Part 27 (1/2)

She bent forward in her chair, as if a great weight lay on her back. The hospital window was behind her, black night beyond the gla.s.s. ”I've offered myself to G.o.d,” she said. ”I've promised that if Stephen lives, I'll give my life back to the Church.”

”You really believe G.o.d deals that way?”

”I don't know what to believe anymore. I've never been so confused. There are moments when I wonder if this isn't G.o.d's way of punis.h.i.+ng me.”

”G.o.d would use Stephen to take out his anger at you? Oh, Annie.”

He'd been sitting a dozen feet away. He got up from his chair, crossed the hospital room, and sat down next to Anne. He put his arm around his daughter's shoulders, drew her to him, and laid his cheek against her hair. He understood exactly why she would bargain with G.o.d. If he thought it was possible, he'd have struck any deal necessary-with G.o.d or the Devil-to make sure Stephen didn't die. If there were a way, he'd have crawled into that hospital bed himself and traded places with his son.

”When you left to be with the sisters, I remember how happy you were.” His breath, as he whispered, made her hair ripple as if in a gentle breeze. ”I'd love to see you that happy again. I don't care whether it's with Skye or with the sisters.”

Skye returned with coffee in two disposable cups. Cork kissed the top of his daughter's head and gave Skye back her place next to Anne.

It was late, and the hospital had become a quiet place. Anne and Skye had gone back to the waiting area, where the chairs were more comfortable and where there was a couch in case one of them wanted to lie down and sleep a bit. Cork had been sitting alone, going over and over in his mind LaPointe's story, trying to come to terms with his own part in what was almost certainly the conviction of an innocent man, trying to wrap his understanding around the place LaPointe had come to, which despite all the walls that surrounded him, was, he claimed, exactly the place he preferred to be. How many people at the end of their lives could say with true conviction that concrete walls and iron bars didn't, in fact, a prison make? The only man besides LaPointe that Cork could imagine responding in this same way was Henry Meloux.

And no sooner had he thought this than Meloux appeared. Cork had his head down and didn't realize the Mide had come into the ICU room until he felt the old man's hand on his shoulder and heard the familiar voice say quietly, ”Boozhoo, Corcoran O'Connor.”

Cork looked up from the white linoleum and found Meloux's face, a thousand wrinkles the color of wet creek sand, set with eyes as dark as pecan sh.e.l.ls and soft with compa.s.sion.

”Henry?” He didn't try to hide his surprise.

”I thought you might like company in this long night.”

”How did you get here from Thunder Bay?”

”My son,” Meloux replied.

”Hank? He's here?”

”With your daughter and her friend in the waiting area. I wanted to see you and Stephen by myself.”

The old man walked to Stephen's bedside. He laid his hand on the white sheet where it covered Stephen's heart. Cork's son and the old Mide shared a special bond. Many times over the years, Meloux had worked to help heal wounds that life had delivered to Stephen, both physical and spiritual, and recently, under Meloux's guidance, Stephen had undertaken the first learning steps in becoming, like Meloux, a member of the Grand Medicine Society.

”It's bad,” Cork said. ”Stephen still has a bullet in him, pressing against his spinal cord. They need to operate, but he's too unstable at the moment. He died, Henry, and they brought him back.”

”But not all the way. He still stands with one foot on the Path of Souls.” Meloux turned back to Cork. ”Would you leave him with me? Alone?”

”What are you going to do, Henry?”

”Talk to him.”

”You think he can hear you?”

”We will see.” Meloux looked at him deeply with those dark eyes that could pierce a man's soul. ”I've come to help, Corcoran O'Connor. I've come to help you all, if you will let me.”

Cork had held himself together because he had to, because Annie and Jenny and Stephen needed him to be strong. But Meloux was here now, and Cork knew exactly what his old friend and mentor was saying to him. Meloux may have been old-G.o.d alone knew his exact age-but inside he was still the strongest man Cork had ever known. On more than one occasion, he'd saved Cork's life and, more times than Cork could remember, had salvaged his spirit. For the first time since Stephen had been shot, Cork finally allowed himself to feel the full depth of his own fear and pain and confusion, and tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks.

”I let him go out there alone, Henry,” Cork confessed. ”I should have been there with him. I could have kept this from happening.”

Meloux stepped to him. ”This was not your doing, Corcoran O'Connor. If you throw yourself onto the fire of guilt, it will be a useless sacrifice. We do not know, any of us, the Great Mystery's purpose in this. But purpose there is.” He put his old hand gently to Cork's chest. ”You have a good heart, here, a strong heart. Of all that you have given to your son, that is the greatest gift. Trust your heart and Stephen's.” He smiled in such a rea.s.suring way that Cork couldn't help but believe him. ”And trust me, Corcoran O'Connor.”

So full of grat.i.tude he could barely speak, Cork said, ”Migwech, Henry. Chi migwech.”

CHAPTER 38.

Hank Wellington, Meloux's son, was a wealthy man, and rather famous in Canada. He'd been lost to his father for most of both their lives, but a few years earlier, because of Cork, they'd found each other. Wellington was in his seventies and still a handsome man. You could see the father in the face of the son-the broad nose, the prominent bone structure, the eyes that were dark and intelligent and compa.s.sionate.

After their greetings, Cork asked, ”How did Henry hear about Stephen?”

”He didn't,” Wellington replied. ”We didn't find out until we arrived in Aurora.”

”Then why did you come?”

”My father had a vision. I didn't have a choice. I'm sorry for all this trouble, Cork.”

”Thank you.”

”Where's my father now?”

”Henry wanted to be alone with Stephen.”

Wellington glanced at Anne, who was sitting with Skye on the waiting room couch. ”Your daughter filled me in on most of what I didn't know. If there's anything I can do to help, you've got it.”

”When I figure out what that is, Hank, I'll let you know. Look, I need coffee. You want some?”

”From a vending machine, or the real stuff?”

”At this time of night, we'll be lucky if the vending machine isn't asleep.”

”I'll pa.s.s, thanks.”

”Annie, Skye? Want some coffee?”

They shook their heads in unison, and Cork turned to leave. Before he'd taken a step, Marsha Dross walked in. She was still wearing her parka, and the shoulders were dusted with snow. She was carrying a large envelope. Her eyes immediately settled on the man she didn't know.

Cork introduced her to Wellington and explained his presence.

”Meloux's here?” she said.

”With Stephen, at the moment.”

It was clear that she had a purpose in coming, and she wasted no time. She opened the envelope she'd brought and drew out an eight-by-ten photograph, which she handed to Anne.

”Do you recognize that man?” she asked.