Sunday, October 17, dawned bright and clear, promising a great day. Bryce and Damon slept later than usual, as was their wont on a Sunday, the day of rest. Still, they got themselves in gear in time to have breakfast at the local Cracker Barrel, and then spend about an hour or so at a park on the river, a relaxing and calming experience after all the excitement of the past week.
Shortly before eleven, they arrived in the parking lot at St. Boniface Catholic Church. There, they encountered not only the Sandoval contingent, but also Nate and Jason. Jason made comments like, “I’m only here for the music,” or “I’m only here for the free lunch afterwards,” or “I’m only here because my boyfriend wants me to come.” No one paid attention, and he was welcomed.
When they entered the church, they were greeted by Deacon Jeffers, and assured him they would be at the soup kitchen later that day. He informed them that there were two irregular matters about the celebration that morning. First, the fifth candidate for the position of music minister was performing that morning. Jason immediately said he noted a difference in the music. The second item was that a visiting priest would con-celebrate with Father Fenwick, and would give the sermon. This was Father Frank Pavone, the head of an international ministry known as “Priests for Life.”
With this introduction, the group made its way to a place where they could all fit in more or less in the same section. With four Sandovals, Kathy Collins, David Simpson, Nate Hagan, Jason Todd, Damon Watson, and Bryce Winslow involved, there were almost never enough spaces in the same pew available. They would have to get to the church at least 15 minutes early to grab that kind of grouping, and it was usually between five and ten before the hour when they actually arrived. That would be crowding things, anyway. But they did manage to get in the same general area, so they were close enough to exchange the sign of peace at the appropriate time.
The music was acceptable. Nate still insisted that none of the others came up to the standard of his favorite on September 19, but this person was by no means difficult to listen to. The bells ceased, and the organ launched into the processional hymn. The procession made its way down the center aisle, preceded by the thurifer, then the crucifer, then ten other altar boys, two deacons, and finally two priests, the Pastor, Father Timothy Fenwick, and the visiting priest, Father Frank Pavone. All went more or less as it did every Sunday, but Bryce was curious to hear what Father Pavone had to say.
When he mounted the ambo, Father Pavone began by stating, “You can save a life today.” This got people’s attention, and was the theme of his presentation. He began slowly, presenting simple facts. In 2008, the last year for which statistics were available, 1.21 million abortions were performed legally in the United States. Over 18,150 were on women who were 21 weeks or more pregnant. That’s five and a half months, or about two thirds of the way to birth. About three quarters of all abortions were for non-medical reasons, such as having a baby would interfere with work or school, or for financial reasons. Since the Roe v. Wade court decision legalizing abortions in 1973, there have been over fifty million legal abortions in the United States.
These factual bits of information were followed by an appeal. Most of the women who show up at abortion clinics feel desperate. Advocates talk about freedom of choice, but these woman feel they have no freedom, no choice. They feel caught. But there are alternatives. In every major city, where the abortion clinics are located, there are also agencies which will assist pregnant and desperate women. There are counseling, medical care, legal advice, job and education opportunities, and adoption services available. There are alternatives, even for the most desperate. In addition, as Father Pavone said, “Those of us who reject abortions, do not reject those who have had abortions.” “Priests for Life” operates the largest ministry for spiritual healing after an abortion, called “Rachel’s Vineyard.” A huge number of women who have abortions have guilt feelings about that, and many go into serious depression. In some cases there are also medical consequences as well as psychological or spiritual consequences, such as the women who are left sterile, or even some who die from the procedure, even in supposedly safe and licensed facilities. Recovery for survivors is available. Finally, Father Pavone noted that while staying in a motel in Birmingham, Alabama, he found in his room a notice that ladybugs were a locally protected species, and it was illegal to kill one if found in the room. He noted that in a clinic less than a mile away, it was legal to kill a baby. Such are the contradictions of modern America.
