Ash Wednesday

by Ralph McInerny

  A bell jangled above him when he entered. No one took notice of him. Tetzel took a chair and waited, observing the action about him.

  A family of five, all of them in stockinged feet, were being waited on by a gangly young man.

  “Be with you in a minute, sir.”

  “There’s no hurry.”

  One of the kids got up and tried out the tennis shoes that the clerk had just fitted him into. Little lights in the backs of them went on and off as he walked, head turned, appreciating the effect. He walked into Tetzel. The mother rose, grabbed the kid’s arm, and hurled him into a seat. Tetzel waved away the collision but was ignored. There was no sign of the proprietor.

  The clerk made five sales; the family headed for the door.

  “What did you have in mind?” the gangly young clerk asked, coming to Tetzel. He stood, smiling a sunny smile, his Adam’s apple riding up and down his throat.

  “Something comfortable.”

  “Loafers?”

  “Let me see what you have.”

  Tetzel had removed one of his shoes and put his foot into a device that measured his size. The clerk adjusted the device. “Ten and a half,” he announced and then disappeared into the back room, from which he returned with an armful of boxes. He pulled up his stool, opened a box, and pulled out a loafer, displaying it to Tetzel.

  The reporter offered his foot. “You own the place?”

  Again the big smile. “Don’t I wish.”

  Did he dream of owning such a store? Tetzel marveled at the ambitions of the simple. At that guy’s age he was already on the staff of the Tribune, the whole world before him. The loafer slid comfortably onto his foot. Maybe he would buy a pair of shoes.

  “Say, this isn’t Jason Burke’s store, is it?”

  The kid nodded.

  “He in?”

  “There’s been a tragedy in his family.” He looked up, solemn. “His mother.”

  Tetzel affected puzzlement, then began to nod. “Oh, that’s right. Mrs. Helen Burke. Well, maybe he’ll sell you the store now.”

  “You want to try that out?”

  Tetzel rose and took several steps, then sat again.

  “Fit all right?”

  “Perfect. I’ll take them.”

  Tetzel remained seated while the clerk, having taken his credit card, went to write up the sale. He brought back a slip for Tetzel to sign, then handed him a plastic bag containing his new shoes. Tetzel remained seated. No other customers had come in.

  “He came into a lot of money, didn’t he?”

  The clerk just rolled his eyes.

  “Why would he want to keep this store?”

  “Because it’s been his salvation. Those are his very words.”

  “What do they mean?”

  The clerk looked as if he might explain, then apparently thought better of it. All he did was shrug.

  After he left the store, Tetzel sat for some minutes in his car before starting the engine. If he wasn’t on to a story here, he would eat Tuttle’s tweed hat.

  Madeline Clancy was surprised when Amos Cadbury asked her to come for the reading of Helen’s will. When she got there she found the office to be almost crowded. Jason had been given pride of place, directly across the desk from the lawyer. Carmela sat beside him. She had been a constant presence all during these awful days, at the wake, at the funeral, at the cemetery afterward. She and Madeline had hardly exchanged a word, as if Carmela had not wanted to explain the big change to her old friend. It seemed clear that Carmela hoped that the long separation from Jason was over. He looked fresh and healthy and neatly dressed; you could glimpse the young man he had been behind his present puffy exterior. Now his weight seemed almost to lend him gravitas. Well, after all, this was his moment. Jason would finally come into his own.

  Nathaniel Green had arrived just before Madeline, with Natalie Armstrong, and Amos’s secretary was taking them to their chairs when she came in. Madeline had been wondering what she was doing here, but the same question could be asked about Natalie. Behind his desk, Amos Cadbury looked benignly at the gathering.

  “It is seldom that sadness does not bring a little happiness along with it,” he began. “These have been difficult days for the family, and you all have borne it well. At such a moment, even pleasant news is not as welcome as it ordinarily would be. Let me just tell you that we are here to learn what Helen wanted for all of you.”

