Page 41 of Beautiful Ugly
“I didn’t expect to see you up here,” I say.
“God is a fair boss. The pay is shite but I do get an occasional day off,” says the Reverend. Melody Bates looks even more beautiful than I remember and she doesn’t look much like a priest today. Her long blond hair is tied back in a perfect ponytail. The black uniform and white collar are gone too, and she is dressed in tight denim shorts and a simple white T-shirt. From where I am standing I can see her cleavage and am doing my best not to look directly at it. It’s made more difficult by the ring she is wearing on a long, delicate chain around her neck. It’s a silver thistle, just like the one Sandy and Midge wore, I’m starting to wonder if they’re all part of a cult. Melody was reading a book when I walked over and snapped it closed when she heard me, as though embarrassed. Or as though she had been caught. She buries the paperback inside her backpack before I can see what it is.
“I meant that I’m surprised to see you because of the sign,” I say and she looks confused. “It said that the footpath was closed.”
“Did it? I didn’t notice. I always climb up here when I have the time—it’s a good place to get away from it all. Somewhere quiet to think.”
I would have thought that the church was pretty quiet.
“If there is a more beautiful place on this earth I haven’t found it, and yet so many ugly things have happened here. Do you know why they call them The Orphans?” she asks, holding the ring between her fingers and looking up at the peaks of the mountain.
“No. Can’t say that I do.”
“Rumor has it, in medieval times, a king from the mainland tried to capture the island. When the islanders saw the boats carrying his army approaching, they knew they would be outnumbered. So they sent their children up this mountain to hide, trying to keep them safe. It was the right thing to do. All the men who lived on the island were murdered straight away, the women wereraped then killed, and the land was stained red with their blood. When the king’s troops had eaten all the food that did not belong to them, drunk the wine that was not theirs, and taken anything of value, they sailed back to the mainland. The children were spared, but only because the king’s army couldn’t find them. They hid up here, on this mountain, until they saw the boats sail away. Their parents had told them not to come down until they came to collect them. But nobody came. Some stories say that the children starved to death, or died from the cold, that they were lost on the mountain and couldn’t find their way down. Others say that those poor little orphans were turned into these rocks, and now they guard the island that their parents failed to protect.”
“That’s an interesting story,” I say.
“It is, isn’t it. All nonsense of course. Men have been causing problems on this island since forever, but these peaks were formed from volcanic activity millions of years ago, shaped by hot molten lava.”
“You sound like quite the geologist!”
She smiles. “Not all religious people are incompatible with science, Grady. I’m glad we bumped into each other. I’ve been thinking about you since we met.”
The beautiful priest has been thinking about me.
“You have?” I can feel my heart thudding in my chest.
“I found the wedding ring that you very kindly put in the church donations box and I wanted to talk to you about it.”
For a second it feels as though my heart stops.
“Oh. That,” is all I manage to say.
“It will be a big help and go a long way toward fixing the church roof, but are you sure? And are you okay? If you ever need someone to talk to—”
“I’m fine, honestly. My wife is gone. It’s been difficult—when I first arrived here I thought I saw her everywhere—but I need to move on.”
She nods. “I’m very sorry for your loss. Grief can do strange things to a person. I see a lot of loss in my job—the world is full of broken hearts—but I see a lot of survivors too. Sometimes when a person gets knocked down by life it can be an upward fall, even though it hurts so very badly at the time. If there’s anything I can—”
She’s doing the head tilt of sympathy and I can’t bear it.
“I’m glad my old wedding ring is going to a good cause,” I say.
“Okay. Well, you know where to find me if you change your mind. I’d best be off. Prayers to pray, sinners to absolve, people to bury.” She stands up and dusts the dirt off her short shorts and now I feel bad.
“Please don’t leave because of me. I’ll be gone soon,” I say.
She shakes her head. “I don’t think that you will.”
Then she heads off down the mountain.
I sit for a while and wonder if I’ll ever be anyone other than the man whose wife disappeared. Someone people feel sorry for and awkward around. I am going to spend the rest of my life wondering if my wife is dead or alive. Maybe it simply isn’t possible to move on from something like that, no matter how far you travel. Columbo sits next to me and I’m grateful to have a silent companion. We share an apple while taking in the view. The clouds start to roll in a little faster, hiding the sun for longer until the air is distinctly cooler than it was before. I decide we should probably start heading back. I normally find going downhill much easier—my knees complain but the rest of me prefers it—but something doesn’t seem quite right. The journey up was straightforward enough because I could see The Orphans and I knew what direction I was headed in. But on the way down, I soon start to feel lost. I find myself on a rocky mountain path that I do not recognize or remember. A blanket of low cloud has drifted across the valley while we’ve been hiking, making itdifficult to see where we have been or where we are going. I can no longer see The Orphans behind me, and I can only see a few feet ahead of me.
I begin to retrace my steps and Columbo starts to bark. I turn to see what has bothered him but I can’t see anything through the mist. Nothing at all. The wind has picked up too, and I think I hear someone calling my name in the distance.
“Grady.”
At first, I think it is the priest, but the second time I hear my name I recognize the voice.