The Time Keepers

Chapter 11

CHAPTER 11

T HE NEXT MORNING, AFTER THE GIRLS HAD GONE OFF TO school and Tom had left for the store, Grace sat down at the kitchen table and looked up the phone number for Our Lady Queen of Martyrs.

She knew where the old brick complex was located, with its tall iron gates and the statue of the Virgin Mary in the interior courtyard. The women’s group regularly dropped off their collections for clothing drives there, as the Franciscan Sisters in association with the church shipped the donations to needy Catholic communities abroad. Her own children had always found the place scary and intimidating. As much as she and Tom had encouraged their children to appreciate both their religions, it felt like they’d failed them. The girls picked the religion that suited their needs moment by moment. They suddenly became Jewish when Grace asked them if they wanted to attend Mass with her, and they became Catholic when Christmas was around the corner. But for Grace, her relationship to the Church brought up a complex bevy of emotions.

Grace didn’t doubt the Sisters at Our Lady Queen of Martyrs had the best intentions with their sponsorship of the refugees, but navigating a new community in a country so different than your own would not be easy. Grace couldn’t help but think her path had crossed with B?o for a reason. She got up from the table and went to dial the main reception of the motherhouse but then hesitated. It would take far too long to explain what had transpired over the weekend. Minutes later, she was in front of her vanity, putting on her makeup and touching up her hair. Grace then put on a white knit top and light-blue skirt and got into the car.

The long driveway that led up to the large complex immediately threw her back to her days as a student at a Catholic school in Ireland. The severity of the nuns’ behavior created a fear that rushed through her body every time Grace entered the classroom. For years, as a child, she was afraid her fingers would be lashed with a wooden cane for forgetting her homework or for speaking before she was called upon.

So even now, part of her tensed up as she approached the grounds. Despite the somber architecture, the surroundings were alight with color. Flower beds filled with tulips and daffodils were carefully maintained in perfect rows. The cherry trees, some so large they might have been over a hundred years old, created soft pink canopies over Grace’s Pontiac wagon as it slowly inched up the driveway.

Exiting her car, Grace straightened her skirt and checked her lipstick in her silver compact mirror. She couldn’t stop the immediate impulse to make sure she appeared beyond reproach as she walked up the cement steps and into the reception area.

The familiar smell of damp stone and ceremonial incense hit her immediately as her pumps struck the marble floor.

“May I help you?” A petite woman with gray hair and cat-eye glasses greeted Grace.

“Hello, I’m Grace Golden. I think we might have met before when I dropped off some clothes from the City of Hope Women’s Club.”

The woman smiled at Grace. “I thought you looked familiar … and you’re one of the only locals with such a charming Irish accent.”

“Thank you, that’s most kind.” Grace leaned in as if sharing a secret with the woman. “I’m hoping maybe you can help me.… You see, I’m here for a specific reason.…”

“I will certainly try, Mrs. Golden.”

“Well, over the weekend, on my way home from Mass, actually,” Grace continued, “I found a little boy alone on the street. I learned later that afternoon when we took him down to the police station that he had run away from here.”

The woman’s face stiffened.

“The only children we have here at the moment are those who came with their families from a Red Cross refugee camp and are sponsored by the diocese.”

“Yes, that’s what the social worker mentioned.” Grace paused. “It’s got to be about five miles from here to Maple Avenue in Bellegrove, so it concerns me the child walked so far … and also seemed to have spent the night sleeping outside.”

“That’s a long way to walk.” The woman frowned. “But I can assure you all the families are getting wonderful care here.”

“I was hoping I could check on him and his aunt, Anh,” she explained gently. “I remember how hard it was for me to come here from Ireland not knowing a soul; I just want to show a friendly face.”

“We don’t typically allow unscheduled visitors, I’m afraid.”

“Well, I can sit down and wait. Let me know when there might be someone in charge who can speak with me.”

Grace looked over at the wooden bench outside the reception area, then glanced at her wristwatch.

It was 10:15. Katie would be getting home at 3:00 p.m., Molly at 3:30. For all practical purposes, Grace could wait there all day.

Grace sat quietly on the bench for nearly forty minutes before one of the Sisters appeared.

“Ms. Golden?” Standing in front of Grace was a middle-aged woman in a navy skirt and blazer. “I’m Sister Mary Alice,” she said, extending her hand. “Apologies for keeping you waiting. We’re a bit overwhelmed at the moment with our latest charges.”

