The Blameless Bystander

By Autumn Writer

Chapter 5—The Church Speaks

It was a heady feeling that consumed James as he marched up the stairs to his apartment upon his return from school that day. He had already decided to pour himself three fingers of Scotch before making some dinner. It wasn’t to make him forget, or to help him think. It was just going to be his private celebration.

Yes, it was a real breakthrough; it was all so perfect. Raymond was a shy, but respectful young man who seemed grateful, eager to start his adventure in Math. James was the Tour Guide and was certain that all would go well.

Nathan performed admirably in his director’s chair, in James’ estimation, making it all possible. Henry Thompson and Ed Cassidy played their supporting roles brilliantly, too. James was the star, the central figure in the real life play. It was Guatemala anew—a second chance. He never thought it would come to him again, especially after he left the priesthood. He could see now that it was truly his destiny. The occasion deserved a Scotch—or maybe two. It couldn’t be more than that. He had papers to correct. He didn’t feel like working that evening, but the formula had brought him this far; no reason to jinx it.

He changed his plan a little. He put water on the stove to boil some pasta and started heating some spaghetti sauce in a little pan. He would have his celebration while his dinner cooked. He performed his kitchen chores and then clinked three ice cubes into a glass. He covered them with the whiskey and sat down to enjoy it.

He decided to draw up a plan for Raymond’s tutelage after he corrected the homework, which he would do after he ate. For now, he wanted to relax and he couldn’t help thinking about how events in his life had led to this moment. If hadn’t given up his Holy Orders it would have been impossible. It didn’t usually work that way; it proved out that phrase: ‘God works in mysterious ways’.

He had no hard feelings toward the Church or the Order. It was just that the priesthood had dried him out. He never really practiced his priestly profession to the fullest. He had always been a teacher with plenty of priests around to perform the rites; the Church had traded the bestowal of Holy Orders for his adherence to vows that bound him to his service. He had become a shepherd without a flock, a missionary to believers. His vows hung from his shoulders like a coat of chain mail, a protection from without and within.

“No hard feelings—no regrets,” he said out loud. Did he say it to himself, or to God? He was not sure. He thought about making contact with the local parish. He hadn’t confessed or received communion since he left the Order. That would be complicated, since he had to fit his activities with Vicki into that scenario. If he confessed it, he knew that a condition of absolution would be to cease committing the sin. He would not promise to ‘avoid the near occasions of that sin’ if he did not mean it. He would not omit confessing it either, throwing little sins to the confessor like bones to a dog. Better to bear this sin than blasphemy. One can lie to oneself, but not to God.

He thought more about his deeds with Vicki. Perhaps it was no sin—nothing to confess. It was like Nathan’s admonition to keep his own business to himself. He would think about this and if he came to believe it he would confess and take communion.

The sound of his pasta water boiling over onto the burner pierced his introspection. He jumped out of the chair to turn down the flame. The water hitting it made the blue flame jump about with flares of yellow flicking out in many directions. It suggested to him that he was steps away from the gates of hell, daring them to open.

**************

Ireland is the Land of Saints and Scholars, it is often said. Like many clichés, it is not true. It is, rather, a place that gives birth to tormenting, elfin, leprechaun-philosophers. They disguise themselves as elder priests and migrate to America to torture their protégés, passing out lyrical dictums with Communion. The younger priests cannot understand, but know well that the cruel riddles are full of undeciphered wisdom. They tear open their souls and stuff the words inside. As they grow old, they pry out the meaning, in hope that God will be revealed to them.

One such Irish priest was Fr. Brendan McNulty. He was appointed rector at the school where Jamie taught. He had little to do with the operations of the school. Rather, he was in charge of the community of priests who resided there. He was a short, slightly built man with a square jaw and pug nose. His hair was silver; his age known only to him and God, and, of course, the Prefecture Office in New York City. He spoke with the brogue of the auld sod although he had been in America for several decades. James had heard him speak without it on a number of occasions, but the old priest always had the accent ready and used it whenever dispensing grace and truth.

There was intoxicating kindness in his voice. A listener willingly became immersed in it. Resistance to the Word would melt away. Too late, one would feel the hardness of the lesson underneath the velvet cloak until it descended upon the unwary soul. Yet, the disciples would be as grateful as though they had been present at the Sermon on the Mount. It was with the brogue that one warm day the last summer he called James to him.

“Jamie, come here into m’ office right away!”

“Yes Father,” Jamie answered as he stepped inside. Father Brendan was seated at his desk. The aroma of fresh-burned pipe tobacco hung in the air of the small office like incense at High Mass. Indeed, the always-present pipe with the curved stem and large bowl sat in a glass ash tray at the side of the desk. It was the man’s lone self-indulgence. A simple crucifix was mounted on the wall behind and above him.

“Close the door and sit, boy,” the older man bade, not looking up from the documents that he held. Finally, he peered at Jamie over the top of his glasses. “Are ye sure that ye want t’ be doin’ dis. Yer mind’s made up, is it?

“Yes, Father. It hasn’t changed since we discussed it the last time,” Jamie answered.

