#Wattys2015 The Ghost of James Fitzpatrick

PART TWO - Chapter 12

St. Joseph's church stood commandingly at the corner of Mill and Upper Streets. Its parking lot, priest residences, parish hall and small school took up the entire block. Probably once the focal point of downtown Arden, its glory days had passed, but St. Joseph's loyal congregation still showed up in impressive numbers, every Sunday, for two masses, each Wednesday night at six, and Saturday afternoons at 4:30.

Sarah Netherby rolled up to the side of St. Joseph's along the gate where the garden sat still and gray under the frost of February.

As the tower bells chimed loudly above her, she walked her bike through the gate and leaned it against the shed wall. She closed the gate behind her, opened the heavy, side door to the church, and made her way into a small, non-descript side room.

There was another young man there pulling a clean, pressed, white altar server cloak from the hanger.

"Yo, Sarah," he said holding his hand up for a high five. Sarah lightly obliged and smiled.

"How goes it Seth?" she asked.

He pulled off a second white cloak from a hook and handed it to her.

"Thanks," she said.

"I'm personally great, thank you, but Father Vincent's in a mood," he said shaking his head.

"Uh oh", replied Sarah as she pulled her cloak over her head. "What'd you do now?" She smiled and grabbed two belts from a hook and handed one to Seth. She wrapped the other around her waist.

"I swear, this time is wasn't me," said Seth. He smiled and leaned in toward Sarah, "just don't drop the wine," he said.

"I can't make any promises," said Sarah, but she was disappointed. She was hoping Father Vincent would be in one of his rare, charming moods, but she noticed the older he got, the less often those moods rolled around. She wanted to ask his opinion about something. She wanted to confide in him, and she didn't want to be judged.

Sarah and Seth, now fully cloaked, made their way out into the main room again where they poured wine from the challis into glasses and lit the candles. They could hear the organist warming up her instrument in the church, and the low murmur of the Saturday afternoon congregation as they slowly made their way into the smooth, oak pews that have made the main nave their home for over a hundred years.

Father Vincent strolled out of the sacristy with Deacons Mike and Arthur in close tow. They were having an amiable discussion, and all three men acknowledged both Sarah and Seth, with nods and quiet "how are yous".

The group made their way out the side door and down the cold, gray walkway that surrounded St. Joseph's, where they then made their way up the front, stone steps of the main entrance while the ushers held the doors and greeted them upon their formal arrival.

Sarah smiled at Seth as the ritual, practiced thousands of times a day in Catholic churches around the world began here tonight, in a little church in Arden, promptly at 4:30 pm. Sarah felt at home here.

Following the mass, Sarah, Seth, Father Vincent, the Deacons and the choirmaster milled about in the back room of the church.

The altar servers hung their robes, the challis and glasses were washed, the gifts put away, everything in its place.

The group chattered as familiar co-workers would, and laughed and commented on the mass as they worked.

"Do you need a ride, Sarah?" asked Seth.

"No, I have my bike Seth, thanks," replied Sarah.

"Wow, still no driving?" asked Seth who was six months younger than Sarah and speeding all over Arden in his mother's '89 Honda.