There was a bird in church. During the offering, a sparrow flitted across the open space of the chancel, looped around the no-longer-shrouded rood and lit on a ledge of a pillar. Sam, bored up until then, pointed. Henry shared his delight, thinking it a happy sign. The sparrow cocked its head, blinking, looking out over the congregation from its niche as if it belonged there.
The service didn’t stop. The doxology blared and they all rose while the ushers processed with their collection baskets, delivering them to Father John to be blessed. As a member of the vestry and chair of the last capital campaign, Henry knew a normal take barely covered that day’s operating costs, but the weather was perfect and the house was even bigger than it had been for the Christmas pageant. He imagined all they could do with the windfall. The icemaker in the parish hall kitchen had died. The fridge needed a new compressor.
The sparrow was still there. It must have come in through an open window, though the only one he could think of without a screen was in the second-floor men’s room, and that door would be shut. With all the wind, they’d had problems with cracked panes of old stained glass letting in the rain. Even a temporary fix was expensive, but they had no choice. Nothing was more destructive than water.
The organ roared, and there went the sparrow, Sam tracking it with a finger as it flew across the rood and over the roofed pulpit, drawn to the sunstruck windows of the transept, and then, as if sensing an invisible wall, stalled, wings fluttering, and swooped back around, retreating to its perch. It was lost, probably confused by all the noise. Once everyone left, the sexton could open the doors wide and it could find its way out, or so Henry hoped. Last fall a squirrel had gotten into their attic and built a huge nest of leaves he discovered only when he went up to bring down the Christmas decorations. He set a Havahart trap himself, but Emily didn’t trust him on a ladder, so he had to pay a roofer to install new flashing around the chimney. He couldn’t imagine what an exterminator would charge to catch the bird. He’d probably have to poison it, which Henry didn’t want to picture.
They knelt for the Lord’s Prayer. Though Sam couldn’t read yet, Lisa shared her prayer book with him as if he might follow along, and Henry remembered his mother doing the same. Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. The weekend had gone well, no major blowups. They were already packed. After brunch at the club, he’d take them to the airport. On the way back he needed to stop at the Home Depot for propane and Drano and one other thing he’d forgotten. In the silence accompanying the breaking of the bread, he watched the sparrow and tried to recall the third item, the list revolving like a litany—propane and Drano and what, propane and Drano and what.
The music at communion was Vaughan Williams, according to the program, the bell choir and a brass quartet accompanying a hired tenor from the Pittsburgh Opera. The ladies of the Altar Guild had done their usual wonderful job. Gaudy flower arrangements worthy of Phipps Conservatory lined the stairs and choir stalls and crowded the chancel rail, where the great Alpha-Omega candle, in storage most of the year, shone forth the good news. Bare, in Pittsburgh’s gray weather, Calvary could be austere. Today, dressed up, with the congregation in their best and the clear spring light coloring the windows, the sanctuary felt warm and luxurious. Visitors would never suspect they were running a deficit.
When they came back from taking Communion, the ledge was empty. He and Sam glanced upward, scanning the vault. He found the bird first, tucked into a niche above the new speakers, and pointed it out to Sam, who smiled at their secret.
Receiving the Easter blessing, Henry remembered: grass seed. He wished he had a pen so he could make a list, but knew Emily would disapprove. He’d just have to memorize it. Propane and Drano and grass seed.
“Go forth and serve the world,” Father John said, arms raised, dismissing them.
“Thanks be to God. Alleluia, alleluia.”
“Is it over?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Lisa said, “you’re free.”
Released, the congregation seemed hesitant to leave, lingering in the pews, milling in the aisle, waiting to pay their respects to Father John. The line was long, and Henry took the opportunity to step away and collar the sexton as he was crossing the transept.
His name was Ed McWhirter, and Henry had been part of the committee that hired him. Burly and bearded like a professional wrestler, he was dressed not for church but like a mechanic, in a gray work shirt, black dungarees and heavy brogans, a key ring the size of a softball riding his hip. Henry had never seen him wear anything else.
The bird was still in its niche above the speaker.
“I don’t know how it got in,” Henry said, “but it can’t stay.”
“It won’t,” McWhirter said with the conviction of a hit man, and Henry believed him.
In the car, mostly for the children’s benefit, Emily gushed over the lilies and the bell choir and how well the tenor sang. “I do love the Easter service, even better than Christmas. It’s more of a celebration. What was your favorite part?”
“The bird,” Sam said, getting a laugh, and Henry admitted it was his too.