christmas banquet, the Man Wolf mystery, all of it. They begged, promised, cried. They knew all about you from the news, of course, and they knew you were Jim’s brother. They so wanted to come, just to see their father in the flesh, one time, and they promised to behave.”

“Believe me, Lorraine, I understand completely,” Reuben said. “Of course they wanted to come to the party. I would have wanted to come, too.”

“But I shouldn’t have brought them,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Someday when they are no longer children, when they’re adults, yes, they can meet their father. But not now. He’s far too vulnerable for us to approach him now.”

“Lorraine, I can’t believe this! I want to tell my mother about this. Look, I don’t mean to be crass, believe me, but the Golding family and the Spangler family—my mother’s people—are huge supporters of the archdiocese of San Francisco.”

“Reuben, I am aware of that. I’m sure your family’s influence paved the way for Jim to be ordained. He told me in his letter that he’d been completely honest and contrite with his superiors about his past. And I don’t doubt that. They approved his sincerity, his repentance; and no doubt there were the donations to smooth the way.” Her voice was so softly eloquent and persuasive. She made it seem all very logical and fine.

“Well, they can smooth the way now for him to see his children in private, damn it!” said Reuben. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I mean I have to call my mother. My mother will be ecstatic. And I have to find Jim. The problem right now is nobody knows where Jim is.”

“I know,” said Lorraine. “I’ve been following the news. So have the children. I am worried sick about Jim. I had no idea Jim’s life involved such danger. Oh, I wish we had not brought this problem to your very doorstep at this time.”

“But, Lorraine, this is the best time. Jim’s miserable right now over the death of this young priest in the Tenderloin.” How he wished he could tell her more, but he could never tell her—or anyone else—more. “Look, these children are going to help bring him back to himself.”

She was not convinced. She looked at him searchingly, her soft eyes full of compassion and concern. What a gentle person she was. She was exactly as Jim had described her. She sighed and sat with her hands composed in her lap, working at the clasp of her purse much the way Christine’s hands had worked obsessively with her handkerchief.

“I don’t know what to do then,” she said. “I simply don’t know. It’s all so remarkable. They were resigned. They only asked to see their father from a distance. They wanted to know what he really looked like. And I didn’t think it would do the slightest harm. We came to the festival in the village and then on to the banquet here at the house. Jim looked right at us and didn’t recognize me, didn’t notice them. I had prepared the children for this. There were plenty of children at the party. There were children everywhere. I tried to stay out of Jim’s way entirely. The last thing I wanted was for Jim to see me—.”