The Christmas Night Murder Read online

  Jack wrote a lot of the shopping list for me since he intended to cook over the weekend, but I did the shopping because I’m more careful and less impulsive than he is. When you’ve spent a large part of your life going out with fifty cents in your purse, you tend to think before you spend.

  On my way back I made a stop at Greenwillow, where my cousin Gene lives in the residence for retarded adults. I hadn’t seen him for some time because he was invited to spend Christmas with the parents of another resident and he found that much more appealing than coming to me. Still, he was delighted to see me and show me his Christmas presents. Most of all he wanted to tell me about Steve’s house.

  “I never saw a house so big,” he said, moving his hands to show me. “They have this room and this room and this room—”

  “It sounds enormous,” I said. “Did you have your own bedroom?”

  “Oh yeah, with a bathroom, too, with brown towels, nice, brown towels.”

  “You must have had a wonderful time, Gene.”

  “I did. I’m going again.”

  “What did you do while you were there?”

  “We went in the car, we went to a restaurant, we had a lot to eat, and we played checkers.”

  “I’m glad you had a good time. Maybe you and Steve will come and visit Jack and me.”

  “OK.” He sounded offhand about it. Now that he was a man of the world, visiting homes where he had a private bed and bath, his mother’s old house had lost some of its charm.

  We took a walk together and found Steve, who thought a visit to my house would be a lot more fun than another visit to his parents. Eventually, I left them together, happy that my cousin had a friend, that he had had a happy Christmas, that his life was fulfilling.

  I drove home and put all my purchases away. Jack was out somewhere with his car, and a glance at the kitchen table gave me a clue. An open toolbox and an old lamp minus its socket lay on a sheet of newspaper. He had gotten the itch to fix something and was probably at the hardware store. By the time I was finished in the kitchen, he was back.

  “Do you know you’ve been living in a house with a smoke detector without a battery for the last year and a half?”

  “How can that be? I never took the battery out.”

  “Your aunt probably did. When the battery dies, they give off a sound that drives you straight to the hardware store to get a replacement.”

  “Or you throw it in the garbage to shut it up. She probably wasn’t feeling well enough to go out and get a new one and she didn’t want to bother me with it.”

  “Well, honey bunch, you’re safe now.” He kissed me. “I’ll just go put it in.”

  When he was finished, we bundled up and went down to the “beach” that all the home owners in the area owned jointly. There’s a little cove in the Long Island Sound with a sandy strip along its half circle. We walked along it, feeling the force of the wind, the salt spray of the sound. No one else was there. We were a comfortable drive from the heart of New York and here we were alone on a sandy beach. It seemed amazing, but then a lot of things that have happened to me have seemed amazing. That was a lovely afternoon, a day when we had nothing to do but enjoy each other. When we got home, Jack built a fire in the living-room fireplace and started cooking something with shrimp. When the phone rang, I was reading a magazine in front of the fire and I heard him pick it up.

  He came into the living room a minute later, his face set in the working-detective mode. “It’s Sister Joseph. I think something’s happened.”

  I dropped the magazine and went to the kitchen, where pots and pans were on the stove and the aromas were gorgeous. “Joseph?”

  “Chris.” She stopped, as though deciding whether or not to continue. “They’ve found Hudson’s car.”

  “And Hudson?”

  “There’s no sign of him anywhere.”

  “Where was the car?” From the corner of my eye I could see Jack stop what he was doing and turn to look at me.

  “I’m afraid it’s too complicated to explain over the phone. I know it’s a lot to ask, but could you come up for a few days?”

  I said, “Sure,” although my heart really wasn’t in it.

  “I promise you I will tell you everything, everything that happened before Hudson left, and after. And you may have complete access to the letters and anything else you think will help you. I don’t know if he’s alive or dead, but it’s pretty clear that his disappearance is related to what happened the year he left us.”

  I looked at Jack. “I’ll drive up this evening,” I said.

  7

  “In September of that year a new novice came to us. Her name was Julia Farragut and she had visited here several times, so perhaps you knew her.”

  “I may have seen her.” But if I had, she had not made a strong impression. There were few enough girls interested in a religious career that it wasn’t hard to recall most of them, but this one had probably started her novitiate after I had left for graduate school.

  Joseph and I were sitting in her office with all the lights on. By the time I had arrived, after dinner and packing and apologizing a hundred times to Jack, most of the nuns had gone off to bed and the heat had turned itself down for the night. A small electric heater, like the one we had used in the dormitory on Christmas Night, whirred on and off a few feet from the table we sat at.

  “I sensed from the first time I met her, before that September, that she was an unstable person, that she was looking for something at St. Stephen’s that she wouldn’t find here or at any other convent, and although I expressed my opinion when I was asked, I didn’t do it as forcefully as I should have. Sister Clare Angela was sure Julia would work out well and make a contribution to the convent.” She paused. “And her parents were generous.”

  Yes, of course, I thought, keeping it to myself. Even in a convent, generosity could influence decisions. “I understand,” I said.

