Joy Cometh With The Mourning, page 2
part #1 of Reverend Norton Series
“What?” demanded the voice down the ‘phone at full volume.
“Rescued from a ditch, one wet, miserable little lady-priest. She came over Hangman’s pass, and ended up going off the road just on Pascoe’s corner. I am going to see if I can sort her car out while she gets into some dry clothes and warms up.”
“My goodness. Dear Lord! I’ll be there in two minutes! Does she need a Doctor?”
“I’d guess he’d prescribe dry clothes and a cup of tea. Take it easy on the road. I’ve done my share of rescues for one day.”
“Well, see that she gets that tea, and a warm bath immediately. We’ll be there soon. Good-bye, Thomas.”
He put the ‘phone down. “The irresistible force. I didn’t think of a hot bath. Would you…”
“No thank you. Just some dry clothes, and a cup of tea, would be wonderful.”
He nodded, and picked up her case. “Follow me.” He led her out of the kitchen down a short passage. Stopped at a cupboard. “You could probably use a towel.” He took one out of the linen store, and handed it to her, before leading her on to the next door. “In here. I’ll go and ginger up the fire a bit, and put another kettle on. Mary will probably whisk you away, but she may demand more tea first. She’s good at that.”
One of the things that life before entering the Ministry had done for Joy, was to make her good at noticing details. She had always been quite fussy about them, and working as a museum illustrator had honed those habits. She didn’t need to be that observant to realize this was a girl’s room. The three fluffy ponies on the bed, the heart shaped little pillow, the little dressing table, the knick-knacks among the horse-riding trophies on the shelf, and the rosettes and ribbons pinned on the edge told that story. The table was slightly dusty, and the air had a faint mustiness to it. He put the case on the bed, waved at it and walked out, closing the door. She wondered about her rescuer. Divorced? Widowed? Plainly sensitive ground, whatever it was. She opened her case, and, naturally, the top items were an alb and a cassock. That might be a little too much! She found her blouse with a clerical collar, some slacks and a warm, navy cabled cardigan with a broad collar and large buttons. Not her first choice for meeting her new parish council, but acceptable. The only problem was shoes — either rather wet or somewhere in the depths of the car boot.
She dressed, tidied her hair as best as she could, and then considered putting the wet clothes in the case. She settled on folding them instead, and carried them, and her case, back to the kitchen.
“You could have left that for me,” he said.
“I’m quite capable of carrying my own luggage.”
“Yes, but I come from an era when it was considered polite, as was calling a woman a lady. And now I am too old to change,” he said cheerfully. “And I have no intention of trying. Now, tea? Coffee? Hot chocolate… er, I think I have some. And only ordinary tea I’m afraid. I don’t do chamomile or mint or whatever.”
Somehow she would have been surprised if he did. “Just tea would be wonderful.”
“Do have the chair,” he said, waving at the slightly worn leather recliner, with a folded old tartan rug on the arm. “I’d take you through to the lounge but I haven’t got the wood-heater burning in there. It takes a while to warm up.”
“But I can’t take your chair,” she protested.
“Why not? I won’t be using it. Pop your case down. Sit, and I’ll make a pot of tea.”
She chose instead to sit at the kitchen table. The black-and-white sheepdog slipped out of her basket, sniffed tentatively at Joy’s legs, and lay down at her feet. She patted the silky head.
Her host noticed. “Oh you are favored. I hope you don’t mind.”
“She’s lovely. Very well behaved,” said Joy who had met some rather boisterous dogs in her work in the city.
“She’s a timid girl, is my Belle. But a very good working dog.”
“So tell me about my new congregation?” she asked, as he busied himself making tea.
“Me? Oh you’ll get it all from Mary. I suppose it is a typical country parish. Rather conservative about most things. Too many old folk, too many women… I suppose from my point of view anyway. Your predecessor was doing a good job to change things, I think or at least he was trying. He joined the local gun club, and was in with the local fly-fishermen.”
“Oh dear. I think I may fall short on that... I’m not very familiar with the country.”
He laughed. “Neither was Peter Hallam. He couldn’t shoot or catch fish, poor fellow, but people took the will for the deed. He joined everything, even the local art group for a bit. They thought his efforts cartoonish. His death was a bit of a shock.” He raised his eyebrows at her. “You do know they’re saying that he was murdered?”
