Chapter Text
April 6th, 1972.
She hadn’t always had a strong faith. She couldn’t even say now that her faith was strong, but it was there. When Monsignor Harris announced he was leaving, she realised how invaluable his time had been. He would sit and he would listen, about George being away and the isolation of the island, and they would pray. Even if her faith hadn’t been strong, the prayer had helped.
Monsignor Harris stayed for his final Easter Mass on Crockett Island, and announced that his successor would be arriving during the week. Mildred knew what she had to do. It was to ease her own mind, more than it was to welcome the new priest, but she went to him the moment she heard of his arrival from the mainland. She expected to meet someone similar to Monsignor Harris. He would even be living in the rectory that she’d always known as the Monsignor’s home. He likely wouldn’t have the same experience as Harris, but she pictured someone older with the same level of knowledge; someone who could still listen and advise her and pray with her.
Mildred reached the rectory shortly after noon, when the sun was high and most people were still at work. There were few men eligible for the draft like George.
She knocked on the rectory door, and waited.
The man who answered did not match her expectations. She had to glance at his collar, just to assure herself that he really was the new father. He must have been, but he wasn’t old. He couldn’t have been more than five or six years older than herself. His face only had the faintest hints of lines beginning to form around his eyes and mouth, and his black hair didn’t show a single streak of grey.
He didn’t carry any of the weight of experience or knowledge she’d hoped for.
He smiled at her, and the lines on his face appeared.
“Hello?”
Collecting herself, she smiled back and held out her hand.
“You must be Father Pruitt,” she began. He nodded, his smile brightening his dark eyes, and took her hand in both of his. They were warm, and the warmth spread up to her cheeks.
She licked her lips and pulled her hand back.
“I’m Mildred Gunning,” she finished.
“Mrs. Gunning,” he realised, nodding like he already knew her. “Monsignor Harris told me about you. He said you come to St. Patrick’s regularly, to talk?”
It shouldn’t have flattered her that the Monsignor had mentioned her at all, but a part of it did. It was dampened slightly, by the reminder of her married name. The title felt wrong coming from him. She stared at his face, at the openness in his eyes and that young eagerness to help, and found herself nodding. She was even prepared to tell a lie.
“Yes,” Mildred said. “Yes, that’s why I’m here.”
Father Pruitt invited her inside with a warm smile and the door held wide open. She accepted the offer without hesitation.
April 3rd, 2021.
“We need to talk.”
John stared at her, through the small crack where he’d barely opened the door, before he stepped aside and made room for her to enter.
Being allowed inside wasn’t a surprise. He’d always welcomed her in, no matter what time of day or night she arrived at his door. The surprise came when she saw how dark the rectory was. The curtains were all drawn, doors closed. He was already partially-dressed. Even with the light still outside, he wore his black trousers and shirt, and the collar. John always wore his collar.
He closed the door and shied away from the windows. A small ray of light peeked through a crack in the curtains. He skirted around it, and she knew. Sarah was right. Their smart, brilliant daughter who Mildred had told to run, to find a way off the island, was right.
Mildred watched John, and the way he wanted to keep his eyes on her and look away all at once. Untying the knot beneath her chin, she rounded him and dropped her bag and scarf onto his desk. If he couldn’t look at her, then she wouldn’t look at him. She would use the distance to her advantage. Sarah and Erin needed time to find a boat that could take them away. Mildred accepted John’s silence for a moment longer, until the quiet threatened to choke her and she had to say something.
“I know, John,” she said at last. “Sarah figured it out.”
His eyes snapped up to her face, and he smiled. The mention of their daughter, no matter how painful, always made him smile. Mildred tried to tamp down the warmth she felt for him, and the desire to go to him. She swallowed against the lump in her throat, and kept talking.
“She told me about the blood.”
“Millie…”
She shook her head. “I know you have something planned. You need to tell me what.”
He was one of the tallest men she’d ever known, certainly taller than the rest of the church, but in that moment he seemed to shrink. His arms wrapped around his middle, and she couldn’t resist anymore. Her feet moved forward before she could stop them, and she went to him. She took his hands to stop him from gripping on to himself.
“It’s too late,” he muttered.
She shook her head adamantly.
“It’s never too late, John.”
He looked at her, really looked at her for the first time since her arrival. He looked at her as if he clung on to her every word; as if those were the exact words he’d hoped to hear. His hands gripped hers even tighter, and she squeezed his in return.
“You just have to tell me what’s going to happen,” she urged gently.
The words tugged on something inside him. She could see the change in his eyes, the way he looked at her. He took a deep breath, kissed her knuckles, and led her to his bedroom. It mirrored so many times he had done that in the past, or she had led him, but the churning in her stomach didn’t come from nervous excitement.
John shut the door behind them, and her heart joined the nervous thrum racing through her. There wasn’t a single part of her that didn’t trust him, but she knew she wouldn’t like what he was about to say. He would never hurt her. That didn’t mean he hadn’t hurt others.
“I… “ John cleared his throat. “I killed Joe Collie,” he admitted, forcing the words out. “Something came over me, I--… I don’t know. I don’t know what happened.”
