Read Online The Grace in Older Women by Jonathan Gash - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jonathan Gash
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blush, but it was a near thing. 'Lovejoy, Father Jay.'
'How do, er, Father Jay.'
'How do you do, Lovejoy.'
He was of average height, thirtyish, with springy hair and a
pleasant open face, though I never know why we say things like that because all
faces are open, aren't they? He wore a cassock, and had been reading his
breviary. Juliana went instantly into apology.
‘Oh, I'm so sorry! Were you. . . ?' She writhed in abasement
The priest smiled. 'Just finished my office, Miss Witherspoon.
Vest for mass in a few minutes.'
if there is anything I can ever . . .' She halted in near-blunder.
I looked away. Another's pain spreads like ripples on a pond, goes on and on
affecting every molecule in the water. I couldn't see the problem. Celibacy's
all very well, but it's not gospel, is it? She was gorgeous, he looked hale, so
why not get on with it? There's enough problems in the world without inventing
more. I joked to staunch the wound.
'Miss Witherspoon overtook Fangio at Bures.'
'Miss Witherspoon is kind to trouble.'
He smiled his appreciation, gestured us to seats. The vestry was
spacious, but the furniture was reproduction. Old pock-marked linoleum covered
the floor, the flagstone edges making indentations. Cruets of wine and water
stood on a small chipboard stand, Woolworth's best glass. This place also felt
gutted, breathing as if comatose and with a terrible emptiness. An ancient
church all right, but I’ll bet even the pews were sold. It was walls and a
roof, and nothing.
'Where is it?' I asked. If the priest was bound heavenward, I'd
have starved to death by the time I reached any grub.
He went blank, it?'
'The antique.' I glanced from her to him. Some mistake?
'Oh.' Eyebrow play, looks darting. The antique?'
A door in the main church boomed. A shuffle began, some ancient
dragging to morning mass. You don't get many papists in East Anglia, so I
expect he wouldn't have to struggle to find a pew. In fact, I was rather
surprised to find a church of that persuasion still at it. We've hundreds of
churches dwindling year by year as congregations empty into modern life. His
quizzical smile showed he'd sussed my thoughts.
'Not being critical,' I said hastily. 'Times are changing.'
‘I know, Lovejoy. This church was of a, ah, former denomination. I
came three years ago. I think I have found paradise early, so fond I am of this
village.'
'Hard up, eh?'
'Lovejoy!' Miss Witherspoon in outrage.
'I'm sympathizing!' I shot back indignantly. 'For Chri . . .
Goodness!' I completed piously with a feeble grin. I'd have to watch my
language, but you've got to talk, for Christ's sake, or nobody would say
anything to anybody. Then where would we be?
it is true, Miss Witherspoon,' he reproved her sadly.
She subsided instantly, bowed her head. See? Subservience for him,
vituperation for me? I began to regret having come. Not a single antique in the
place, from its feel. Sorry, old church, I mentally apologized. But if all your
church silver, your ancient pews, fonts, lecterns, misericords, have been
ripped out, what did the exquisite Juliana fetch me for?
She glared hatred, but only because the priest's sad gaze was
fixed on some distant sorrow. Miss Witherspoon was truly smitten. She would
kill to avoid seeming unpleasant in his eyes.
He sighed. The world has shrunk, Lovejoy. Less than a dozen
parishioners. If it wasn't for Miss Witherspoon, and Mr. Geake, my other
churchwarden, I'd not survive. This week three more families leave. Fenstone is
dying.'
'It will grow again, Father Jay!' Juliana cried fiercely.
‘We can hope, Miss Witherspoon.' He was suddenly tired. I felt a
bit sorry, but not all that much. I mean, I'm always on my uppers. He at least
had a roof over his head. He spoke directly to me. 'I've no illusions. Folk see
a priest nowadays, and ask why he enjoys such privilege - his keep, rent-free position,
security - when they are out there earning their beans, children to clothe,
battling for jobs.'