“Yes, I imagine you are.”

“I hear you’ve come here to inquire about Anh and her nephew B?o.”

“Yes,” she said, steadying her voice. “I was the one who found him in Bellegrove on Sunday.”

“And we’re very grateful that you did. We are going to keep an extra careful eye on him now.”

Grace forced a smile. “It must be quite an adjustment here from his life back in Vietnam.”

“Oh, yes! It really is.… Not just the language barrier … but so many things. America is foreign for them in so many ways.…”

“And I gather you’re trying to teach them English.…”

“Yes, that’s our priority right now. Most of them had basic English lessons in the refugee camp before they came here, but there is still so much work to be done. With the public school nearly out for the summer break, we wanted to use the next few months most effectively so the children will be able to start class there in the fall. B?o is the oldest we have. The others are mostly toddlers.”

“How old is he?”

“We believe B?o is ten.” Sister Mary Alice smiled. “It’s been a bit of a whirlwind trying to get the facts straight through the refugee camp in Malaysia they were sent to before they came here.”

“I can imagine,” Grace agreed. “Have you any idea where his parents are?”

“Sadly, B?o’s an orphan. Anh is his guardian.”

Grace’s fingers touched her amulet as she remembered how she’d tried to escape the pain of Bridey’s death by tucking herself against one of the old stone walls that curved along the perimeter of her village. B?o running away now made sense to her. “Children often try too hard to be brave,” she said softly.

“Compassion like yours is a gift, Mrs. Golden.”

A flicker of pain pinched inside her. Her mother curled in a tight ball in bed, her baby brother wailing, the flash of memory returned to her. Grace had often been the one to feed him, to rock him to sleep. Her mother’s grief had consumed her.

“My own childhood had its fair share of sadness, but I was fortunate to know kindness, too.” Delilah had died over thirty years ago, but there were times Grace could swear she felt the papery skin of the old woman’s hand gripping her own.

“We are grateful that God has shown mercy and B?o has one family member with him. He is not alone.” Sister Mary unfolded her hands. “Would you like to come this way? I’ll show you where they’re having an English lessons right now. We have four other nuns who are helping with their instruction. Anh, actually, has become one of our best students.”

“Yes, thank you,” Grace said.

“It’s my pleasure. And it’s not entirely selfless on my part.” She took a step into the room and said, “As you can see, we have quite a project here … with the tutoring. We could always use another hand.”

The motherhouse, the Sisters’ headquarters on the grounds of Our Lady Queen of Martyrs, had always appeared rather gloomy to Grace, but now it buzzed like a beehive. She followed Sister Mary Alice toward a common area where four matronly-looking women sat at different tables giving instruction to the adults while the children sat on the floor. The room smelled like apple juice, crayons, and warm bodies.

Grace spotted B?o first. Sitting beside two small girls with pigtails, he seemed to have little interest in repeating basic words back in English. Instead, he was pulling out tiny fibers of the rug and arranging them in a pile.

Then she saw Anh. Unlike the others, who were spread out into small groups, Anh sat alone at a desk in the corner, bent over a soft-covered workbook, her long black hair tied loosely with a scarf. The edge of two pink shower sandals peeked out from beneath the hem of her skirt.

“As I said, Anh is one of our hardest workers,” Mary Alice said, noting that Grace was looking at her from afar.

“She still doesn’t speak very much, but she definitely seems to understand more than the others. I suspect she made the most of the lessons back at the Red Cross camp.”

Grace again looked over in Anh’s direction.

“Anyway, it’s been quite a challenge here,” the Sister continued. “We don’t understand a word of Vietnamese. And while most of them as I mentioned had a bit of lessons in the refugee camp, a few are even too shy to practice with us. We’re hoping that will change soon.…” She looked over at B?o. “The boy’s been a bit hard to reach. Watches a lot of television but doesn’t want to practice speaking. He’s still so withdrawn, but we don’t want to push him too much after this weekend’s incident.” She took a deep breath. “Maybe you can help.”

Grace watched as she went over to one of the folded bridge tables and tapped B?o on his back, then whispered something in his ear. He looked older now that he was wearing a plaid short-sleeved shirt and khaki pants. He turned his head around after Sister Mary Alice pointed in her direction. Grace felt a warmth flow through her as B?o’s hand slowly unfurled and he offered her a tiny wave.