“Dat bein’ th’ case, Jamie, yer release papers are here fer ye to sign. Dey’re right here in m’ hands. I’ll just get Fadder Mark to witness. Stay where y’are .”

The old man slowly trod out of the room. He returned after a minute. “He’ll be here presently.” The two men looked at one another in silence while they waited.

A young priest walked into the office. Father Brendan signed in several places. He turned the papers around and handed them to Jamie. “Sign here...and here and here, right next to where I did.” Jamie signed without hesitating. It was anticlimactic. He had waited over six months for the release. The signing was a formality, yet Jamie had kept every vow—he would never break them until released.

Father Mark signed as the witness after Jamie did. “Good luck to you, Jamie. I’ll miss you.” The two younger men embraced. Father Mark bowed his head and shuffled sadly out of the room.

Jamie started to rise. “Just stay seated where y’are. We’re not done yet—not by far!” Father Brendan ordered. Although Jamie was no longer a priest, and no longer under the older man’s command, he obeyed him. Father Brendan sat back down. He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands across his middle.

“I suppose ye t’ought dat I would try to talk ye out of it one last time,” he said. “Well, I decided not to. Yer not cut out for the life of a priest, not at all. At long last, it’s not the life for ye.”

“Father, I obeyed every vow. I always did my best,” Jamie protested. “There was never a reason to doubt me, except when the secretary at Holy Sacrament Parish accused me…”

“Ah, dat! A very unfortunate thing, dat was. Very sad, indeed, but t'wasn’t yer fault, was it now?” Father Brendan interrupted.

“Yes,” Jamie agreed. “But as I was saying, I was obedient….”

“Yes, Jamie! I know. Ye never committed any sins,” the older man, who had become agitated, interrupted. He leaned forward, tore his spectacles from the bridge of his nose and pointed his finger at Jamie “But dere’s a sin ye haven't yet learned of—the Eighth Deadly Sin. Yer’ve been committin’ it, boy, as long as I’ve known ye. And 'tis the reason why yer not cut out fer d’ priesthood.”

“Eighth Deadly sin?” Jamie contorted his face in confusion.

“Aye, the Eighth Deadly Sin!” the old man shouted, pounding the tip of his still pointed finger down on the desk. “Yer been committin’ it, boy, and not even knowin’ it.” He paused and calmed his voice. “Yer been committin’ it all o' th’ time.” He finished as he waved his hand in the air across his chest to emphasize the scope of Jamie’s commission.

“Well, Father,” asked a suspicious Jamie, “what then, is the Eighth Deadly sin? Tell me so that I can stop committing it.”

The old man’s ire started rising anew. He jumped from his chair, leaned forward on locked arms and clenched fists. “I’ll tell ye what it is!” he growled. Then he sat back down leaned back in his chair and folded his frail hands over his stomach once again. He exhaled deeply. Jamie leaned forward, intent on hearing the answer.

“I’ll tell ye what it is at a time of m’ own choosin’,” he said as he smugly stared Jamie in the eye.

The culmination of the exchange turned Jamie into a crestfallen challenger. The final riddle, the key to truth, denied once again. He was certain to never find it. He was tired of questions—always deeper, more difficult questions. He had enough of unanswerable questions, unsolvable riddles. Make it black or white! He wanted truth, plain and simple. He wanted it soon, before he was too parched for it to take root.

“Now, Jamie,” Father Brendan resumed, “though we’re no longer brethren in the Order, we’re still brothers in Our Lord. I bear ye no ill will. Ye must find a path fer yerself in th’ world. Find the truth that eludes ye, boy. Serve God in yer own way. Ye’ll find out fer yerself what is meant by the Eighth Deadly Sin, and when ye do, ye’ll have yer truth, and more.”

Jamie was beginning to feel sad as he knew that the final parting was soon to be.

“Stay seated, Jamie, and I’ll give ye m’ blessin’ before ye go.” He rose from his chair and placed his left hand on top of the younger man’s head. With his right he hewed a cross through the air, “In nómine Patris, et Fili, et Spirítus Sancti.” he recited.

“Amen.” Jamie uttered and crossed himself.

“Now fer somet'in’ else,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “All dat yelling gave me a tickle in me t'roat. I’ll have one wit’ ye fer th’ road.” He reached into his bottom desk drawer and produced a bottle of Irish whiskey and two glasses. He poured an ounce into each glass.

“God be with ye, Jamie.” They both downed the dram and set their glasses on the desk. The old priest poured them another. “May th’ wind be always at yer back. May th’ road rise up to meet yer feet.” They downed the second dose.

“I know dat ye’ll come back to see me one fine day, Jamie. Until ye do, I’ll be t'inkin’ of ye and praying fer ye.”

Jamie stood and embraced his old mentor. “Thanks for everything, Father.” He picked up his papers, and turned, and walked out the door without a further word. As he walked down the hallway, he wiped some wetness from his eyes.

**********

Ethan Chandler sat at his desk, staring out the window as the late morning sun pushed its way over the rooftops on the opposite side of the street. He was working on his Sunday sermon, and he had not progressed very far. He well knew that Jarrod Morris expected him to say something about the Church finances. It was a bitter pill. Begging for money from the pulpit was something that he had always promised himself that he would not do. It would be a cruel humiliation. He was a man of the cloth, not a barker in a carnival.

