Shocked and disillusioned best described how Mary Ellen felt after what she had seen as she strolled on the Lagoon Bridge that crossed the Cosumnes River. The bridge was rarely used by anyone because it went nowhere. When she had reached the center, she felt compelled to turn her head to the right. As she did, her eyes opened wide. She couldn’t believe what she saw. She was stunned and couldn’t move. She just stood still and stared in awe.
Two people stood slightly apart from one another on a light blue blanket. Both were naked, bodies fully exposed. They stood and gazed into each other’s eyes for a long time before they embraced. Then their faces moved closer until their lips met, locked in an untamed, fervent kiss.
"Oh, my God, I know them," she uttered while she cupped her mouth.
Thoughts of confusion swirled in her head. Something is not right--their heads are on the wrong bodies. She stood so quietly that the only sounds she heard were that of her shallow breathing and the pounding of her heart. She knew that they could hear it.
She silently pleaded, "Please God, don’t let them hear my heart. Please."
At that moment, the two people stopped kissing, turned and stared at her, sending searing heat through her entire body. That really frightened her.
Little did Mary Ellen know that her life was about to change forever.
She didn’t know if the intense heat she had felt through her hair was from the hot summer afternoon sun or just that her adrenaline had run rampant. She squeezed her eyes tight, leaving no trace of daylight. She hoped that when she opened them the images would be gone and that it was all just a figment of her imagination. Suddenly, she felt queasy and her head began to spin. She shook it to dispel the feeling then opened her eyes and then immediately squeezed them shut again. "Oh, no," she silently thought. "This really can’t be happening. I’m not seeing what I think I’m seeing."
She stood rigid and tossed her head around as if shaking off rain from an unexpected summer storm. She scrunched her eyes and then opened them ever so slowly as she peeked through her eyelashes. She wanted what she had seen not to be there. She wanted it to have been an illusion and hoped to awaken from a bad daydream. It was then she realized that she was wide-awake and what she had seen, was what she was seeing again. As she focused on the two people, tears formed in the corner of her eyes and spilled over her eyelashes and ran freely down her cheeks.
"No. You can’t be doing what you’re doing. You’re breaking the Ten Commandments. What you’re doing is against everything the Catholic religion teaches. I know – because I am Catholic," she mumbled. "And stop looking at me. Stop it. Stop it now."
She then turned and ran as fast as she could toward home as her heart hammered in her chest. Her hair flew in all directions and perspiration ran down her spine. Tears tasting of salt flowed into her opened mouth. When she reached her apartment, she fumbled with the key as she tried to open the door. Finally, managing to unlock it, she entered and slammed it shut. She ran down the hall into her bedroom, threw herself on the bed sobbing uncontrollably, body trembling and chest hurting. She felt the excruciating pain of her shattered heart.
The year was 1950. The town was Galt, a quaint little California town, in the center of a farming community. It lay deep in the northern flatlands of the Sacramento Central Valley, west of the snow-capped California Sierra Mountains and east of the Pacific Ocean. It was a place where people looked out for their neighbors. Almost everyone knew each other, and if one needed help, they came together. Life was simple, slow, and very comfortable. Everyone behaved as expected. People worked hard to make a living. They simply wanted to live their lives the best they could. And that was how Mary Ellen O’Connor, a beautiful long-haired Irish Catholic girl, was raised.
Her mind now began to race with memories of Father Joseph coming out to her home every Saturday morning year-round to ensure her presence in his catechism class. Father O'Leary, who replaced Father Joseph, told the parishioners that he planned to continue the tradition except that Sister Catherine would teach catechism, not him.
Every Saturday morning Sister Catherine, delighted to have been given the job, hopped into a 1946 Ford pickup truck and drove around the countryside gathering up the children of the parish. Mary Ellen liked Father O’Leary from their very first meeting and was relieved that he chose to follow-through on Father Joseph’s scheduled weekly program, especially the children’s catechism class. She believed in the lessons for it was through them that she learned all about the Catholic religion. She had volunteered to assist with the classes and she was glad that she did.
She remembered Sister Catherine with her black-framed glasses sitting on her perfectly shaped little nose. Sister Catherine was so outgoing and always quick to give a friendly smile. Mary Ellen lingered a moment in adoration as she unfolded her memories of both Father O’Leary and Sister Catherine.
They were her assurance that nothing was going to change and that things would remain the same in her hometown of Galt.
But as she snapped back into reality from her thoughts, she instantly knew that what she had seen was about to change everything. Shivers ran up and down her spine, body shaking, beads of perspiration sprung from the pores of her skin, and fear gripped her whole being.