In the Bleak Midwinter

“You’ll be taking on a big responsibility, Mr. McWhorter. A big, expensive, time-consuming responsibility. And we’ll make sure you’re doing your job.” She smiled blindingly. “We all feel connected to Cody here at Saint Alban’s. So we’ll be keeping an eye on him. Not just Geoff and Karen, but a whole lot of us. Dropping by to see how he’s doing. Talking to the neighbors. Checking him out when he’s at the grocery store and the bank and the pediatrician’s office.” She could hear her voice loosen into a light Virginia drawl. “Chief Van Alstyne is interested, too, and I’ll bet he’d be happy to arrange for police drive-bys every day. We’ll all be watching out for little Cody. And at the first hint of neglect or abuse one of us will have DSS on you like fleas on a hound.”

“Hey!” McWhorter crumpled the paper he was holding. “You saying I’m gonna beat this kid or starve him or something? Where do you get off saying that?”

“I’m not saying what you will or will not do, Mr. McWhorter. I’m telling you what we all are going to do. I’m telling you, realistically, that you are not going to make one dime off that baby. To the contrary, you can look forward to spending a lot more than you’re used to on the child. Or, you can authorize the Burnses to take custody of your grandson, and accept their more than generous offer to pay any debts Katie left behind.”

“You’re threatening me, aren’t you? I’m being threatened by a priest and a couple of rich lawyers. For trying to give my grandson a good life and a family he can be proud of.”

Clare drank some coffee. She balanced the mug casually in her hand, where McWhorter could see the flying rattlesnake and the motto DEATH FROM THE SKY! She looked at him levelly. “I never threaten, Mr. McWhorter.” His eyes flickered from the coffee cup to her face. “You have a chance to save yourself considerable trouble and to do the right thing for your grandson. Why don’t you take it?” The Burnses were still staring at her. Yes, she thought, I am a very different priest from Father Hames. Get used to it.

McWhorter looked at the papers on his lap. He shuffled them together in a messy pile and rolled them up. “I . . .” He looked over to the Burnses, frowning. “Maybe. I’ll take this home and show it to my wife. Talk it over with her. She had her heart set on having that baby come live with us, you understand.”

“She can visit with Cody as much as she wants,” Karen said. “I’ll drive her myself if need be.”

McWhorter rose, and they all rose with him. “Maybe.” He headed into the hallway, Clare and the Burnses close on his heels. “So,” he said, eyeing the carpet and the woodwork and the prints hanging from the walls as if he were casing the joint, “Cody would come to this church if he were your kid?”

“That’s right,” Karen said. “It’s a wonderful community. Not many children now, but we expect that to change over the next few years.”

McWhorter stopped in front of the parish family bulletin board, looking at the snapshots of congregants and their families. “Hey, here’s you.” He stabbed a finger at the picture neatly labeled “Geoff Burns and Karen Otis-Burns.”

“Many of those pictures were taken during the parish picnic last June,” Karen said, her voice unnaturally cheery and light. “Maybe you and Mrs. McWhorter could come along with Geoff and me next summer. We could all show off Cody together.”

McWhorter continued to study the wall of photographs. Clare felt the back of her neck prickle. Something about the way McWhorter was acting didn’t fit with a man who had been closed into a corner. “Why don’t we all—” she began.

McWhorter shifted to face them. “I don’t think so.”

“What?” Karen’s voice was polite, but shaky.

“I’ve thought about it, and I can’t give him up. He’s the only thing I have left of my Katie. He stays with me and my wife.”

“What sort of game are you playing, McWhorter?” Geoff Burns crowded the taller man against the wall. “We aren’t going to come back with an offer of money, so you can just forget it!”

McWhorter sidled past Geoff and retreated to the parish hall. “No. Sorry. I’m keeping him.”

“Wait!” Karen said “Maybe we can work something out! What if we got you a new car, so you could drive over to see Cody?”

She tried to follow after McWhorter, snapping to a halt when her husband jerked back on her upper arm. “Stop it, Karen,” he said. “Let him go.”

“Wait,” she said. “Wait!” McWhorter reached for the doors. “God damn you!” Karen’s voice thickened. “God damn you!” Clare put her arm around the other woman. She met Geoff’s eyes and tried not to flinch away from the resigned pain she saw there. Together, they held Karen tightly as her body heaved with the effort to expel tears and venom. “I could kill you, you bastard!” she shouted after the vanished man. She laid her head against her husband, weeping with rage. “I could kill him,” she whispered. “I could kill him.”