He thought about weaving it into the sermon, not asking directly. It would take a lot of finesse to bring it off. Subtlety was not his strong suit. What would be the use of doing it, anyway? It wasn’t those seated in the pews that he needed to reach. It was the empty seats that needed attention.

A solution dangled in front of him like a cluster of ripened grapes on a vine. It occurred to him that Providence had just tapped him on the shoulder.

“The Lord works in mysterious ways,” he said profoundly to himself out loud. It was a confluence of words and events. Only the Almighty could have brought it all together. There was Jarrod’s urging him to use the pulpit for fundraising. Howard Jones exhorted him to uncover scandal. Just as it all appeared to be idle committee talk, Becky brought him that which bound it all together in the form of this ‘Mr. O’Toole’.

“The truth shall issue forth on the lips of an innocent child,” he pronounced to the empty room. He was making up his own Scripture, not worrying about the offense. What did Isaiah or Jeremiah have over him, except the advantage of time and place? Here and now he would take his place among them. But, did he dare?

“I am Ethan, the strong one,” he proclaimed to bolster his nerve. God needed no evidence. By nexus, neither did he. He reasoned that it would come forth fast enough, once he laid the truth out in the open for all to see and hear. Truth was absolute. God was Truth. Truth did not come about because of evidence. Evidence would be gathered to lie like a wreath around the Truth to buttress the weak among the believers. It was all Black and White. He, Ethan the strong one, would be the hand of God; it was up to him to turn the screw.

Ethan rubbed his hand on the back of his neck. It felt a little fuzzy back there. He was overdue for a haircut. There would be just enough time for one before lunch. He put on a cardigan and walked the two blocks to Harvey’s Barber Shop.

“Hello, Ethan!” Harvey called out as the Reverend opened the shop door. “I got up this morning and told the Missus, ‘Ethan’s about due for a haircut’.”

Harvey English was a congenial man, just turned sixty. He owned the town’s only barber shop, unless one counted the farmhouse kitchens where wives hacked away on husbands and sons. Harvey grew up in Bates; he was acquainted with everyone, knew almost all of them. He was lanky with white, well-groomed hair and a trimmed moustache. Harvey loved a good story and a good joke as he went about his work. There were two bulletin boards in the shop. One hung on the wall where patrons would post things for sale or the poster for the next concert of the Town Chorale. The other was Harvey himself. One could tell him a piece of news and be sure that it got passed on.

“Right you were, Harv. Just a little trim, if you please.”

The barber shop was empty except for the two men. Harvey slapped at the leather seat with a towel and Ethan climbed in.

“Haven’t noticed you in the congregation lately, Harv,” Ethan said as the barber finished fastening the smock around his neck.

“Sorry about that. Ethan,” Harvey said as Ethan put him on the spot. “It just seems that we’re always tied up every weekend.” Ethan wasn’t Harvey’s favorite customer. For one thing he never tipped. He was, moreover, a man who didn’t appreciate a good joke, or an embellished ‘remember when’ story.

“For example,” he went on, needing to prove his point, “last Sunday we were up in Buffalo visiting my daughter and son-in-law and the new baby.”

“Very nice, Harv. Everyone doing well?” Ethan asked as a courtesy.

“Fine, fine!” Harvey replied. “I wish that we could see more of them. Buffalo’s not too far, though.”

“Well, you’ll want to attend this Sunday!” Ethan returned to the point. “I’ve got a special sermon prepared.”

“Oh?” Harvey’s interest piqued.

“A revelation; a warning!” Ethan proclaimed, tantalizing the listener.

“Who, what, Ethan?”

“I’ll only say that it’s something happening right now and it’s about the school,” Ethan replied.

Harvey rubbed his chin, trying to decipher what Ethan meant. If it was about the school, and Ethan thought it important, then it had to be about teaching Evolution. Ethan often had sermons on that subject, although it never seemed to sway the School Board. Or perhaps it was…Harvey decided to probe.

“Did you mean the Elementary School, Ethan, or the Middle School?” he asked cautiously.

“No, it’s the High School!” Ethan answered tersely. Ethan knew that Harvey had swallowed the bait and he just had to set the hook.

Harvey thought for a moment. Of course, it was about sex. Little doubt, with all those young people coming of age, and all of the obscene material they could get at nowadays.

“What about the High School?” he probed. The hook was set. All that was left for Ethan was to reel him in.

“I’ve said too much already,” Ethan answered. Harvey had finished the hair cut and removed the smock. “I hope that I see you on Sunday, Harv.” Ethan knew that he would. Ethan paid Harvey (no tip) and went back home to have lunch.

**************

“Raymond, it’s almost time for you to go, but before you do, I’m going to give you some reading on the Theorem of Limits. You have to master this to start Calculus,” James said.

It was nearly five o’clock. He and Raymond were sitting at James’ kitchen table. It was the boy’s first tutoring session.

“You mean you’re going to teach me Calculus already?” the student asked.

“I didn’t think that you would be so nervous about it, Raymond. We can slow down the pace a little if you want,” James teased.

