“I’m not sure yet, but at least now whatever she does will be her own decision and not because of someone pressuring her. She is eighty-four, and it’s a huge job, but at least she’s in charge.”
“You’re a wonder, Reverend Lady.”
“I don’t know about the wonder part. Maybe that part’s in the small print. But thanks, Dan, and do keep in touch.”
“I will.”
When she saw him to the door, she couldn’t help thinking when it rains, it pours. Olympia had a little chuckle before setting about the more serious business of making room for the man she loved to move in.
~
With the baddies behind bars and the clean-up operation in the very capable hands of the Chilmark and Massachusetts State police, Olympia could actually get on with the business of being a parish minister. Frederick’s arrival on the scene was a mixed blessing. While delighted to have him so near, having him in such proximity did present logistical problems. He was lovely, but he needed something to do besides be English and charming to the church-folk. Not surprisingly, it was Julia to the rescue.
It was not long before Frederick found himself with a considerable to-do list of minor church repairs and even some paying jobs, fixing stair treads (Would you believe?), changing light bulbs, and mending the fences of island residents in need of a helping hand. As a couple, Olympia and Frederick made friends with one of the Methodist ministers on the island, and the three were often seen together at summer chamber music concerts and outdoor hymn sings at the tabernacle in Oak Bluffs. But as charming and relaxed as it all was now that Olympia was no longer crime stopping, by mid-August both of them realized almost simultaneously that this wasn’t real life, and it wasn’t enough for either of them.
“We need to talk,” said Frederick.
“I’ll make the coffee,” said Olympia.
“Actually, I’d prefer tea.”
“I should know that by now.”
When she did, the two carried their cups out onto the five-foot-by-six-foot deck and sat facing one another.
“I need my own car,” said Frederick.
“Actually, my dear love, you need a life, and step one in that direction is getting your own wheels.”
Frederick looked relieved. “You’re not upset?”
“Why in the world should I be? This place is fairyland, at least when someone isn’t aiming a gun in my direction. But we’re going back to the outside world in another week, and you aren’t the only one who has to get a life. I’m not a professor anymore, and after this I’m not sure that I want to serve as a parish minister either.”
“So what do you think you want to do?”
Olympia shook her head. “I’m not sure, but I was thinking that a good way for me to think it over would be to do a continuing education stint as a hospital chaplain. Actually, it’s called Clinical Pastoral Education, or CPE in the trade, and I can pick up some CECs for it.”
“CECs?”
“Continuing education credits. I think I have enough money put aside that I can manage without a salary for almost a year. What do you think?”
“I think I get myself a green card and get a job.”
“Oh, Frederick, I’m not asking you to support me.’
No, Olympia, you wouldn’t. As it turns out, I’m offering.”
“I have to think about that.”
“No, you don’t. We just agreed that I need to do more with myself than what I’m doing.” He winked lasciviously. “Lovely as it is, it won’t put bread on the table. So with that said, where do I find a car for myself?”
Olympia got out of her chair and went inside. She returned with that week’s edition of the Martha’s Vineyard Times. “Take a look in here. There are some unbelievable bargains here. People would rather sell stuff cheap than take it off island.”
“Cheaply.”
“Thank you, Mr. Grammarian.”
~
Three days before Olympia and Frederick were due to leave the Island, Julia Scott-Norton called to say that the church wanted to say thank you and farewell to them both, and would they please consider themselves invited to a potluck supper on the last Sunday Olympia would be in the pulpit.
“I’m sure I can make it, Julia, but let me check with Frederick. He’s out looking at a car right this minute.”
“I know,” said Julia.
Olympia rolled her eyes. “Julia Scott-Norton, how in the world did you know that?”
“It’s a small island, Olympia, and it’s my brother’s truck.” Olympia laughed out loud and promised to get back as soon as Frederick returned.
She was doing the dishes when Frederick returned, so she didn’t hear him enter. He scared her half out of her skin when he tiptoed up and kissed the back of her neck, and her leaping screech told him so.
“Come outside, I have something to show you.” The man was positively vibrating with excitement.
Olympia followed him the ten feet, seven inches, from the kitchen sink to the front door and looked out at a vintage, canary yellow Ford pickup that looked like it had been hand painted by a spider monkey using a defective roller.
“Where’s the Volvo?”
“I left it back at Julia’s brother’s house. They wanted me to show this to you before I took possession of it. What do you think?”
“How much are they asking?”
“Tell me what you think first.”
Olympia walked out to the vehicle and observed it from every possible angle. “The tires look OK. How does it feel when you drive it?”
“Well, the steering is a little loose, and the side mirror needs to be replaced, but both of those can be taken care of.”
“You love it, don’t you?”
Frederick nodded enthusiastically.
“Well, you won’t get lost in a crowd, that’s for damn sure. If you want it, then get it. It really isn’t my decision. Now tell me how much.”
“They gave it to me!”
“I’m not surprised,” said Olympia.
