Father Briar and The Angel

by Rita Saladano

  “Aye, laddies, just like the nasty rippers coming off the North Atlantic, these Canadian storms sweep in at high speed over whatever land they encounter, usually bringing with them terrible conditions.”

  “What did this old blowhard know?” all the college boys asked themselves. But he was, for once in his sorry and sodden life, he was right. It was not uncommon for an Alberta Clipper to cause temperatures to drop by thirty degrees in ten hours. These crazed storms bring with them shark-like winds, compounding the ferocity of the temperatures.

  Making things even worse for Brannaskans, the northern, southern and eastern shores of the Great Lakes, of which Superior graces Minnesota’s borders, often receive enhanced snowfall from Alberta Clippers during the winter, due to lake enhancement. The lake-effect snow can add substantially to the overall snowfall total.

  “Don’t care about “lake enhancement,” boyos?” Coughlin asked the assembled staff. “Ya should. It could be the difference between five and fifty inches of snow, the difference between life and death.

  Reginald (never Reggie) Roggenbucker kept a laminated prayer card in the top left drawer of his desk. As a scientist, Reginald never wanted to be teased about his faith, hence the secrecy. It read:

  “O My God, I adore Thee and I love Thee with all my heart. I thank Thee for having created me, for having made me a Catholic and for having watched over me this day. Pardon me for the evil I have done this day; and if I have done any good, deign to accept it. Watch over me while I take my rest and deliver me from danger. May Thy grace be always with me.

  Amen.”

  On the backside was a picture of Jesus in a storm, wandering the wilderness, being stalked somewhere off in the deep woods by a red-eyed wolf with hornlike ears and spittle drooling from his jaws.

  The most common type of wolf is the gray wolf, or timber wolf. There was nothing common about this particular wolf, however. Adult grey wolves are 4 to 6 feet long and weigh about 40 to 175 pounds. This wolf was at least 8 feet long and five feet high at the shoulders. Just like its name, the gray wolf typically has thick gray fur. This one had fur like steel wool that was thicker than shag carpeting.

  Wolf packs have a leader, known as the alpha male. This wolf was the Alpha of the alpha males. Each pack guards its territory against intruders and may even kill other wolves that are not part of their pack and this one often killed just for the sake of it, the sheer bloodlust. Wolves are nocturnal and will hunt for food at night and sleep during the day. This wolf needed neither food nor sleep, for days upon days. It was machine-like and without emotion or pain.

  Packs of wolves don't like to stay in one place. They are known to travel as far as 12 miles (20 kilometers) per day. The march this wolf was undertaking required triple that pace and he ran the distance with a vicious ease.

  Wolves have friends. This wolf did not. Wolves howl to communicate with other members of the pack. When this wolf howled, the rest of his pack knew to stay away for violence was afoot.

  Violence was always afoot, and when Reginald held his picture and recited its prayer, he always worried for Jesus and prayed he’d escape that wolf.

  Chapter Twenty One: There is a Commandment About Respecting Your Mother, Right?

  Underneath her dozen layers of winter clothing, Gosha was not a big woman. She ate like a bird and not just metaphorically, she actually pecked at her food and swallowed the tiny morsels whole.

  Bjorn was always fascinated. They weren’t from very far away from one another, originally; Stockholm and Warsaw are only five hundred miles apart. But Bjorn felt like he was a very American man, deeply assimilated and accustomed to the ways of the country. He, like most of the others in town, viewed Gosha as an outsider, a foreigner, an alien.

  Another outsider had swept into town! This was news worthy of an exclamation point. Julianna’s mother was there for a visit.

  “She flew into Minneapolis. Flew! The money these people must have,” he speculated to the cook.

  “None of your business, Bjorn,” she reminded him.

  “Flew on Northwest Orient Airlines,” he said, not quite ready to let it go yet. Bjorn was a big fan of the Minneapolis-based airline company because of their effort to help United States Armed Forces during the recently ended Korean War. At the beginning of the decade, they’d airlifted troops and equipment over to Korea, in the process expanding their base of commercial operations in the region, hence the newly added (and not yet offensive) term “Oriental” to their name.