“No way!” Raymond shot back. “It’s just that…”

“Just what, Raymond?”

The student cast his eyes down at the page, trying to figure out whether to answer.

“C’mon, Raymond, you had it half way out already.”

“It just that whenever I ask the teachers in school to go faster they get angry,” Raymond blurted out.

“The teachers have a lot of students to worry about, Raymond. Here, it’s one-on-one,” James explained.

“Yes, sir,” Raymond mumbled; he sounded unconvinced.

“Why do you think so?” James queried.

“My mother says it’s because I’m half-Indian. She says that they don’t want me showing up the white kids,” Raymond poured out the truth. At least it was his truth. James made no judgment.

“I don’t know about that, Raymond. Here, at least, we’ll go as fast as you can handle it.” James looked Raymond in the eye. “Fair enough?”

“It sure is!” the youth said and beamed a broad smile.

Now here are the pages that I want you to read. Read them twice if you need to. Then do these problems. Don’t forget the geometry and trig problems that I gave you earlier. And, most of all, don’t neglect your regular course work.”

“No problem!” an exuberant Raymond assured.

“We better get downstairs. I would guess that your mother is waiting in the driveway already,” James said.

Sure enough, as they rounded the corner of the house Raymond’s mother sat in her car, waiting to pick him up. It was a station wagon that looked like it had seen better days. James met her several days before in the conference room at the school following the meeting with Nathan and the other men.

Raymond’s mother was about the same age as James. She carried a few extra pounds that gave her body a lumpy appearance. Her brown hair was unkempt, hinting that the day’s travails with the children and overdue bills made her give up on keeping it in place. She was careful not to give away her thoughts, by wiping any expression from her face. Perhaps it was that, or because she was tired.

“Hello, Mrs. Jacobs!” James called to her as they approached the car. “Did we keep you waiting?” She shook her head but did not speak. “Raymond did well. I gave him some assignments. I think that this will work out real well.”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this for no pay,” she uttered as she looked away. “We don’t want charity, but we can’t pay.”

“Raymond needs this, Mrs. Jacobs, and I’m enjoying it,” James countered.

The woman ignored his remark. “I made these for you—to pay something,” she mumbled. She thrust a paper plate with a dozen cookies out the open window of the car.

“Thank you, Mrs. Jacobs. You didn’t have to do this, but I’m glad that you did!”

“It ain’t nuthin’,” the woman mumbled, looking away again.

“More than you think, Mrs. Jacobs. A single man like me doesn’t get this kind of thing very often unless someone thinks of him,” James insisted.

Well, alright then!” Raymond’s mother answered, her tone brightened a little. She rolled up the window and started backing down the driveway.

James watched the station wagon back down about thirty feet or so. Then he waved good bye and turned back toward the back of the house. As he did, there was something moving that he saw in the corner of his eye. It didn’t surprise him. It was the curtain in the nearby window in Mrs. Wilkinson’s part of the house.

He didn’t think that the landlady would like the tutoring sessions, but this was a point on which he would dig in his heels. He paused to see if the old woman would come waddling out the front door for one of her interrogations. When she didn’t, he started walking slowly to his stairway. He would give her every chance to confront him, if she wanted to.

When Mrs. Wilkinson failed to venture from her lair, James considered the matter closed. He bounded up the stairs ready to get some dinner ready. He had some sliced ham from the Thrifty Mart and some eggs, so he decided that he would try that. That would give him a good base when he went out for his run early the next day.

***********

James bounded out of bed the next morning looking forward to his morning exercise. He threw on his running clothes. As he stepped lively to the door he glanced at the scrubbed skillet and plate in the dish drainer. He congratulated himself on getting the eggs cooked just right the night before, and credited the meal for his feeling so good that morning.

He was stretching in the yard looking up at the early morning sky. It promised to be a rainy day, but no sign of rain yet. As the days of September ticked away the mornings were getting chillier. He reminded himself that shorts wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to get out his sweatpants. He finished his stretching and started on his route.

The coldness of the morning air encouraged him to quicken his pace. The streets and houses had all become familiar landmarks as he loped past them. James found his stamina and muscle tone improving with the daily routine. At some point, he reckoned, he would have to expand his route. He wanted to get in as much work as possible because when winter arrived the snow might make it impossible to keep a daily schedule.

As he ran, he started thinking about his new charge, Raymond, and Mrs. Wilkinson peering at them from behind her curtain. He expected a complaint or an interrogation from her, but received none. Maybe he was just imagining that he was to meet opposition at every turn. Why would the old woman even care?

“Why indeed?” he answered himself, pondering the obvious point of Raymond’s social status. He didn’t know if his assumptions were true or not. It was easy to assume, given his low regard for the unpleasant lady. He realized that it didn’t matter. Only Raymond’s tutelage and, of course, his part in it mattered.

James was amazed that a young man in Raymond’s circumstances could rise to the level that he had. He decided on the spot during their first tutoring session to accelerate the lesson’s pace. It was apparent that there was a lot of potential in the young student. It was the right decision, because he saw the spark that he ignited in the pupil as soon as he did it. Raymond had every tangible factor arrayed against him. Most of the other students had everything in their favor. Raymond stood where he did on the academic ladder; his classmates—well, they stood lower.

