The following Monday, Eric told Lynne he was going to stop by the Lutheran church. She smiled, but didn’t ask questions, only reminding him they were low on eggs and bread.
He wrote down those items, adding a few more; he wanted to visit a florist, to pick up a bouquet. These last days of it being the two of them were long, even if they kept busy. A spray of flowers bought now might be the last Lynne received before she became a mother.
Eric left, aware that if Lynne did go into labor, she could call Sam and Renee. Plus, Eric didn’t wish to be gone long, he wasn’t even sure if Pastor Jagucki would be available. Father Markham had written down the man’s name, but the pronunciation was distinctive: ya-gutz-ski was stuck in Eric’s head. Father Markham had said that the pastor had emigrated from Poland after World War II, most of his family having been killed in that conflict.
That was all Eric knew, but as he parked across the street from St. Matthew’s, he smiled, seeing a man his age standing on the front steps, speaking with an older lady. She was well wrapped, for the day was cool and gray. The pastor was gesturing toward the ground, but the lady vehemently shook her head. Killing the engine, Eric observed the proceedings. The pastor had a thick beard and brown hair in need of a trim. The woman, in a dark hat, carried a beige purse at her side, still yammering something while pointing at empty flowerbeds to the sides of the steps. Finally the pastor soothed whatever were her worries, for he gently patted her shoulder, also gesturing toward the plots of bare earth. The woman nodded, then took waddling steps to the sidewalk. She stared at the ground, then back to the pastor, nearly wagging her finger. Then she made her way along the pavement, turning left at the next block. Eric watched her until he couldn’t see her anymore.
Eric chuckled, as the pastor, now standing alone, peered over the steps, gripping the sides of the railing. Eric got out of his car, tightened his scarf, then zipped up his coat. He was still a little thin, but the day was breezy. Yet, the pastor only wore a long sweater, and as Eric approached, he saw several holes in it, a bright blue shirt underneath showing clearly. “Good morning,” Eric called, as he crossed the street.
“Well, good morning!” The pastor waved, his smile cheery. “Have you come from city hall?”
Eric looked around, seeing no one else. “No. Are you expecting anyone?”
The pastor shrugged, then rolled his eyes. “From the way Mrs. Harmon goes on, you’d think I’m breaking several laws. She wanted to know why the daffodils hadn’t yet come up, and I told her that I didn’t know, and she accused me of removing the bulbs last winter. And she’s not even a member of this parish!”
Then the pastor laughed heartily. “She’s a funny one. I hope the flowers do come up.” He gazed over the right side. “She’ll be here daily to give me, how do you say, the what-for.”
Eric nodded. The pastor’s English was very good, his accent distinctly European. Eric offered his hand, and the pastor shook it. “I’m Eric Snyder. I’ve got nothing to do with city hall.”
“Ah, Mr. Snyder, the painter. I read about you last fall, the exhibit in New York. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?”
Immediately Eric liked this man, who did wear a collar, but in no other way looked like a religious figure. “Well, to be honest, Father Markham mentioned you. My wife and I’ve been taking catechism classes, but I’m just not sure about some of the teachings.”
Eric didn’t want to waste the man’s time, or be away from home for any longer than necessary. Perhaps the market might have fresh flowers for sale; Eric hadn’t planned on buying roses, he would wait until the baby arrived. Then he gazed at the pastor, whose large brown eyes strangely reminded Eric of Sam. But while Pastor Jagucki was about Sam’s height and weight, he had a shock of medium brown hair, and a carefree manner. Yet, if what Father Markham had said was true, this man, who was probably the same age as Sam, had seen as many, if not more, atrocities. His family had been killed, but at that moment Eric felt the pastor’s chief concerns were Mrs. Harmon and the missing daffodils. “Well Mr. Snyder, that’s quite an introduction. Might you have time for a cup of coffee? Best that we get inside, before Mrs. Harmon does call the authorities.”
Eric looked at his watch; it was nearly ten thirty. Lynne had mentioned eating an early lunch, which was her way of noting a long afternoon nap was probably in store. “One cup would be lovely. My wife’s due with our first baby, so I don’t wanna be away from home too long.”
“Oh congratulations!” Pastor Jagucki patted Eric’s shoulder as kindly as he had Mrs. Harmon’s. Eric felt a soothing warmth in that gesture, then wondered if it had eased the cranky woman. “Come, one cup, then you must be on your way. Please, follow me.”
Pastor Jagucki opened the large church doors, then stepped inside the vestibule. Eric was right behind him, but they didn’t go straight ahead into the chapel. The pastor led Eric to the left, down a corridor, which ended at an open doorway, which turned out to be that of the church kitchen. It was dotted with various decorations, a few of them European in appearance. “Mrs. Kenny was here earlier, she’s the secretary. I know she left some biscuits somewhere.”
“Oh, just a cup of coffee would be fine,” Eric said.
