Mary found a spot under an old elm that still had some leaves. The afternoon wasn’t hot, quite the opposite, but she wanted to make sure Millie would be comfortable so she rolled each window down just enough so she could get her nose through, but not her head. Hoping she wasn’t the kind of dog who chewed on upholstery when left alone, she walked to the rectory door and rang the bell.
It was answered promptly, as if the woman who stood there, examining Mary, had been waiting for it to ring.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Farrell.’ Mary smiled.
The woman didn’t smile back.
Mary gave up. Getting a smile out of this woman would take more work than she was prepared to give. She knew Margaret Farrell only slightly and had never seen her smile. She’d never seen any expression except the one she wore today. Neutral, with just a hint of suspicion. She’d never seen her in any kind of dress but the one she had on. A black dress of some kind of shiny material, buttoned down the front, with a white lace fissure around the neck, black stockings, black sensible lace-up shoes and a cover-all apron. The pattern on the apron changed, but not the style. A high bib with straps over the shoulders crossed in the back and wrapped around the waist to tie in front. The skirt had two large pockets in front, always bulging. Mary wondered what was in there but never found the right moment to ask. Today the apron was made of bright blue, pink and white dots on a field of pale yellow. It was an incongruous sight over the severe black of the dress.
‘I got a phone call from Father, asking me to drop by.’ Mary waited.
Margaret Farrell turned her head slowly to look back into the dim interior of the house. Two hairpins fell out, landed on her shoulder then slid to the floor. Iron-gray strands fell from the bun that hung loosely on the back of her head. Mary suspected the bun had been tight early this morning but had loosened as the day progressed. Would it completely escape its confinement by bedtime?
‘He did, did he?’ Suspicion deepened on Mrs Farrell’s face.
Mary nodded.
‘Hmmm. Well, I guess I could call him. Tell him you’re here.’ She made no move to do so. ‘He’s due in the confessional in … let’s see … about thirty minutes.’ She paused and looked at Mary as if she expected her to respond to that statement.
Mary wasn’t sure what was expected, so she smiled instead.
‘Hump.’
There was more disgust in that ‘hump’ than Mary thought possible, and Mrs Farrell still hadn’t moved. Finally, she sighed loud enough for it to be heard in the church next door. ‘I’ll tell him. Come on in.’ She held the door a little wider and let Mary pass by her. ‘Go on in there.’
‘There’ was what the builder had long ago dubbed the formal living room. It was small with one window exactly in the middle of the wall that looked out onto the street. Mary walked in and looked around.
‘Take a seat, if you’ve a mind to.’ Mrs Farrell followed Mary into the room and gestured vaguely at the celery green plush- covered sofa that screamed it belonged in the seventies. Mary hesitated but sat. Mrs Farrell nodded with the first thing that looked like approval and left the room, closing the door behind her.
Mary took a deep breath in and slowly let it out. Why that woman exasperated her so, she couldn’t imagine. She hoped she didn’t have that effect on Father D’Angelo. If so, he must lead a very uncomfortable life. She sat up straighter on the elderly but immaculate sofa and looked around. It wasn’t a very hospitable room. Mary had been in several homes of this floor plan over the years and was familiar with the layout. This room was designed for guests, or adults only. Off the entryway was a hall that led to two bedrooms that also faced the front. The master bed and bath, the kitchen and large family room were at the back.
In most houses this small room didn’t get used much, but she supposed it served the rectory well. It was furnished as a cross between an office and a reception room, both a bit shabby but hospital clean. Nothing matched. The two wing-backed chairs were covered in a red, white and blue print much too bold for that type of chair and the pseudo-early American end tables held wrought-iron lamps in a vaguely Spanish style. The coffee table was blond modern, or what had passed for modern in the sixties. A desk sat in a corner at an angle so as to face the rest of the room, but it held no computer or much of anything else. A maroon swivel chair sat behind it. The bookshelves were filled with religious books and the wall decorations were either depictions of Jesus on the cross or paintings of The Blessed Virgin holding the dead body of Christ. There was one rather large picture of a nun in a brown habit and black veil. St Theresa, she supposed. She stood up to take a closer look but a click brought her attention back to the door, which opened and a smiling Father D’Angelo appeared. He was followed closely by a huge black-and-white cat.
‘Mrs McGill, so good of you to come.’ He walked quickly across the room and reached out a hand. Mary offered hers, which he gave a single shake before dropping it. ‘I hope you’re getting along … ah … feeling better. I heard you had an accident but were doing all right.’ He paused to stare at the white patch Mary was painfully aware showed on the side of her head. At least her pants covered the blue wrap stretched tightly around her calf.
‘You are, aren’t you? All right?’
‘I’m fine, thank you. Just fine.’ She paused, giving him a chance to say something, offer her a chair or tell her why he’d called, but he seemed not to know how to start. Maybe she could help him.
‘That’s a handsome cat. Is he …’ The cat had to be a ‘he.’ No female would have those heavy jowls, that broad front, the muscled hindquarter, ‘… the one Cliff gave you?’