  The bulk of what Helen had would go, of course, to Jason. He listened impassively to Amos Cadbury, nor did Carmela’s expression change. Of course, neither of them could have been surprised to hear what they did. The only surprise was that perhaps neither of them had ever imagined that it would be Helen who brought them together again.

  Then there was a surprise.

  “Helen’s motherly concern continues from beyond the grave,” Amos Cadbury went on. “The handling of such a large amount of money is, in its way, a nuisance. It is almost a full-time job. Jason, your mother didn’t want to burden you with that. She thought it better that everything be put into the hands of an experienced person who could take the responsibility off your shoulders. I think she expected me to play that role.”

  Jason nodded. “No one better, Amos.”

  “I think there is. Carmela has known a good deal of success doing just this sort of thing.”

  “Carmela would be even better, Amos. I know what my mother would have feared. Who could blame her? Besides, this keeps it in the family.”

  Delicately, Amos made it clear that Jason would not have control over his new wealth. He could not have acquitted his responsibility if that were unclear in Jason’s mind. Even this fuller explanation did not faze Jason. Listening, Madeline wondered if Helen had realized that this arrangement would seal the reunion of Jason and Carmela.

  There were further surprises as well, and Madeline understood why she and Natalie Armstrong were there. Helen had not forgotten her distant relatives. Natalie was left a tidy sum. Madeline was left some money but also, incredibly, the house.

  “Oh, I couldn’t,” Madeline cried.

  “Why not?” Jason asked, turning to her. “We certainly wouldn’t want to live there.”

  Nathaniel followed the proceedings without visible reaction. Was he perhaps relieved that the money he had bequeathed to Helen, which would now go to Jason, would be in good hands with Carmela?

  Amos’s secretary came in with coffee and rolls, and the meeting altered its character. Everyone stood and began talking. Amos smiled benevolently at them all as if he had just maneuvered through some very choppy waters without incident. Had he imagined Jason objecting to having money but without control over it? Madeline went to Nathaniel and Natalie.

  “I can’t believe it,” she said. “The house!”

  “Blood is thicker than water,” Nathaniel said.

  Natalie began to explain exactly how she was related to Helen, as if she, too, needed an explanation for her good fortune. Her grandfather Armstrong had been related to Helen’s grandfather by marriage. It all sounded very remote to Madeline, but perhaps her own connection was even more tenuous. How very nice it was of Helen to have thought of her. The image of the vindictive old woman at the St. Hilary senior center faded before these developments.

  They moved into the outer office, but Carmela and Jason stayed behind with Amos Cadbury. Soon, Jason himself joined them, leaving his wife with the lawyer.

  “What will you do with the Foot Doctor?” Madeline asked Jason.

  “Keep it. It’s the only successful thing I’ve ever done.”

  Madeline could not help remembering her visits there, the dinners she and Jason had shared, her silly thought that eventually the two of them would pool resources and live together, two old shirttail relatives heading into the twilight. Jason seemed younger suddenly, no longer the defeated figure he had been.

  “I am reforming, Mad,” he told her in a whisper. “Laugh if you want, but I mean it.”

  “Why would I laugh?”


  “Is your memory that short?”

  “And Carmela, will she go on working?”

  “Of course. And I will be her client. You heard the provisions.”

  More than a client, certainly. How many clients were so thoroughly in Carmela’s hands as Jason would be? It was so good to hear Jason’s resolution. Madeline had heard others in the past, of course, but now the circumstances were so changed. Helen’s death really seemed Jason’s chance to grow up at last. What would happen if he didn’t change, or if his reunion with Carmela were only temporary?

  Carmela came out of the inner office with Amos, and her eyes met Madeline’s. She came swiftly to her. “Can you believe this?”

  “No. What on earth will I do with that big house?”

  “Get a man and move in.”

  Immediately Carmela seemed to regret the remark, one she might have made years ago when they were girls together. “Or you could sell it.” “I’ll want your advice if I do.”