With soft footsteps, Mildred gently rubbed his back and urged him towards the bed.
The rest of his confession came haltingly, as he explained what had happened to Joe, and how Bev had found him after. Mildred remained quiet, listening intently. She had to give him time. She had to make herself listen, no matter how harrowing and wrong it all was. Even when John bowed his head, she kept quiet and listened. She stood near him, touching his shoulder, his hair, until he told her about the poison and the room went quiet.
Then she stepped back, hugged her stomach, and began to pace.
John put his head in his hands. Prayer. That was what he always turned to. Whenever they talked about what was between them, his only answer was to pray. He never suggested that they should end their affair. He only suggested prayer, asking for guidance and advice.
Mildred sighed and shook her head. It was too late for prayer. After everything that had happened, and everything that was going to happen, she needed to take immediate action. They didn’t have time to wait for the guidance he always sought. She looked around the room. Only a little light crept through the closed curtains, and John kept himself tucked neatly away from it, but it was enough to see by. She took note of his bible, and the cardigan neatly laid out on the bed.
He didn’t look up from his prayer when she walked towards it, and saw the outline of his keys in the pocket.
Her hand hovered over it.
“You really can’t go out in sunlight?” she asked quietly.
John shook his head miserably, and Mildred snatched up the keys.
“Good.”
She marched out of the bedroom and out of the rectory. John hurried after her, calling her name, but he couldn’t follow her. Just as she’d hoped. He hissed and the rectory door slammed shut.
She would go back to him. She would make sure he was okay just as soon as she’d put a stop to his monstrous plan.
Keys jingling unhappily in her hands, she hopped up the steps two at a time, and unlocked the vestibule. The first key she tried didn’t work, but nobody came to see what she was doing. No one stopped her from slipping inside, and that was just as well. The cups were already there, set out along the tables. Even the tins of poison were set out, almost proudly. Bev had made no attempt to hide them. She trusted that no one but her and John would have access to the vestibule.
Mildred grabbed the first canister, unscrewed the top, and took it outside. The curtains of the rectory fluttered, and she knew John was watching her as she upended the rat poison over the edge of the steps. Then went back for another, and another, until all the tins were emptied and dumped in the grass.
The nerves that had built during her talk with John had twisted and changed. They rushed through her like adrenalin, fuelling her determination.
She turned her attention to the cups. Bev hadn’t had a chance to fill them with anything yet. There were still a few more moments before sunset, and an hour or two more before midnight. She thought she had time, but so did Mildred. She swept her arms across the cups, sending them clattering across the table top and floor. They bounced at her feet, scattered around in a mess that would be unavoidable. Bev would know that someone knew her plan. She would go to the rectory.
Mildred upended the last of the trays, and turned to leave. She would lock the door, lock herself in with John, and make sure he didn’t leave until he saw sense.
“How did you get in here?”
Mildred froze.
With a pleasant, empty smile, Bev blocked her exit.
Beverly Keane had always been unpleasant, ever since she was a little girl. Mildred remembered that her parents were just the same; just as self-important. She sometimes wondered if Bev’s parents knew the truth about her and John, just from the way they looked down their noses at her. But if they ever had suspected the truth, they clearly hadn’t told Bev.
Mildred lifted her chin and took the keys from her pocket.
“John,” she said simply.
Something flashed in Bev’s eyes, but she kept that pleasant smile in place. Mildred didn’t know why she bothered. It fooled no one.
“The Monsignor,” Bev said evenly, stepping forward, kicking a cup aside, “is supposed to be resting. He has to build his strength up for tonight.” Looking over the mess, Bev picked up one of the emptied trays and inspected it. “He can’t afford any distractions.”
Mildred stood her ground. She could escape through the front of the Church, but she wouldn’t show unease to someone like Bev. It was almost dark. John would be waiting for the moment the sun set, and then he would come to her.
“And that’s all you are, Mildred Gunning,” Bev continued, looking up. “A distraction.”
Decades of suspicion, of wondering who did know and who didn’t, had made Mildred adept at schooling her expression. She would never show guilt, because she felt none. She would never show insult whenever someone mentioned the rumours about the Monsignor’s lack of celibacy. But she must have shown something, because the faintest of smirks ticked at the corner of Bev’s mouth.
Mildred clenched her jaw and moved forward. Bev held up the tray and blocked the path. John would be able to see them, if he was still watching, but the sun hadn’t set yet.
“I can’t let you just walk out of her,” Bev said calmly. Too calmly, as if Mildred was the unreasonable one for expecting she could leave. “Not now. The Monsignor might trust you, but he-- Well.” She smiled disapprovingly. “He is only a man, after all. And you’re--”
Mildred pushed past her. She’d heard all the insults directed at women like her before. She wouldn’t stand around to be called them by Bev, but Bev grabbed her by the arm.
“If you live after the flesh,” she recited, pulling Mildred back inside, “you shall die.”
Mildred resisted. “Let me go.”
“But if by the Spirit you put to death the deeds of the body,” Bev spoke over her, “you shall live.”
They struggled, and Mildred fell.