Thirty-Three
On the Sunday night of Labor Day weekend, Olympia and Frederick were sitting outside in the back yard of the Brookfield house, enjoying an after dinner cup of coffee. The days were noticeably shorter now, and a lavender-pink glow was rapidly fading from the western sky.
“Such a lovely, peaceful time of day,” mused Frederick.
“We won’t have too many more of these. I should have brought a sweater out with me. By the way, I did tell you that I got accepted into the chaplaincy program at Mercy Hospital, didn’t I? But I’m going to defer it until a little later in the year.”
“You didn’t, but I had no doubt that you would. I start my job at the bookstore next Tuesday.”
“Well, that should be interesting. Talk about a kid in a candy store. I don’t know if we have enough shelves. You might have to build some more.”
“Every day with you is interesting, my darling, but if you don’t mind, I think we could all use a little less excitement in the months to come. Apropos of absolutely nothing, have you heard from Jim? Do you know yet when or if he’s coming to stay with us? ”
“If he does, it won’t be for a while. He’s got a lot to think about. Oh, and another thing, I talked with my daughter Laura today. The baby’s due in six weeks. She said she’s doing great and feeling big.”
“I suppose she’s excited?”
“We all are.”
“We?”
“Turns out she’s scheduled to have it at Mercy Hospital in Boston, and she’s invited me to be there for the birth.”
Frederick reached for her hand. “Oh, that’s wonderful, Olympia.”
She nodded, her radiant smile saying it all.
“There’s so much to be grateful for, but I’m getting chilly. I promised myself I’d get back to Miss Winslow’s diary. I really neglected it while I was on Martha’s Vineyard. Things sort of got away from me. So the night and the diary are mine.”
As the two best friends and fr
iendly lovers collected their cups and returned to the house, there was no mistaking the sound of silvery chimes coming from the sitting room.
“Leanna seems to be in a good mood,” said Frederick.
“She should be,” said Olympia, giving his bottom a friendly pat.
“Everybody’s home safe. She likes it that way.”
~
September 3, 1861
The end of summer is fast upon us. My garden survived my preoccupation with my child, and I have food enough to share and to store for the coming winter. My not so little Jonathan has two teeth and is already pushing himself backwards across the kitchen floor. My women friends say this is quite normal for some children. With no younger brothers or sisters, there is so much I do not know of little ones and how they grow – and no mother of my own to ask. Enough of that; there is little comfort in self-pity.
I am pondering two things with which to occupy my time and perhaps bring in a bit of money as well. I am told I have a flair for writing—and although these pages may be no proof of that, my writing was much praised when I was younger and in school. It is something I can do here at home. And in a house as big as this, with so many unoccupied rooms, I could also take in lodgers. Women of course, I don’t need to raise any more eyebrows than I have already done. Since I am the sole mistress of my domain I see no reason to wait on these thoughts.
I have recently read some charming stories penned by a woman named Louisa May Alcott, and while I was in Cambridge, living with my own Aunt Louisa, I chanced upon some treatises on the education of women by a Universalist suffragist by the name of Olympia Brown. Determined to do more with my life, constrained though it might be at present, I will begin this very day by writing letters to both these women and asking their advice. Perhaps they will come to the aid of one of their own, and surely it will do no harm to ask. Courtesy alone bespeaks a response.
The days pass much more quickly now … is it the fading sun, or is it me?
More anon, LFW
Preview of the Fourth Olympia Brown Mystery
coming from Mainly Murder Press
October 2012
An Unholy Mission
by Judith Campbell
Prologue
The dying woman lay on the hospital bed. Her bony jaw sagged open as her final, ragged gasps grew farther and farther apart. Her waxy skin was pale and moist, already growing cool to the touch.
On that silent night only days before Christmas, there were no family members keeping watch beside her bed, no flowers or cards on the windowsill to comfort and brighten her final days. Only a hospital chaplain stayed long past the scheduled shift, holding the patient’s unresponsive hand and reading aloud from the Bible, easing the way with time-honored words of comfort and encouragement. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …”
Finally, when it appeared that the woman’s work of dying was finished, the solitary chaplain gently smoothed the blanket on the bed and straightened the wires and tubes still connected to the lifeless body. When all was as it should be, the chaplain closed the woman’s vacant eyes and touched the wrinkled, lifeless cheek one last time. The ritual was complete. The chaplain smiled and started out of the dimly lighted room to call the nurse. This truly is the work and will of God.
One
Office of Chaplaincy and Pastoral Care
Mercy Hospital
Boston, Massachusetts
Dear Rev. Dr. Brown,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted into our Extended Unit, Winter Chaplaincy Practicum, beginning on November 1 and continuing until February 28. This unit of study requires twenty-five hours a week of combined practical and clinical work for a total of seventeen weeks, which, when completed successfully, will qualify as a completed unit of CPE totaling four hundred hours of supervised Clinical Pastoral Education.
You are one of a highly select group of six chaplains chosen from over fifty qualified applicants. Mercy Hospital has one of the most highly rated CPE programs in the country with a tradition of excellence which you and your five cohorts will be expected to meet, if not exceed.