“I’d heard the coroner had reserved judgment.”
He snorted. “In a country district that’s as good as saying ‘we found the axe embedded in his head, he’d been shot fifteen times at long range… we think it might be suicide.’ They all know that he was murdered, and the details get even more lurid and inventive by the day.”
In spite of herself, Joy asked, “But was he?” as her host brought a tray with a teapot, mugs and a sugar bowl across to the table, and sat down.
He shrugged. “Probably not. But that doesn’t stop the old tabbies gossiping. There’s not much on TV. And he had rather fed it, I’m afraid. He said to me someone was out to get him, and he had also separately spoken of it to Mary, and I gather to a few other people, by the stories. Who knows? Maybe he was right. The fact is: he thought he was going to die, and then he did.”
It was, she rationalized, her job to hear these rumors and scotch them. “Who did he think was trying to kill him?”
“Ah.” said Tom, turning the teapot round three times before pouring the tea. “That’s where it gets really complicated. It seems he changed his mind, depending on who he was talking to, and the day. He suspected everyone from the local pagan to my sister. But he did believe it was going to happen. He had a new will made up about a week before his death. I was one of the witnesses. And, no, he wasn’t killed for his fortune, because he didn’t have one. More than that I won’t say.”
“He sounds, well, paranoid.”
“Sometimes he seemed a little that way. But he was not a bad fellow, really.”
“So who would have wanted to kill him?”
“Oh, not more than three-quarters of the village,” he said, he said with a wry smile.
“But I thought you said he was doing a good job and was not a bad fellow?”
“I said he was trying. But why does that change anything? You know, the trouble with a small community is you can’t avoid each other like you can in the city. There are only just so many people, and it doesn’t matter if Henry is a Green or Jenny an atheist… you can’t live in separate worlds as you could do in a larger place. They’ll be on at least one committee with you, go into town and you’ll meet them. And sometimes the small gets very large out here. Sugar?”
“No thank you. I don’t want to get very large out here too.”
“Ah, but a bit of sugar might sweeten you up. Give you energy. And I think you’re going need it. Honestly, the suspicion is worse than having a known felon in our midst.”
“I can imagine. So, why don’t you actually tell me what happened? All I know from the Bishop is that the poor man was found dead in the church, presumed dead of natural causes, and then there was an issue with the coroner.”
“Well, yes, that’s the story in a nutshell… but the devil is in the details.”
“And those details are?”
“My sister turned up to collect a hymn book for the service she was preparing. She found him sprawled in the aisle, she checked to see if he was breathing, and when he wasn’t, she rushed out to call the Ambos. They arrived as she got to the gate, they tried CPR, loaded him into the ambulance, whisked him off to the hospital, where he was pronounced dead.”
“Your ambulance service is very fast.”
“Aha. Detail number one. Actually, she never got to her mobile, which was in her purse in the car. The Ambos were there already, called from the rectory ‘phone, by persons unknown. The front doors to the church were locked, but the back one was ajar. And, as you’ll find out, the local doctor who was initially disposed to sign the death certificate… changed his mind and asked for a full post-mortem examination. More I don’t actually know. I don’t think anyone does. But you will doubtless be told some interesting variations!”
“Can’t you just ask the Doctor?”
“Not this one, no,” said Tom, pouring her more tea. She hadn’t realized she’d drunk all of it, but plainly she had. At least she was feeling warmer now. “He’s a reasonably good doctor, but he believes in patient confidentiality. And he’s one of the people Peter Hallam said was trying to kill him.”
At this point there was a loud knocking from across the house, and a sudden cold breeze blew through.
“Close the door! We’re in the kitchen,” shouted Tom, getting up.
Moments later they were greeted by the irresistible force, or rather, his sister, bustling in. She was as large as he was spare, and trailing two other women in her wake. “Reverend Norton,” she said, grasping both of Joy’s hands, “How good to have you here. I’m Mary Truman, and this is Isabella Da Freitas,” she waved at the dark-haired oriental-looking woman, who gave Joy a broad smile “and Lindsey McCassil,” — a faded blonde, who didn’t. “We’re part of your parish council. Tom, how can you entertain our new Pastor in the kitchen?!”
