A Hiss Before Dying

October 23, 2016 Sunday

Soft October light bathed St. Luke’s Lutheran Church in spun gold. The gray fieldstone seemed warmer, the slate roof glistened deep gray. The midday sun glowed on the hand-blown windowpanes. St. Luke’s boasted many windows, quite an expense back in the late eighteenth century when it was built. The parishioners exhibited pride and success—but not too much. This was and remains Virginia, after all.

The Very Reverend Herbert Jones, service over, having bid the congregants goodbye, stood with Harry and Fair, a slight breeze touching his robes and hand-embroidered vestments. As they walked to the back quad, the three Lutheran cats, Cazenovia, Lucy Fur, and Elocution, followed them.

Reds, golds, orange, yellow, deep scarlet leaves still clung to the trees, but their days were numbered.

The human and feline group stopped at the first quad and turned to inspect the back of the beautiful church with its two matching arcades, the arches graceful and sturdy, having held up for centuries.

The sun shone to their left, just slightly west, as it was about one o’clock. The service had run a bit over, with the choir director indulging a fit of too many choruses of “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God,” written by Luther himself.

Harry, elected to the vestry board, in charge of buildings and grounds, pointed to the back roofline. “See.”

The Reverend shaded his eyes. “No.”

“It is a little difficult, but the weather stripping is cracking at the back second-story window, where you put the old desk and file cabinets. Who uses that room?”

“I do. I move files up there every two years. When I was young there wasn’t so much paperwork. Now it’s an avalanche, and not just from local and state and federal authorities. The diocese feels compelled to inundate us. My job is to serve my parishioners, not fill out forms.”

“Amen,” Fair uttered with solemnity.

The Reverend turned to him, smiling. “You probably have as much, if not more, than I do.”

“Veterinary medicine is on an arc to catch up with human medicine. Just give it a little time. We will soon be operating with a lawyer at our elbow.”

“What’s the most expensive horse upon which you’ve operated?” Herb had never thought of the money involved.

“One and a half million dollars,” Fair promptly replied.

“I am grateful our Lord has not put a price on me.” The genial pastor laughed.

“Incalculable.” Harry reached for his hand.

She and everyone dearly loved this man, who had been a captain in Vietnam, survived, and dedicated his life to God, to being the best pastor he could be. He thought sometimes that the seminary took as much thought and preparation as battle, although it was far more pleasant.

Fair looked up. “See what you mean.”

“Well, let me jump on it this week.” Harry addressed the Reverend. “It’s that time of year. You never know when the weather is going to turn and I don’t want water to leak into the window frame or, worse, the roof, then freeze and thaw.”

“Fine with me, but you aren’t getting on that roof.” The Very Reverend, average size but still bigger than Harry, looked down at her.

“Oh, don’t start that again.” She fussed because years back she had part of the slate replaced and Herb pitched a fit when he found her on the roof. “I don’t need to get on the roof. I just need a tall ladder to reach the window.”

Elocution rubbed against Herb’s leg. “Poppy, you’ll set her off.”

“I’ll hire a glazier or a roofer and he can climb up there.”

“Actually, I’m the one who hires anyone for buildings and grounds with your permission, and you can’t keep treating me like a hothouse flower. I can fix that in a skinny minute. I have the tools, just need to dig out the old flashing and lay in new. It’s easy unless I find more damage, but I sure hope I won’t. Anything involving a roof, plumbing, or electricity is expensive.”

“Now, listen here. I have known you since you were tiny. I’m not having you on a two-story ladder. We went through this before.” He looked to Harry’s husband. “You talk to her.”

“Why did you let me get elected to buildings and grounds if you won’t let me do my job?”

“Harry, you do a great job, you do the mowing, the trimming, repairing stone walls if need be. You do just about everything, but I don’t want you up there.” He held up his hand. “I am an old man, so chalk this up to a generational difference, but I don’t think women should do some things. That’s what men are for.”