  “The first thing is to get your money well invested.” “You’ve already given me your card!” “That’s right. Let’s talk about it.” “Your office is in Schaumburg?”

  Carmela hesitated. “I may move my office to Fox River.” She went on to Nathaniel then, embracing the old man. “Oh, I’ve missed you so much,” she said.

  In her car, Madeline hesitated, then headed for St. Hilary’s. If Jason meant to continue at the Foot Doctor, she would continue to volunteer at the senior center.

  News of the disposition of Helen Burke’s worldly goods arrived at St. Hilary’s rectory. Madeline told Edna Hospers, and Edna told Marie Murkin, and even though the housekeeper was slightly miffed that Edna was her source, she brought the news to the pastor, pardonably skipping one link in the chain. Father Dowling might have thought that Madeline had come directly to Marie. Father Dowling did not further diminish his housekeeper’s excitement at the news by telling her he had already received it from Amos Cadbury.

  “Natalie Armstrong!” Marie cried. “Who would have thought it? And Madeline Clancy as well. I’m surprised she didn’t mention Nathaniel.”

  “Now, Marie.”

  “How much did he leave the parish?”

  “It will go into your retirement fund.”

  “Retirement? What do you mean? I’m not going anyplace.”

  “That is my hope. But one has to look ahead, Marie.”

  Marie harumped, then grew thoughtful. “I wonder if Madeline will stay on as a volunteer at the center.”

  “Because of the inheritance?”

  “And a house. Do you know what house we’re talking about?”

  In Marie’s description of it, the Burke home was palatial, on two corner lots, back to back, the house built in the center, thus making the alley that led up to it from the far street a cul-de-sac. An arc of a driveway up to the front entrance, sheltered by a great pillared overhang under which cars could park.

  “Three stories high, Father. There is actually a ballroom on the second floor.”

  “Did Helen dance?”

  “Her mother did. She was a legend. Oh, what a comedown that family has known. Beginning with Helen, if the truth were told.” Marie paused. “The friars loved her, of course.”

  “Generous?”

  “In her fashion. I think they had high hopes. Who knows what she might have done if there hadn’t been the shake-up?”

  “Shake-up?”

  Marie made a face. “When you came.”

  “Oh, what a comedown the parish has known.”

  Marie would not be teased. “Do you know what I sometimes hoped? That she would give that house to the parish.”

  “What on earth would we do with another house?”

  “Imagine the parish center there.”

  “Have you mentioned this to Edna?”

  Marie’s manner changed. Perhaps the thought of Edna ensconced in the palatial residence she had been gushing over brought her down to earth. “Even so, I can’t imagine Madeline living there. She’s all alone, you know. Now if Helen had left the house to Natalie …”

  “Isn’t Natalie a widow?”

  Marie began humming. “Not all widows remain widows, Father Dowling.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I’m not sure I do.”

  “Eugene Schmidt,” Marie whispered. “Don’t you have eyes in your head?”

  “Isn’t he younger than Natalie?”

  “Younger! Well, perhaps. Still, you never know.”

  Marie glided off, as if she were on the floor of the ballroom in the Burke house. Father Dowling, remembering what Amos Cadbury had told him, wondered if he did have eyes in his head. He had felt almost delinquent when he found himself unable to tell Amos anything about Eugene Schmidt.

  In midafternoon, when Marie had gone upstairs for what she called forty winks, Father Dowling left the rectory and strolled toward the school. The weather hovered between the just-departed winter and the yet-to-arrive spring, but the promise of spring seemed everywhere. Then he saw a robin! The harbinger of spring. When he was a boy, the sight of the first returned robin had always been occasion for comment. Somewhere ahead, no longer unimaginably distant, lay summer, and with it the days and weeks and months of indolence. He smiled. Indolence indeed. He had caddied from the time he was fourteen. Not that caddying could be thought of as penal servitude. In his memory, caddies seemed to spend most of the day lounging around the caddy shack, awaiting members who stole an afternoon for golf. It occurred to him that he had caddied for Mr. Burke, Florence and Helen’s father.