“So nice to meet you all,” said Joy. “Really, Ms. Truman, he has been so kind, stopping and rescuing me, and towing the car here.”
“Mary, Mary, everyone calls me Mary, Reverend Norton,” said the large affable woman. “And Tom has no manners.”
“Everyone calls her Mary, except those who call her ‘Contrary’,” said her brother, calmly. “The kitchen is warm, and she was wet and cold. The rest of the house is on the chilly side, but you’re welcome to go and sit there while I go and fiddle with the car.”
“And you haven’t given her anything to eat!” said his sister, ignoring his comments, as she was plainly used to doing.
“The only biscuits I have are for Belle. If I have people-biscuits, I eat them. So I don’t buy them,” he said, moving to the door in unhurried strides, with the sheepdog suddenly pressed hard against his knee. She wasn’t staying with strangers! “Now, I’ll leave you to the women folk and go and see what I can do about that car. You can stay in the kitchen and be warm, or go into the lounge and be cold. I’ll be off to the quiet of the shed!”
“He’s impossible,” said his sister, shaking her head at the closing door. “Shall we go and sit in the lounge?”
It was a command, really. But Joy felt she would have to establish herself in the parish, and now was as good a time to start as any. Besides, she felt Tom Truman had not really wanted anyone in the rest of his house, and she did owe him a debt of gratitude. “If you don’t mind, I would rather stay here in the kitchen. I did get rather wet and cold, and I am appreciating the heat.”
“Is much nicer here,” said the still smiling Isabella. “Such a good brother you have, Mayree. “
“And it is rather lovely in a farm kitchen,” said the faded blonde. “So homely. A country welcome.”
Mary Truman sniffed. “A country welcome has food. Tom never does. And the place looks like a barracks. At least Alice always had it suitably decorated! Anyway, we’ve got almost everything all ready for you in the rectory. You’ll have to forgive us. We had to put poor Father Hallam’s possessions in boxes in the spare room. I was hoping to ask the Bishop about what we must do with them. But this isn’t the country welcome we wanted to show you.”
“Really,” said Joy, “Being able to get warm and dry, a cup of tea, and help when I needed it, seemed very welcoming to me! Though I must admit that until your brother came to my rescue, I thought I had blundered into Psalm 107, you know: ‘I wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way; I found no city to dwell in’.”
“Sounds like a good thing to do,” said Tom Truman coming back in. “Considering cities. How times change, once they were good places to live in. I’ve sorted your car’s problem out, by the way. The coil lead had come off with the bump. She’s not built for your wilderness wandering or ditch-driving.”
“Oh thank you! You’ve been so kind,” exclaimed Joy, relieved.
“A regular good Samaritan,” said Tom, with a skew smile. “So, now that I’ve met you, I’ll let them take you off into town and talk holes in your head. I’ve still got mud on my knees. I can’t go.”
“I’ll come in with you, Reverend Norton,” said Mary, “To show you the way and to keep you company.”
“Oh no you won’t,” said Lindsey. “Isabella or I can, I’m not driving that tank of yours.”
“Um, the passenger front seat is rather cluttered,” said Joy, looking to head off battle royal. “I wasn’t expecting a passenger.”
“Is no problem, I go!” said Isabella, with one of those smiles that said it really wasn’t a problem to her. “I am small. I help. I put on my lap. Is not far.”
Joy decided she was probably going to like Isabella. Her English was quite accented, but if a face ever said ‘good-natured, and kindly’ without speaking, it was hers. “I could clear…”
“Nice hair.” Isabella said, taking Joy’s arm, and leading her towards the door. “I cut the hair here.”
That was it. Sooner or later, hairdressers heard everything. If healing the schisms in this community required her finding out who killed Peter Hallam… this woman would hear. And sooner or later she’d also need her hair done too. “I am sure I can clear enough space for you.” She turned back to her rescuer, who was looking at his sister’s chagrin with a finger to his lips, and a decidedly unholy smile on his face. “Thank you so much, again. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.”
“It’s a pleasure,” he said. “Always good to help someone suffering from a Mallardy.”
