Reprisal

And Da

Da

"I don't want to go with her!" he sobbed, tears spilling from his eyes onto his cheeks.

Sara was seated by Bill's desk; the battered valise holding all of Da

"It's okay to be a little scared," he said. "Remember that talk we had? Remember what I told you about Tommy?"

"I don't care!" he said, his voice rising in the suddenly silent office. "She's bad! She's mean!"

"Come now, Da

The boy threw his arms around Bill's neck and clung to him, trembling.

"She's going to hurt me!" he screamed. "Don't make me go! Please don't make me go! She's going to hurt me!"

Bill was shocked at the outburst. But there was no denying Da

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Sara rise to her feet and step toward them. Her eyes were full of hurt.

"I—I don't understand," she said.

"Just some last-minute jitters," Bill told her, trying to assuage the pain he saw in her eyes. "Coupled with an overactive imagination."

"This seems to be more than just a case of simple jitters," Sara said.

Gently, Bill pushed Da

"Da

"No one," he said, blubbering and sniffling.

"Then how can you say them?"

"Because!"

"Because isn't good enough, Da

"Nowhere. I just… know!"

Sara stepped forward. Slowly, hesitantly, she reached out and placed her hand on Da

"Oh, Da

Bill felt Da

"You're going to be my little boy," Sara was saying in a soothing, almost-mesmerizing voice as she stroked his head. "And I'm going to be your mother. And together with Herb the three of us will make a wonderful family."

Da

In that instant Bill was nearly overcome by an almost-uncontrollable urge to call the whole thing off, to wrap Da

He buried the impulse. It was the father-son thing rearing its selfish, possessive head. He had to let go of this boy.

"You're not really afraid of me, are you, Da

He turned and looked up at her.

"No. I'm just scared of leaving here."

"Don't be afraid, Da

Something in her words sent a chill across Bill's shoulders but he forced himself to let go of Da

I have to let go!

"I'd better take a rain check, Nick," Bill said into the phone. "It's snowing like crazy."

Nick's voice was ti

"Since when did a little white stuff ever bother you? Either you get yourself over here now or, snow or no snow, I'm coming over there and dragging you back."

"Really, Nick. I'm good where I am."

"The Qui

He understood and appreciated Nick's concern. He'd always spent part of Christmas with Mom and Dad. But this year…

"I'm not alone. I'm going to spend it with the boys. Which reminds me that I've got to check on them right now. I'll see you Saturday night. A Merry Christmas to you, and to the Qui

"All right," he said resignedly. "You win. Merry Christmas, Father Bill."

Bill hung up and walked down the hall to check on the kids. The dormitory was quiet. Excitement had filled these halls all week, rising ever higher with the decorating of the tree, reaching a fever pitch here a couple of hours ago as he'd overseen the hanging of the stockings by the old never-used fireplace in the dining hall downstairs. But all the boys were in bed now and those who weren't already asleep were trying their best to doze off. Because everybody knew that Santa didn't come until the whole house was sleeping.

Christmas. Bill's favorite time of year. And it was being around the boys that made it for him. They were so excited this time of year, especially the little ones. The bright eyes, the eager faces, the i

God knew there were periods since the fire last March when he could have used a couple of bottles of the stuff. Tomorrow was a milestone of sorts, a dread marker along his personal road: the first December 25th in his life when he wouldn't be able to call his folks and wish them a Merry Christmas.

An aching emptiness expanded in his chest. He missed them. More than he'd ever thought he could or would. But he'd weather tomorrow. The boys would carry him through it.

Satisfied that everyone was asleep or very nearly so, Bill padded downstairs and began unloading the gifts from a locked pantry closet. Most of them had been donated by the local parishioners and wrapped by the sisters who taught the orphans at Our Lady of Lourdes elementary school next door. Good people one and all, pitching in to see that none of the boys went without a couple of presents on Christmas Day.

When the gifts were arranged under the tree Bill stepped back and surveyed the scene: A scraggly limbed balsam laden with a motley assortment of hand-me-down ornaments and garish blinking lights stood guard over piles of brightly wrapped boxes, each tagged with a boy's name. He smiled. Bargain-basement decor, to be sure, but the real giving spirit of Christmas was there. It looked as if Santa had risked a hernia on his trip to St. F.'s this year. Bill was begi

He unplugged the tree lights and climbed the stairs. Halfway up he heard his office phone ringing. He ran for it. If this was Nick again—

But it wasn't. It was Da

"Father Bill! Father Bill!" he screeched in a high-pitched voice bursting with terror. "You gotta come get me! You gotta get me outta here!"

"Calm down, Da

"I can't talk! He's go

"Who? Herb?"

"You gotta come get me, Father! You just gotta!"

"Where's Sara? Put her on and let me speak to her."

"No! They don't know I'm on the phone!"

"Just get Sara—"

"No! Sara's gone! There ain't no Sara! He's go

"Da