The girl shook her head. “Well, I did. Once. But that was before…”
“Before?”
“I’m a member of a church,” she said primly.
“Oh. I see. No drinking?”
“Or dancing. We…we try to serve, you see.”
“Serve who?”
She was shocked. “Why—God, of course!”
“How are you serving him?” Angela asked.
“Well, by…not drinking or dancing and serving—” The girl shifted in her seat.
“Serving who?”
Gabby looked down at her folded hands.
“Are your parents here, in the city?” Angela asked.
“I don’t see them anymore,” she said.
“Why not? They must be thrilled about the baby.”
Gabby winced, fixing her gaze on her hands once again. “They don’t know about the baby.”
“Most grandparents would love news of a baby. Did—did they throw you out of the house, or…or what?”
“No, no—I belong to the church,” she blurted.
“And the church doesn’t want you to see your parents? Oh, Gabby! That doesn’t sound very good.”
Gabby looked at Angela and there were suddenly huge tears in her eyes. “I believed…I believed that they were right. I believed in…serving.”
“Serving how?” Angela couldn’t quite prevent the sharpness that came into the question. “Every church, temple and so on that I’ve ever heard about preaches love—love between parents and children as well as God!”
Suddenly, the tears began to drip down Gabby’s cheeks. “I thought…I don’t know, it all seemed to be all right, but I can’t just give…we were all supposed to love one another, but it doesn’t feel right. Tonight, I had to see…I had to see what he was doing.”
“He? The baby’s father? Is he the head of the church?”
Gabby shook her head. “I—I’m sorry. I can’t tell you.”
“It’s my opinion that you should go home. To your parents. Do they know that you’re still in the city?”
“They tried to get me away from the church,” Gabby admitted. “But it was against the law for them to harass me or the church. I am eighteen.”
Eighteen, pregnant and learning that the promised land was not so ideal, and that she had human emotions and needs that went beyond promises of redemption for her devoted duty to—to whoever was pulling the strings.
The soup came. Gabby wiped her cheeks and started to sip it. She was starving, or so it seemed. Angela tried to be patient, letting her get down a good portion of food before talking to her again.
“Gabby, are you married to the child’s father?”
“Oh, yes! Well, not in the eyes of the corrupt law—but in the eyes of the church.”
“Hmm. Does the baby’s father have other wives?”
Gabby’s eyes widened.
“He does. And you’ve realized that when you love someone, you don’t want to share. And, tonight, you’ve also realized that the man you thought you loved is someone different entirely?”
“He has to—he has to keep the job he has. It’s—it’s just part of his—job,” Gabby said.
“That’s a crock!” Angela said flatly. It was confusing. His job was part of his job? He worked for the senator—and for the church. But his work for one or the other was felonious. If the senator had asked him to get involved with the church, the man had certainly taken the task to heart! But…
What if the church was his real passion and his work for the senator something he was doing because of the church, as Gabby suggested?
She hadn’t meant to speak so quickly, or so coldly, but it turned out to be the right thing. The girl sat back, folding her hands in her lap. “It is a crock, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“Gabby, any organization that wants to cut you off from people who love you can’t be offering you the best that is out there. I know how easy it is to get caught up in wanting to belong, to feel important, to be a part of something. But it sounds as if this hasn’t been a great experience. Tell me, do you love your parents? Did you love them before all this came about?”
“Oh, they wanted me home, they didn’t want me out with some of the people I was hanging with…I guess I was smoking a lot of pot…a few other things,” she shook her head. “So, at first…well, I did quit the pot.”
“Since you’re pregnant, that’s a very good thing. Tell me, do you want the baby?”
“Oh! I—I—I, yes. I do want the baby.”
“Gabby, go home. Go to your parents. They are probably praying every single day that you will come home.”
“Just—just go home?” Gabby whispered.
“Just go home. Do you want me to come with you?”
Gabby smiled suddenly. “No, I can do it.” Her smile faded. “Do you really think that they’ll take me back now I’m coming back with nothing but…a baby?”