Following the sermon, the Mass continued in its proper course to the final blessing and the recessional hymn. The congregation seemed somewhat subdued, more serious, after hearing what Father Pavone had to say. At the doors, there were ushers with baskets, taking up a special collection for the “Priests for Life” ministry. Bryce wrote a check and deposited it in the basket as they departed.
“And just how much was that check for?” Jason asked.
“None of your business,” Bryce replied.
When they were seated at their usual Olive Garden Restaurant for their Sunday dinner, Jason admitted, “That sermon was not what I expected when Deacon Jeffries told us someone from “Priests for Life” would be giving the sermon. I expected more hellfire and damnation. Something like, ‘those who have abortions are going to hell.’”
Bryce replied, “It’s Catholic theology that no one is damned until the last moment. There is always the chance for a deathbed conversion, as it’s called, that is, a final repentance. Some people even think that Judas Iscariot, as he hung on that tree, might have regretted his sins and been forgiven. That’s why, even though the process of canonization says certain people are in heaven, there is no list of those who are definitely in hell.”
“I liked the positive aspects of Father Pavone’s sermon,” Isobel Sandoval said. “The talk about alternatives and counseling. That’s more effective than damning someone, I think.”
“Even sons who get girls pregnant in high school?” Kyle asked, ribbing his mother.
“Well, we might have a special category for such scoundrels,” Isobel replied, smiling at her son, then accepting her grandson from his mother.
With that, the conversation passed on to the wonders of Peter Charles, and his latest achievements, such as sitting up. His greatest achievements seemed to be looking cute and smiling a lot.
To introduce a different serious topic, Mike walked back to the entrance area, where there were newspaper racks. He purchased a copy of Sunday’s Herald and brought it back to the table. “Just in case anyone has not seen this, here’s the latest article in the on-going saga on campus,” he said, as he handed the paper to Jason. “I read it at home earlier.”
“Oh, wow!” Jason exclaimed as he scanned the article. “There are figures, dollar amounts, listed in this article. These friends of yours here in Clifton seem to have lots of money to spare for University development.”
Isobel Sandoval slapped Jason on the arm. “If you want to continue on our good list, don’t ever call the Lomaxes and Cuttlesworths ‘friends of ours’ again. Those people are self-centered snobs who wouldn’t deign to be friends with someone with a Spanish surname anyway.”
“You know I was joking,” Jason defended himself.
“Yes, but I’m making a point. Someone may overhear you and take you seriously, and my reputation with the respectable part of local society would be shot,” Isobel exaggerated.
“To change the subject a bit, why are some people so down on the Hispanic population?” Nate asked.
“Well, to listen to my father, every Hispanic is illegal and has come here only to live off the welfare system,” Kathy Collins supplied with some exasperation.
“But figures clearly indicate that the vast majority of Hispanics are here legally, and in fact, some of them have been here longer than my not-so-sainted Pilgrim ancestors. The Pilgrims landed in 1620, whereas Santa Fe was a Spanish speaking settlement and capital of New Mexico ever since 1610,” historian Bryce noted.
“Not everyone knows that,” Damon said, “and I believe it was you, my esteemed partner, who pointed out that when people get emotional about something, facts don’t matter.”
Bryce sighed, recognizing the truth of that, especially as he had, indeed, made the statement more than once.
“Thanks to bad publicity, even a lot of Hispanics seem to be ashamed to be labeled as such,” Mike said.
“But why?” Bryce persisted. “As I understand it, the Hispanic heritage consists of the Spanish language, a blend of Spanish and Native American customs, and Catholicism. I don’t see anything in any of that to be ashamed of.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, oh historian and descendant of the Mayflower and Jamestown, the traditionally dominant ethos in America has been English in language and culture and Protestant in religion. There has been a long-standing presumption that the Spaniards are cruel, the Indians are lazy and savage, and Catholics are ignorant and superstitious,” Mike pointed out.
“In more recent years, there has been a reaction,” Nate added. “Now that traditionally dominant ethos, along with the whole of Western culture, is blamed for everything wrong with the world. ‘Native peoples’ are pitied and put on display, like exhibits in a museum, and multilingualism is touted to the extent that they even demand voting in any number of languages, but Catholics are still the bad guys.”