“Please, sit down. Coffee’s no good without a cookie.”
Eric stared at the man, who looked at home, rummaging through cupboards. “Um, a biscuit or a cookie?”
The pastor shook his head. “Oh do forgive me. I lived in Great Britain before coming to America. Biscuits are cookies over there, I’m always making Mrs. Kenny a little crazy, mixing British English with American English.”
“Well, you speak both very well.”
“Thank you. Ah, here’s the tin.” Pastor Jagucki set the container on the counter, taking out a handful of cookies. He put them on a plate, then poured two cups of coffee. “Milk or sugar?” he asked Eric.
“Black’s fine, thank you.”
“Lovely. I take a little sugar, I’ve got a sweet tooth you see, why I looked so hard for the biscuits. Cookies, I mean.” He smiled, bringing everything to the table. “All right Mr. Snyder, so you have been taking catechism classes from Father Markham. Jeremy and I are good friends. He’s a sharp penny poker player, but you didn’t hear that from me.”
Eric laughed. “I believe you. He knows I have issues with a few Catholic teachings, and just offhandedly he asked if I knew about St. Matthew’s.”
Now the pastor laughed out loud. “That’s Jeremy, as subtle in faith as he is playing cards. That man bluffs like you wouldn’t believe. I’ve lost over four dollars to him in the last six months.”
Eric chuckled, taking a cookie, but thinking of it as a biscuit. He dipped it in his coffee, then ate the whole thing. “Well, I had to pick up a few groceries, and while I was out, I thought I’d investigate.”
“Ah well, you picked a very auspicious day to do so. Now you know that even the locals keep me on my toes.”
“Mrs. Harmon certainly seemed protective of those flowerbeds.”
“Well, she’s lived here all her life, and I’m just this foreign interloper, you see.” The pastor’s eyes twinkled. “But I think I convinced her that the daffs are merely late this year, or these ones are. Do you have daffodils in bloom, Mr. Snyder?”
“I do, and please call me Eric.”
“All right, Eric. Well, congratulations on those too. A first baby and spring flowers, such blessings. Now, when is your wife due?”
“Anytime in the next two weeks.”
“Two weeks, two weeks.” The pastor stood, then studied a calendar on the wall, near the doorway. “All right, well, I imagine your household will be full of activity once the baby arrives. But in the meantime, you and Mrs. Snyder are probably going a little stir crazy, well, unless you’re busy painting.”
“I’ve been doing a bit of work lately, but yes, especially on days like this. Lynne doesn’t like to go out when it’s chilly.”
“Oh, I understand. Might I be so bold as to ask if perhaps
you might enjoy a visit before Mrs. Snyder finds all her free time has been usurped?”
Eric smiled; this man’s English, be it British or American, was very good. His manner was genial, but not cloying, and he gave Eric a warm sense of belonging, even if it was only in this kitchen. What would Lynne think of him, Eric wondered. There was only one way to find out. “Pastor Jagucki, we would love a visit. Could I be so bold as to ask if sometime this week would be acceptable?”
“This week, let me see.” He studied the calendar again. “Wednesday? Would that be all right?”
Eric nodded. “Morning or afternoon?”
“What would be better for Mrs. Snyder?”
Eric laughed. “Oh morning, definitely. Any time after ten.”
“What about ten thirty?”
“Ten thirty it is.” Eric wanted Lynne to meet this man, who scribbled the appointment on that square.
“Lovely. I’ll put that in my book, and we can have a chat. Just leave me with your address before you go.” Pastor Jagucki rejoined Eric at the table, taking another cookie.
“I can do that now, if you have a scrap of paper.”
“Certainly.” The pastor was on his feet again, reaching into a drawer. He retrieved a pad and pencil, and passed them to Eric. Eric wrote the address, also directions. “Park just outside the gate. My car will be in the driveway, you can’t miss it.”
“Wonderful.” The pastor drank his coffee, then smiled. “So, we can continue, or actually start a proper conversation then. May I ask one question, Mr. Snyder?”
“Of course.”
“Does your wife attend catechism classes as well, or is she Catholic?”
Eric grinned. “We’ve been attending them together. She’s not as bothered as I am.”
“Bothered, hmmm.” The pastor smiled. “Well, we can chat about that on Wednesday.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Eric finished what remained in his mug, then gently pushed the cup toward the center of the table. “Thank you so much for the coffee. We’ve been drinking decaf for months, but that was the real thing.”
The pastor smiled, then stood, as Eric did too. “I can’t get by without caffeinated coffee. Or tea, I drank plenty of that in Britain.”
Pastor Jagucki led Eric back through the hallway, stopping at the vestibule. He extended his hand, and Eric shook it warmly. “So nice to meet you,” Eric said.
“The pleasure was mine. And I will see you, and meet your wife, in two days.”
“Ten thirty,” Eric said.
“Ten thirty it is.”
