Read Online The Listener by Taylor Caldwell - Free Book Online Page B

angry at her. She hadn’t fulfilled her Easter duty for — how long? Ten years. Ten long years. How could she tell a priest that? Why, she was probably excommunicated by now! And she was afraid of the priests in this big city; they looked so sure and sharp and quick. Enough to scare a country girl to death. Very educated, not slow and easy and kind-looking like Father Stephen, who had all the time in the world to listen to you and help you. If she went to one of these big-city priests now — why, he’d probably drive her away! Not that she didn’t deserve it, at that. He’d be right. Still, she wished everything could be O.K.. Nothing had been O.K. since she was sixteen years old, when Mom died and Pa just disappeared and all the little kids were sent to the orphanage. Maybe they got adopted by nice people. She hoped so. She, their sister, hadn’t anything to give them. She’d always wanted to have something to give, but it never happened that way. At least now she had these flowers for the Man who Listens. She was twenty-eight years old, and plump and pretty, with thick yellow hair, light blue eyes, and a square, tender face full of delicate color. She did not know she was pretty. She had scoffed at Phil when he had told her, and at Francis. Francis. Tears came into her eyes, and she fumbled for her handkerchief. The chime sounded softly, and she got up and carried her flowers into the white and empty room.
     
    She did not know what she had expected, but certainly not this suffused quiet, these white walls, the blue curtains over the alcove, the waiting marble chair. She sat down fearfully, clutching her flowers.
     
    “I hope,” she murmured, “that someone’s here. They say someone always is. You, I guess. How could you be here all the time? Did you read my note?”
     
    There was no sound; it was like a church when there was no one there. But all at once Mary knew she was not alone. She smiled tremulously.
     
    “I shouldn’t be here,” she said. “Not a girl like me. You won’t want me here when I tell you. My name’s Mary Lanska. I sort of feel I should change it to Maggie or something. It’s a crying shame my name’s Mary.”
     
    A large tear, hot and burning, ran down her cheek. She gulped.
     
    “It was after Mom died and the kids went to the orphanage. I was sixteen and kind of independent, and I looked eighteen, almost. Mom was a good cook, and she taught me to keep house. So I got myself a job as a maid. Oh yes, that was in the little town where I come from, eighty miles from here. Rich people by the name of Mallon. He was a banker, Mr. Mallon, and owned practically everything in town. He wasn’t a good man, in the way I mean it. I don’t mean he drank or ran around — after all, he was kind of old, about fifty. And he didn’t beat up his old lady, the way my pa beat up Mom, and he didn’t wallop Phil around, either. But Phil — that’s his son — was nineteen, and too big, I guess. Four girls in the family, but Phil was the only boy. I never liked any of them but Phil. He was the only decent one. I still say so!” And she lifted her square and dimpled chin firmly.
     
    “No, Mr. Mallon wasn’t good! Mean, and never smiled except at the bank when he had a good customer. He did a lot for his church, too, I heard, but you can’t buy God, can you? Sister M. Benedict said God was the only thing you couldn’t buy in this world. She was sure right!
     
    “Well, anyway, Phil wasn’t the strong type. So he didn’t go away to school; he had a tutor and then went to the private school in the town. And then it was time for him to go to college. How old lady Mallon cried! You’d think Phil was going to his own funeral. And I cried, too, when I was alone at night. What would I do without Phil?
     
    “For you see, Phil and I loved each other. We really loved each other. No one can tell me different, no sir!” She shook her head vigorously. “I loved him the minute I saw him. A real