I did as directed. I was shaking violently, too cold to cry. Doug Ramsey, whose inclination to exaggerate had thrown me off base (The whole committees here! when Montgomery had not been and Women waited for Olson, when it was only Agatha), thrust his long, thin arm through the door of the library and dropped a mans sweatshirt and some bell-bottom jeans. When Id put them on, I came out, and Roger Bampton offered me a cup of tea. My rescuer had just been informed by his friend that Montgomery was dead. Roger Bampton had called the police.
Somebody needs to go check on Agatha Preston, I stammered. Shes hurt. In the St. Luke office in back of the church. The man who had brought me into St. Luke shook his head and took off in that direction.
We were just here at the vigil, which I wanted to be sure was conducted in orthodox fashion, said Ramsey, who was incapable of keeping quiet in moments of crisis, and we heard the racket in the parking lot, and then you came in, and then this news about Montgomery! Lord! I just dont know what to say, dont know what to do … In a way, you now, its like the original Easter vigils, when the catechumens were kept underground, naked, until they could come up on Easter morning and be baptized and get their new clothes, although this is hardly the right time of year to be baptized in a ditch, much less the ditch beside a columbarium site, and of course you were christened long ago, Im just saying
What? I yelled. I grabbed Father Doug Ramsey by the lapels of his black suit. Kept underground. Father Doug would know this, he was an expert on the liturgy, as was Canon Montgomery, who always asked about the history of the Eucharist. Montgomery, whod just happened to be close by Agatha and me when we were dialing on the church office phone. The church office, where there was a whole underground space being dug out for new plumbing. Quick! I cried. Help me.
Father Doug Ramsey pulled his chin into his neck. Now what?
We have to go look at the church office, where theyve been doing that renovation. Underground! But I was already moving quickly, running to the hallway by the Sunday School rooms.
Doug Ramsey yelled after me, Do we have to do it right now?
Roger trotted along beside me as I dashed, barefoot, down the hallway past the choir room, through the side door, and up the icy steps to the bunkerlike office building. The man from the creek was helping Agatha up. She seemed to be stunned, but I didnt stop to determine her condition. Instead of turning left to go into the office, I darted right and flipped the switch of the dim bulb hanging in the area that was being renovated.
I swallowed. The large space was dark, stripped to the walls. I walked across a board that had been put down across the subfloor to the far side of the room, then turned on another dim bulb in a room that was torn out to its framing. Beyond that was only a small tunnellike space where the pipes had all been ripped out.
Here, said a panting Roger Bampton behind me. Bless him, he seemed to be reading my mind. Youll need this. Ill be right behind you.
I switched on the flashlight he thrust at me. My light flickered over a sleeping bag, and some provisions. I eased myself down to the entrance of the dirt tunnel. Earth fell on my face and got in my eyes. My clenched hands banged against the remaining shafts of pipe. I had heard that same noise when I was looking around Olsons trashed office. I flashed my light ahead. I rounded a turn and sent the beam as far in as it would go.
It was another tunnel. My beam reflected off of something. Coming closer, I saw that it was the missing chalice, paten, and ambry from Olsons house. I reached out to touch the cold metal, then lifted the lid on the ambry. But I already knew what I would see when I shone the light inside: the pearl chokers, glistening and lustrous in the narrow shaft of light. Only Montgomery would be able to figure out that Olson had kept the pearls of great value in something he valued equally: the sacramental vessels.
I slogged ahead into the blackness. There was another turn in the tunnel. I remembered placing my scrolled intercession in the hand of a statue. I prayed now, hard. I believe; help thou my unbelief. My flashlight beamed through the shadows.
There. At the end of the dark dirt cylinder, tied to a chair, was a motionless figure. Tom Schulz. Slowly, he lifted his head at the light and squinted. He was gagged.
I ran toward him and tugged the gag off.
Goldy? His voice was hoarse from disuse, and I could not see his eyes in the dim light. Is it really you?
You bet, I told him, and then I grasped him in a wordless hug.
22
We were married the next afternoon, after the church emptied from Father Olsons funeral service. My parents flew in, joyful; Boyd and Armstrong met them at the airport. A small group from St. Lukes came, including a fussy Lucille Boatwright. I called Zelda and said I needed her to play the organ, would she? She said that of course she would, I didnt want that trash charismatic music, did I? No, just whatever she wanted; but I apologetically added that there was one condition to her playing. She had to let me invite her daughter-in-law, Sarah Preston Black, and her grandson, Ian Preston. Just use me as an excuse, I told her. I cant get married, and be happy, knowing you still have all that old pain.