  “Flew in on a Stratocruiser. They have an organist on there. Music while you dine in the sky.” The old café proprietor shook his head with awe and wonder. There was a twinkle in his brown eyes that the cook found delightful, in spite of herself.

  “He can be a charming old rascal,” she admitted, deep in her heart of hearts. “But his obsession with airplanes is a bit childish.”

  Bjorn didn’t think it was childish, he thought it manly. In his life, he had two big aspirations, beyond his family and restaurant: he wanted to fly on a Northwest Orient Airlines Stratocruiser, and he wanted to ride a camel.

  One of those goals seemed much more attainable than the other, and now here was Julianna’s mom, fresh off the airplane. Bjorn would have to investigate, interrogate if necessary, when she came in for breakfast.

  To his endless surprise, she came in on the arm of Gosha. And that is not a colloquial expression; she walked in arm-in-arm with the Polish woman.

  This had been a habit of woman in Warsaw and all across the Old World. They walked holding one another like that to show solidarity, and often because the ancient cobblestone streets were slick and dangerous for un-aided pedestrians.

  The sidewalks of Brannaska were similar, especially in the depths of this winter. So the matronly women had stepped lightly and together and had made it into the cafe for breakfast still vertical and unharmed by falls.

  Julianna was in the back, helping with dishes and frying eggs. Bjorn’s booming voice filled the kitchen.

  “Your mother is here Julianna!”

  She wiped her soapy hands on her apron and went out to say hello. When she was Gosha sitting in the booth next to her mom, she almost fainted.

  “Next to her in the booth! Not across from her, right next to her!” Julianna marveled.

  “We left space in the booth for you,” her mother said, imperiously waving her into the seat across from her and her new friend.

  “I see you’ve met my neighbor,” Julianna said with a wry, real smile.

  Her mother was staying Houlihan’s Inn, the only commercial accommodation in town. She’d insisted on staying there because she “didn’t want to impose or put you out, Julianna.” The place was run by an Irishman so foul that even Father Briar, in all his Catholic, Celtic pride, refused to acknowledge his existence.

  “Yes, I met her this morning when I was out for my constitutional.”

  “Ah,” Julianna said. Her mother was in the habit of taking a long, pre-dawn walk to help her move her bowels. Along the way, she’d sneak a few drags on a cigarette, which she found to help the condition. These were secrets (her irritable intestines and nicotine fixes, not her walks) that she’d managed to hide from her husband across four successful decades of marriage. Hide from her husband, but not her daughter.

  “Yes. I was out for an early stroll and met Gosha, who was out for the same.”

  This wasn’t exactly true. Gosha had been on “humping patrol,” her self-styled mission to either aid or bust the town’s fornicating couples. She’d been cruising the streets all night, but her voyeuristic and moralistic crusade had gone unsuccessful. She’d seen Mrs. Warwidge walking like an Olympian’s determination and decided to investigate this person who was, just possibly, the newest stranger in town.

  As the town’s resident “newest stranger in town,” Gosha didn’t want any fresh arrivals usurping her position.

  “Your mother has been talking about the priest in her parish back in Seattle,” Gosha explained, peckin
g at a yolky forkful of fried egg.

  Julianna got a little queasy, both from looking at the gooey, jiggling egg and from what other priests they might have been talking about.

  As if guided by the merciless Hand of God, Father Briar came through the door.

  Unable to control her sudden terror, Julianna cried out “oh God!”

  “That isn’t God, it’s just the priest. Sophisticated girl like you ought to know the difference by now,” Gosha said and her mother giggled. They were already sharing private jokes.

  Julianna felt as though she would keel over right then and there. “Just bury me in this booth,” she thought, “it’s nice and plush and comfortable.”

  Little did she know that somebody else in town had the same peculiar funeral arrangements, and that Bjorn would have to honor that request before the winter was out.

  “I think those pancakes look delicious,” Mrs. Warwidge said.

