On A Wing And A Prayer

Chapter One The night was dark as pitch, the moon and stars erased by a thick cloud cover that gave those wandering outdoors the feeling that they were in the midst of a cavernous mine. It was after nine o'clock, considered late by most Dorsetville standards. Still, the members of Saint Cecilia's parish council lingered, attributable to both Mrs. Norris's apple-cranberry pie and the icy patches that only hours ago had been soft pools of water under the March thaw. Folks huddled over hot cups of coffee, reluctant to brave the brisk wind, the icy interiors of their cars, or the dark drive home. Father James watched George Benson cut his fourth wedge of pie and a slice of Vermont cheddar. At this rate, there wouldn't be any leftovers, a problem he had never encountered before George was elected to the parish council. "Pass the cream," George said, refilling his coffee mug. Harry Clifford had brought a large thermos of coffee from the Country Kettle. This, too, George had nearly depleted. Father James passed the cream and harnessed a growing sense of resentment. George wolfed down a sizable wedge of cheese, licked his fingers, then belched. His manners were about as uncouth as his appearance--greasy overalls, oil-stained fingers. This newest council member owned a heating and air-conditioning business and didn't feel it necessary to wash or change for meetings, which accounted for the strategic seating arrangements. George sat alone on one side of the ten-foot table. Ethel Johnson, Harriet Bedford, Sam Rosenberg (who had driven Harriet), Mary Pritchett, Harry Clifford, Mike Gallagher, and Father James were crowded along the opposite side. Ethel's golden retriever, Honey, lay underneath. "I heard that you and your wife have been looking to buy some real estate down south," George told Harry Clifford, scraping the last bit of pastry off his plate with his thumb. "How'd you hear that?" Harry wanted to know. "Esther Fitzsimons told me. I was fixing her toilet the other day. You wouldn't believe what was stuffed down there. It looked like--" "George!" Father James interrupted forcefully. "We really don't need to know the details." "Are you and Nellie thinking about buying a vacation home?" Harriet asked. "We considered it." "They're moving down there. Permanently. They're retiring," George stated emphatically. "Retiring?" Father James said with a gasp, splashing coffee down the front of his shirt. "Now wait a minute--" Harry began. "That's what Esther told me," George said, plowing right over Harry's protestations. "She said that Nellie came into school last week complaining about the cold and said that they were moving someplace warm." "Moving?" Ethel said, sinking back in her chair. Honey, sensing something was deeply wrong, leaned heavily against her lap. For several seconds folks sat in stunned silence. Harry's retirement had never occurred to any of them. Harry owned the Country Kettle, and Dorsetville without the Country Kettle was . . . well . . . unimaginable. Where would Mike Gallagher take his ten-year-old twin boys for malteds after their hockey games; or Father James go for home fries, golden brown with crispy laced edges; or the seniors for their morning toast and coffee after mass? "Now, listen everyone. Nellie and I have no intention--" Harry began, trying to set things straight, but George cut him off. "That's not what Esther said," George piped in, leaning back in his chair. "She said Nellie told her that you were moving." Harry shook his head in exasperation. "We are not moving, George." "Then why would Esther say you were?" "I don't know. Maybe Nellie mentiValentine, Katherine is the author of 'On A Wing And A Prayer', published 2005 under ISBN 9780385512015 and ISBN 0385512015.