“They’ll love you, and they’ll love the baby,” Angela assured her, hoping she was telling the girl the absolute truth. But Gabby hadn’t left home because of abuse. She had done so because she had been young and impressionable. Her parents had come for her.
“I’m going to do it,” Gabby said. “After tonight…”
“Gabby, is Martin DuPre the father of your baby?” Angela asked.
Gabby stared at her and gasped. But then she shook her head. “No, no, no. I really can’t tell you the father of the baby. I really can’t. Please. Believe me.”
“Why?”
Gabby was growing agitated. “I—I don’t know. There were a lot of maybes.”
She was lying, but she was terrified to admit that the father was Martin DuPre.
It came back again to one question. Did Senator Holloway know that his aide was associated with the Church of Christ Arisen? Not just associated—heavily involved? And if so, how involved was he?
“All right, all right, Gabby. It’s all right. I don’t know why you’re so afraid, but if you’re going home, that’s what’s important.”
The girl stared at her a long time, and then smiled. “Angela Hawkins. I know your name. You’re investigating the Madden C. Newton house. The senator’s house. Are you a ghost hunter?”
“How do you know my name?” Angela asked her.
“It was in the newspaper—you dug a skeleton out of the floor.”
“I see. Of course,” Angela murmured.
Gabby suddenly looked frightened again. “You can’t say that you met me—please, you can’t say that you met me!” She looked as if she was going to rise and run out of the restaurant.
And right back to the church.
“Please don’t worry. I won’t say anything about meeting you, honestly. I’m going to put you in a cab right now, and send you home, and we’ll never say that we met at all, okay?”
She nodded. “I should call them.” She laughed bitterly. “But I don’t have a phone anymore. They don’t believe we should have phones.”
“How did you get here?”
“I walked. It’s only a few miles.”
Angela reached in her bag for her cell phone. She handed it to Gabby. “Call them,” she suggested softly.
What followed tore at her heart. She could vaguely hear the answer at the other end of the line. When the young woman first heard her mother’s voice, tears sprang into her eyes again. “Mommy?” she asked after a moment.
The woman’s joy at the sound of her daughter’s voice was now more than audible, even across the table. Then Gabby talked and cried, her words disrupted, but her emotion totally comprehensible. “I’m coming home, Mommy. I’m coming home. Now.”
After a moment, wiping her face again, she handed the phone back to Angela. “I don’t have any money. But I’ll get a real job, and get it back to you, if you lend me the money for the cab.”
“I’m going to pay this bill and take you outside and put you in a cab,” Angela said firmly. “Come on. It’s going to be a wonderful night for you, I promise.”
She wanted to get the young woman into a cab for home before Gabby could change her mind. She threw money down on the table for the food, and hurried out with her, holding the girl’s hand all the while. She saw an empty cab headed down Royal and quickly hailed it.
Gabby clutched her hand suddenly. “Why are you doing this for me?” she whispered. “You’re so kind! I’m just a stranger, I just…you must have really, really nice parents!”
Something seemed to catch in Angela’s throat. “I did,” she said quietly.
“What happened to them?”
“They died. Now, please, go home, and appreciate yours. Give me the address and get in.”
She wanted the address. She didn’t intend to betray Gabby, but she knew she needed the address. The girl’s home was in Metairie. She gave the driver a ten-dollar tip to make sure that he got her there safely.
She watched as the cab went slowly down Royal.
Then she turned back toward Bourbon Street.
She didn’t find Jackson in front of the cowboy bar, though she did wind up in a friendly crush of drunks coming and going. She saw the courtyard he had been talking about, and wandered to the gate. There were tarot readers set up in the courtyard area, and beyond, she saw a small walk-by bar that advertised quick, cheapie, frozen drinks, and beyond that, in oddly subdued neon lettering, a sign that advertised: Discreet! The Finest Dancers in All New Orleans. Men And Women Welcome.
She had a number of friends who would walk into any strip club, totally intrigued, amused and unashamed.
Sadly, she wasn’t one of them.
But then, it was worse just standing there on Bourbon Street with the crowds sweeping around her. People were mostly young and fun, but smiling back and laughing casually at the “Oh, baby, baby!” calls that were coming her way was getting to be a bit much for her.
