Part 2

A Gathering of Angels
by Katherine Valentine

(Page 2 of 4)

The mention of Mother Superior gave Father Dennis cause for deeper remorse. The woman scared him half to death. Reminded him of his mother's sister, his Aunt Ethel, to whose farm he was sent each summer to take in the fresh country air and lose some of his "baby fat." The only thing he had taken in, however, was his Aunt Ethel's continual displeasure, and all he had lost was his self-respect.

Nothing that he did could please her, although he had tried his hardest. He'd gotten up at four o'clock in the morning with Uncle Artie to milk the cows, but somehow he'd always manage to fall asleep and fall off the milking stool just as his aunt walked into the barn to tell them that breakfast was ready. He had even nailed rusted wire fencing back on fence posts until his hands bled, but his aunt never saw this. Instead, she always seemed to appear on the rare occasions that he would slip into the pond to float on his back, stare longingly into the heavens and wish that summer was over so he could go back home.

He was "listless and lazy," according to his Aunt Ethel, and his mother was much too soft on him.

"If you don't practice more self-discipline, you're going to grow up to be as fat as one of my prize heifers," his aunt had concluded, a prophecy that seemed to be closer to coming true with each passing year. Last time he had stepped on a scale it had registered three hundred and fifty pounds. Father Dennis was barely five feet five inches tall.

Beads of sweat now formed around Father Dennis's upper lip. "I'm truly sorry, Mrs. Norris. I am."

"Um! Fat good you're being sorry is going to do. What am I going to tell the bishop? He loves my ambrosia. Looks forward to it each time he visits. And not just any ambrosia, may I remind you. It won a blue ribbon at the Goshen fair three years in a row. Well, you're going to have to go right next door and tell Mother Superior the dessert that she was counting on for the luncheon has disappeared."

Father Dennis looked pleadingly over toward Father James, who hunched his shoulders as though to say, You're on your own.

The thought of confessing to Mother Superior brought on an immediate case of hiccups, a nervous tic he had developed in childhood.

Dealing with Mother Superior often gave him the hiccups, which was why last October Father Dennis offered to conduct the Blessings of the Animals on Saint Francis of Assisi's feast day if Father James would take his place, working with Mother Superior on the Pumpkin Harvest, even though Father Dennis was allergic to every animal known to man. He also knew that blessings would have to be bestowed on the Galligan twins' boa constrictor and little Jennifer Crawford's two ferrets savage little beasts that literally bit the hand that fed them and a plethora of dogs and cats.

Father Dennis had stoically performed the ceremony, willingly enduring days of red welts, itchy eyes and nasal congestion. In fact, he would have walked on nails...anything rather than have to work side by side with Mother Superior.

"What if I run to the store and buy some more ingredients...hiccup?" Father Dennis asked hopefully. "Couldn't you make a new batch without letting on what had happened to the...er...hiccup...last bowl?"

"If I live that long," Mrs. Norris said listlessly.

"You can't leave," Father James reminded him. "You're saying Mass this morning. Besides that, you offered to pick up Bishop Ruskin at the train station. I'm without a car, remember?"

Father James's Jeep had blown a tire rod yesterday morning as he traveled the back roads from Woodstock returning from visiting patients at Mercy Hospital. Triple A had towed it to the Fergusons' garage, Tri Town Auto. He had meant to call there this morning and find out how long he would be without wheels.

"Can you go to the store and pick up what Mrs. Norris needs?" asked Father Dennis with somewhat of a desperate twinge to his voice.

"No problem," Father James assured him. He hated to see his young assistant squirm. "I planned to walk down to Main Street and pay a visit to Lori Peterson at the Country Kettle. I could easily swing by the Grand Union on the way back." He turned to Mrs. Norris. "I shouldn't be gone more than an hour or so. Will that give you enough time to make another bowl of ambrosia?"

"I suppose. That is, if the good Lord hasn't called me home by the time you get back."

Father James stood up, pushed his chair in under the table and began to brush crumbs off his black shirt. "Well, in case that should happen, why don't you leave out the recipe card so Father Dennis and I can whip up a new batch while we wait for the undertaker."

Shades of the old Mrs. Norris rushed to the surface. "Go ahead. Make all the fun you want. A person knows when their time is up. I don't care what those doctors say. I'll be going home to my glory any day now. You'll see." She looked over to Father Dennis. "And if you don't keep out of my refrigerator and cupboards, you'll be coming right alone with me!"

The humidity had dropped and a slight cool breeze blew in off the river. Puffs of cumulus clouds floated on a perfect blue sky that the mountains surrounding the valley seemed to hold aloft with tall, pointed spears of the pine trees to the north and the spindly oaks to the south.

Father James stepped out of the rectory's side door and felt his spirits lighten, a combination of the fine summer day and the excitement of that afternoon's ceremonies. Even the rectory and church swathed in scaffolding a stark reminder of his inadequacies as a building supervisor couldn't depress him. In fact, it seemed to heighten his mood when he remembered that only two years ago the church was in such disrepair that it had been scheduled to be closed. But God had miraculously intervened by way of Mother Superior, Sister Mary Veronica, and her order, the Daughters of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who had decided to open a retirement home across the street and insisted that St. Cecilia's former pastor, Father Keene, become the home's first official resident. This forceful woman had also convinced the archdiocese that both the nuns and the home's residents would be in need of a church and a priest, ensuring St. Cecilia's survival. She had even managed to finagle the archdiocese into renovating St. Cecilia's from top to bottom, which meant that, for the first time in nearly thirty years, the buildings finally met with town codes.

Yes, it was a fine day for celebrating, Father James thought, as he heard the inner words of the Apostle Paul: Now thanks be unto God, which always causeth us to triumph in Christ. He bound down the rectory's four wooden steps and did a slight jog along the stone pathway that lead to the sidewalk, being certain to rein in his stride before rounding the church's façade. Lord help him should anyone think he'd taken up jogging! Lately it seemed that no matter where he went someone was giving him unsolicited advice about adopting a healthier lifestyle, most of which had to do with exercise.

"Kickboxing," Jeff Hayden, his recently married best friend and one of Dorsetville's newest residents, had suggested. "It's perfect for your busy schedule. It's an aerobic exercise and cardiovascular workout all in one. Make you feel lean and mean."

Retiree Timothy McGree, who was St. Cecilia's head usher, had suggested a stationary bike. "It's just the thing you need. Thirty minutes a day. That will lower your cholesterol." As an afterthought he added, "And eat lots of oatmeal."

Father James hated oatmeal.

Ben Metcalf, Timothy's best friend for over seventy years, had been privy to this exchange. Shaking his head, Ben countered, "Those bikes are only good for the legs. What Father needs is a treadmill with a hand glider. Works both the upper and lower portion of your body all at one time. I have one in my bedroom. Why don't you drop on over and give it a try?"

There had also been suggestions for hiking, rock climbing, horseback riding, swimming, yoga and aerobics classes, none of which sounded the least bit interesting to Father James, who had steadfastly ignored any form of exercise for over forty years and didn't see why he should take it up now.

© 2004 Penguin, a division of Penguin Putnam, used by permission.

About the Author

Katherine Valentine is an American folk artist who has been a regular guest on Lifetime's Our Home show and an instructor with the New York City Museum of American Folk Art and the Brookfield (Connecticut) Craft Center. Her 1980 near-death experience, the subject of several books, has been featured on television shows, including Good Morning America.