Bryce sighed again. “I know you’re right. I just can’t understand how so many people can be so irrational.”
Isobel chuckled. “You’ve got a lot of learning to do, young man. If you work with the public, as we do in the restaurant business, you learn to bite your tongue and put up with a lot of that nonsense or you go out of business. Ideally, of course, it shouldn’t be that way, but we do not live in an ideal world.”
“You shouldn’t have to put up with discriminatory comments,” Jason immediately jumped in. “You can sue people for hate language.”
“Yes, we can. But what good does that do? They’re even more hateful when they lose in court, and they certainly will not come back to the restaurant. The fact is, there are good people and bad people, and no amount of legal action is going to change that,” Isobel insisted.
“But we can change people through education,” Jason insisted, one of his favorite themes.
“Perhaps,” Isobel cautiously agreed.
“In my experience, what in fact happens is that we just exchange one set of despised people for another,” Mike added. “If people cease hating us Hispanics, they’ll find someone else to hate, even if they call them by PC sounding names, like ‘the ignorant” or ‘the misinformed.’ Judging from the old movies I like to watch, over the past half-century us Catholics have gone from being ‘dedicated,’ ‘caring,’ and even ‘saintly’ to being ‘religious fanatics’ and ‘narrow minded extremists.’ You can’t win.”
Jason started to reply, but Damon interrupted by saying, “Let’s not spoil our digestion with such serious talk. I’m looking forward to that cherry pie � la mode I noticed on the menu.”
“Hear, hear!” Cathy seconded that.
After Sunday dinner at the Olive Garden, Bryce and Damon, accompanied by Jason and Nate, went to University Hospital to visit Peter Boyington. He was happy to see them, and pleased to get to know Jason and Nate better.
Asked how things were with his family, Peter replied, “Well, Mom is being a mom, wanting to protect her young no matter what, and at this point I’m grateful for that. With Dad it’s more a case of reluctant toleration rather than acceptance at this point, but at least he’s willing to talk about it. Despite all the difficulties, I’m glad it’s out in the open now. Not having to hide my orientation is a real relief. There were times at home when I felt like I would absolutely burst from pent up frustration, especially when someone would use a homophobic term. I don’t think it was definite hatred, so much as unthinking assumptions based on how my folks grew up and the people around them. But it hurt, and now that’s over, at least.”
“That’s some progress,” Bryce said. “I hope you can build on that when you’re home starting next week. The thing is to insist that you’re still the same person you’ve always been. They just know you better now, know more about you, than before.”
“That sounds like a good approach. My mom said something along those lines, in fact,” Peter agreed.
“I haven’t had a chance to get you any detective novels, Peter,” Bryce admitted. “But I’ll be calling my mom in just a short time, and I’ll get some suggestions. By tomorrow, I should have something for you.”
“That sounds good. Anything will be truly appreciated,” Peter replied.
As they were leaving, Nate said, “David reads detective stories. Maybe he has something Peter would like. I’ll check, and see about getting something this evening, after the soup kitchen.”
“Good idea,” Bryce agreed. “But, I’d better call home if I don’t want another bawling out.”
The other three teased Bryce about being tied to his mother’s apron strings. He took it in good spirits. It was sometimes inconvenient, but he not only loved his mother, but he found her advice very helpful on occasion, and he was also grateful for her acceptance of him, and her intervention on his behalf with his father. So, the weekly phone calls would continue.
Bryce and Damon drove back to the apartment, and there Bryce put in his call home, after first fixing himself a soothing Bourbon and Sprite. His mother was excited, having been brought up to date by his father on the events of the past week. Bryce supplied a blow-by-blow account of the confrontation on the quad on Wednesday, and also spoke about Annette Rimbault and Dr. Dickinson consulting him on Friday. Martha had read the Herald articles on line, and praised Annette’s prose as clear and concise, without the usual obfuscations and catch phrases. They also discussed detective stories for Peter, and the latest doings of Bryce’s sister Nan.