The only possible explanation was that Raymond possessed an inner spirit that transcended the bounds of wealth and social standing. It told him that if he had faith, all would work out; fairness would win over injustice; optimism was preferable to complacency; better times awaited starry-eyed believers.

“I hope that he never loses it,” James said to himself. “It’s what I felt in Guatemala; but it’s too late to get it back now. I’m too old.” He placated himself that he might be an instrument in preserving that good part of Raymond. That would be enough. “If only the student could become the teacher,” he puffed as the running winded him. “I would be a willing pupil.” Times were getting better for James, so he felt justified in allowing some good feeling to creep back into his outlook.

His concentration was interrupted by the front door opening in one of the small ranch houses that faced the end of the street that he was running on. It was at a tee in the road, where one street met another; the house sat opposite. As he approached he wondered who might venture out. The door opened wide, and then closed abruptly. James didn’t think much of it. He turned the corner and ran on.

After he had made his way fifty yards down the road a notion came upon him to try a different route. He stopped in his tracks and turned to run the opposite way. The gym teacher, his blonde ideal, Amazon goddess, was just tuning from her driveway onto the road ahead of him. James had not seen her in quite a few days. Even in school she didn’t seem to hang around the teachers’ lounge and James never visited the gym.

James was quite sure that she had seen him as he made the turn onto the street. He could only hope to match the pace that she set. He would never catch up. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to. He was enjoying the view from behind just as much as he had the front. He did wonder what difference he would find in her perfect body, compared to Vicki’s. He knew it was only a fantasy. He had slept with Vicki a grand total of two times, and he was already thinking of trading up—if trading up was indeed what it was.

Ahh, Vicki! He resolved to see what she was doing for dinner.

************

“Ethan, this is Jarrod speaking,” said the voice on the answering machine tape. “I need to speak with you as soon as you get this. I’ve been trying to get you all morning. Call me at my office.” It was the end of the message. The tape stopped turning. The red light on the machine blinked angrily.

The Reverend Chandler returned home an hour later for lunch. “You’ve got a message on your answering machine,” his wife said without looking up. She was preparing lunch for him. “I didn’t play it. I just got in, myself.”

Ethan strode to his study without speaking, and played the tape. He grinned smugly as he heard the Mayor’s message. He picked up the phone and punched in the number that he knew by memory.

Jarrod: This is Jarrod Morris speaking.

Ethan: Hello, Jarrod; this is Ethan.

Jarrod: Ethan, you’ve got to fill me in on what’s going on. This whole town’s buzzing about something that you said to Harvey English yesterday.

Ethan: That’s just what I was hoping for. You know how Harvey likes to pass on what he hears.

Jarrod: Well, everyone thinks that you’re going to expose something going on in the High School.

Ethan: Maybe so.

Jarrod: Don’t play games with me, Ethan.

Ethan: It’s not something for the phone, Jarrod.

Jarrod: Then stay where you are, I’ll be right over.

Ethan hung up the phone. He called out to his wife in the kitchen. “Judith, Jarrod Morris will be joining me for lunch. Would you set an extra place?”

***********

James was carrying his tray with his lunch to the Teachers’ Lounge when he saw Raymond Jacobs at his locker.

“Tell your mother that I liked the cookies,” he called to him. “How are you doing with that assignment that I gave you?”

“It’s a lot different than anything that I’ve ever had,” Raymond answered. “I’m going to reread it, like you said to.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it. Just keep at it,” James answered.

“You never stop, do you?” James heard a familiar voice behind him. It was Vicki. “Teaching, I mean. I heard about your ‘off the record’ student.” Vicki had a tray in hand and she and James walked together into the lounge. They found two empty chairs in a corner.

“How did you find out about Raymond?” James asked.

“Doris—who else?” she answered. “Let me tell you, she is mad as a wet hen. She says that Raymond is her student and she should have been offered the tutoring job first.”

“I wonder how she found out,” James mused.

“Her mother told her, according to her,” Vicki answered. “I have to warn you. She said that if she found you tutoring Raymond on school grounds, she was going to force the union to do something. I saw you talking to Raymond, so that’s why I butted in.”

“Thanks! I owe you one,” James said. “I’ll have to make it up to you.”

“I’ll think of a way,” Vicki said, with a slight smile.

“How about tonight? Why don’t we drive somewhere for dinner?”

“Well, there is a place in Corning that’s nice. We wouldn’t want to be seen together here in town. To tell the truth, I think that I’d like to stay in tonight. We’ll save Corning for another time.”

“Sure, no problem.” James looked crestfallen.

“I didn’t mean stay alone,” she laughed. “Why don’t you come over at six and we’ll have something simple.”

“Hey, sounds like a plan,” James said, and that made him much happier.

***********

Jarrod Morris sat across the table from Ethan Chandler. He alternately glanced from Ethan to his bowl of steaming soup and back again. The Reverend sipped his soup and gnawed a piece of bread. While Jarrod looked nervous, Ethan appeared oblivious to any worry.