  How odd a thing memory is. Why had he never thought of that before? Probably because the disruptive Helen had gathered all attention to herself.

  He was distracted by the sight of the shuttle bus, looking forlorn in a far corner of the parking lot, where it had been placed when the police brought it back to the parish. The image stayed in his mind when he came into Edna’s office on the second floor.

  “Was there any damage to the shuttle bus, Edna?”

  The question surprised her. “I don’t know. Of course, there has been no thought of using it since …”

  “I understand.”

  “I could have Earl take a look, if you’d like.”

  “Would you do that?”

  “Father, I blame myself for letting Eugene Schmidt drive the bus that day. He insisted. I think he was afraid Natalie would go in Helen’s car.”

  “Thank God she didn’t.”

  “Oh, yes.” Edna’s eyes were full of thoughts of what might have happened.

  “Have you gotten to know Schmidt well?”

  Edna laughed. “Father, he’d talk your ear off if you let him. I thought he’d been to see you.”

  “He wanted to learn about the Church.”

  Edna was surprised. “Isn’t he Catholic?”

  “Just because he comes to the center?”

  “But he goes off to the noon Mass with Natalie as often as not.”

  “Where is he from?”

  “Where isn’t he from? He seems to have been everywhere. I have to say, Herman is skeptical of Eugene’s stories. He says Eugene would have to be a hundred to have done half the things he tells of.”

  “He’s not a native of Fox River?”

  “Oh, no.” She stopped. “Now what makes me so sure? The fact is, Father, I know only what Eugene Schmidt wants me to know about him, and like Herman I take much of it with a grain of salt.”

  “What is the theme of his stories?”

  “Women.”

  “Women?”

  “You wouldn’t believe the conquests he claims. Nothing lurid, of course, but he is the hero of all his stories.”

  “What does Natalie think of him?”

  “So you’ve noticed. Father, he is a totally different man when he is with her. Not subdued, exactly, but deferential. A real gentleman. I can’t imagine him telling her what a Don Juan he’s been. Or claims to have been.”


  After he left Edna’s office, Father Dowling went downstairs and looked into the former gymnasium. No sign of Schmidt. Outside again, he glanced toward the shuttle bus. Eugene Schmidt was there, walking around the vehicle, as if he were inspecting it. Father Dowling waited until Schmidt noticed his presence and then moved toward him over the asphalt surface.

  Schmidt was shaking his head as he came up. “Father, I never had an accident in my life before. A serious accident.”

  “What could you have done?”

  “I could have stayed in my lane, held off the guy who was trying to cut in on me.”

  That had been Schmidt’s account of what had happened from the beginning. He had turned into Helen’s path because another driver was turning into his. He had appealed in vain for corroboration from those riding in the bus. Passengers rode facing one another across the aisle and paid little attention to where they were going or where they had been.

  “You haven’t been to see me lately.”

  Schmidt seemed to have to remember his interest in the Church. He shook his head. “You’re right, Father. I have to get back on track.”

  “Any time, Eugene.”

  After he left Schmidt, Father Dowling felt slightly duplicitous. Eugene Schmidt might want to talk theology, but Father Dowling wanted to find out what he could of Eugene Schmidt.

  To Tetzel’s disgust, Rebecca’s story—story! Menteur ran it as a three-part serial—on the food provided to inmates of the county jail was the talk of the courthouse if not of the town. On her account, consignment to the jail was tantamount to being sent to Devil’s Island, and the food was dished out in a way that rivaled Oliver Twist’s orphanage. Tetzel was sure that it was Rebecca’s remark that prisoners were allotted only seven cigarettes a day that explained the prominence Menteur gave the story.

  “Wait’ll readers see that,” he gloated to Tetzel. “There’ll be floods of indignant letters.”