Before he was allowed to hang up, Sterling Winslow insisted on speaking to his son. Bryce immediately thanked his father when he came on line, but Sterling had more information to impart.
“Mark Castleman has obtained from his nephew a student directory. We need a list of the students who were suspended. It’s our intention to contact the family of each student, to offer our services should the University continue this discriminatory practice,” he informed Bryce.
“Dad, I can get that. The girl who wrote the story in the paper shares the apartment above us here at Dr. Caldwell’s place. I know she got a list. Let me see whether she’s home, and I’ll call you right back,” Bryce said.
“Okay, son. I’ll be waiting.”
Bryce immediately called Annette. Fortunately, she picked up right away. When Bryce explained what he wanted, she was excited. Her articles had increased paper sales yesterday and today, so she had been asked for another article for tomorrow, and was not sure how to approach it. Bryce gave her his father’s number, and let the two of them work it out. In return for a list of the students disciplined, Sterling could supply first-hand information about the legal defense of those students, and the efforts of Mark Castleman to influence the state governor.
By then, it was time for Bryce and Damon to leave for the soup kitchen. On the way, of course, they also picked up DeShawn and Malcolm. Damon teased Malcolm by asking whether he had his first million yet.
“Naw, but I ain’t doin’ so bad,” the boy replied.
“Watch your grammar,” Bryce corrected him. “Being a financial success is no excuse for bad grammar.”
Malcolm stuck out his tongue at the driver.
Bryce sighed. “Those of us who uphold social standards get no respect,” he mimicked Rodney Dangerfield.
At the soup kitchen, Bryce found Jason in conversation with Deacon Jeffers. He was giving the deacon his assessment of the latest candidate for music minister, but then Jason added, “and that sermon was a lot better than I would have expected. I can appreciate a fact based and positive approach.”
“I’ll pass that on,” Deacon Jeffers promised, “along with your assessment of the organist.”
As they began to prepare the meal, David Simpson approached Bryce. “Nate mentioned that Peter Boyington would like some detective stories to help pass the time. I’ll be glad to lend him anything I have. I really ought to pay him a visit this evening anyway. Do you have any idea what kind of stories he likes?”
“Well,” Bryce remembered, “he said he did not go for the blood and guts, shoot-em-up type, but was more into the problem solving genre.”
“Good. That’s my preference as well. Having some Rambo type shoot it out with the bad guys might be exciting, but it leaves a lot to be desired as far as intellectual stimulation is concerned,” David commented. “I’ll give it some thought, and see what I have.”
And so it was that, after completing their time at the soup kitchen, and having the satisfaction of seeing at least most of the diners express some appreciation for the efforts of the volunteers, Bryce and Damon returned to the hospital for another visit to Peter. Twice a day on weekends seemed reasonable.
“Have you given any more thought as to why you were picked on in the first place?” Bryce asked the victim, after an appropriate enquiry into his condition.
“Yeah,” Peter replied. “I’ve thought about it a lot. I honestly can’t imagine why I was chosen. In fact, I’ve more or less decided it was either pure chance, or else I was mistaken for someone else.”
Given this opportunity, Bryce decided to see how his pet theory went over. “You do resemble Josh Young some. Maybe they thought you were he.”
Peter chewed on this for a couple of minutes. Then he grinned. “You know, that makes sense. The only consideration I have against it is that I hate to give up my spot in the limelight.”
“Look at it this way. All these cards and flowers,” Bryce indicated with a sweep of the hand the collections on table and shelf, “were sent because people were outraged that you were attacked. Most of them do not know you. They were not expressing outrage that Peter Boyington, their dear friend, was attacked, but that anyone should be. On the other hand, those who do know you, like the kids in your classes or in the dorm, would still be sending you cards even if it had been a pure accident, because you’re a good guy.”
“I like that. It makes sense,” Peter said. “Let me think about that for a while.”
At that, David Simpson and Mike Sandoval entered. David was carrying three books. Peter’s eyes lit up at that sight.
