The black woman chuckled. “I’ll try, sir.”
Apparently there were stilla great many hooks. By the time they arrived at the house party, it was already dark, and all that remained on the table were nuts and prunes. Hélène pouted.
Father Laroche’s health was poor, so he was leaving them. The new Priest was named Father McEncroe. He said he had been ordained three years ago and had known Bishop England in Ireland.
At first, Father McEncroe made the mistake of talking too loudly at Mama, as if this would make a difference. But then the Priest saw their expressions, stopped at once, and apologized. He seemed sincere, and he waited patiently while Papa translated.
The Grands soon found them, and Mama looked relieved. She positioned them carefully in a corner so they could talk without anyone else seeing their hands. Her signs were so contained, so different from Papa’s bold ones. Whenhehad something to say, hedidn’t care if the whole room took notice. The Grands’ gestures were somewhere in-between, though their eyes were nearly as cautious as Mama’s, always alert about who might be watching and what they would think.
Eventually, Joseph began wandering. He found Mr. Künstler, and they discussed Plato. Mr. Künstler was one of the lay teachers at the Philosophical and Classical Seminary. At first, Joseph had been wary of him, because he walked with a cane like Great-Grandmother Marguerite. Mr. Künstler leaned on his even more heavily, and he could not stand for very long at one time, because he had a club-foot. But Mr. Künstler could not have been more different from Joseph’s great-grandmother. He actually listened when Joseph spoke.
Mr. Künstler said he’d seen Bishop England in the garden. On his way there, Joseph passed the drawing room. A haze of cigar smoke drifted through the barely-open doorway. Inside, men’s voices rolled and boomed. When he heard the word “deaf-mute,” Joseph paused.
“Can you imagine a more perfect wife?” a man practically shouted, his words slurring. “You’d never have to listen to her! I mean: You’dneverhave tolistento her!”
“That Lazare is one lucky man,” someone else agreed, as if there could be any doubt about who this “perfect wife” was. Joseph felt as if claws had gripped his heart. He wanted to run away, but his legs wouldn’t move.
“Think about it, gentlemen: a perpetual child bride.” That was the first voice again. “She’d betotallydependent on you. She wouldn’t think a thing unlessyouput the thought into her head.”
“She’d never defy you.”
“She wouldn’t knowhow.”
Someone made a slurping noise.
“You could do anything you liked to her.” The first voice had changed now, become darker. “She literally couldn’t complain.”
There were a few beats of silence, then a new man interjected: “It must be better than keeping a colored girl!”
Everyone laughed.
Somehow Joseph managed to make his legs obey him. By the time he reached the piazza, he was running. Too fast. His tearing eyes were on his feet, not on what lay ahead. Joseph collided with a man standing at the bottom of the steps and crashed sideways onto the ground.
It wasn’t a man—it was the Bishop! As he struggled to rise, Joseph wobbled uncertainly:leftknee to honor His Lordship,bothfor Penance. Joseph grabbed Bishop England’s right hand to kiss his ring and sank deeply onto both knees. “Forgive me, my lord!”
“Joseph!” The Bishop’s hand caught him gently under his chin, titling up his face, though Joseph did not let himself look up. “Are you all right?” He must have seen Joseph’s tears, the ones that had started before his fall.
“Are you hurt?” chorused a female voice at his side, one Joseph recognized: the Bishop’s sister, Miss Joanna, who had come with him from Ireland.
Joseph murmured, “I know it’s a mortal sin to strike a Priest.” He’d almost knocked over a Bishop.
“Only if that was your intention, lad. Did you run into me on purpose?”
“No, my lord!”
“Then you don’t need Absolution, son. You didn’t injure me.” The Bishop laid a hand on his shoulder like a benediction. “Only be more careful in future.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Will you show meyouaren’t hurt?”
Joseph swiped away his tears and rose slowly. He felt a twinge in his hip where he’d struck the ground. The knees of his trousers were stained, too. He pictured May scrubbing them in the yard and felt even worse.
“Should we find your father?” Miss Joanna suggested.
“No. Thank you.” With his eyes lowered, Joseph could see only Bishop England’s leather shoes and the hem of his sister’s grey gown.
“Sure weren’t we speaking of Joseph a few minutes ago, John?”
