Chapter One Spring light was her favourite light. It was gentler than the fast approaching summer kind, which always arrived like it had a score to settle. The bright spring sun reflected off the gulf water and the rays danced suggestively in the mild humidity - an invisible co-conspirator that seemed to both carry and weigh down the light itself. Spring days were getting hotter each year it seemed, so Taylor Diaz was grateful for the breeze on those unexpectedly warm days, just a zephyr, but enough to take the edge off. Taylor jumped into her red sports car, an old Corvette that her mechanic brother somehow kept roadworthy, to make the 50-minute drive to North Naples. Her destination was San Miguel, a Catholic convent that had a small orphanage attached for special needs cases that the diocese took pity on, and she usually looked forward to the open-air trip and the spring flowers, which had again come early. Ponce de León and the Spanish had tried to tame this region in the early 1500s but the land was too wild and tough and the only things the Conquistadors managed to leave was Catholicism and disease. The local Indian population, mostly Seminole, had good reason to wonder which was worse. The Seminoles went to war with the Americans three times after the Spanish handed over the region in 1819, but it was only after the railways opened up the Southwest in the 1920s that any meaningful quantity of the land would in any way fit a description of being settled, let alone tamed or civilised. The planted Catholic seeds took firm root in Florida and the church, in one form or another, still loomed and lurked in the light and in the shadows - although the poor were just as poor and always with us. Naples was an upmarket and affluent area, a little out of the way from Taylor's funky Fort Myers base and, truth be told, it was not her style at all - all that ostentatious wealth. She was mildly resentful that she had been seconded to Fort Myers instead of the glossy Miami alternative, but here she was, trying to juggle a law degree and part time internship with her lowly paid government job and family responsibilities. Driving past imposing and gaudy architecture, those chimeric mansions, unattainable for most Americans, were for Taylor as much a tribute to American excess as anything else. Her goals were more modest - She worked hard but yearned for the day when she could go back to a nice apartment in Miami, her University friends and her social life, preferably as a very employable lawyer. Taylor had grown up in Florida but still wondered how previous generations survived without air conditioning, she could hear her father's good-natured goading, 'We never had electricity in Cuba.' Nevertheless, she still hated that most of the charming, old world convent at San Miguel, while it had electricity, was not air conditioned and wishing would not make it so. It was part of her responsibilities as a government appointed officer to visit - she was a permanent employee and in her second year at the Department of Children and Family Services, and her job was to coordinate with the convent and make sure government rules were followed, boxes were ticked, paperwork was lodged. It was her Cuban Catholic heritage that nudged her boss, Billy Hastings, to give her the assignment, and she knew that because he had told her so. Her co-workers would rib her about the fact - teasingly calling her Sister Taylor and asking when she would start wearing her habit to the office? She took the good-natured banter in the vein in which it was intended, so it would feel churlish to point out to them that she was no longer Catholic. She really only went to mass on Sunday to score brownie points with her parents. And for the traditional Sunday meal her mother would cook after mass. Her mother would tease her too, 'I was married at your age, you'll be left on the shelf.' 'Mama, I'm only 22. there's no rush.' She knew they meant well, and even if she'd lost her religion, which was a sore point with her devout parents, her world revolved around her family. Anyway, she wasn't sure how committed an atheist she might yet be and to be truthful, she didn't give it much thought, it just wasn't part of her day to day life. Except each time she entered the convent and looked around. What helped most was the knowledge that she could leave anytime. She loved the drive from Estero Island and her small beach apartment, as she could head south across Lovers Key and on to Bonita Bay. It was always refreshing to feel the gulf air and navigate the winding bridges and blow her worries to the wind. The mangroves and wetlands both filtered and magnified the wonderful smells - notes of Queen Emma Lilies and Hibiscus and symphonies of palm trees and White Birds of Paradise. But this was an unscheduled trip - normally she only checked in once a week with Sister Gabriel, the Mother Superior of San Miguel, but the old nun was insistent that Taylor come at once, something had come up and it couldn't wait. She shook her dark mane of long hair and felt the gulf breeze tingle on her neck, small pleasures to be savoured as the midday sun flirted with the scudding clouds. She thought she caught of glimpse of storm clouds on the horizon but, given this was Florida, storm clouds on the horizon were never far away. She came through North Naples and into suburban Vineyard, a haven of country club golf courses and soon pulled into the rural property of San Miguel, a grand old mission building dating back to the Spanish ownership of Florida pre-1819. Taylor spied her friend working in the carefully manicured garden, Sister Bernadette, a young Irish nun rumoured to be doing penance in Naples for some undisclosed indiscretion. 'Hey Bernie, you're giving the roses hell I see?' Bernie had a quick look to see who was nearby then fired back, 'Sure an if I'd wanted to work at a feckin' country club I would have applied to one!' The pair laughed and Bernie asked, 'Today is not yer day, what brings ya here?' Taylor smiled, put her finger to her lips and walked inside. She found Sister Gabriel in her office, whose perfunctory greeting was no surprise, and took the seat she was directed to. 'Thanks for coming so promptly Miss Diaz. we have a. a thing.' The elderly nun paced the floor, trying to find the words to give flesh to the issue. Taylor waited.'We, er. seem to have a situation. something very unexpected.' The nun nervously clicked her tongue repeatedly then picked up a pitcher of water to prime her dry mouth then offered some to Taylor, who nodded her head - a head now filled with anticipation and questions. Taylor carefully broke the fragile silence, 'Why don't you just tell me what it is Mother Superior?' The nun downed the water like it was St. Augustine Florida Straight Bourbon 88 proof and blurted, 'We have a pregnancy!' Taylor resisted the urge to smile, but only just, as something in Sister Gabriel's demeanor said this is no smiling matter. As Taylor's mind ran through some vague suspects, Bernie being at the top of the list, she tried to sound steady as she replied, 'Oh Mother, that's not the worst thing surely. nuns have been known to fall pregnant before and to work things out. it's difficult yes I'm sure, but there can be a lot of help now through agencies and support mechanisms and.' The wide-eyed nun stopped Taylor in her bureaucratic-speak tracks, 'It's Mary!' Suddenly Taylor felt a knot where her gut used to be and the urgent need for a shot of 88 proof bourbon herself. Mary was one of the orphans in the convent's care - caring, lovely, she loved puppies and horses, she was also blind, deaf, mute and 12 years old. *************** The door slammed in the definitely-seen-better-days office of Ray Montana, Attorney at Law and the room shook a little. Ray looked up from his coffee machine routine and grimaced, as if the slamming door rattled the inside of some deep space in his brain. Not that he'd admit it, but his eyes were not what they used to be, and he strained a little to make out the whirlwind shape of his sometime intern, 'Taylor, to what do I.' 'You are not going to believe this, because. it's. fucking unbelievable!' Ray stirred a coffee cup and offered it to Taylor, then set about making a fresh one for himself, discretely pouring in a shot from a silver pocket flask, 'And what pray tell am I not going to believe?' Ray quickly poured in a second shot as Taylor sipped her coffee and grimaced momentarily, but her expression of vague disgust at the coffee suited her tone, 'You know that convent I do work for, San Miguel. Well, they run a small orphanage for special needs orphans, and one of them is pregnant. And she's 12 years old!' Ray sipped and savoured his fresh brew, 'Okay. interesting. but unbelievable?' 'Brace yourself, she says she's a virgin.' Ray spits out some coffee and starts laughing. Taylor smiles in return but catches...
