Our Father...

Maybe things were finally getting back on track. It finally felt like things were clearing up, after the tragic deaths of her mother and brother. She was finally back to school, and picking up where she left off. Last night, her father had smiled at her, laughed with her, and kissed her good night. This morning, for the first time in weeks, he’d gotten up and gone to work without Abbie having to prod him out of bed and without having to nag him to do so. She was happy, and she’d smiled and laughed at school. Things were settling down, as everyone had promised her that they would. She owed a lot of people apologies, especially Father Manuel, her school’s Priest.

The walk home from school was beautiful. It was an overcast day, and cold drizzling rain fell on her face. It was Abbie’s favorite sort of weather, and it brought a smile to her face, and caused her to pause and spin slowly in the rain, arms open wide. She often chose to walk home from school, because it gave her a chance to be alone, and to work through the thoughts in her head. Just now, she was planning the beautiful dinner that she would cook for her father, and deciding which of his favorite desserts to cook for him, imagining them sitting together, laughing and talking like they used to do. It made her happy, just to think that she and her father were healing, and that they might be okay after all.

Happiness had settled in her stomach, but as she rounded the corner that took her to her street, something in her stomach began to sour, causing the happy feelings to be replaced by dread. There were three cars parked in her driveway, and none of them were her father’s nor did they belong to anyone else that she might know. Her steps slowed, and a sad suspicion crossed her features. Walking up her driveway felt like torture, and she had the sudden feeling that her world was going to turn utterly upside down. Shaking hands fished in her sweater pocket, before producing the key to her house, and she unlocked the door, and walked inside. Silence greeted her, and by now her whole body had begun to shake. She had a very good idea what this meant.

The last time her house had been this silent, Mom and Kyle had died, and Abbie had been forced to deal with it, before rushing off to find her father. Well, the cops had. Abbie had spent the night in the precinct, cold and alone. She didn’t want it to happen again, and she defensively wrapped her arms around herself, refusing to cry. Her slow steps took her to the living room, where two men and woman, all in business suits, waited for her. One man she knew- he was Mr. White, her father’s attorney. He looked unhappy, and that frightened Abbie more than the stern man and the overly happy-looking woman.
“Mister White?”

The man’s face carried a look of sympathy, and he took her hand, leading her to a couch, and sitting on it, tugging her down next to him. Allan White had been her Father’s god-brother, and had spent a lot of time with Abbie Lindheim and her family. He slipped an arm awkwardly about her shoulders, and gave her a one-armed hug. Abbie half-expected what was to come.
“Miss Lindheim-“
The detective was cut off by Mr. White, who glared alarmingly well for a man his age. The lawyer turned to Abbie, taking her hands in his one free one.
“Abbie, I know this is hard for you. It’s- It’s hard enough for me.” He cleared his throat. “Abbie, your father died this morning.”

Abbie said nothing, letting the words sink into her soul, where they rested. She didn’t remember any words after that, just the facts that the detective gave: Her father had seen her off to school with a goodbye kiss and a packed lunch he’d made, he had then written her a letter that they held in their custody, and then driven to work, where he’d left a letter explaining that he didn’t want Abbie to be the one to find him. He’d then taken a gun, and blown out his brains. The awful truth sank to the level that the news had, cutting into her soul again and again. Still, the child said nothing, and she didn’t cry. Then the woman spoke, arguing with Mister White. Allan said that Abbie’s father had wanted her to go with the church.

The woman argued that the Church had no right or reason to take custody of the child, and that she would have to go into the Foster Care System. They looked at Abbie, but she said nothing, only holding the rosary that her father had given her, and sat on the couch, praying. She even refused to pack, only pausing to pick up the bible that her family had given her for her First Communion. Allan White hugged her with tears in his eyes, but the woman dragged Abbie away before she could reply. That night, she slept in a strange bed, in a strange home. She refused to dress the next morning, or to go to school. She didn’t eat or speak. Abbie simply knelt in the center of the bedroom, and prayed. After three days of this, the mean woman returned.

Abbie refused to speak to her, and only cried when the woman ripped the rosaries from her hand and the bible from her side, telling her that she couldn’t hide in religion. That night, Abbie ran away. Father Manuel found her, kneeling in the school’s sanctuary, crying out in a loud voice to God, begging and crying. He let her stay the night, but the next morning, he called the Bishop. After a long battle, Abihail Lindheim was given to the custody of the Church, and was assigned directly to Father Benjamin Wolf. Still, the child said nothing.

That first day, when she was taken to Father Benjamin’s office, she stood stone silent. Her only words for nearly three months had been in prayer, and her body was rail-thin from only eating enough to survive. The man had no idea what to do with a grieving child, especially one who watched him with haunted eyes, and clutched a worn rosary to her chest. After a long moment of staring at each other, Father Benjamin Wolf knelt in front of her, and covered her small hands with his.
“Can I pray with you?”

Another long minute followed, and still Abbie said nothing. Finally she nodded, and smiled very slightly at him.
“Please?”