Listen, there’s a special gift I think we should present to Miriam.” I listened with interest and scraped the last spoonful from my bowl. Kathleen sounded stressed. I was concerned for her. Tonight was not a good time for her to appear distraught. I would encourage her. Be of good cheer when others are near. Perhaps that could be her mantra. Everyone had had mantras in the sixties. Bobby Mac would
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stand at the top of the stairs and trumpet, “I am the tarpon man.” My mantra. I blushed. Perhaps that was better left to posterity.
A high sweet voice sounded puzzled. “Gift? I thought we were going to cut the cake.”
Cake? I looked around, saw a silver cake stand with a cover on the counter near the mixer. I wafted to it, lifted the lid. Burnt sugar, Kitty’s signature cake. I felt the same mixture of elation and delight I’d enjoyed as a girl when I received a new Nancy Drew. I resisted the impulse to edge just the tiniest taste of the delectable icing onto my finger.
“Upstairs.” Kathleen was gesturing wildly. “Please, Elise, go up to the sewing room. There’s—”
Silence stretched. I don’t want to claim that I am immediately empathetic. Yet I knew that poor dear Kathleen not only didn’t have a gift upstairs, but was frantically trying to think of some object for Elise to retrieve. I was at her side at once. I whispered into her ear.
“Pincushion.” The sewing room at the rectory always had a plethora of pincushions.
A jolt of electricity couldn’t have startled Kathleen more. She managed to convert a yelp into the cry, “Pincushion.” Elise stood with one hand on the doorjamb. Tall and thin, she stared at Kathleen with puzzled dark eyes. “Pincushion?”
“Yes. The red one.” Kathleen managed a smile. It was strained, but it was a smile. “It will be perfect for Miriam. I hadn’t had a chance to wrap it. There are paper and ribbons in the bottom drawer of the chest in the closet. Please wrap it. I’ll take care of the cake and coffee and you can bring it in and we’ll present it to Miriam.” Kathleen sounded frantic. Almost feverish. Perhaps I should remove my dishes from the table. It wouldn’t take a moment to wash up, put everything in order. I was surprised that a few dishes on the table upset her. There are women who must always have their kitchens in perfect order, especially when there are guests. I wouldn’t
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have thought Kathleen was that particular. I was at the sink when the kitchen door closed. Suddenly Kathleen was beside me. In fact, she bumped into me, recoiled, then grabbed the soup bowl, hissing,
“You‘ve got to stop doing things like this.” I relinquished the bowl. “My dear, you are under too much stress.
I was simply cleaning up—”
”What if Elise looked toward the table and saw a piece of cornbread move through the air and disappear? What if she saw the bowl and plate flying across the kitchen all by themselves?” Kathleen shot a hunted glance toward the door. “What if she comes back and hears me talking to no one?” She moved closer to the sink, automatically rinsed my dishes and silverware.
Oh. How could I have forgotten? However, it is difficult to remember I’m not here when I am. “I’m sorry.” I must be more careful.
That reminded me of my perilous journey with the phone. “Kathleen, you’ll be pleased to know I was able to retrieve Daryl’s phone.” Considering her present discomfiture, I thought it best not to mention that moment above the church parking lot.
“Where—”
The hall door swung in. Elise bustled toward the table, a tomato-red pincushion shaped like a teapot in one hand, pink wrapping paper, scissors, and tape in the other. My tete-a-tete with Kathleen would have to wait.
Elise deftly wrapped the pincushion, chattering all the while.
“I thought tonight’s discussion of Saint Philip Neri was excellent. I agree with his insistence that rigorism keeps Heaven empty.” When Elise fluttered paper, I used the crackling sound as cover and leaned near Kathleen to whisper, “We’ll talk in the morning.
The phone’s safe for now.”
I wished my whispers didn’t have such a galvanizing effect on Kathleen. Her eyes flared, her mouth opened, her hands opened and closed spasmodically.
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As she used the scissors to curl a strip of ribbon, Elise turned toward Kathleen. “And I love Saint Teresa’s—” Elise broke off, staring. The scissors snapped shut, cutting the ribbon in half. “Are you all right?”
“Just”—Kathleen gulped for breath—“scalded my hand.”
“Cutting the cake?” Elise looked toward the cake stand with its cover in place.
“The cake knife.” Kathleen whirled and moved to a drawer.
Elise looked at the stack of plates on the corner of the counter.
The plates contained no cake. “Why did you put the knife up? You haven’t cut the cake yet.”
“It was so hot. The water, you know.” Kathleen yanked open a cutlery drawer, drew out a serrated knife.
Elise unwound another long strip of ribbon. “You’d better check the hot water heater. It’s extremely dangerous . . .” I passed through the swinging door into the hall. Literally and with pleasure. It was such a bore to have to open and shut doors. I wanted to take a peek around the rectory before I slipped upstairs to my lovely guest room. My duties were done for the moment. Kathleen seemed to be safe. The police investigation was under way. In the morning, I would confer with Kathleen. For now, I was free to relax and consider my rather breathtaking day.
I was mindful that it behooved me to commit the Precepts to memory. Surely Wiggins understood that the opportunity for thoughtful consideration had so far eluded me due to circumstances utterly beyond my control. I pushed away the memory of his doleful voice. Hopefully, he had returned to the Department of Good Intentions.