  Julianna took this as her opportunity to extract herself from the dizzying situation, if only momentarily to do her job.

  “Please don’t sit down next to Gosha and mom,” she silently begged her boyfriend.

  So of course he did.

  “Maybe if I tell her we are out of pancakes, she’ll leave,” Julianna schemed.

  “I think we’re out of pancakes,” she told the table of various and sundry Catholics that she was related to, hiding from, and having an affair with, in order of seating.

  “Plenty of batter,” Bjorn boomed, a smart smile on his face. He didn’t know what Julianna was up to, but whatever her plan was, he was going to enjoy throwing a monkey wrench into it.

  “Pancakes sound delicious, thanks, Julianna. I’ll have a slice of blueberry pie with that, too,” Cedric said.

  “So, Father Briar,” Gosha said, “how are you dealing with the winter weather? Keeping warm somehow, I hope?” she asked, an eyebrow raised.

  Pouring the pancakes in the kitchen, Julianna strained to hear every word of the conversation.

  “Julianna has spoken well of the Father here and says that he’s an excellent servant of the Lord,” Angeline Warwidge said.

  “I’m sure she has,” Gosha said, her voice full of malice and portent.

  “Your daughter flatters me; I’m just a humble parish priest.”

  “That she does, and that you are,” Gosha said, with enough sarcasm that both Julianna and her mom were stung.

  “Oh, Cedric, what were you thinking sitting down with them? How stupid could you be?” Julianna moaned under her breath. The cakes sizzled on the griddle.

  “You have flown in?” Cedric asked, trying to change the conversation.

  “On a Northwest Orient Stratocruiser, no less!” Bjorn enthused from across the restaurant.

  “Really? I heard they have an organist on the plane.”

  “Yes, I was able to listen to music while we dined.”

  “Dined forty thousand feet in the air,” Bjorn said, still amazed.

  “Julianna has never been on an airplane,” her mother said. “Not even in the war. Not even to come here. She took the train out here, because of her nerves,” her mother said, trying not to sneer.

  “Come on, Cedric, say something nice about me,” Julianna thought, pouring the next three round batches of batter.

  But the priest was silent.

  “She hasn’t gotten out and about much here, either. She goes to church, not much else,” Gosha informed her mother, patting her on the arm with sympathy.

  “Come on Cedric, defend me,” Julianna muttered. The cook didn’t hear over the frying of the eggs.

  “Some people have a hard time with the adjustment to moving somewhere new,” he said, his voice as meek as a lamb.

  She wanted to spit in his pancakes, but didn’t. She plated the stacks silently and, heart in her gut, went out to serve them. The table fell silent as they ate and the rest of breakfast passed without incident.

  Yet again, pancakes had saved love. But for how long?

  Chapter Twenty Two: Fish Fry Brings Heat to the Relationship

  Cedric and Julianna mingled amongst the parishioners in the all-purpose church basement, together, but apart. It was Mrs. Warwidge’s last night in town and her and her daughter had toured the sites of Brannaska, which consisted mainly of the two houses of worship.

  “Very nice facilities,” her mother commented, and then said very little more throughout the course of the day as they pitched in to help Father Briar.

  The Catholic community had gathered together to help raise funds to pay the heating bills for the poorest church members. While firewood was plentiful, if one was elderly and without family to chop it, it could get expensive. Furthermore, some houses, especially those in town, heated themselves on natural gas, which also could be difficult to pay for on a fixed income.

  “Give generously and graciously, please,” Cedric ended the prayer by gesturing to the donation box in front of his flock. “And eat generously and graciously of our food.”

  All morning, using knowledge picked up from the cook at Bjorn’s, Julianna cooked. Her mother, impressed as always by her daughter’s efforts (if not always the outcome), helped with whatever she could.

  “This morning’s work reminds me of Jesus in the cave,” Father Briar said,

  There was coleslaw, white and runny with mayonnaise, the cabbage limp and soft. There was potato salad; this was a largely German Catholic parish, so there was always potato salad. Made with French’s mustard, it glowed neon yellow and was always full of chopped onions and dried dill weed. There were dinner rolls, white bread with even whiter margarine.