Zelda gasped and then started to cry. I guess Ive been wanting to … in my heart. Its all felt so heavy there, like a dead weight. I think thats why I auditioned to play the organ at the Catholic church. Somehow, I really did want to see them… . She stopped, then said weakly, All right. If youll call them …
Which I did. They would be happy to come. With much fussing and worry, Father Doug Ramsey agreed to perform the nuptials. I gave Marla the recipe for Stuffed Portobello Mushrooms, and she made them. Arch hauled the wedding cake out of the freezer.
Tom Schulz was weak, but he refused a wheelchair. His left ankle was broken; Boyd had driven us down to the hospital the night before and questioned him while Julian, Arch, and I had waited for Toms cast to be applied. In nearly three days of captivity, Tom had only had some water. He hadnt known what Montgomery wanted with blood tests. But hed bluffed him right along, though.
Blood tests? Tom protested. Why would I know about them? But I pretended to know something, so the guy would keep me alive. I shook my head in disbelief.
Boyd swore none of it had made sense. The keys at the Habitat house seemed to implicate Preston; the pearls with Mitchell Hartley made it look as if robbery was the motive. All planted by Montgomery. Now that made sense. At Agathas request, Boyd shredded her letters to Olson. Bob Preston would never see them. Agatha told me that she and Bob had decided to go into counseling; it was easier than divorce.
Back once more in their rented tuxedos, Arch and Julian beamed. With the morning mail, Julian had received his acceptance to Cornell. Marla added a wobbly Congratulations in frosting on the side of the thawed wedding cake.
The Presons: Agatha, Bob, a wary Sarah, looking somewhat like a short Nefertiti in a silk pantsuit, and Ian, a compact swimmer like his deceased father, all came in to the church together. Ian brought an orchid corsage for his grandmother, whom he had not seen for five years. While Zelda and Ian were tearfully embracing, a triumphant Bob Preston told anyone who would listen, Now thats a miracle.
At the part of the wedding where you say the vows, I said, … for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish. We will not be parted by death. This is my solemn vow.
Father Doug Ramsey, who was flustered, seemed to be rethinking the sermon hed given on the trinity. He didnt notice. Tom Schulz squeezed my hand. Then, carefully and distinctly he repeated my vow. We exchanged the rings Id been saving in my china cupboard.
Now, finally, Im Goldy Schulz, I declared happily as I hugged Toms wide, wonderful body during our jovial reception in the narthex. Im so glad I finally was able to get rid of that last name Bear, you cant imagine.
Tom Schulzs large, beautiful green eyes seemed to be looking i
nto my soul.
God, he said softly. Goldy, I missed you.
I kissed him. Youre not going to believe this, I told my husband truthfully, but you were with me all the time.
Portobello Mushrooms Stuffed with Grilled Chicken, Pesto, and Sun-Dried Tomatoes
4 large Portobello mushrooms (approximately 1 pound)
Marinade for Mushrooms:
5 tablespoons best-quality olive oil
5 tablespoons best-quality dry sherry
Marinade for Chicken:
˝ cup best-quality olive oil
2 tablespoons balsamic vinegar
1 teaspoon Dijon mustard
1 garlic clove, pressed
4 skinless, boneless chicken breast halves, each cut in half
ź cup pesto
2 tablespoons finely chopped sun-dried tomatoes, drained and patted with paper towels if packed in olive oil
Carefully clean the mushrooms with a damp paper towel and trim. Remove and chop the stems. Place the mushroom caps, tops down, and the chopped stems in a 9-by 13-inch glass baking dish. Pour 1 tablespoon olive oil and 1 tablespoon sherry over the underside of each mushroom cap; pour the remaining olive oil and sherry over the stems. Cover and set aside to marinate at room temperature for 1 hour. Mix together the marinade for the chicken and pour over the chicken slices. Cover and set aside to marinate at room temperature for 1 hour.
Preheat a grill. Grill the chicken quickly, about 1 to 2 minutes per side (they will be cooked further).
Preheat the oven to 400 . Carefully spread 1 tablespoon pesto over the underside of each mushroom cap. Sprinkle 1 ˝ teaspoons sun-dried tomatoes on top of each pesto-covered mushroom. Evenly distribute the marinated mushroom stems on top of the tomatoes. Place 2 slices of chicken on top. Place the stuffed mushrooms in a greased 9-by 13-inch pan. Bake for approximately 20 to 25 minutes or until heated through. Serve immediately.
Makes 4 servings
FB2 document info
Document ID: e55ea527-bb3a-4d0d-875b-f25bc39e2c86
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 30.11.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.7, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Diane Mott Davidson
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The Last Suppers gbcm-4 Page 26
