problems.”
Father Dante leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. His fidgets reminded Bev of her daughters’ machinations to delay admitting petty guilt. “Do you know of any children who were initially good students here, happy children, who became sullen and angry?”
Bev couldn’t stop her wide eyes from blinking. She had learned the symptoms of sexual abuse in her primary education courses in college. “That couldn’t happen here .”
Father Dante sighed.
“You mean like someone’s uncle? One of the parents?”
“No.” He pulled his hand through his black hair, raking it away from his eyes.
“That new janitor? The soccer coach?”
“No, Mrs. Sloan.”
The rumormongers had stalwartly avoided that particular accusation about Father Nicolai’s disappearance. Diocese politics, the school’s deplorable standardized testing scores, poor box embezzlement, whiskey priest , sacrilegious snacking on consecrated Host, Alzheimer’s, selling the Host to Satanists, those things had been mentioned, but molesting children was the sort of thing that happened in other places.
Bev folded her hands in her lap primly. “That’s patently ridiculous. Father Nicolai was one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“All of us just walk right into the rectory, without knocking, without yoo-hoo-ing. His sermons are about the transparent lives we lead, how God sees into out hearts and loves us. And about how we need to be compassionate, reach out to others, live with open hearts. He’s so compassionate .”
“Yes.” He drew a hand through the black curls fringing his face. “Pedophiles are some of the nicest people I’ve ever known. They have a special rapport with children. Absolutely charming .”
Bev would be able to tell if someone was a pedophile. She could tell if a person was gay or straight. Father Dante had watched the women’s sections of the choir, and he had opened his posture, hesitantly, toward Laura Dietrich. He was straight but restrained.
She would know if Father Nicolai was a child molester. “I don’t believe it.”
“Most,” Father Dante glanced at the white-painted ceiling, “of these kinds of people,” he sighed, still staring up, “are efficient at concealing their crimes. They induce guilt in the children, or shroud the abuse as a game, or utilize their clerical authority. Two months ago, when the allegations about Father Nicolai reached Roma, a priest was sent here to watch and intervene.”
Father Domingo had appeared two months ago, ostensibly to update the school’s benighted curriculum that had caused the free-falling test scores, and both he and Father Nicolai had left last week. “Was he reassigned to some other parish?”
“No. Nicolai is in Italia, in a place where there are no children. I need to know if there are any other children who you think might display these behavior patterns. I am here to counsel them, to try to help them. That’s why they sent a psychiatrist.”
Oh, Lord. Father Dante had asked to see Laura. Laura had choked when Bev called her last night. “He hurt Luke, didn’t he?”
Father Dante leaned back in his chair, and his eyes slid away from her.
“Luke Dietrich. You saw Laura after choir practice. She’s been taking Luke to all kinds of doctors for his ADHD, but he hasn’t gotten any better, and it came on suddenly last year.”
Father Dante stared at the blue carpeting. “I cannot speak about any particular child. I cannot confirm or deny anything about any particular child. It would invade their privacy. Surely, they deserve their privacy.”
Bev’s chest caved in at the thought of anyone hurting Luke. “Oh, God.”
If that man had touched her daughters, she would, she would, and violence welled up. “My girls, did he hurt them?”
Father Dante said, quietly, “When I talked to your daughters a few days ago, I did not see anything to concern me. I asked them about rumors in the
Father Dante leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. His fidgets reminded Bev of her daughters’ machinations to delay admitting petty guilt. “Do you know of any children who were initially good students here, happy children, who became sullen and angry?”
Bev couldn’t stop her wide eyes from blinking. She had learned the symptoms of sexual abuse in her primary education courses in college. “That couldn’t happen here .”
Father Dante sighed.
“You mean like someone’s uncle? One of the parents?”
“No.” He pulled his hand through his black hair, raking it away from his eyes.
“That new janitor? The soccer coach?”
“No, Mrs. Sloan.”
The rumormongers had stalwartly avoided that particular accusation about Father Nicolai’s disappearance. Diocese politics, the school’s deplorable standardized testing scores, poor box embezzlement, whiskey priest , sacrilegious snacking on consecrated Host, Alzheimer’s, selling the Host to Satanists, those things had been mentioned, but molesting children was the sort of thing that happened in other places.
Bev folded her hands in her lap primly. “That’s patently ridiculous. Father Nicolai was one of the nicest men I’ve ever known.”
“I’m sure he was.”
“All of us just walk right into the rectory, without knocking, without yoo-hoo-ing. His sermons are about the transparent lives we lead, how God sees into out hearts and loves us. And about how we need to be compassionate, reach out to others, live with open hearts. He’s so compassionate .”
“Yes.” He drew a hand through the black curls fringing his face. “Pedophiles are some of the nicest people I’ve ever known. They have a special rapport with children. Absolutely charming .”
Bev would be able to tell if someone was a pedophile. She could tell if a person was gay or straight. Father Dante had watched the women’s sections of the choir, and he had opened his posture, hesitantly, toward Laura Dietrich. He was straight but restrained.
She would know if Father Nicolai was a child molester. “I don’t believe it.”
“Most,” Father Dante glanced at the white-painted ceiling, “of these kinds of people,” he sighed, still staring up, “are efficient at concealing their crimes. They induce guilt in the children, or shroud the abuse as a game, or utilize their clerical authority. Two months ago, when the allegations about Father Nicolai reached Roma, a priest was sent here to watch and intervene.”
Father Domingo had appeared two months ago, ostensibly to update the school’s benighted curriculum that had caused the free-falling test scores, and both he and Father Nicolai had left last week. “Was he reassigned to some other parish?”
“No. Nicolai is in Italia, in a place where there are no children. I need to know if there are any other children who you think might display these behavior patterns. I am here to counsel them, to try to help them. That’s why they sent a psychiatrist.”
Oh, Lord. Father Dante had asked to see Laura. Laura had choked when Bev called her last night. “He hurt Luke, didn’t he?”
Father Dante leaned back in his chair, and his eyes slid away from her.
“Luke Dietrich. You saw Laura after choir practice. She’s been taking Luke to all kinds of doctors for his ADHD, but he hasn’t gotten any better, and it came on suddenly last year.”
Father Dante stared at the blue carpeting. “I cannot speak about any particular child. I cannot confirm or deny anything about any particular child. It would invade their privacy. Surely, they deserve their privacy.”
Bev’s chest caved in at the thought of anyone hurting Luke. “Oh, God.”
If that man had touched her daughters, she would, she would, and violence welled up. “My girls, did he hurt them?”
Father Dante said, quietly, “When I talked to your daughters a few days ago, I did not see anything to concern me. I asked them about rumors in the
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