  But there was also fish; glorious fish, walleye pike in flour batter, peppered and salted and so crunchy and golden and flavorfully perfect that it was a little miracle all by itself.

  “This fish fry is delicious, Father Briar.”

  “Yes, what a delightful occasion. A hale and hearty way to break up winter’s monotony.”

  The compliments, unlike the dollar bills in the collection plate, were in no short supply.

  “Donate generously, this goes towards a very worthy cause. We are heating the community so they can stay warm and safe in their own homes a noble cause to say the least.” Cedric again gestured and repeated the same holy rituals; he enjoyed making a show of it all, the mystery of his office. He also hadn’t had a meal outside of the parish house or Bjorn’s in more than a week.

  Julianna was on the edge of the room. She sighed in ill-concealed boredom.

  “Whatever is the matter?” asked her mother. “Are you tired of me?”

  “Nothing,” replied Julianna. She was tired of such events, because it was getting harder and harder to conceal her affection for Cedric. It was also getting harder and harder to conceal her irritation with him. It was also getting harder to see him giving attention to other women, even if their spiritual needs were pressing and genuine.

  “I leave in the morning, if that makes you feel any better.”

  “It makes me feel worse. I love you, mom.”

  “Alas Father Briar, it is like the feeding of the five thousand.” An inebriated parishioner, carried away from drinking too much communion wine, was drawing silly religious comparisons. Cedric blushed in embarrassment.

  “We will have no such silly comparisons here this is a place of worship. Father Briar, put an end to this blasphemy at once.” Gosha said in anger to the man.

  “She’s quite the piece of work, your neighbor,” Mrs. Warwidge said. “Did you know she’s a welder and something of an automotive engineer?”

  Julianna nodded but she wasn’t listening. She was paying attention to her estranged love.

  “He was only making a well-meaning joke.” Cedric pleaded to the angry Pole. “Gosha, I think that you are misinterpreting. Maybe this is just a matter of language.”

  “My English language speaking is flawless. It is not my understanding of the words. It is the words themselves. Not only were his words incorrect, it is a sin for you to allow su
ch behavior in such a holy place.”

  “Well, no man is without sin. I have never claimed to be ‘holier-than-thou, and even the Lord Jesus Christ said, “let he who is without sin cast the first stone.”

  The taxidermist tossed a dinner roll across the room. It landed on top of another table with a ‘thunk.’

  “It was as hard as a stone,” he joked. A few of the parishioners laughed, trying to break up the tension.

  She wouldn’t let it drop. Cedric placed his hands on her shoulders. Gosha erupted in a fit, looking for all the world like an adorable three year old having a short-lived temper tantrum in Polish.

  “Cedric, can you silence this mad woman?” Julianna piped up as she scowled at Gosha. Mrs. Warwidge was embarrassed for both of them. Cedric choose to ignore Julianna’s request

  “I can’t just tell her to do that, she has every right to be here as anyone else,” said Cedric, trying to avoid making eye contact with her.

  “Why don’t you take the priest away,” her mother counseled, “you seem to have a calming effect on him.”

  Now what did that mean? Julianna was about to lose her mind.

  The drunken parishioner (who is being left nameless to protect his reputation) sidled up to Gosha and began flirting. To his great surprise, she calmed down and flirted back; at least he thought she did, his mind was clouded with liquor and his Polish was non-existent.

  Julianna took this opportunity to walk Cedric out to the parking lot as she went to her car.

  “Why are you so upset with me today?” he asked. “You’ve barely said word one.”

  “Words, words, it always starts with words.”

  “Don’t corrupt scripture, Jewels.”

  “Don’t call me Jewels, Father Briar,” she said, managing to pronounce “Father” like it was a curse word.

  “What is wrong?”

  “Why didn’t you defend me at breakfast the other day?”

  “I was trying to play it “cool.” Isn’t that the new slang for things today? Playing it cool?”