“Eat your soup before it gets cold,” Ethan urged his guest.

“Ethan, you’ve told me nothing about what you said to Harvey English,” Jarrod nervously reminded him.

“I’ll tell you everything—after we eat our soup,” Ethan answered

“I’m sorry, Ethan. I’m just not hungry,” Jarrod retorted.

“Shame,” Ethan said with an air of detachment. “It’s good soup.”

“C’mon, Ethan!” demanded the Mayor. “Out with it!”

“Nathan hired a defrocked priest from Rochester to teach Math in the High School,” Chandler said and put a smug look on his face.

“What?” Jarrod exclaimed incredulously. “Nathan isn’t careless that way. Are you sure?”

“I got it personally from Homer Briggs,” Ethan answered. “He’s in a position to know.” Morris’ face took on a look of consternation. “He could have been defrocked because he’s a pedophile. Many of them are,” Chandler continued. “I think that he is.”

“What proof do you have of that?” Morris asked.

“So you think that Nathan is careful and I’m not?” the Reverend answered. “Why else would there be all the secrecy from Nathan?”

“You’re not planning on exposing him on Sunday based on that?” Morris demanded.

“Why not? It’s my duty, and the church is going to be filled to capacity waiting to hear what I’ve got to say.”

“You can’t do that, Ethan. I’ve been running around the countryside on our financial campaign. Everyone will think that I’ve been beating the drum for you on this pedophile thing. If you’re wrong, it’ll blow up in our faces.”

“I’m not wrong. I just know it,” Ethan replied, not losing his calm. “What if I’m right? What will people say if you, the Mayor, stopped me from proclaiming it from the pulpit?”

“Look, I’m not saying to give up on it; just get more proof,” Jarrod assured him.

“It’s too late. Everyone is expecting…”

“That’s your problem. If you come out on this too soon he could end up getting away with it. The law will be on his side. He’ll sue you, the church and every board member. I’ll be run out of office as Mayor. My insurance business will be ruined.”

“What can I say …?” the Reverend pleaded.

“You’ll just have to finesse it,” The Mayor insisted. “Just give them something, but no specifics and above all, no names. In the meantime, I’m going to pay a visit to Nathan.”

“No, no. That will tip them off!”

“Alright, but remember—no names until we get some more information,” Jarrod instructed.

“But Becky is in his class. He is her Math tutor!”

“We have to keep this secret. If you pull her out, it’ll tip them off. Don’t worry; pedophiles go for younger kids, anyway.”

****************

James and Vicki were finishing their meal of meatloaf and baked potato. It was nice to have some company for the simple meal. They talked about James’ tutoring Raymond Jacobs, and of Doris and her mother. A weekend trip later in the Fall to a Bed and Breakfast in the Wine Country was discussed, as well.

“That was good, Vicki—almost as good as the Meatloaf Special at the Bates Diner,” he joked as he cleaned his plate.

“Any more ‘compliments’ like that one and you can forget about ‘dessert’,” she bantered back. “Unless, of course, you were hoping for something from the ‘deep freeze’.”

James held his hands in surrender. “Truce! I give up!” he said laughing. “What’s for dessert, anyway?”

“Something ‘tasty’.” she hinted in a sultry voice. “Help me with these dishes and we’ll see what we can find in the ‘dessert room’.”

Twenty minutes later James followed Vicki into the bedroom. She kicked off her shoes and quickly pulled her sweater over her head, leaving only her white bra covering her from the waist-up. “Let’s just get naked as fast as we can,” Vicki said nonchalantly. James willingly complied. In less than a minute they had shed all their clothes and Vicki turned down the bed covers. She quickly launched herself onto the middle of the bed on her stomach.

“Why don’t you climb up here and give me a backrub?” she cooed up at him. James took a long look at her naked form below. Vicki had sunk her head down into the pillows and her arms were outstretched in a relaxed position. Although he had seen her nude a number of times, it was a different perspective. She looked seductive in that vulnerable pose, with a number of inviting creases and crevices exposed.

He mounted the bed and straddled her. He felt his scrotum resting against her buttocks. When he reached up to knead her shoulders the soft skin of the sack caressed her round cheeks and was caressed back, in return.

“Ohhh, that feels good!” she sighed. James agreed, and didn’t ask her if she meant his loosening the muscles of her shoulders and back or the rubbing down below. “Just keep doing that for a while,” she sighed again.

James’ hands started working in twin circles, enlarging the radius on each pass. At one point he let them fall to the sides of Vicki’s ribcage where her large breasts had squeezed out. He rubbed them a little, finding that they would be better attended later from the front position. He let his hands drift lower to the small of her back and to the top of the crevice between her cheeks. He began to wonder how to exploit the area as he sat atop her.

He reached forward again, looking for something new. As he did his erection nestled in between the rounded globes of her buttocks. It lay in there lengthwise. It felt good, so he held the position for a few seconds.

