Joseph’s course was clear. He must leave Charleston permanently. He must turn his back on the best thing that had ever happened to him, because it was also the worst thing that had ever happened to him. If he truly cared about Tessa’s welfare or about his other parishioners, he could not delay any longer. As soon as he returned from Columbia, he would speak to Father Baker.
But whatever strange bed he inhabited, Tessa always found him. Sometimes she only sang to him or stroked his hair. Sometimes she was as wanton as Delilah. That night, she began by whispering in his ear:“I need you.”The truth was: he needed her as much as sheneeded him. Whatever she could give him, he would accept it gladly. But he dreamt of union.
The following afternoon, Joseph and his horse took refuge from a thunderstorm in a barn. As lightning streaked the sky, Joseph returned to Alphonsus, who often cited the wisdom of other saints:
In the revelations of St. Bridget we read that an unchaste priest was killed by a thunder bolt; and it was found that the lightning had reduced to ashes only the indelicate members, as if to show that it was principally for incontinence that God had inflicted this chastisement upon him.
Joseph flinched.
He delivered the monstrance safelyto St. Peter’s. Then he followed his map and his father’s directions to the home of Father Wallace. The farmstead stood in a handsome setting near the edge of a forest—though the house seemed unnecessarily large. Joseph’s father had told him the Priest had made wise investments and now owned considerable property in and around Columbia. Father Wallace likely had his mastery of mathematics to thank for that.
As Joseph approached, he heard what sounded like a Paganini caprice drifting down through one of the windows. So Father Wallace was a violinist. Joseph had assumed his father wished him to meet this Priest because Father Wallace had broken his vow of obedience by leaving the Jesuits. But perhaps their shared love of music had some bearing on this visit, too. When Joseph had asked his father’s reasons, he’d been frustratingly vague: “You’ll understand once you’re there.”
Half mesmerized by the music, Joseph pulled Prince to a stop, dismounted, and tied his lead rope to the fence around the kitchen garden. When Joseph climbed the porch stairs and knocked on the front door, the violinist did not stop. But a patter of footsteps punctuated the notes, and the door swung open to reveal a mulatto boy of about seven.
“Good afternoon!” the boy cried.
Joseph frowned. “G-Good afternoon.”
“Are you Father Lazarus?”
“If you mean ‘Father Lazare,’ I am.”
The boy scrunched up his nose. “I ’membered wrong! Your pa wrote us you were coming.”
“I’m…looking for Father Wallace?”
“You’re in the right place,” called a woman’s voice. Joseph turned to see a negress approaching from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron, then shielded her eyes from the afternoon sunlight. “He hasn’t returned from his mission to the Fairfield District yet. We expect him for supper. You’ll join us, won’t you? And spend the night with us?”
“I— Yes, thank you.”
The negress (Joseph guessed her to be forty) was close enough now to see the mulatto boy standing in the doorway, and she turned to him. “James, would you run upstairs and ask your brother to take care of Father Lazare’s horse and put his bags in the spare room?”
“I can do it, Mama!” young James insisted.
The negress smiled indulgently. “Why don’t youhelpGeorge?”
James pouted but ran to obey.
Joseph had known Father Wallace must have a housekeeper. But it was unusual for such a woman to bring her children into a Priest’s household. Their noise was hardly conducive to meditation and prayer: James clomped up the stairs and shouted to his brother. The violin ceased.
“Are you thirsty, Father?” the negress asked him. “I have some switchel ready. James says it’s the best restorative after a day in the saddle.”
“Thank you.” Still Joseph scowled. By “James,” he assumed she meant Father Wallace, not her young son. Did Father Wallace know she referred to him by his Christian name in his absence?
“I hope you don’t mind following me to the kitchen? I have supper going.” The negress turned before Joseph even responded.
In the kitchen, she offered him a chair and poured him a mug of switchel, which had the perfect amount of ginger. “I’m sorry,Father; I realize I haven’t introduced myself. My name is Sarah. Your father’s letter wasn’t clear—but judging by your reactions, he didn’t tell you about me?”
That sounded ominous. “No…”
Sarah seemed uncomfortable too. She rearranged the fire. “I wish James were here to do this with me,” she sighed. “But I know I cannot leave you in suspense.” She crouched down and gave her Dutch oven a quarter-turn. “Twenty-two, nearly twenty-three years ago, James purchased me from a plantation outside Charleston.”
She was a slave. That was hardly surprising.
“Six years later, I gave birth to our first son.”
Despite the sudden dryness in his throat, Joseph lowered his mug to the table.Thiswas meant to inform Joseph’s decision about Tessa? A man who forced himself on his slave so often there werechildren? Wallace was not only her master, he was herPriest; she’d had no choice but to submit. Joseph kept his eyes on the ginger water. “You must despise him.”