“What malady?” asked his sister.
“Donald’s!” grinned a man who would plainly pun, and play on words for hours if he got the chance.
Joy acknowledged that play in the time honored fashion of a groan, and shaking her head. The punster beamed at her.
“Thomas, I wish you’d talk sense! Donald is doing quite well,” said Mary Truman. “Well, I will see you at the rectory,” and she made a sweeping exit, followed by Lindsey.
Joy found herself ushered to her car. Their host came out with them, bearing her case. He plainly considered packing a favorite form of puzzle, as he managed to get all the bits and pieces from the front seat into the boot or the foot-well, leaving Isabella a small amount of foot-room. “I spent too long at sea. No space shall be wasted!” he announced.
They drove out along the muddy track, and onto the main road again. Joy, always a nervous driver, was even more so now, and she was not really inclined to chat, but rather to concentrate. Her companion seemed completely at ease, and made up for her silence for her. “A very nice man Tom. Is so kind. He cut down the pear tree for me. Is so sad about his wife. I never think it!”
Before Joy could ask what she never thought, Isabella was off on another tangent. “So sad the Reverend Peter. He was a very nice man. He like my flowers. He like the boy scouts.”
Why those two should go together was a mystery that the wet road stopped her thinking about too much. “So have you been here long?”
“Fifteen year now. Is a very nice place. So friendly. You like it. Look, that where Mr Donald live. You know him?”
Joy didn’t look — she kept her eyes on the road. “Um, no.”
“Oh, he is nice man. Very clever. He is pharmacist in town.”
Joy was beginning to wonder if anyone wasn’t a very nice man. But the tone suggested a distinction between nice and very nice. “Is he one of our congregation?”
“Oh no!” she sounded slightly shocked. “He is… atheist. He fight with Reverend Peter. Shouting. Shouting.”
“Oh. Did Peter Hallam have lots of fights with people?”
For the first time there was a silence from her companion. Eventually Isabella said: “Some. Sometimes he… he was not like usual. He said to me one time I am trying to kill him! He cough and cough and cough from the product I use on his hair. Allergic. I did not know! He never say. And no-one else ever was allergic. It say hypo-allergic. I ask Mr. Donald he say is a good product, very safe. Just some people react to funny things. He say was not product, was maybe the coating on the protection. He laugh a lot. I don’t understand. Ah. You turn here!”
So Joy did, and followed Isabella’s simple directions to the neat red-brick house next door to the chocolate-box little white church with stone corners, and a small steeple. “It is a lovely church! I do flowers, Mrs. Smithson do flowers, Mary do flowers, and we have roster to clean silver and brass and windows.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing it, to meeting all of you.”
The rectory fortunately had a carport to let them park in the dry and unload. They each took a case. “Everybody come fetch as soon as they know you are here. Come, come,” said Isabella. There were several other cars already parked there, a large station wagon, and a maroon Land Cruiser…
Joy had to wonder if the car that had so studiously ignored her, stuck in a ditch, was driven by one of the people she was about to meet… or had met.
Inside the door was a little hallway, which was ornamented with a pair of large wellingtons and several dripping umbrellas, ranging from a utilitarian large black one to a frilly edged purple one, and a dripping raincoat. The smell of fresh baking and something deliciously tomato scented had seeped into the hallway, as did the sound of loud voices. A lower pitched one, and a loud high pitched voice: “I don’t care! It’s not fair that she shouldn’t be told! I mean…”
Isabella opened the door, “Hello! We are come!”
That silenced the voices within, so Joy went inside to meet them. They were a rather varied group, but she did understand why Tom Truman had been happy to have an excuse not to be there. Of the welcoming committee, only one was male, and he was on the elderly side of very elderly, and appeared completely unaware of her entry. The white-haired woman next to him gave him a prod with her elbow, and he looked up, and hastily fiddled with his ear. Then there was a welter of introductions, and, as was usual with such meetings, it was very hard to keep track of who was who. Luckily, they didn’t seem to realize that she had no real idea who they were yet. It was intimidating, but she’d sort them out as time went on. The trouble was that she was deathly tired, after the drive, and after the accident, and all the stress.