The priest looked at the cat, who sat at his ankle, staring at Mary. She had little experience with cats, only with Ellen and Dan’s yellow Tom, Jake, but she knew instinctively this was no ordinary cat. At least, he didn’t consider himself ordinary. The stare he aimed at her was unblinking and the low rumbling in his throat was no purr. He was letting her know something … what, she wasn’t sure.
The priest seemed oblivious to the cat’s threats. ‘Yes. Isn’t he magnificent?’
‘Yes.’ Mary didn’t know what else to say. The cat was, indeed, magnificent. And threatening. ‘I thought … I was told … everyone said he’s a holy terror. I wondered why Cliff would give you a cat …’ She wasn’t sure how to go on, especially as the priest seemed to regard the cat with genuine fondness.
‘We had a few problems getting started, but he’s really come around.’ He paused, looked at the cat and a slight blush stained his cheeks. ‘I must admit, I wasn’t too sure at first. I even named him Lucifer. I’d change it now, but he doesn’t seem to mind and he comes when I call.’ He paused and smiled at Mary. ‘When the cat first arrived, I wasn’t sure if Cliff thought bringing him was some kind of joke or what, but then, I realized he knew the cat needed me. It was really an act of kindness.’
Mary tore her eyes off the cat to examine Father D’Angelo’s face. Was he kidding? Everyone, well, almost everyone said the cat was awful. ‘How long have you … has the cat lived here?’
‘About six months, I think. I took him over to Karl … for an operation. You know.’ The red got brighter and crept higher on his face. The look he gave the cat was almost apologetic. ‘It took him a few days, but he started to get better. He’s quit biting me, doesn’t hiss when I feed him or tries to sit on the sofa. He even sleeps on the end of my bed sometimes.’
Mary couldn’t quite control the little gasp she gave nor the immediate need to sit down. She sank down on the sofa. As if he’d been waiting for her to sit first, Father D’Angelo folded himself into one of the wingbacks. The cat immediately jumped into his lap and began to purr, loudly. The priest smiled and started to stroke his ears.
‘He bit you?’ Mary was pretty sure he’d bite her if she offered a hand to stroke him. It wasn’t something she’d try.
The priest’s smile got broader. ‘He was scared. I knew that and was determined to make friends. I’ve always had animals. It was the hardest thing for me to give up when I became a Franciscan. Parish work let me have one again, and I chose a cat because … lots of reasons. I was determined to win this one’s confidence. We’re making progress. He still wants to wander at night sometimes and then I have to go after him, but he lets me catch him now and doesn’t hiss or claw me. He curls up next to me on the sofa and I think he actually enjoys sitting with me while we watch TV.’ He paused and laughed a little self-consciously. ‘We both like the PBS stations.’
Mary felt as if she’d just heard Father D’Angelo’s confession, a very unreasonable feeling given the nature of his ‘sin.’ Keeping a cat, being nice to it, rescuing it from a life on the streets was hardly something to condemn yourself for. It wasn’t weakness to be kind, but maybe that wasn’t what he felt. She wasn’t sure, but she’d been given a glimpse into his life that she didn’t want. However, he’d just given her the perfect opening to ask for information she wanted. ‘Is that why you were at Evan’s shop the night he died? To get …’ She looked into the cat’s eyes, where he sat perched on Father D’Angelo’s lap, almost level with her … ‘Lucifer’s cat food?’
Father D’Angelo nodded. ‘I was just in time. I’d been trying to get there all day but things kept coming up … I don’t like changing his food. He gets … you know … the runs if things change.’
Mary didn’t know and didn’t want to imagine. ‘That was about five?’
The priest nodded. ‘I snuck in just as Evan was pulling down the window shades. John Lavorino and Glen Manning were going out the door. Do you know them?’
Mary nodded. ‘Was anyone else there?’
‘Luke, I can’t remember his last name, but the young man who runs the library …’ He paused, as if waiting for Mary to acknowledge she knew who Luke was. She nodded. ‘… rushed in as I was grabbing the cat food. Evan seemed irritated and said he was closed, but Luke laughed and said he wouldn’t want his dog to starve now, would he, and he’d only eat Evan’s brand.’ Father D’Angelo took a deep breath and let his hand rest on top of the cat’s head. The cat started to purr. ‘Evan muttered a rather crude word, then said, “Oh, all right” and went in the back. That’s when I left.’ Father D’Angelo didn’t say anything for a moment, just stroked the cat’s ears and seemed to listen as the purring got louder.
Mary didn’t say anything either. She wanted to hear whatever it was the priest was trying to decide if he should mention.
Evidently, he made up his mind because he raised his head and looked straight into Mary’s eyes. ‘Evan was a nervous wreck that afternoon.’
Whatever Mary had been expecting, it wasn’t that. ‘What?’