Together they walked outside the church, then Eric stopped at the sidewalk. He gazed at the right flowerbed, then walked over to the left. Then he wore a puzzled look. “You know, our daffodils have been up for a while. Maybe a gopher ate these.”
“Well, I’ll proffer that explanation to Mrs. Harmon the next time I see her, which might very well be before I again see you.”
Eric smiled. “Well, good luck, whenever it is.”
“Oh thank you,” the pastor chuckled. “I’ll most certainly need it!”
Eric hurried in the market, and did find an acceptable spray of flowers, which made Lynne cry. But she wept so easily now that Eric wondered what she would make of the bouquet he would present her with after the birth. He wanted dozens of roses, white, red, yellow, and pink, amassed in one enormous vase, or more than one, depending on what the florist recommended. Once Lynne was quiet, they sat on the sofa, and Eric noted their upcoming visitor. Lynne sighed, then smiled. “I wonder if I could make a pie that morning.”
“Oh you don’t need to do that. I bought a package of cookies, seems he has a sweet tooth. He did ask if you’d been taking the classes with me, or were you already….”
“What’d you say?”
“I told him that we’d been taking them together, but nothing more than that. He’s a very amiable fellow, and his English is impeccable. Not sure if he learned it in Poland or Britain, but he used several words that I don’t even say.” Eric chuckled. “I like him, very much. Looking forward to getting to know him better.”
She nodded. “Are you hoping I’ll like him too?”
“Whatever you want to do Lynne is what I want.” He kissed her cheek, then patted the baby.
“Eric, are you sure you don’t wanna be Catholic?”
Her tone was plaintive, and that hurt him. “Yeah, I’m certain. I’d be a hypocrite, feeling the way I do. Not that I want to be a Lutheran necessarily. Maybe I’ll be one of those non-denominational types and….”
“But where will we have her baptized?”
“Wherever you want Lynne, I mean that.” Eric sighed inwardly, not wishing for this to stir any chasm. “I want her or him to be baptized too.”
She stared at him. “Yeah?”
“Of course honey. That means a great deal to me.”
“Oh Eric….” Lynne dissolved into tears, and Eric cradled her, setting his left hand upon the baby, who made slight movements. Then Eric smiled. “Hardly any room left in there. Hope she doesn’t decide to make an appearance before Wednesday.”
Lynne giggled. “If she does, that’s fine with me.”
“You ready to have her?”
“Or him, and yes I am.” She sighed, then smiled. “It won’t be easy, no matter what. But I am finally tired of being pregnant. This part of it can end any day now.”
“Well one of these days that’s actually gonna happen, believe it or not.”
She smirked. “Right now, I’ll tell you I find that hard to believe.” Lynne placed her hand over Eric’s. “Sometimes when I wake up, for a few seconds, I forget. You probably think that’s impossible, but I do. Then I go to move and oh yes, I’m having a….” Her voice broke. “Oh Eric, we’re really gonna be parents.”
“No way to get out of it now.”
“No, I suppose not.” Lynne gripped his hand, then smiled. “Maybe, if I’m feeling good tomorrow, I’ll make a pumpkin pie. That’s not very spring-like, but it sounds yummy, or right now it does.” Slowly she scooted away. “You did say he has a sweet tooth, right?”
“Yes I did,” Eric smiled. “But I don’t think he’d expect you to go to all that trouble.”
“What if I told you I’m dying for pumpkin pie right now, call it one last craving.”
“Dying huh?” Eric teased.
“Well, nearly. I’m dying for that and for….” She laughed wickedly. “You haven’t made love to me yet today Eric.”
“I think I did, before I left.”
“I think you did not.”
He stared at her, remembering with ease how they had stirred, practically making love in their sleep. The thought of six weeks without sex had started to grate on Eric, and they hadn’t even reached that point. “Lynne, I think I woke up halfway inside you.”
She laughed. “Hardly. I think you own me some morning lovemaking. It’s nearly noon now, time’s running out.”
He shook his head, then stood from the sofa. Using two hands, he hoisted her aloft, then held her close, stroking her hair, lost in the feel of this rather large version of his wife. She would only look this way for another week or ten days, but Eric coveted these moments, not considering those he had missed. “Shall we go upstairs?” he murmured.
She smiled. “That’s the only place left for us.” She patted the baby, then gazed at Eric. “I love you so much. If you don’t wanna be Catholic, we’ll work out whatever makes you….”
Eric had no wish to consider faith, except that in faith, he and Lynne had married, loved, suffered, and now were on the cusp of the biggest blessing imaginable. “Sweetheart, whatever happens, God has it under control.”
His tone was light, but Lynne began to cry. Yet her tears lasted only as long as it took Eric to kiss her. Religion and pies were forgotten as Eric led her up the stairs, into their room, closing the door behind them.
Chapter 53
The Hawk: Part Three Page 13
