Peeper Baumgratz and the Sister's Snowplow

Henry Werner knew that being the Chief of Police in Marienstadt, Pennsylvania, was an easy job but any day that started out with a visit from Sister Adelaide, the Prioress of St. Joseph's Convent, and which was followed by a call from the State Police, was off to an unpromising start. Despite the fact that he was close to forty and had been a policeman ever since he left the Marines, one withering stare from Sister Adelaide could reduce him to a single throbbing nerve. The worst part was, she knew it.

“Henry,” she said, looking at him over the top of the half-moon glasses perched on her long, patrician nose, “is it really necessary to ticket the convent's automobiles at every single opportunity? I understand that the sisters need to be more mindful of making sure there is adequate money in the parking meters but, honestly, the time had barely run out when Patrolman Ginther wrote this out.” She waved the bright orange ticket in front of him.

“Give it to me, Sister,” he said. “I'll take care of it.” He knew that by 'taking care of it' he meant that he would pay for it himself but he preferred that she not know that.

“No.” She jerked the ticket back and tucked it into the pocket of the impeccably tailored black wool coat she wore. “We do not expect favors but we would like a small amount of ...” She paused, raised her eyebrows, cleared her throat, and then said, “a small amount of courtesy, shall we say?”

“I'll have a word with Dean, I'm sure he'll be reasonable.” Actually he was quite sure that Dean Ginther would be anything but reasonable. Dean had been a troublemaker through all eight years of his confinement in St. Walburga's Parochial School when Sister Adelaide was the principal there and, even at the age of thirty-three, he took a perverse pride in doing anything he could to aggravate her. Henry knew quite well that Dean kept an eye on any of the convent's vehicles when he spotted them on the street. He couldn't wait to pounce if he noticed the least offense – a burnt-out turn signal, a parking meter about to expire, an inspection sticker one day overdue. Writing out a ticket for one of the sisters was all it took to make Dean's day.

Sister Adelaide sighed. Henry thought she must be close to seventy now. When he had been a student at St. Walburga's and she was principal she always wore the traditional Benedictine black and white habit. She was a tall woman with strong, elegant features. Actually, they were related though Henry had never figured out how all that cousin business worked. Sister Adelaide was the daughter of Henry's grandfather's brother. Once Sister traded her habit for more modern dress and gave up her veil anyone who saw the two of them together might easily mistake them for mother and son. Even without her habit, Sister always wore black and white – tailored suits or a white, mannish shirt with a long, straight skirt. It looked very good on her. Her once-blond hair was snow white and she kept it very short and combed straight back from her face with its high-cheekbones and wide blue eyes. She had never been beautiful but she was striking.

“Do you have a few minutes?” she asked.

“Sure,” he said, standing up, “let me get you a chair.” He pulled one of the heavy wooden arm chairs away from the wall and held it for her as she sat down. Henry Werner was the kind of man who really liked women, young, old, any size, any shape. His manners with women were always old-fashioned and rather courtly, not out of any desire to impress but simply because he loved women.

“As I am sure you can imagine,” Sister Adelaide began as he returned to his chair. “Keeping the convent solvent is a full-time job. We have far fewer nuns than we once had and most of them are elderly and retired. A few of the younger nuns – and when I say younger I mean those in their forties and fifties – teach at St. Walburga’s but expenses have increased and income has not.”

“That's happening everywhere, I suspect,” he said. “I remember when there were three priests at St. Walburga’s. Now there's just Father Nick.”