She had heard this argument before and really didn’t feel like fighting it. He was truthful. This was more of a generational thing. These days many a young man didn’t even bother to stand up when a woman entered the room. That just shocked her, and she attributed it to them being raised by Yankees who had moved south. Not always true, of course, but it gave her some comfort. It did not occur to Harry that a woman might not be able to have it both ways. And being a Virginian, she felt men should certainly perform all the proper courtesies.

Fair put his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “Honey, he is the Very Reverend, you know,” he said in his light baritone. “Time may come when you need Herb to put in a good word for you upstairs.”

They laughed, walking back to the church building. He was her pastor, her friend. He buried her mother and father when they were killed in a car accident while she studied at Smith. He comforted her and guided her. He married her to Fair and he never shrank from helping when Harry or another parishioner, indeed anyone, was in need. She decided to shut up.

“Let’s have a cup of tea or something more exciting. My throat went dry during the sermon.” Herb opened the doors to the small gathering room just off his office.

“Sounds wonderful.” Fair smiled.

The three cats shot ahead of their human, skidded to a stop in front of the cabinet at the small kitchen.

“Treats,” they sang in chorus.

“Whatever got into Edgar today?” Fair smiled as he asked about the choir director.

“We can’t clap for encores in church, but he was going for encores.” Harry laughed. “Every now and then Edgar and Dot,” she named the new organist, as the older lady had finally retired, “collude, I swear they do. She must have hit every note on that organ.”

Herb chuckled. “They don’t lack for enthusiasm.” He took a long, much-needed sip. “Feels better. I must have preached an overlong sermon. I’m too dry.”

“Twenty minutes,” Harry informed him. “I keep count.”

“So I see.” His eyes brightened. “I’ll remember that when I’m up there, looking down at you. To change the subject, what really happened yesterday at Sugarday? I’ve heard a few reports.”

“Susan, Ned, BoomBoom, and Alicia were there from St. Luke’s. Miranda was up at the house. Lots of people. The meet was well attended. Everyone wants to be out in this fabulous weather. I expect they told you the hounds found a body in that line of woods to the west of the house?” Harry remarked.

“Yes, and they also told me that Officer Cooper had you sent down to view the body,” he replied.

She nodded. “Sheriff Shaw and Coop wanted me to look at a brass rectangle on a chain around his neck. He’d been shot, fairly recently. He hadn’t been lying there for days. I was grateful for that.”

“What about the brass rectangle?” Herb was curious.

“Engraved on its center was Number Five and under that, Garth. About two inches long by an inch and a half wide. I took it to be a slave pass.”

“How odd.” The Reverend rattled the ice in his glass. “Did it look original? Not a copy or reproduction?”

“Looked original to me. I don’t think anyone makes reproductions.” Harry considered this. “Could make some people angry.”

“Would,” Fair agreed. “Assuming that pass was authentic, what might it possibly mean? Why wear it?”

“Why get killed in the first place?” Harry added.

“Well, it is peculiar,” Herb said. “St. Luke’s was built with slave labor as well as parishioner labor. I wonder if they needed those chits?” He thought for a moment. “Probably not since they came from the Garth estate and Mr. Garth’s son-in-law was the architect. We forget how highly skilled both slaves and freemen were. Well, we forget until we look at the evidence. St. Luke’s has stood for over two hundred years, and you, being head of buildings and grounds, know how sturdy those structures are.”

“I do. Downstairs in the vault where you keep the old papers, well, those on parchment, right?” Herb nodded, so she continued. “Did you ever find objects? Not passes but china pieces, stuff like that?”

“Whatever has been found over the two hundred years is in the vault. Mostly bits of glass, pipe bowls, and the reason for that is, I would guess, that most objects are underneath us. As they built, dropped, or discarded things, they built over them.”

“Probably,” Harry agreed.

“Still, they had to have had a garbage pit.” Fair finished his drink. “If that’s ever found and, say, architecture students or archeology ones create a dig, who knows what they’d find?”

“As long as it isn’t bodies.” Harry half smiled.