His inclined his head, expression pleased. “That is, indeed, a special story.” He laid his rosary in his Bible, marking his place, then closed the book. “It is a true story, one I was told by my grandparents, children at the time.
“ Key West was very different at that time. Cut off from the rest of the country by water.”
He looked past her, expression faraway. “Did you know, at one time Key West was the wealthiest city in America?” He returned his gaze to hers. “It’s true. Because of the salvaging industry. Ships crashed into the reef and went down. The bells would sound and there would be a great race to see which outfit reached the sinking vessel first.”
“The first to the vessel rescued the passengers and claimed the ship’s bounty as their own,” she murmured. “Is that right?”
“It is, indeed.” His lips lifted. “There are rumors that some of Key West ’s more nefarious entrepreneurs actually lured the vessels to the reef.”
“And you believe those rumors are true.”
“One must be watchful of greed, child. There’s a reason it’s one of the seven deadly sins.”
He sobered. “The devil is crafty, indeed. He captures us through the things that make us most human. Lust. Pride. Anger. Avarice. Envy. Sloth. Gluttony. These we must guard against, just as the Lord warned us we should.”
Liz thought of Tara and shuddered. The light in Father Paul’s eyes was the same she had seen in the girl’s. Somehow, it seemed less disturbing in a man of Father Paul’s age and religious stature.
“I’ve frightened you,” he murmured.
She rubbed her arms. “No, of course not.”
“I wish I had.”
She blinked in surprise. “Excuse me?”
He looked past her once more, expression faraway. “I know, you didn’t come here to be warned against the Beast. No one does anymore. It’s not…fashionable.”
He fell silent. His eyes closed. Liz waited, wondering if he had fallen asleep. And if he had, if she should wake him or leave.
Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked at her, his blue gaze as clear as a summer sky. “Back then, Paradise Christian was St. Stephen’s. And there in the walled garden, among the banyan and poinciana trees, the Blessed Mother appeared as a vision to the children. She didn’t speak, just hovered there, swathed in a halo as bright as the gold coins recovered from all those shipwrecked vessels. The children weren’t frightened. They were awed. They understood they were in the presence of God. They fell to their knees in prayer and thanksgiving. Several ran for Father Roberto.”
“Did he witness the vision?” she asked, spellbound.
The old priest shook his head. “He was too late. But he believed. After all, why would these children, good, faithful children, make such a thing up?
“For the next fourteen days,” he continued, “ Key West was blessed with one miracle after another. Sickness was cured. The blind could suddenly see, the crippled walk. Blood flowed from the hands of the statue of Christ.”
“And then the miracles stopped,” Liz whispered. “And the storm came.”
“Yes. The wind first, a gentle breeze from the west. The old-timers knew. The breeze, the movement of the water. Something was wrong. Word spread. A few packed up their families and made their way toward the mainland, from key to key by boat. Others refused to leave and instead began making preparations.
“Of course, as in all things, there were disbelievers. Naysayers. There would be no storm. The Lord had always spared this beautiful place, they believed he would spare her once more.”
But he didn’t spare her, Liz knew. She had read about this hurricane, thought the worst Key West had suffered. The year 1846 predated hurricane naming and classification systems, so it was called only the storm of 1846.
“Back then there was no early-warning system. No hurricane center in Miami. No Weather Channel.” His eyes clouded with the memory. “Only the church bells to ring. And only when it was already too late. The storm was all but upon them.”
Liz shivered, imagining. She knew from her reading that in those days the only way on and off the island was by boat. Flagler’s railroad didn’t open until 1912; the overseas highway not until 1938.
“For forty-eight hours the storm pummeled the island. With the scream of the wind could be heard the church bells and the cries of the lost ones. Many were washed out to sea, and for weeks afterward bodies floated ashore. Entire families, lashed together.” He lowered his voice. “Men, women and children. It’s a miracle that anyone was spared.”
“Your grandparents and their family were among the survivors.”
“Yes. They were protected. The Blessed Virgin protected them.”
Liz realized she was holding her breath and released it. “The church was destroyed.”
“Yes,” he murmured. “The church and all who had taken refuge there were washed out to sea.”
“So the archdiocese decided to demonize the visions.”
He shook his head, his expression unbearably sad. “The visions were a true miracle. Acts of God not demons. They were a warning to guard against the wicked, a warning of the approaching storm. The believers were saved.”
He lowered his voice to a crackly whisper. Liz leaned toward him, straining to hear. “The church lies on sacred ground. Listen well, child.” He reached out and caught her hand, his skin as dry as parchment, his grip surprisingly strong. “It is a profoundly holy place and must be protected at all costs. For in the desecration of the holy, evil extends its putrid grasp.”
CHAPTER 24
Monday, November 12
9:30 a.m.
Liz sat at her desk staring blankly at her far wall, Father Paul’s last words still ringing in her head. She had slept with them, tossing and turning, her dreams populated with demons, and with bodies floating facedown in the water.
“For in the desecration of the holy, evil extends its putrid grasp.
“For weeks afterward the bodies floated ashore. Entire families lashed together.”
She had been unable to sleep for those images in her head-ones drawn by Father Paul’s words-but also by Rick Wells’s comments. She had been haunted by his description of Tara ’s death, sketchy though it had been.
He had soft-pedaled the truth for her, she knew. The newspaper had carried even fewer details. But her mind had filled in the blanks-added details including Tara ’s last thoughts: ones, Liz imagined, of terror, for her baby’s life and her own. Liz had imagined the girl’s cries for help.
Liz brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. She had totally embarrassed herself in front of Rick Wells-falling apart and clinging to him, blubbering like a baby.
All those noisy tears had made him uncomfortable. She had seen it in his eyes. She had tried to stop them, had tried to rein them in, but it had been so long since she’d had someone to hold on to, strong arms to support her. His arms, his strength, had been so comforting, such a relief. She had simply melted against him and fallen apart.
Now, he thought her an emotional wreck.
Get in line, Wells. You’re not alone.
The phone rang and she jumped, startled. She grabbed it. “Liz Ames.”
“Ms. Ames, it’s Pastor Tim.”
Something in his tone had her straightening. “Yes, Pastor?”
“The strangest thing…I found something that belongs to you.”
“Something that belongs to me?” she repeated, frowning. “I wasn’t aware that I’d lost anything.”
“You misunderstand. I found an envelope addressed to you. In my study, under the cushion of the window seat.”
Rachel. It had to be from Rachel.
“Liz?”
“Sorry, that’s just so bizarre.”
“Would you like to pick it up now?”
“Yes. If that’s all right?”
“Fine. I’m working out of the parsonage this morning, not the church. Meet me there.”
Liz agreed, and not ten minutes later she hurried up the parsonage’s front walk. She found Pastor Tim waiting anxiously by the door.