“Hey, Peter. We were in to see you a few days ago, but haven’t been as regular as these guys,” David said, indicated Bryce and Damon.
“Only my mother was more regular than these guys, and she’s gone home now,” Peter replied. “What have you got there?”
David grinned. “Bryce mentioned that you like detective stories, and so do I. He didn’t give me any idea what you had already read, though, so I took a chance on these three.”
Peter accepted the books with interest. “Oh, Sayers. I think I’ve read all her works, but she’s so good I can read them over and over. And Anne Perry. I tried something by her, but it was pretty dark. I don’t know Carolyn Hart at all.”
“I’m glad you agree with me about Dorothy L. Sayers. I’ve read all the novels at least twice. She writes so well, and her stories are so well plotted. Besides, I like Lord Peter and Mervin Bunter. It’s a real turn-off when I can’t even like the main character,” David said.
“I’m with you one hundred percent. They made two different PBS series of Lord Peter stories, and I didn’t like the way he was portrayed in either one. In one series, the actor sounded like Lord Peter, but didn’t look like him, and in the other, it was the other way around.”
“I remember those programs,” David agreed. “And I like it that Sayers is not peddling some party line in her stories.”
“Me, too,” Peter commented, adding, “I tried reading Isaac Asimov’s detective stories when I was transitioning from science fiction to mystery. I read some of his ‘Black Widowers’ short stories, and was entirely turned off. He was so heavy handed in pushing his atheistic ideas on the reader that it was no fun reading him,” Peter said.
“Well, as you know, Dorothy Sayers is definitely Christian, but I don’t think you’ll find that intrusive in her stories,” David replied.
“Oh, no,” Peter agreed. “I think I had read a half dozen of her works before I even knew she was part of that Oxford crowd of Christians, along with C.S. Lewis and J.R.R. Tolkein.”
Bryce interjected, “There’s a good book on that crowd. It’s called The Precincts of Felicity, but I can’t remember the author just now. I have a copy, and I’ll bring it around if you’re interested.”
“Sure. I liked Tolkein’s fantasy works, and I read Lewis’s science fiction trilogy when I was in high school. At least there was some substance to it, some ideas, and not just gadgets,” Peter accepted. “But let’s see what David has here. The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club, the first Lord Peter mystery. A good place to begin rereading the whole series.”
“Could it be that you just like the main character’s name?” Damon teased.
Peter grinned. “That just might have something to do with it. Oh, and here’s Anne Perry’s The Cater Street Hangman. I hope it’s not as depressing as the previous Perry I read.”
“It’s like The Unpleasantness at the Bellona Club in that it’s the first in the series featuring Thomas and Charlotte Pitt, set about a generation later than the Monk series you’re referring to. You get introduced to the characters who will appear over and over,” David said.
“And I need that,” David agreed. “I’ve read stories where I run across references that are kind of obscure. I mean, they don’t exactly detract from the story, but I feel something is missing. But I have to admit, the last Perry I read was about this character called William Monk, and it was pretty depressing.”
“If I were you,” David advised, “I stick to the Thomas and Charlotte Pitt stories. Most of them have titles referring to places in late Victorian London. I read one or two of the Monk stories, too, and I found the main character entirely too dark and cynical. After all, I’m reading for pleasure. I don’t want a downer.”
“Tell me about Carolyn Hart,” Peter asked.
“Like so many authors, she has more than one series. This one,
Death on Demand is like the other two I brought. It’s the first in the series, and I like this series better than the other, although the Henrie O stories are not bad. The main character is Annie Darling, who has just inherited a book store which specializes in mysteries, located on an island off the coast of South Carolina. She marries Max Darling, who is her second in command, kind of like Bunter in the Lord Peter stories. None of the back-ups in either this series or the Perry series are as dense as Dr. Watson, though, and Bunter surely is not. The appropriate number of bodies are discovered, but it never gets really depressing, like the world is a cesspool.”
“Maybe Bryce should take up reading detective stories,” Damon said.
Bryce poked him.