  “Right from the beginning there were difficulties. One night she was found missing from her room and several of us were awakened to form a search party. We went through all the rooms in the convent and the college and finally found her huddled in a confessional in the chapel, pouring out her sins to an absent confessor. She was in a terrible state, distraught, frightened. Sister Clare Angela called her parents—although Julia begged her not to—and they came and picked her up. But a few days later she was back, looking fresh and happy and as normal as any of the girls in the college.”

  “How did her parents feel about her returning?”

  “They seemed all for it, her mother especially. They really seemed to believe that she would be all right here, that our life was what she needed. Later, when I had a chance to think about it, I came to realize that they were using us in place of psychiatry, as a substitute for therapy and medical help.”

  “A convent is probably more acceptable than a sanitarium in most families.”

  “I’m afraid that’s it in a nutshell. Anyway, there were other problems, other outbursts, other indications that Julia’s life was far from normal.”

  “I suppose Hudson counseled her.”

  “It was part of his duties. The village parish, as you know, is very small and their pastor has been our pastor for generations. He celebrated mass with us, heard our confessions, and counseled several students. True, this one was different, but it was part of his work and I think he always enjoyed counseling. He always liked young people, and even though he was in his thirties at the time, he seemed like such a boy himself. Students always felt he understood them, and I know he did.”

  At that point I began to sense what was coming. My stomach felt a little sick, my throat was too dry. Joseph was going to tell me that a disturbed novice had nearly ruined Hudson’s sterling career. “Tell me what happened.”

  “It was terrible, Chris. Hudson recognized after a few weeks of counseling that she needed professional secular help. He talked to her parents, who were furious with him. I know that Hudson gave the matter a
great deal of thought, because I was one of the people he talked to about it. We agreed that if her parents had been the kind of people who were open to medical help, sending her home would have been the best course. But he was concerned—we were concerned—that living at home would only make matters worse. She was adamant about staying here. She seemed almost afraid to go home. And to be perfectly honest, I have to admit that when she was well, she was a lovely person. She was helpful, she had a smile for everyone.”

  “But something happened.”

  “I think it was just before Thanksgiving. We were sleeping. I remember that I woke to hear what sounded like a wail. I went out into the hall. Several nuns were already there. We didn’t know where it was coming from or what was making the sound, but we knew we had to find the source. It was coming from Julia’s room. She was lying in her bed, curled up, and emitting this terrible sound, this sound of doom—that’s the only way I can describe it.”

  “What had happened?”

  Joseph moved her hands. “Nothing, as far as we could see. She had no temperature, she wasn’t ill, she was just in a terrible state. When she calmed down enough to speak, she said something like, ‘He was here and we have known each other.’

  “Someone said, ‘Who was here?’ and she said, ‘Father McCormick.’ ”

  Joseph stopped. It was clear how painful it was for her to tell the story, to relive that awful night. “The first thing Sister Clare Angela did was clear the room. She kept Sister Mary Teresa with her—you remember her; she was in her sixties then and in good health. She’s been in the villa for the last few years and her health has unfortunately deteriorated.”

  “I remember. They were always good friends.”

  “I think Sister Clare Angela wanted a witness, if nothing else, to anything that might be said in that room. I went downstairs and called the rectory. Father McCormick answered as though I had awakened him from a deep sleep, which I’m sure I had. I told him briefly what had happened. He offered to come to the convent, but I said he should wait to see if Sister Clare Angela wanted him.”

  I was following her logic. The Mother House, as well as the dormitory, was locked up tight in the evening, usually by nine o’clock, when most of the nuns went to bed. If someone tried to enter the Mother House, a doorbell would ring in Sister Clare Angela’s room. And any man who managed to gain entry and tried to walk through the halls would be extremely foolhardy. At any moment a nun might get up and walk out of her room to go to the bathroom or, on a sleepless night, to walk, to sit downstairs with a book, or even to go out to the chapel to pray. Not that I believed for a moment that Hudson had entered the mother house in any way but the novice’s fantasy.

  “So Hudson was in the rectory,” I said.

  “And I am his witness, although he didn’t need one. Sister Clare Angela spent some time calming Julia down, after which she fell asleep. In the morning Sister Clare Angela called the Farraguts and said Julia would have to leave St. Stephen’s.”

  “I don’t know how they could refuse.”

  “I suppose if things had been normal in their house, they wouldn’t have. Sister Clare Angela talked to Mr. Farragut, who said his wife had recently been hospitalized and there was no way he could care for his daughter without her.”

  “What was wrong with her?”

  “I gather he didn’t say or she didn’t ask, but we found out later that Mrs. Farragut had suffered from mental problems on and off over the years and she had recently been committed to an institution.”

  “What an ordeal,” I said. “The poor man.”