‘Evan. He was … not himself. Evan was a nice man, never snapped at anyone, never neglected his animals, but that afternoon … it wasn’t only Luke’s head he almost snapped off. Bill Bliss …’ he paused at Mary’s look of surprise, ‘… you know, the man who owns Golden Hills Winery? He came in and Evan told him he couldn’t talk right then, to go talk to the florist.’
‘Yes, I know Bill. The florist? Why would he send him to the florist shop?’
‘I have no idea, but Bill went.’
‘He did?’ The thought that Evan had the nerve to send Bill Bliss anywhere was surprising, but that Bill went wasn’t processing.
Father D’Angelo looked as if he was as puzzled as Mary. ‘He seemed unhappy when Todd Blankenship said he’d be back with his truck to load the dog food he ordered. Evan said “Tonight?” as if it was the last think he wanted to do, but Todd only nodded and left. I took my purchase and left as well. Evan was drawing the blinds on the front windows as I walked away.’
There was something wrong here. Something didn’t fit.
‘I feel terrible about all that’s happened, and maybe this isn’t the time to ask, but we’re right up against winter and I don’t know who else to approach …’
What was the man talking about? Not Evan any longer. It took an effort for Mary to bring her attention back to the shift in the conversation. ‘Ask me what?’
‘How I go about setting up the church hall as a shelter this winter for some of the homeless people who live under the bridge.’
‘What? You want to do what?’ Now he had her attention. The homeless population was growing. They would be among the first to have access to the food from the Christmas Can Tree. Only, it had never occurred to her this was what Father D’Angelo wanted to talk about. Why, she didn’t know. Catholic charities were famous for the good work they did. It wasn’t always reflected in individual parishes, however. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, quite sure. I just don’t know how to – well, organize …’ His eyes shifted away from her and onto the cat, who hadn’t moved from his side. ‘We have the women’s guild, of course, but they help plan activities for the school, raise money for textbooks and make sure they have funds available for our needy families, but to put up a whole bunch of homeless, well, none of them seem to know any more about how to do that than I do. However, someone needs to do something and …’ The look he gave her was clearly tentative hope. Why her? She had more causes than she could possibly handle now. ‘Have you talked to Bob at the food bank?’
The priest shook his head. ‘No. I thought I’d talk to you first. Everything you organize runs so smoothly. I thought if you couldn’t help, you might be able to tell me who to contact and how to …’ The worried, helpless look in his eyes intensified.
Mary sighed. No wonder his women’s guild shied away from this. She knew most of them and, while they had good intentions, none of them had much experience organizing anything larger than an eighth-grade dance. ‘What do you have in mind? Shelter when it rains? Every night? Just for families with children? Are you going to serve food? Have you talked to the city about permits?’
The priest held up his hand and drew back into his seat, as if the onslaught of questions had pushed him into it. ‘I have no idea. I don’t think we could open it every night. There are a lot of church functions that go on there, so maybe just in emergencies. Like, when we have a storm. I hadn’t thought about food, but I guess … do we need a permit?’
Mary sighed again. ‘Call Bob. He has contact with the homeless all the time. Did you know St Mark’s serves a hot meal to the homeless once a week in the evening? Maybe we could work out something with them. If you plan to put people up for the night, you’ll need cots and blankets and we’ll have to see if the bathrooms are compliant. Do you know what the occupancy rate is on the hall?’
Father D’Angelo shook his head. ‘It’s posted, but I can’t remember what it is.’
‘Hmmm. We’ll have to find out.’
For the first time, Father D’Angelo smiled. A somewhat tentative smile, but a real one. ‘Does that mean you’ll help?’
Mumbling things to herself like, You’re an idiot, you don’t have time to do all you’ve signed on for, Christmas is coming, you have a houseful of people arriving for Christmas breakfast and you haven’t wrapped even one present … You’d never forgive yourself if you’d done nothing to help those people living under a bridge. And in the rain! ‘Yes, I’ll try, but I’m not promising anything and I won’t chair any committee. Call Bob, tell him what you’re thinking and have him call me. We’ll set up a meeting. We’d better get going if you want to get anything done this winter.’ She glanced at the digital clock on the desk and started to her feet. ‘I’d better move if I’m going to get those children on time. School is about to let out, isn’t it?’
Father D’Angelo nodded. ‘The bell will go off any minute now.’
Mary had heard that bell and had no doubt everyone on this block knew when school was out.
‘Call Bob as soon as you can. Let’s try to get together next week. You have his number, don’t you?’
Again Father D’Angelo nodded, but this time with enthusiasm. ‘I can’t thank you enough for offering to help. Every time I think of those children, the only roof over their heads the underpass of a bridge, no heat, no bathroom, no lights to read by or …’
Mary waved her hand, as if she could wave away the image he had so inexpertly but vividly painted. She hadn’t offered. She’d been shanghaied. However, first things first. It was time to pick up the Mendosa children. Telling him once more to have Bob call her, she headed out the door and over to the schoolyard, accompanied by the clanging of the school bell.