Chapter 33

Bruton takes Farrell into a side chapel during Communion. “Trenton’s calling. The collections have to be moved. Now.”

She protests. “I’m a little busy?”

“We’re all busy.” He looks around, drops his voice to a whisper. “The volcano doesn’t care, and the volcano won’t wait for us to do what we want to do.”

Farrell promises to meet him at Fair Mantle Village. She’s got to stop at The House for a moment.

Brut takes her arm. “Farrell, please. We haven’t got time. If you stop at The House, you’ll stay at The House. Let me deal with Francis. The Guard is waiting.”

Farrell says she’ll go to Fair Mantle Village right away if Brut calls Effen right away. He agrees. He calls The House as he holds the passenger door open for Farrell.

The Guard is indeed waiting. This time the state means business. Transports are positioned in front of each Village building. There’ll be none of the lumbering around with the two solitary trucks used during the first evacuation.

Around four-thirty Brut ushers Farrell out of the visitors center. He’s called a car to bring her home to South Windsor, where she’ll be safe.

A man opens the back door of a dark Lincoln sedan parked on the path in front of the visitors center. Farrell holds back. Brut guesses the cause of her reluctance. “Don’t worry, we’ll get Francis down to you as soon as he makes arrangements for his business.” He gives Farrell a fatherly pat on the cheek. “I’ve always had your interests at heart, Farr. You’ll see.”

The driver says they’ll go down a local state highway, take another highway to the Garden State Parkway, and then get on the Turnpike.

Farrell would rather take the back route down Routes 202 and 206, but the driver’s way is quicker. She’s got to call Effen as soon as she steps in her door.

The driver is a pleasant, chatty professional, Farrell isn’t in the mood for conversation, but she figures it’s better than brooding.

They’re off the Parkway north of Newark earlier than Farrell expected. Suddenly they’re on the ramp to Newark International Airport.

Farrell leans on the driver’s seat. “What happened? Was somebody tailgating you, that you had to get off here?”

The man beams. “This is the only way to get to the British Airways terminal.”
British Airways? “Do you have somebody else to bring my way?”

“Haha, the doc thought you’d be surprised. See the armrest in the center of the seat back there? Pull it up.”

A packet of paperwork for travel arrangements is squished into the rectangular space beneath the lid. “Check it out! You’ve got two weeks at special guest quarters at Oxford University. There’s some kind of music seminar going on. You’ll see. It’s all there.”

So it is. Farrell’s surprise doesn’t stop her from wondering if Effen will join her on the plane. But reason kicks her fantasy out of the way. Effen’s wife and daughters are being buried. There is no way on earth that he belongs on a vacation trip to Oxford. No, Francis Hume can’t be included in this outing. Nor should she.



Elizabeth hugs Farrell inside the terminal door. “Darling! Isn’t my husband a gem? He promised me he’d make up for the vacation we missed last year. I never thought it would happen like this!”

Reason digs in. Farrell has no money or luggage. Her passport is in her bag only because she needed it as proof of citizenship when Brut hired her three weeks ago.
But money, luggage and passport are nothing. She’s not going to England.

She waves to a policeman.

Elizabeth runs.

Farrell, fit after walking around hilly Fair Mantle Village, catches up with her and brings Elizabeth down the way she toppled Effen.

A crowd gathers. Police intervene. A wailing Elizabeth wants Farrell arrested for assault.

The officers separate the two women and bring them in two different directions.

Elizabeth sobs in a whiny falsetto. “I’m so humiliated.”

Farrell shows none of the fear or feigned bravado that can consume targets of arrest. She looks the patrolman in the eye.

“This may sound odd, officer, but I think I’ve just been kidnapped.”