'Well,
'How do, er, Father Jay.'
'How do you do, Lovejoy.'
He was of average height, thirtyish, with springy hair and a
pleasant open face, though I never know why we say things like that because all
faces are open, aren't they? He wore a cassock, and had been reading his
breviary. Juliana went instantly into apology.
‘Oh, I'm so sorry! Were you. . . ?' She writhed in abasement
The priest smiled. 'Just finished my office, Miss Witherspoon.
Vest for mass in a few minutes.'
if there is anything I can ever . . .' She halted in near-blunder.
I looked away. Another's pain spreads like ripples on a pond, goes on and on
affecting every molecule in the water. I couldn't see the problem. Celibacy's
all very well, but it's not gospel, is it? She was gorgeous, he looked hale, so
why not get on with it? There's enough problems in the world without inventing
more. I joked to staunch the wound.
'Miss Witherspoon overtook Fangio at Bures.'
'Miss Witherspoon is kind to trouble.'
He smiled his appreciation, gestured us to seats. The vestry was
spacious, but the furniture was reproduction. Old pock-marked linoleum covered
the floor, the flagstone edges making indentations. Cruets of wine and water
stood on a small chipboard stand, Woolworth's best glass. This place also felt
gutted, breathing as if comatose and with a terrible emptiness. An ancient
church all right, but I’ll bet even the pews were sold. It was walls and a
roof, and nothing.
'Where is it?' I asked. If the priest was bound heavenward, I'd
have starved to death by the time I reached any grub.
He went blank, it?'
'The antique.' I glanced from her to him. Some mistake?
'Oh.' Eyebrow play, looks darting. The antique?'
A door in the main church boomed. A shuffle began, some ancient
dragging to morning mass. You don't get many papists in East Anglia, so I
expect he wouldn't have to struggle to find a pew. In fact, I was rather
surprised to find a church of that persuasion still at it. We've hundreds of
churches dwindling year by year as congregations empty into modern life. His
quizzical smile showed he'd sussed my thoughts.
'Not being critical,' I said hastily. 'Times are changing.'
‘I know, Lovejoy. This church was of a, ah, former denomination. I
came three years ago. I think I have found paradise early, so fond I am of this
village.'
'Hard up, eh?'
'Lovejoy!' Miss Witherspoon in outrage.
'I'm sympathizing!' I shot back indignantly. 'For Chri . . .
Goodness!' I completed piously with a feeble grin. I'd have to watch my
language, but you've got to talk, for Christ's sake, or nobody would say
anything to anybody. Then where would we be?
it is true, Miss Witherspoon,' he reproved her sadly.
She subsided instantly, bowed her head. See? Subservience for him,
vituperation for me? I began to regret having come. Not a single antique in the
place, from its feel. Sorry, old church, I mentally apologized. But if all your
church silver, your ancient pews, fonts, lecterns, misericords, have been
ripped out, what did the exquisite Juliana fetch me for?
She glared hatred, but only because the priest's sad gaze was
fixed on some distant sorrow. Miss Witherspoon was truly smitten. She would
kill to avoid seeming unpleasant in his eyes.
He sighed. The world has shrunk, Lovejoy. Less than a dozen
parishioners. If it wasn't for Miss Witherspoon, and Mr. Geake, my other
churchwarden, I'd not survive. This week three more families leave. Fenstone is
dying.'
'It will grow again, Father Jay!' Juliana cried fiercely.
‘We can hope, Miss Witherspoon.' He was suddenly tired. I felt a
bit sorry, but not all that much. I mean, I'm always on my uppers. He at least
had a roof over his head. He spoke directly to me. 'I've no illusions. Folk see
a priest nowadays, and ask why he enjoys such privilege - his keep, rent-free position,
security - when they are out there earning their beans, children to clothe,
battling for jobs.'
'Well,
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