then added, “I bet he comes around soon enough now, though. Once he hears that you are up and around, he’ll be wanting to give you a rare and ill-wasted piece of his mind, I’m betting. And there’s no sloth in that one, not after he sets his mind to a thing. “
After another moment, she added, “I believe he’s set his mind on coming after you, Father.”
There was little or no color remaining in his face, and Father Thomas suddenly felt ill. He’d pinned a lot of hope on the Bishop and his camera. He’d hoped that, despite the man’s unwillingness to listen to what Quentin had told him of the previous year’s experience, that being there first hand would tip the scales. Now?
Gladys stepped quickly back to the side of the bed. Something had obviously been eating at her, and now it was going to break free, whether he, or she wanted it to do so. She took his hand in both of hers again, and spoke earnestly.
“I’m just a poor sinner, Father, and I know it ain’t for me to judge, but I want you to know . . . well, don’t take too much stock in that man’s words -- the Bishop. He may be a man of God, but there’s no law says he’s to be right all the time. He’s not the Pope, and if it were the Holy Father himself who told me I didn’t see what I saw, I’d feel the same as I do now. You listen to me -- I saw what happened, and it was a sight.
“I thought, for a time, that Jesus himself had come to read us the Mass -- to share the communion -- his body and blood. It was a miracle, nothing less. You should feel honored, Father . . . I know I do.”
Embarrassed by her own outburst, Gladys spun as quickly as her bulky form would allow and shuffled off toward the door. As she turned, she released Father Thomas’ hand reluctantly, as if the very touch of his skin might be blessed in some way.
When she reached the doorway, she turned back. She had recovered her composure, and her face bore its standard stern countenance. This time, though, there was something more alive in that expression, younger perhaps. She looked, just for an instant, almost girlish.
Quentin nearly shook his head again, caught himself and groaned softly.
“You need anything, you know to call me. I’ve been staying in the guest quarters downstairs. I reckon in a day or so I’ll feel right movin’ back home. You rest yourself, and I’ll be back with some supper, then we’ll see about gettin’ the doctor out here to pronounce you ‘risen.’”
Father Thomas frowned. “What about Norman? Surely he isn’t staying here too…”
Gladys laughed. “Norman’s a big boy, father. It’s about time he started taking care of himself. I’ll be home soon enough to get the laundry I’m sure he’s left me and clear away the dishes. It isn’t Norman who needs me just now.”
Gladys turned and bustled out the door without a backward glance, and Father Thomas was left to stare after her in wonder. A small smile played across his lips, and he laughed softly. Then the moment passed, and he frowned, staring off at the wall.
* * *
Leaning forward very suddenly, Bishop Michaels yanked the chain on his decorative desk lamp, turning it on and bathing the room in its light. The sound, and the sudden flash of light, snapped Father Thomas from his reverie.
He had the expression of someone awakened from a dream, or caught by surprise with his hand in a cookie jar. The startled expression would have been comical under other circumstances, but it was obvious from the set of his jaw, and the flash of anger in his eyes, that the Bishop did not see the
After another moment, she added, “I believe he’s set his mind on coming after you, Father.”
There was little or no color remaining in his face, and Father Thomas suddenly felt ill. He’d pinned a lot of hope on the Bishop and his camera. He’d hoped that, despite the man’s unwillingness to listen to what Quentin had told him of the previous year’s experience, that being there first hand would tip the scales. Now?
Gladys stepped quickly back to the side of the bed. Something had obviously been eating at her, and now it was going to break free, whether he, or she wanted it to do so. She took his hand in both of hers again, and spoke earnestly.
“I’m just a poor sinner, Father, and I know it ain’t for me to judge, but I want you to know . . . well, don’t take too much stock in that man’s words -- the Bishop. He may be a man of God, but there’s no law says he’s to be right all the time. He’s not the Pope, and if it were the Holy Father himself who told me I didn’t see what I saw, I’d feel the same as I do now. You listen to me -- I saw what happened, and it was a sight.
“I thought, for a time, that Jesus himself had come to read us the Mass -- to share the communion -- his body and blood. It was a miracle, nothing less. You should feel honored, Father . . . I know I do.”
Embarrassed by her own outburst, Gladys spun as quickly as her bulky form would allow and shuffled off toward the door. As she turned, she released Father Thomas’ hand reluctantly, as if the very touch of his skin might be blessed in some way.
When she reached the doorway, she turned back. She had recovered her composure, and her face bore its standard stern countenance. This time, though, there was something more alive in that expression, younger perhaps. She looked, just for an instant, almost girlish.
Quentin nearly shook his head again, caught himself and groaned softly.
“You need anything, you know to call me. I’ve been staying in the guest quarters downstairs. I reckon in a day or so I’ll feel right movin’ back home. You rest yourself, and I’ll be back with some supper, then we’ll see about gettin’ the doctor out here to pronounce you ‘risen.’”
Father Thomas frowned. “What about Norman? Surely he isn’t staying here too…”
Gladys laughed. “Norman’s a big boy, father. It’s about time he started taking care of himself. I’ll be home soon enough to get the laundry I’m sure he’s left me and clear away the dishes. It isn’t Norman who needs me just now.”
Gladys turned and bustled out the door without a backward glance, and Father Thomas was left to stare after her in wonder. A small smile played across his lips, and he laughed softly. Then the moment passed, and he frowned, staring off at the wall.
* * *
Leaning forward very suddenly, Bishop Michaels yanked the chain on his decorative desk lamp, turning it on and bathing the room in its light. The sound, and the sudden flash of light, snapped Father Thomas from his reverie.
He had the expression of someone awakened from a dream, or caught by surprise with his hand in a cookie jar. The startled expression would have been comical under other circumstances, but it was obvious from the set of his jaw, and the flash of anger in his eyes, that the Bishop did not see the
Similar Books
