warmly. Muriel was obviously a very nice person.
Faith dashed to the parking lot and drove home. The phone was ringing as she opened the kitchen door. It was Tom.
“Where have you been, honey? I've been calling you all morning.'
“I went out to Hubbard House to visit Farley Bowditch and—' Faith started to explain.
“That's nice. I'm sure he appreciated it,' Tom interrupted. 'I'm going to be later than I thought tonight, but I will be home for dinner.' His voice sounded grimly determined. Something was up, Faith realized—not just from the tone of his voice, but from the fact that her visit to Hubbard House had scarcely been noted. She hoped it wasn't complaints about wording in some of the hymns again. There were so many points of view these days, and Tom had been going in circles trying to keep everybody in tune.
“Fine. I have to get Ben at the Viles'. He's playing with Lizzie today. Then we have to do the food shopping, so I'll be running a little late too. Is everything all right, darling? You sound a little harried.'
“I am. Leave a light in the window and get out the scotch.”
Faith hung up. This wasn't just hymns. A thought stabbed her. Maybe the director of the church school was ill and couldn't direct the Christmas pageant! This was always a worst-case scenario and something her normally unflappable mother had fretted about at Christmastime all during Faith's childhood. Jane Sibley was noted for her cool toughness in court, and there were hints of a possible judgeship, but the intricate theological wrangling about who was going to be Mary this year and my son isn't going to be a shepherd
But Tom would have said something, especially if he intended to drag her into it. She shook her head. He wouldn't ask her in any case. Pix would do it. Pix always did everything. In fact, it was odd that she wasn't doing it in the first place. Pix Miller was Faith's next-door neighbor, and the Miller family's intimate involvement in two murder investigations, which Faith had literally stumbled into, had forged a bond stronger than either the occasional cup-of-sugar type neighborliness or the 'you planted your hedge over my property line' antipathy.
She drove to get Ben, and the job of tearing him away from Lizzie effectively blotted out any and all thought. Today was worse than usual. Lizzie's mother tactfully stood aside as Faith wrestled a screaming Ben into the car. 'Don't wanna go! Wanna stay wid Lizzie! Nononononono! and so on. She gave Arlene Viles a weary smile and backed out of their drive. The only thought that comforted her was that Lizzie would be worse about leaving when she came to play at their house. As she drove to the market, she thought she might suggest this phenomenon to Tom for some kind of sermon. What does it say about human nature that we derive so much comfort from not being last in line? No matter how badly your child might behave, there are always worse ones. And, a friend had told her once, no matter how fat you think you are and how much cellulite is dimpling down your thighs, there's always someone in the Loehmann's dressing room who looks worse. Faith was some years away from these comparisons, yet the point was the same.
Ben had calmed down as soon as Lizzie's house was out of sight, and now her only problem would be to convince him to sit in the cart and not try to 'help' by pushing it for her. She grabbed a bunch of bananas as soon as she entered the store, put one in Ben's hand, and strapped him in before he had a chance to protest.
Tom was later than usual, and looking at his expression when he entered the kitchen, she could see that he was mad, not sad. So no one had died or contracted some serious disease. It was merely some pain in the ass—a congregation being like any other group of individuals.
She put her arms around him. 'Come on, let's have a drink and sit in the living room while you tell me all about it. I fed Ben and he's watching a Winne-the-Pooh tape—that gives us roughly twenty-two minutes of peace.'
“Wonderful, darling—although whatever you've got in the oven smells so delicious, I'm not sure I can concentrate.”
Faith had decided Tom needed some good, solid food—nothing nouvelle—so she'd prepared a pork roast with garlic, rosemary, white wine, and olive oil. There was curried cabbage, fresh applesauce, and a potato galette Lyonnaise to go with it. She poured herself a glass of Georges Duboeuf Beaujolais Nouveau and followed Tom into the living room. Ben was at the far end, mesmerized by Eeyore, and barely acknowledged Tom's kiss.
“All right, what is it? They've discovered the bordello we're running on the side in the parsonage? Or someone got a back issue of
“Oh, Faith, I wish it were something funny. I really don't know what to do, or rather I do, and the next couple of months are going to be so damned unpleasant. And why now? You know how much I love Christmas.”
Faith did know. Tom's family started getting the cartons of ornaments down from their attic before Halloween just to check and see if any of the lights needed new bulbs. When the house was finally decorated, there wasn't a corner that had been overlooked. Some year Faith fully expected to find St. Nick toilet paper peeking at her from the roll.
“I also feel a bit petty about it. It shouldn't bother me so much, but he has a way of getting under my skin— and it's only been one day!”
Everything was suddenly clear. 'So,' said Faith, 'you can't stand your new divinity school intern.'
“I loathe him. So will you. He's arrogant, pompous, self-centered, stupid, and he smells.'
“Well, at least you can tell him to take a bath. Hint around.'
“It's not good old BO. It's some kind of horrible men's cologne.'
“And what is this creature's name?'
“Cyle—as in 'Kyle,' but spelled with a 'C'—and you can bet it didn't start out that way. We met this morning to discuss what he would be doing, and he started interviewing me! Before I knew it, he was offering advice about my sermons, ways to keep the congregation alert, and suggestions for a new wing for the parish hall. I began to feel a knot in my stomach that is just starting to go away now.' He took a mouthful of scotch.
“How long will he be here?'
“Until the first of March, and there's no only about it.”
Faith was a little surprised at the intensity of Tom's reaction. Cyle must really be something. Tom was the least judgmental person she knew. Turning the other cheek, living and letting live—this was Tom. At the moment he was sounding more like her.
“I suppose what is actually troubling me is contemplating the kind of damage a person like this will do in the future. Imagine going to him for comfort. The sole thing that is going to make this bearable is for me to finagle my way onto his ordination committee.'
“Why do you suppose he wants to be a minister? He sounds more like someone who thinks of call waiting rather than the 'call.' '
“I've been wondering the same thing myself—it has to be the idea of a captive audience every week. Maybe I should try to steer him into politics—or TV evangelism.'
“Anywhere but your church.'
“Exactly.”
Tom stretched his long legs out. Winne-the-Pooh had gone back to the Hundred Acre Wood, and they tucked Ben into bed before sitting down to eat. As they ate, Faith told Tom about her visit to Hubbard House, eliminating Sylvia Vale's mistake but mentioning the tight spot they were in and how she could help.
“I don't see why not,' he said. 'I'll be able to pick Ben up occasionally.'
“And I know Pix will help.'
“Have you uncovered any skulduggery yet?”
“Not yet. Everything looks like it's on the very up and up.'
“Which is what I've thought all along. Chat's friend may have been imagining things.' That re-minded Faith of Farley's ghost, and she gave Tom a hilarious account of the thoughtful wraith.
They cleaned up the kitchen and soon after climbed into bed.
“Feeling better, sweetheart?' Faith asked softly. 'Almost,' Tom answered, reaching for her under the blankets.
Sylvia Vale greeted Faith at the door the next morning with exuberant relief.
“You've come back! That's marvelous. Mrs. Pendergast said you would, yet one never knows.' She sighed. 'It used to be so easy to get help in the old days. I've been here since Hubbard House opened, you know.'
“I'll be able to come weekdays until everyone is back. Please don't worry.'