“You like that, don’t you?” came the muffled voice from the pillows. Vicki flexed a little and it seemed to widen the gap. James nestled down even deeper. It felt as if a warm, gloved hand was gently stroking him. James rose back up to resume the massage. As he would reach forward he would lower himself and Vicki would allow to him submerge into that tender fold. They continued for a while, each enjoying the contact and stimulation. James left a trail of clear, viscous fluid on Vicki’s back. He caught traces of the familiar, friendly aroma.

“Let me turn over now.” she said languidly. James lifted up and she quickly spun around so that she was lying on her back looking up at him. James continued to straddle her, and reached forward to massage her breasts. “It’s time for dessert,” she announced. “Kneel on the floor alongside the bed.”

James did as instructed, although confused, and Vicki turned at a right angle and maneuvered so that her center was at the very edge of the mattress. She placed her legs atop James shoulders. “Lick me!” she commanded. James was unsure where to start. He knelt before her, staring into her wet sex. “C’mon and lick me!” she repeated urgently, betraying her desire. She reached her hand to her labia and spread them open with her index and middle fingers.

When James enjoyed Vicki’s oral service it had never occurred to him that he might be asked to return the kindness. He never wondered to investigate the source of the peculiar, musky aroma that signaled imminent sex, either. In the few moments, it had become quite clear and Vicki’s instructions were very explicit. He didn’t dare wince or hesitate. Vicki hadn’t. He lowered himself so that his face was even with the target. He closed his eyes. He was too close to make out any details, anyway. He drew in a deep breath to inundate his nostril with her musk. He stretched his arms out to hold her around the hips. With his grip secure, he pulled his face close to her and snaked his tongue out between his lips. He tentatively tasted her—a small sample.

As soon as James’ tongue touched her, Vicki clasped the back of his head and pulled him tight against her. The bridge of his nose slammed against her pubic bone. She bucked back at it. His tongue thrust as deeply inside her as he could reach. For good measure, Vicki wrapped her legs tightly around his head. She grasped his hair, moving his head so that his tongue hit the right spots.

She tasted a little salty. It didn’t take James long to get used to it. He learned that there was a spot near the top juncture of the labia that made her purr out her pleasure the most. When his tongue hit it she pressed herself even harder against him. He concentrated on it. As he worked it harder, Vicki’s breathing hastened.

“You’re doing just fine, Sugar. Just keep that up for a while,” she panted. James did as he was told. He was enjoying it, which surprised him. He thought that he understood better why she enjoyed doing it to him. He kept at his task, raising his head only for quick seconds to get a gulp of air. Then he would resume. Vicki didn’t release her grip on his hair, or of her thighs enclosing his head. At times she would gasp or moan out her pleasure and James listened to it like a siren’s song. He had no idea how long he performed on her, and he wasn’t keeping track.

All at once the clamp with which she held him came loose and she backed herself away from the edge of the bed. She turned herself to resume her place lying in the middle of the bed. James remained on his knees on the floor. He waited for instructions.

“That was fine, James—real fine. Now, c’mon up here and finish me off,” she breathed in a sultry, hushed voice. James remounted the bed as she spoke. “Finish yourself off, too,” she added.

James wasted no time in bringing himself to her entrance. He paused to wipe the wetness from his face. “Leave it on! I like it that way.” she whispered from below. James moved forward, entering her.

It felt good as he slid forward. It might even have been better than that first time. It was hard to tell—it was different. One thing that he did feel was that he was more deserving of what he received from her. He had reciprocated in advance, paid his dues. He would have no fear that he might be sated and his partner left unsatisfied. Of course, he spoke none of this, just stroked in and out. She seemed to like that, too.

He thought that he would come right away, after being so excited when his erection rested in the crevice of her backside. He was wrong. He stroked long and hard, stretching himself a little more each time. With each stroke she squeezed him a little harder with the strong muscles inside her. The stroking provided a pleasure of its own, not just a path of ascendancy to climax. He was glad that it was lasting a while.

She must have sensed it when he was ready to finally explode. “Pour it into me!” she cried. He, again, did as she told him. In the end, their bodies were slick with sweat. Vicki’s moisture had dried on James’ face, leaving it with a sticky feeling. He rolled off to the side. They both panted from the exertion. Vicki rested her head on his shoulder and lay alongside him.

“You’re a fast learner, James. That was very nice,” she purred as she stroked her fingertips over his nipple. “Soon you’ll know all of my secrets.”

“There’s more?” he asked.

“Yes, there are more.” she declared. “But I’ll only give them up one at a time.” She rose up a little and kissed him. “Let’s take a shower together,” she lilted in a happy voice. “Then you can go home to your own bed and leave me to mine. We’ve got an early day tomorrow.”

*************

It was mid-morning on Sunday. While James and Vicki made small talk at her breakfast table a quite different scene played out at the First Baptist Church. The Reverend Chandler had already led the congregation in prayer. The choir was turning in a fine rendition of “Rock of Ages”, the Reverend’s favorite. Below the choir loft the congregation sang along. It was a stronger voice than usual coming from the rows of pews.

The increase in the collection was a welcome relief. There would be some extra to help the church get caught up on the mortgage. The Reverend stood looking out on the sea of expectant faces. It was satisfying to know that they had gathered especially to hear what Harvey English had told them he would say.

