*

Chapter 25:  The Priest

            Teresa watches the sunrise through her bedroom window.  The storm strewed leaves and twigs all over the garden.  The greens of leaf and grass are so clean and intensely bright that they hurt her eyes.  High cirrus clouds sail in a smashing blue sky.  The day calls for an outing.  But first she needs to see the church records once more.

            Mrs. Allston is not happy to see Teresa in her office again.  “Father Michael is visiting a sick parishioner,” she says.  Her expression is one of slight disgust, as if she detects a foul odor.

            “When will he return?” Teresa asks.  She knows it is futile to ask Mrs. Allston to let her see the records without Father Michael’s permission. 

            “Don’t know,” Mrs. Allston says, turning away.

            Teresa is incensed.  “Look, Mrs. Allston.  I may not have a letter of introduction, but I am a legitimate, published writer doing legitimate research for a book already under contract.”  That last part stretches the truth a bit, but Teresa doesn’t care.

            Mrs. Allston clears her throat and looks down at her notepad.  Then she glares at Teresa.  Teresa can almost hear the woman’s thoughts.  “These American women!  They are all the same, pushy and loud.  This one thinks she can have her way, but she can’t.  Not with me.”

            Father Michael bustles in the door beaming and interrupts their staring contest.   “Ah, Miss Salerno!  What a pleasure!  What can we do for you?” he says.  “That was quite a storm last night, wasn’t it, ladies?”

            Mrs. Allston taps her notepad of messages.  “Father, you have two calls.”

            “Yes, thank you, Mrs. Allston.  I’ll take care of that shortly.”  The priest has caught the icy silence between the two women.

            “Come into my office,” he says to Teresa.  When the door is closed, he whispers, “Do forgive Mrs. Allston.  She’s a bit of a bulldog, I know, but she means well.”  He sits in his creaky chair.  “Now tell me.  How is your research coming along?  Did the records help?”

            “Immensely,” Teresa says.  “Father Michael, I’m Catholic and I don’t know much about Anglican priests.  If I tell you something private, are you bound to hold it in confidence?”

            “Yes, of course,” he says, his face solemn.  “Unless you intend harm to yourself or another.  Then I am required to contact the proper authorities.”

            “Do you know Eddie Thomson?”

            “Yes, I do.  Has the old fellow been misbehaving?”

            “No, not at all,” Teresa replies.  “But last night he told me a family secret.  At least he said it was a secret.”  Teresa recounts an abbreviated version of Eddie’s tale to the priest. “I’d like to go back to the records to see if I can find Jonah Thomson.”

            “Fascinating.”  Father Michael stands up.  “Let’s go.”

            Moments later, the two of them are leaning over the records, squinting at the fine, spidery writing of the entries.  Teresa can smell the priest’s aftershave.  He is so close that she can feel the warmth of his arm next to hers.  Her concentration is slipping away into forbidden realms.  Honestly, Teresa, she says to herself, he’s a priest, for God’s sake.  But it has been a long time, a very long time, since Teresa was close to a friendly, kind, attentive man.  She lets herself enjoy it.

            They come away triumphant, having traced Jonah Thomson’s line of descendants from Jonah’s marriage entry to Eddie Thomson’s name and birthdate in 1938.

            “I’m curious, Father Michael,” Teresa says as they return to his office.  “Would Eddie have any legal claim to the Manor House property?”

            “I don’t know the intricacies of the law, but I suspect that George Braithewaite’s offspring would have an equal claim.”

            “That’s what I thought,” Teresa says.  “Thank you so much, Father Michael.  Do you priests shake hands?”  She offers hers.

He smiles and takes it, covering her hand with his own warm palm. 

            “You’re most welcome, Miss Salerno.  Do come around and tell me of any more discoveries.”