Emily's Strange Life Chapter 5

I don't know what religion I was baptised into, or if I ever was. I don't know if I'm Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, Wiccan or Hindu. But I do know that I will never hear a word against nuns as long as I live.

After I escaped from Michael I stopped at a car dealership and exchanged his conspicuous, easily traced Ferrari for something a bit more under the radar. The fact that the Ferrari was obviously stolen meant I had to trade it at well below its value. The fact that the dealer would obviously inform on me at the sight of a dollar bill meant that I traded the car I'd got from him a couple of hours later, in a town diametrically opposite to the direction I was planning to go in. After I'd muddied my trail by repeating this a few times the car I was left driving was what Michael would have called a piece of shit. I thought it was a good, faithful little car that got me the best part of a thousand miles before conking out, but there was no denying that the only thing to do was give it a decent burial.

So there I was in a big, flat state that I shan't name, but they're still very fond of the memory of John Brown, with no transport, hardly any money, no medical insurance and in what used to be delicately called 'an interesting condition'.

This is where the nuns come in. I'd been driving for two days and a night, almost without a break, no proper meals, figuring I could go back to living right once I'd put some distance between myself, an avenging Michael and, probably, a horde of mad scientists eager to carry out more tests. By the time I'd walked fifteen miles from where I broke down to the nearest town.. well, I might as well admit it. I was standing in the high street, debating whether to go to the bar ( for food) or the garage first when I fainted.

When I woke up I was in a nunnery. No, that isn't the fate they reserve for unmarried mothers here, besides, I'm not showing yet and won't be for a while. It turns out the good sisters run a charity hospital, treating the destitute, the homeless, the poor and the uninsured and under insured. In particular, as part of their mission to save children from being aborted they offer an unrivalled ante-natal and maternity service. Sometimes I really can believe there is a God looking out for us. I didn't even know America had nuns!

I think I must, at some point have regained semi-consciousness without remembering it because nuns got into my dreams. I dreamt I was being pursued by Michael dressed as a Nazi. I dreamt Michael was being chased by anti-Nazi nuns. I dreamt I was a Nazi and I'd been captured by nuns who were forcing me to sing numbers from 'The Sound of Music'

Of course, I didn't know about the hospital when I woke up to find myself strapped to a bed, with a nun in full habit leaning over me. I don't think I was tracking too well, because the first thing I said was “I can't sing! Please let me go!”

The nun sort of smiled and frowned at the same time.

“Please don't panic, you're quite safe. I'm Sister Maria. “ She must have seen from my face that I didn't find this reassuring because she hastily added “The only reason you were strapped down is because you've been thrashing about a lot while you were unconscious and we were afraid you might hurt yourself. You're safe now,” she repeated, unbuckling the straps that held me down “You're in the hospital of St Blasius of Ragusa, run by the Sisters of the blessed order of Saint Maximilian Kolbe.”

“Um, good?”

“You'll be pleased to know there's nothing much wrong with you. You were exhausted, a little dehydrated, you've got some painful blisters and you could do with a good meal but otherwise you're in good shape, “ Sister Maria hesitated for the first time “Did you know you were expecting?”

“That's why I had to run awa- oh!” I winced. I may have been a good soldier once, though I still found it hard to believe, but I was a terrible fugitive. I'd just blown my cover to the very first person I met who wasn't a car dealer or gas station attendant.

“Don't be afraid,” Sister Maria smiled reassuringly “A lot of women we see here are fleeing bad relationships or the war, or .” she hesitated for a moment “all sorts of things. No one is going to send you back to whoever you're avoiding.”

“Thank you.” I let out a long breath I hadn't even realised I was holding.

“Get some rest now, if you can. Dinner is in an hour.” I was asleep before she reached the door.

Three days later I'm sitting in the office of Father Flaherty, Head of the Hospital's Welfare, Pastoral Care and Community Outreach Department. Once they discovered I not only had no intention of getting rid of my baby but was determined to raise it myself the nuns couldn't do enough for me. That was why I had this appointment. The trouble was, I was going to have to blow it – I'd told Sister Maria I was running away, I'd given them a name that was easily traceable. I was going to have to find a hospital sooner or later, but I needed to establish a new identity first and how I was going to do that I had no idea. Frustratingly, I suspected Captain Naso would have known exactly what to do, but since I couldn't remember being Captain Naso that didn't help me at all. Sister Maria had told me that they wouldn't send me back, but when Special Forces arrived with a warrant for my arrest that would certainly change.

“Emily?”

I jumped as Father Flaherty came into the room. Despite the name he looked like a South American statue of one of less amiable Aztec gods, hacked out of teak with a blunt chisel. If I'd met him in the street I would have wanted to run away. As it was, I tried to make myself small, and smoothed my skirt nervously.

“That's me.” I squeaked. Darn it, I've got to get a hold of myself.

“Emily O' Halloran? I see we're both from the Old Country, or at least some of our families are.”

Father Flaherty smiled. I winced. I am such an idiot! Fancy using Michael's surname as an alias. I'd just blurted it out. In a fit of genius it meant I'd given a name that was easily traceable and failed to match my ID. My ID said I was Emily Doe. No,really. Social Services are very unoriginal at giving surnames to wandering amnesiacs.