Please report to the Kessler Conference Room on Monday, November first, promptly at 9:00 a.m. I look forward to working with you and ask that on our first day together you be dressed appropriately, have writing materials with you, and arrive on time.
In faith and mercy,
Sr. Patrick Alphonsus, OP
When Olympia finished reading though the letter a second time, she handed it to Frederick Watkins, her live-in significant other, and began fanning herself with the empty envelope.
“That’s terrific, Olympia. I know what this means to you. I think it’s a good idea that you waited to be in the extended program. You must be thrilled. Think of it, you start in three weeks.”
“That is one no-nonsense letter, Frederick. I know the CPE program at Mercy is rated as one of the best in the country, but this reads like an order to show up at boot camp. It doesn’t sound like an invitation to become part of a religious and spiritual healing team at one of the best teaching hospitals on the east coast. It sounds more like marching orders.”
~
Three weeks later Olympia Brown accepted the cup of coffee Frederick held out as she bolted past him in the direction of the sitting room. She was scrambling around the house, trying to locate her notebook and umbrella in preparation for day one of her chaplaincy program in downtown Boston; but as the relentless rain poured down outside and the kitchen clock ticked away the vanishing minutes, it seemed to Olympia that everything that could possibly go wrong was doing exactly that.
The weather was vile. Rain and high winds were predicted to last most of the day. Her ancient VW van was acting its age, and the one business suit she owned that still fit felt like someone else was wearing it.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Frederick stood off near the sink, well out of her flight pattern.
“Other than stopping the rain, turning back the clock and getting me a new van, I don’t think so, but thanks for asking, love. I still have time, but it’s going to be close. I hate rushing like this, and I absolutely can’t be late on the first day. It’s mostly first-day jitters, I know that. I’ll be a much nicer person when I get home.” Olympia shook her head and smiled apologetically.
“I’ll feed the cats and chill the wine. Any idea when you’ll be back?”
“If this weather keeps up, God only knows. I’ll give you a ring when I’m leaving. Oh, and will you call Jim Sawicki at the rectory and tell him yes to the first question, and I’ll need at least a week’s lead time before he does.” With that she was off, head bowed against a blast of weather that belonged in a 1920s black-and-white horror film. Frederick, dear heart that he was, stood in the open doorway, waving and getting soaked until she turned out of the leaf-strewn driveway and sputtered off down the street.
The Reverend Doctor, no longer Professor, Olympia Brown was at a turning point in both her personal and professional lives, so it was not surprising that she was feeling tense and unsettled. Last May, after no end of internal debate, she had made the decision to cut her ties with the college where she’d worked for more than twenty-five years and pursue full time ministry. In that same time frame she had invited Frederick Watkins, her English gentleman, to move in and share her antique farmhouse. The house, which had a curious history of its own, was in constant need of repair and restoration and thus offered not only shelter but an ongoing salvage project the two could share in the months (and possibly years) to come.
Two major life changes in almost as many months, and a third, if she counted accepting the delicate, white gold diamond ring Frederick had held out to her while kneeling on a bathroom floor on the island of Martha’s Vineyard. Even now, in the rainy gloom with almost nothing for it to reflect, the tiny flicker of light on her left hand reminded her of one more unanswered question—Frederick. She held on to the steering wheel with both hands and lurched along in first and second
gears through the storm-stalled traffic on the Southeast Expressway, knowing there was no way in hell she was going to make it on time.
Olympia took pride in her own punctuality and could be less than patient with habitual latecomers. So when the combined elements of bad weather and rush hour traffic prevented her timely arrival on that first day, she was not at her professional best as she galloped toward the Kessler Conference Room.
“You must be one of the chaplains?”
Startled, Olympia caught her breath and turned to see a man carrying a black leather briefcase, hurrying to catch up with her. He was dressed in a dark suit and was wearing an imposing, hammered silver cross on a heavy chain around his neck. She had not heard him approaching.
“Y-yes, I am,” said Olympia. “How could you tell?”
“I guess it takes one to know one. I’m glad somebody besides me is going to be late.”
“I’m not so sure I agree with you, but my mother always used to say misery likes company. She also said there’s strength in numbers, so one of those sayings is sure to apply to this situation.”
The man smiled, held out his hand and fell into step close beside her.
“I’m Luther Stuart. I’m planning to be an interfaith hospice minister. And you are?”
Olympia took his hand. “I’m Olympia Brown.”
When the two reached the doorway of the glass-walled conference room, Luther pulled open the door and stepped aside so she could enter ahead of him.
Right, let me go first. That way I can get the dirty looks for being late. I’m starting to dislike you already.
The other four members of the chaplaincy team, along with the Pastoral Care Supervisor, Sister Patrick, were already seated along either side of a long oval table as Olympia and Luther made their way to the two remaining seats. Sister Patrick looked down at her watch before speaking.
A Despicable Mission (Olympia Brown Mysteries) Page 20