the hint and stumbled forward.
As Father Donald collected the full plate from George’s hands, I saw Morley Leet come in and stand at the back of the church. I wondered if he wasn’t feeling well again, since he’d looked so pale earlier. We all knew that Morley Leet suffered from “the nerves”, the same malady as Father Donald’s sister had. I could understand Dorothy’s malady, living with her brother as she did, but what Morley had to be nervous about, I couldn’t imagine.
Father Donald beamed broadly at George and said, “Well, looks like we got a new money man. Everyone wants to be treasurer, eh? Must be a pretty well-paid job.” He laughed at his own small joke, lifted the collection plate up and down several times as if he were bench-pressing a hundred pounds, mumbled the prayer and dropped it carelessly on the side table. I lunged for the plate and steadied it just as it was about to slip off the edge. I did this every week.
I took a deep breath and settled back. It was time for the sermon. I had a little game I always played with myself. It helped pass the time. I counted every instance when Father Donald said “although”, then qualified his previous statement. So far, the record stood at twenty-one, but I had hopes for something I could call Guinness about.
The past few weeks, I’d been off my count. Watching Father Donald under cover of the larger pulpit doing various flex-er-cises was distracting to say the least. From my vantage point, every bend and curl was easily seen.
“My text for today’s meditation,” he began, using his best sermon voice, deep and resonant and slightly British, “is Matthew, Chapter 21, Verse 13, ‘my house shall be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a hideout for thieves’.” I saw Morley Leet duck back out. He must be sick, I decided. Or smart.
There were only eleven “althoughs” today—not a record, but satisfying, nevertheless, and I might have missed a couple when he began to jerk and swing his hips from side to side, not seen by the congregation, but all too clear to me.
At the end of the service, a smattering of “amens” followed us down the aisle. As Father Donald passed Dorothy, she leaned out of her pew and smacked him sharply on the leg with her purse. “Coffee,” she hissed.
“Whaaa?” Father Donald halted suddenly. I glanced back. We’d lost him again. The procession straggled to a halt.
“Coffee Sunday!” she whispered urgently. “You forgot to mention it!”
“Oh! Oh! Shoot! Wait, just a minute. Hold the phone! I forgot. It’s coffee Sunday. Come on downstairs—coffee’s on. Although, not just coffee. There’s tea, too, although if you don’t like coffee or tea, I don’t know what you’ll do. You could have water, although on the other hand, we know our water’s not that good. Well, good enough, I guess. For coffee, anyway.” Dorothy smacked him again. He pulled himself together and joined us at the door.
Later in the vestry as I disrobed, I noticed that the collection plate which Mindy had brought in was still on the table.
“Where’s Morley Leet?” I asked her. “He hasn’t picked up the offerings.”
“I think I saw him going downstairs. Shall I go and get him?”
“Never mind. I’ll take it down to him.” I scooped the money into an old envelope and shoved it in my pocket. “Let’s go and take our lives into our hands with a cup of St. Grimbald’s coffee.” Only the fact that it had been perking for the last two hours made it drinkable at all. Father Donald wasn’t kidding about our water.
Mindy and I left the vestry, marched through the now-deserted pews and gathered up Father Donald, who was still at the back of the church. Together we descended the steep stairs into the dank, dark nether regions under the church which the wardens and the A.C.W. had ineffectually tried to render habitable. The usual miasma of mildew and old hymn books was mercifully overpowered by the sharp, heady tang of coffee.
We used Father Donald as a battering ram to take us through the throng to the counter. It wasn’t difficult, since he’d already caught sight of Carol Morgan’s butter tarts and was moving in on them like a elephant who’d spotted a bag of peanuts. Unfortunately, Dorothy was on an intercept course, and at the last moment, she scooped up the plate of tarts, shot him a triumphant glance and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Shoot!” Father Donald visibly sagged under the disappointment.
“Here you are, Father Donald. A double-double. Just the way you like it.” Someone handed him a cup of coffee. Before he could take a sip, the cup was snatched from under his nose.
“I’ve got your coffee here. Sweetener and just a little skim milk.” Dorothy took the offending cup and handed it to Edith, who was waiting in line next to the coffee urn. “Here,” she said, “you can have this one.”
“Shoot!” Father Donald sipped glumly, bending gently at the knees as he did so.
I remembered the offering envelope in my pocket and looked around for Morley Leet. “Have you seen Morley?” I asked Dorothy. “I’ve got the offering to give to him.”
“He was here a minute ago. Probably stepped outside for a cigarette. Filthy habit.” Dorothy sniffed.
“I’ll drop it off on my way home. I go right by his house.” I grimaced as I sipped my own coffee. Even three spoonfuls of sugar couldn’t disguise the bitter undertaste.
“Now, Donald,” demanded Dorothy in her no-nonsense, take-no-prisoners voice. “What’s this about an emergency meeting tomorrow night?”
Father Donald froze in mid knee-bend. He shot her a glance like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming Mack sixteen-wheeler. “Don’t get excited, Dottie. You know what the doctor said. Perhaps you’d better take one of your pills,” he suggested hopefully. He’d privately told me that the pills were a godsend—one of them and she was gentle as a lamb, two and she was out like a light.
“No.” Even I cringed at her tone and tried to edge surreptitiously away. “I expect Charles would like to know, too. Wouldn’t you, Charles?” The Mack truck had changed course and was bearing down on me.
“Umm, sure, I guess.”
“Well, I wanted to tell you. I would have told you, although I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure, well not sure, but at least pretty sure, although there was no reason not to be sure. Anyway, it’s hush-hush, well not really, I just can’t say anything right now. Although, I could say something, but it wouldn’t be any use because I can’t tell you everything, not that I know everything, although I think I probably know more than most do about it, well, not more, because as I said to the Bishop… Oh! Shoot! Never mind what I said, not that I said anything, but you’re just going to have to wait until tomorrow night, well not night, evening really, although the meeting is pretty late. I’m sworn to secrecy and that’s all there is to it.” He took a large gulp of his coffee and smiled smugly.
Dorothy and I looked at each other blankly. I wondered if she’d made any sense of it all. I tried to sort out the “facts”. Earlier, he’d mentioned an important discovery to do with money and now, a confidential discussion with the Bishop. That could cover anything from the Guild Ladies Luncheon to grand larceny. I decided we were never going to get anything out of Father Donald today, so I left him to the tender ministrations of his now seething sister and headed out to find Morley Leet.
Bessie Leet answered my knock. “He’s upstairs, lying