  “It certainly seemed that way. Sister Clare Angela had a meeting of her council, of which I was a member, and we agreed reluctantly that we would have to keep Julia at the convent until Mr. Farragut could make arrangements for her, which he promised to do. Hudson came to St. Stephen’s the next day and spent a lot of time with her. He reported to our group that she was confused about a number of things, that she had denied to him that she had said what several of us had heard her say the night before. He said he would try to see Mr. Farragut to talk to him about Julia’s situation, but I really don’t know if any meeting or conversation ever took place. Later that day Sister Clare Angela got a phone call from Mr. Farragut. He was outraged and nearly incoherent. His daughter had told him that Father McCormick had raped her and he was going to take the case to the bishop.” Joseph paused, looking quite miserable.

  “Joseph, did anyone take Julia to a doctor to be examined?”

  “Of course, that would have been the correct thing to do. Why we didn’t, I’m not sure, except that Julia had never used the word rape or indicated that anyone had assaulted her.”

  “I’m wondering,” I said, “how her father got his information.”

  “Remember, everything I know came to me secondhand. I assume Julia telephoned him during the day.”

  “Either before or after she spent time with Hudson.”

  “Before or after, yes.”

  “How strange, but then, she wasn’t exactly a rational person.”

  “No, she wasn’t.”

  “And we can assume that Hudson knew a great deal more about her problems than he discussed with you.”

  “It’s fair to assume that, yes. But whatever he knows will be kept from us forever.”

  We were referring to the confessional. If Julia Farragut had had secrets, fantasies, desires that she could not or would not speak of outside the confessional, Father McCormick would never disclose any of it even if his life or his career depended on it. And it was also possible, although not required by the church, that he would consider the counseling sessions to be equally privileged, as such sessions with a psychiatrist would be.

  “How did it all end?” I asked.

  “Not happily. We kept Julia over Thanksgiving and had our annual feast, which she participated in very enthusiastically. But late that night Sister Clare Angela got a call from the sanitarium where Mrs. Farragut was a patient. Julia’s mother had hanged herself a few hours earlier.”

  The shock that ran through me was violent. Joseph’s description of Julia Farragut and the events of that year had been so clear and so moving that I felt as though I knew her, as though I had been there that semester instead of far away on a peaceful campus. “How terrible,” I said. “No wonder she was disturbed, living with a disturbed mother.”

  “That’s how all of us felt. But we were also concerned for Hudson. It turned out that before Mrs. Farragut’s death, her husband had spoken to the bishop and the bishop contacted Hudson.”

  “And that’s when the arrangements were made.”

  “Quite rapidly, as I remember. All this happened before the current wave of stories about abuse in the church, and I thank God for that. If such a thing happened today, it would probably be made public and the priest’s reputation would be ruined before he had a chance to defend himself. Not that I think everyone charged is innocent. But Hudson was innocent. Hudson never touched that girl, with or without her permission.” She spoke firmly, passionately. Joseph is the kind of friend who will stand by you forever.

  “How much of this got out, Joseph?”

  “I think we managed to contain it. The nuns, of course, knew; at least many of them did. I am convinced the bishop believed Hudson and wanted only to save his reputation by getting him away as soon as possible. I have never discussed any of this with Father Kramer, but I assume the bishop didn’t leave him in the dark. But I believe that the village parish was kept out of the rumor mill.”

  “So you gave him a big party and he went out west.”

  “Essentially that’s it. But of course, there was still Julia.”

  “I hope she was given professional care.”

  “I wish she had been.” Joseph pushed her chair away from the table and stood up. She nudged her glasses a little higher on her nose and walked to her desk. “Her father came for her the next day. Sister Clare Angela had already told her about her mother.”

  “Ho
w did she take it?”

  “Strangely. As if she hadn’t quite heard the news or it had failed to penetrate. She became very quiet. Either Sister Clare Angela or Sister Mary Teresa sat with her for a long time that night and finally she fell asleep. In the morning she went to prayers with the rest of us, and to mass, then went back to her room and packed her bags. Her father never called to say he was coming, but she seemed to know that he would. She was downstairs waiting for him when he arrived to take her home. I remember seeing her there, still in her habit, standing like a lost waif next to her suitcase. In fact, he drove up just a few minutes after she got back to the Mother House.”

  “Back from where?”

  “She asked Hudson to hear a last confession.”

  “I see.” It didn’t sound like the act of a victim.

  “I walked her to the chapel myself and waited outside for her. Then we walked back together. She never said a word. I don’t know where Hudson was. He must have stayed in the chapel.”

  “How do you know she didn’t get medical care?”

  Joseph came back to the long table and stood with her hands on the back of the chair she had left a few minutes earlier. “We heard afterward that she had stayed at home with her father after her mother died. And on Christmas”—she paused—“Julia hanged herself.”

  “Oh Joseph.”

  “It could not have ended more tragically. I cannot tell you how many times over the last seven years I have asked myself if we couldn’t have done more for her, if we shouldn’t have overridden her father’s order and gotten a psychiatrist, if one of us could have helped her with the counseling.” She looked as though she were putting herself through the agony once again. “When Sister Clare Angela was ill, she spoke to me of it again and again, as though her entire religious career hung on that poor child. It was devastating, Chris.”

  “I can imagine. How terrible for everyone. No wonder Hudson never came back to visit. The thought of all that must have been enough to keep him away.”