The voices of the choir fell to silence. The organ did the same after a few more closing chords. Ethan did not turn abruptly and stride to the pulpit. He stood still for half a minute, looking out again over the flock, as if he dared them to demand that he ascend the steps to the pulpit. The people looked back at him, wondering and waiting. Eyes were wide. Some jaws slackened and dropped open. Ethan sensed the timing and walked slowly. When he reached the steps, he mounted them as if he carried a heavy burden. His faced was etched in pain, as if it hurt to ponder what he was about to say to them.

When he arrived at the top of the pedestal where stood the pulpit he grasped the lectern tightly with both hands, turning the knuckles white, as if bracing himself against the furies of heaven and hell. He stood ramrod straight, casting his eyes above, moving his lips in silent prayer. Ethan slowly lowered his head and began his sermon in a booming voice, aided by the public address system of the church.

“Hear, oh Israel! Thy children cry out for thy succor from the torment of Babylon. The Serpent of In-i-quit-y hisses at their feet!” he thundered out. He paused, allowing the assemblage to ponder the words and he gauged their impact on the hollow faces in the pews.

“I’m so good at this!” he thought to himself. “They think that I’m quoting Scripture.”

After a few seconds he continued. “How true those words were in ancient days when the Israelites were enslaved in Babylonia. Here we are—thousands of years later—in modernity. Are those words still true today?” A few ‘yea, yea’s’ filtered forward from the crowd. “Yes, our society has become a modern-day Babylon, full of false gods and temptations of the flesh.” Ethan looked down at Jarrod in the front pew. He looked nervous. The Reverend ignored him. “What father would not give all to save his son? To what ends would a mother go for a daughter?” he stormed, then spoke quietly. “Is it enough? Can it ever be enough? Inside our homes we fear the Lord. What about outside?” He shook his head sadly.

“One needs only to pick up a newspaper, or view the evening news to know of what I speak. Cities rife with sin! Drugs! Sex! Brothels! Pornography! Can we be safe in our small town?”

“No!” a man cried from the midst of the congregation.

The Reverend stretched his long arm our straight and pointed a finger at the man. “You’re right, Brother!” he answered. “One need only read the ‘selections’ at the Bates Movie House this very week.” He waved a newspaper clipping that the assemblage assumed to be the movie listing. It served to verify his claim. It reminded them that all that he uttered from the pulpit was God’s own truth.

The Reverend orated for the next fifteen minutes on a familiar theme. It was, in most ways, a sermon like countless others he had performed over the years. On this Sunday, the mood was different. The faithful were more easily inflamed. There was expectation, a promise of “warning and revelation” that he had delivered through his clarion, Harvey the Barber. It was a two act play, in which Act I was memorized by the audience, serving to pave the way for Act II. It was the second stanza for which they all came. The mention of children in the prelude kept them alert, because they knew that it was about something in the school.

Soon enough, it came time for the Second Act. Jarrod Morris shifted in his seat. The worshipers sensed it coming.

“Wolves are amongst us in Sheep’s Clothing.” he breathed out in an urgent tone. “Some claim to be servants the Lord, but their real aim is to lead our children to sin.” A murmur spread trough the assembly. “I hold proof in my hand.” He waived another newspaper clipping over his head. The congregation drew in a collective gasp. Some strained to make out the headline, but it was too far away. Jarrod Morris was wide-eyed and perspiring.

Ethan fell silent for a moment, but kept holding the clipping over his head.

“Just concentrate and do this right and you’ll have them.” Ethan told himself.

Ethan slowly lowered his hand holding the paper to eye level and read the headline. “Lesbian bishop ordained,” he enunciated slowly. “A woman of the cloth—flaunting her abomination under the approving eyes of her church. All their robes and pious words do not matter. It is still an abomination.”

The assembly grumbled, showing God their displeasure.

“There is more; there are others. We have all heard about them. Do I need to remind you?” The crowd awaited the revelation in awe. “Defrocked priests!” Ethan shouted, ignoring the lack of connection. “Pedophiles, stripped of their ordinations, let out silently into the public, to commit their deadly sins over and over again on weak and unsuspecting youth.” Ethan paused to let the point sink in. He leaned forward from the pulpit. His bloodshot eyes filled with hatred and rage. He was shaking. He spied Mrs. Corbett nearby. He pointed at her and directed his stare her way.

“One might be teaching in Bates!” he hissed.

The congregation drew in a collective breath. Mrs. Corbett let out a muffled wail, and then began fanning herself with her church bulletin (both pages) to prevent herself from fainting.

Ethan straightened up, placid and serene, as though the expurgation had exorcized the demon. “I’ll say no more today,” he said calmly, “except, that it is up to all of us to do the work of the Lord.”

He descended slowly from the pulpit. The final hymn was “Give Me That Old Time Religion”. The choir shook the rafters with the strains of the old hymn. Ethan sang with them and clapped out the rhythm. The spirit infected the people in the pews. They felt Righteousness descending on them; who would resist?

It wasn’t necessary for Ethan to lay out his evidence like a lawyer. He had implied that he had knowledge of something and the people wanted to believe him. It was enough.

Ethan had them.

*****

TO BE CONTINUED