“If you have another name you'd rather use, all you have to do is tell me. I promise I won't remember or repeat it. The good sisters think, they aren't certain, mind you, but they think you may need more help than simple medical treatment can provide. Sister Maria thinks you're fleeing trouble.”

I contemplated my options. I'd brought down a man Father Flaherty's size not long ago, not to mention getting the drop on Michael, but I still didn't know how. Those skills were in me somewhere, buried deep and twice now they'd saved me, but I didn't think I could access them at will. I'd tested myself and I was no stronger , jars were still as hard to open as ever, so without those skills I had no prospects of overwhelming Father Flaherty and escaping, even if there was somewhere to escape to on this expanse of flat prairie.

Besides, it would definitely be a wrong thing to do, after all the kindness I'd been shown, to turn on my benefactors now. On the other hand, didn't I have a duty to my unborn child to keep him or her safe, whatever it cost me? As I sat lost in indecision Father Flaherty said

“In case you were worrying, I am willing to take this whole conversation under the seal of confession.”

“Um. I'm really sorry, I don't know what that means.”

“It means that I may not, under any circumstances reveal to anyone what you tell me.”

“I get that you mean that Father but obviously you would if it involved a legal inquiry. And it might. I can promise I haven't done anything wrong, well not very wrong” As far as you remember my conscience whispered. Stupid conscience. “but that isn't necessarily the story they'll tell you and they aren't people you want to annoy.”

“I promise you, my child,” Hey. I'm twenty-one. Or thereabouts. Probably. “If it is a choice between my death by torture or revealing the secrets of the confessional a priest is duty bound to choose the first. To break that vow is the number one sin – worse than buggering the Pope.”
I choked on a giggle and then pulled myself together.

“All the more reason not to tell you. I don't want to put anyone here in that position.”

Father Flaherty smiled again, a gentle, understanding smile. Somehow he was much uglier smiling, but much, much more attractive. His grotesque features radiated good nature, in a way that was infinitely endearing.

“The nuns here are Sisters of the blessed order of St Maximillian Kolbe. I am their confessor as well as my role as an administrator of the hospital. Do you know who Maximillian Kolbe was?”

“No.”

“He was a priest in Poland during the Second World War. Together with a number of other clerics he was hiding a group of Jews from the occupying Nazis. It was against every law of the secular powers and when he was caught they were not amused. Father Maximillian was sent to the death camp at Auschwitz.. In the camp one day the guards decided they were going to lock ten men in a room to starve to death. I think they had some sort of excuse about camp discipline but the real reason was that they enjoyed doing that sort of thing. One of the men they chose had a family, children.

Maximillian Kolbe voluntarily took his place and died in that underground chamber, faithful to the last, praying and praising God so long as he had strength to kneel and speak. Later he was declared a saint. We here, the good sisters and my unworthy self, seek to model our lives on his, to protect children, to stand between the family and a harsh world, to do that which is right, regardless of the consequences that may come upon us.

“I doubt if you are fleeing a death camp, but nevertheless, if you need help, you would be doing us a favour by allowing us to help you. As for governments, armies, Presidents or kings, we have one ruler and his name is Jesus Christ. That is where our allegiance lies.”

“I'll tell you, but you won't believe me. I hardly believe it myself. To start with I'm Canadian, a Canadian soldier, or I was. My baby's father is an American soldier named Michael O' Halloran, a special forces officer. I have no memory that stretches more than three years back so when I ..got together with him I had no idea who I was. He did. He was really my jailer and I never knew it. When I found out ,I knew I had to flee. “ I pause and blush

“My name isn't really O'Halloran. Michael never married me.”

“Did you want him to?” asks Father Flaherty gently. I stare at the the floor.

“Yes. I'm so stupid, I still miss him. After everything he did I miss him.”

“That doesn't sound stupid to me. A bad plan perhaps. Painful for you, certainly, but not stupid. Love is never stupid, even love for someone not worthy of it . Love is a gift of God.”

“Michael didn't think so,” I whisper. My throat is closing up now and I'm trying to hold back a wail of misery and despair.

“Perhaps. Now tell me. Do you think, knowing what you know now, that this man would have been the right husband for yourself, the right father for your child?”

“No.”

“Then what you have done is right, and brave,”

“I thought,” I hesitate and decide to say it anyway “I thought Catholics were all about not allowing divorce and things.”

“We do tend to frown on it, “ Father Flaherty said dryly “but then we also think people should make the commitment of marriage before having children, and that they should be very certain they are with the right person first, for reasons which I suspect will be obvious to you at this moment. In your case however, given that vital information was concealed from you, you would be a good candidate for an annullment.”

“That's allowed?”

“That's allowed.”

“What am I going to do, Father?”

“You're going to do what you are doing. You're going to have your child and give him or her a decent upbringing. And we're going to help you. I can arrange identification for you that will hold up well enough for you to get a job. There are people in town who will be happy to take in a lodger or a tenant who's not going to rip out the piping to sell for drugs or get blind drunk every Friday. We'll do what we can to help you find a job. I'm afraid it probably won't be anything glamourous, waitressing or shop work.”

I suppressed a laugh, he sounded so worried about this last

“Do I look glamorous?”

“Perhaps glamorous is the wrong word, but certainly refined.”

“Oh. Um. Thank you. Er, how can you arrange false ID?”

A slow smile spread across Father Flaherty's face

“ That would be betraying the secrets of the confessional.”