I knew ‘dem boys were muscle,she thought to herself.I knew it!
Thirteen
MAYNARD “22”
“Why are we doing this so early?” Father Fitzsimmons asked, walking with Goldie up the dirt road toward the No Trespassing sign and chained gate that led to the Maynard Silver Mine. He was wearing a black overcoat, earmuffs, gloves, and carried his Kodak folding camera in one hand while looking at his wristwatch with the other. “It’s not even 7:00 a.m.”
“The light,” she replied, making up an answer as they continued, “It’s, uh, y’know, ambient.” She was wearing slacks and the jacket, gloves, and stocking cap she’d gotten at Miller’s.
“That means absolutely nothing,” the priest said. “That’s like saying, ‘The water’s wet.’”
“What kind of bird is that?” she asked, changing subjects and hearing a pleasant sound. “I love its song.”
“It’s actually cooing,” the clergyman answered, his breath visible in the frosty morning. “It’s a Eurasian Colored Dove. You know—‘Sparkledove?’”
“Oh. It’s pretty.”
“Goldie. Why are we out here?”
“Minin’ is a big part of the town’s history, so I have to get a photo of the old Maynard operation for my article.”
“Okay. But why so early?” he repeated, adjusting his earmuffs.
“Well, I was actually anxious to talk to you,” she answered honestly. “Besides grabbin’ a picture, I also want to do an open-face confession while we’re alone. Is that okay?” She looked around. “Would it count here?”
He smiled. “Oooo, I’ve never done one of those before. It’s unconventional, but here in the Lord’s woods? Yes, it counts.”
They came to the chained gate and paused.
“Then—bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” she said, making the sign of the cross with a hand. “My last confession was in the tenth grade. So, it’s been a while.”
She spread the two chained sides of the gate apart with her arms and slid through its opening.
“Let me guess, the first thing you want to confess is trespassing?” he assumed.
“No. I asked the sheriff about coming up here.”
“Oh—good,” he replied, likewise spreading the gate open and slipping through after her. “That makes me feel better.”
“But he said no. He said it was dangerous.”
“Goldie!”
She saw the road continued up and around a bend, so she kept walking. “C’mon,” she urged.
The young, thin priest expelled a heavy breath, then trudged after her. “My first open-face confession is a misdemeanor.”
After a couple of moments, she continued: “I lived with a man for several years.”
“I see,” he nodded.
“But that’s not what I wanna confess.”
“It isn’t?”
“No… this man, he was—is—a criminal. A gangster. Part of a very powerful crime family. He steals, extorts money, sells drugs… even kills people.”
An open-mouthed Father Fitz stopped walking, so she did too.
