Barb Svenson thought how glad she was that she didn’t have anything in common with people like that. She had plenty of her own troubles; a good-for-nothing drunk of a husband and an unplanned kid that was one blemish shy of a sideshow attraction. The fact that both of their children were being preyed upon by the local priest was an unacknowledged coincidence.
Daddy had come back to find his lunch bucket in its usual place inside his locker. The lunch room, now vacant, told him that everyone else was back at work and he needed to do the same. Something far, far back in his brain suggested that he had been tricked; but that concept was not allowed to surface. What had happened was one of the men had found his lunch bucket and had returned it to its customary spot.
That resolved, the far greater question was what to do with the food in his still full bucket. Taking it home would not do, oh no, that would unleash a frenzy. An unrelenting frenzy from his wife and her army of the apostles, the saints and the angels of the apocalypse. Dumping it would be a sin. Giving it away would involve human interaction. Again, not an option. The only choice would be to eat. Some now, the rest after work. He took half a sandwich and began introducing it to the meatloaf. Then he picked up his metallic clipboard with addresses and numbered columns and returned to the streets of Elmwood.
6
The snow that had accumulated on the grounds of Saint Mark’s was far from significant. Any able bodied Minnesotan with a good pair of boots would find no trouble at all in making their way to their destination. But the modest amount of snow and the need to shovel were not questioned. Daddy had been asked to work. And that was what he was doing.
His progress was steady. The subzero temperatures had made this most recent snowfall airy and light. A little too deep for a broom, but easily pushed, five feet at a swath, into a pile that was first lifted and then deposited over the curb.
He had finished the walk in front of the church and turned north to tackle the eastern side. With the wind now directly in his face, daddy realized that each shovelful lofted to the curb got caught in the breeze. A backfill was being created into the cleared space behind him. He leaned on the shovel, peering ahead at the depression of white that indicated the span of sidewalk. Shoveling from north to south would put the wind behind him – helping him. From just under his breath: “Other way.” He clenched the neck of the shovel, stepped off the curb and into the street, and made his way to the northern end of the property. Had he merely walked up the sidewalk he knew that his boot-falls would have crushed the snow into the cement, creating icy impressions much harder to remove. There were already a few pairs of tracks from earlier pedestrians, but he did not add to them. Now with the wind at his back, he grounded the blade and plowed the shovel forward. His progress would be faster.
7
“We’re going to practice first. Bend over slowly to the eyepiece.” From behind Corky Father Gus motioned with his hand (the one without KY; the other hand was occupied) toward the scope. This was Corky’s moment; he was going to see the heavens. Just as he neared the eyepiece Gus halted him. “Oh my, that just won’t do. It’s a good thing we practiced first.” Corky was devastated. He wanted more than anything to see in the scope. He would do anything to see. Anything! And that’s just how Gus wanted it. “You’re not bending right . H ere, let me help you.” KY or not, Gus used both hands this time as he gripped the boys narrow hips. “Your pants are bunching up . L et’s move them out of the way.” Corky was more than happy to comply and with both of them working together he was bare-assed in seconds;
Daddy had come back to find his lunch bucket in its usual place inside his locker. The lunch room, now vacant, told him that everyone else was back at work and he needed to do the same. Something far, far back in his brain suggested that he had been tricked; but that concept was not allowed to surface. What had happened was one of the men had found his lunch bucket and had returned it to its customary spot.
That resolved, the far greater question was what to do with the food in his still full bucket. Taking it home would not do, oh no, that would unleash a frenzy. An unrelenting frenzy from his wife and her army of the apostles, the saints and the angels of the apocalypse. Dumping it would be a sin. Giving it away would involve human interaction. Again, not an option. The only choice would be to eat. Some now, the rest after work. He took half a sandwich and began introducing it to the meatloaf. Then he picked up his metallic clipboard with addresses and numbered columns and returned to the streets of Elmwood.
6
The snow that had accumulated on the grounds of Saint Mark’s was far from significant. Any able bodied Minnesotan with a good pair of boots would find no trouble at all in making their way to their destination. But the modest amount of snow and the need to shovel were not questioned. Daddy had been asked to work. And that was what he was doing.
His progress was steady. The subzero temperatures had made this most recent snowfall airy and light. A little too deep for a broom, but easily pushed, five feet at a swath, into a pile that was first lifted and then deposited over the curb.
He had finished the walk in front of the church and turned north to tackle the eastern side. With the wind now directly in his face, daddy realized that each shovelful lofted to the curb got caught in the breeze. A backfill was being created into the cleared space behind him. He leaned on the shovel, peering ahead at the depression of white that indicated the span of sidewalk. Shoveling from north to south would put the wind behind him – helping him. From just under his breath: “Other way.” He clenched the neck of the shovel, stepped off the curb and into the street, and made his way to the northern end of the property. Had he merely walked up the sidewalk he knew that his boot-falls would have crushed the snow into the cement, creating icy impressions much harder to remove. There were already a few pairs of tracks from earlier pedestrians, but he did not add to them. Now with the wind at his back, he grounded the blade and plowed the shovel forward. His progress would be faster.
7
“We’re going to practice first. Bend over slowly to the eyepiece.” From behind Corky Father Gus motioned with his hand (the one without KY; the other hand was occupied) toward the scope. This was Corky’s moment; he was going to see the heavens. Just as he neared the eyepiece Gus halted him. “Oh my, that just won’t do. It’s a good thing we practiced first.” Corky was devastated. He wanted more than anything to see in the scope. He would do anything to see. Anything! And that’s just how Gus wanted it. “You’re not bending right . H ere, let me help you.” KY or not, Gus used both hands this time as he gripped the boys narrow hips. “Your pants are bunching up . L et’s move them out of the way.” Corky was more than happy to comply and with both of them working together he was bare-assed in seconds;
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