As God Intended

Not God, Just A Grumpy Follower

John opened the door a little wider, allowing for Mary to poke her head out and get a better look at the man waiting at the door. He was about a head taller than both of the Watsons, dressed in formal clothes with the added plastic collar of a priest. His hair was greying out of what might have been a deep black color, and his face was holding up against the beginnings of wrinkles, perhaps not having succeeded in getting too saggy owing to his sharp cheekbones and very straight, thin jawline. John might've placed the man around sixty, though he would never dare ask to confirm.
"Hello, can we help you?" John muttered, feeling as though he should play dumb and not react to the man's obvious holy appearance. He was standing very stiff on the stoop, as if he still had a sense of ownership over the property. In fact, judging upon his face it would seem that this man thought the Watsons were the criminals, not the other way around.
"Father Holmes." The man admitted at last, sticking out a hand to shake. John shook it politely, though pulled away the moment it seemed most acceptable. The priest's grip was quite tight, as if he was trying to break John's fingers in the process of their formal introduction.
"Good to meet you. I'm John, this is my wife Mary. We just moved in this morning." John explained with a grin. The priest's face didn't budge; in fact he looked only more miserable than before. His eyes, a dim and watery blue, were examining the couple as if looking for any flaws to point out most noticeably. Eventually he settled his gaze back into John's eyes, a very confrontational look for a supposed peacekeeper.
"I know, I saw." He muttered. "I live next door."
"We were wondering if that was occupied! You keep it very well maintained." Mary commented, keeping her voice light and cheerful in an attempt to pull both of the men out of their gruff composures. Instead of a polite response the priest's face remained stony, as if he wasn't so amused at her compliments.
"I wanted to stop by to introduce myself, but more importantly I wanted to ensure the upkeep of our holy church. I don't know your intentions with the place, but just know that it is sanctified ground you walk on, with years of love and memories engrained into the structure. I know I cannot stop you from desecrating it, but I do beg that you use proper precautions." Father Holmes demanded at last, keeping his eyes settled upon John's with the utmost dislike. John hesitated, looking towards Mary who looked equally dumfounded. What were they supposed to say in response, seeing as though they could not promise any proper 'upkeep' of the church. Especially the religious memorabilia, well that would all have to go at one point or another!
"We could uh, well we could give you whatever we don't need." John offered with a little nod.
"Yes, like all of those statues in the walls." Mary agreed. The priest winced, biting his lip as if trying to restrain himself from spitting out unprepared words.
"You intend to rip them out?" he clarified in a small voice.
"Certainly you couldn't expect us to keep them? We're not; well we're not overly religious ourselves. And besides dressing them up for holidays, I don't see much use." John admitted.
"You're living in a church but you don't worship God?" the priest clarified. John felt his face heat up in some embarrassment, feeling strangely guilty in the eyes of this accusing priest.
"It might be better that way, so we're not so...attached." Mary offered from the back, her voice dropping into a more guilty mutter as she continued on. The priest allowed her some eye contact, as if just now noticing that there were two nuisances on the other side of the door.
"It's Sunday tomorrow." The man announced.
"Yes." John agreed after a moment's silence.
"Up until a month ago, I would have been inside of your house by sunrise." The priest explained mournfully.
"I'm sorry that it was taken from you." Mary muttered quickly, feeling as though an apology was necessary even though none of this was directly their fault. The Watsons were simply motivated buyers, looking for a good deal! How could the priest hold his grudge against them, when it was really the financial situation of the church that was to blame?
"Why do you still live in the rectory if the church is closed?" John wondered. The priest stiffened once again, as if he took that question as an interrogation rather than the casual conversation it was intended to be.
"I have yet to find an appropriate opening. Besides, there are still people in this town who need me. I have been the priest here for nearly thirty years." The man explained starkly. John felt his shoulders fall almost involuntarily, as if his subconscious mind recognized the tragedy behind that statement much quicker than his conscious brain could process it. Thirty yeas within the same church, only to live next door to the place as it was remodeled and partially destroyed? It was a terrible thing to imagine, and evoked more pity within his heart than John was willing to display. This priest wasn't acting nice enough to receive any of John's sympathy; in fact he was being quite unfriendly at the moment. If he had come here with a better attitude, perhaps the Watsons would confide in his wishes and allow for some preservation of the old church. Though with that scowl directed in his face, John felt quite like taking a mallet to half to the statues inside, just to spite this grumpy old man!
"Well, you're welcome over any time of course. Once we find the dishes we'll be sure to host a welcome dinner!" Mary promised with a large grin. The priest winced, as if he wasn't too fond of the idea of a dinner share with his new adversaries, though he was obviously trying to remember his manners as best he could.
"Thank you." Father Holmes managed. After a long period of silence he finally clasped his hands behind his back, figuring it was a good time to excuse himself from the front step. "I'll be going now." He announced.
"It was good to meet you!" Mary said cheerfully.
"If you need anything, just let us know." John muttered, feeling as though that statement should have been spoken on the other side of the conversation. Certainly it was this priest's job to welcome the new family to the neighborhood and offer his guidance on the ins and outs of the local town? Was he not the one who was supposed to bake a casserole and offer his well wishes? A mere glance was his parting gift, not even a formal farewell. He was too spiteful to even bid the Watsons goodnight, and with a quick turn of his heel the man strode back towards the rectory in long, powerful steps. John and Mary remained at the door, watching as the old man retreated into his front door and shut it loudly, as if he was trying to make his final exit loud and prominent to his lingering audience.
"My God." John muttered quietly, once he figured the door on the other side of the alleyway had been shut.
"Not God, just a grumpy follower." Mary corrected with a little laugh. John sighed his agreement, figuring that grumpy was the only good way to describe that old priest. Certainly the man was struggling with the sale of his place of business, undoubtedly a church that meant much to him throughout their history together! But taking it out on the new homeowners, those who were trying to be good neighbors and make their way in the world, was certainly unprofessional and frankly rather childish! John shut the door with a snap, making sure to lock it securely before moving his way through the rest of the building, trying to find each external door and securing the bolts on them, just to be sure that their priest didn't come inside with thoughts of sabotage. Mary followed in his wake, perhaps nervous to be alone in the now darkened church. The two would have to do some light bulb changing in their near future, considering most of the bulbs were purposefully dimmed, to keep the whole building glowing in a soft orange light that may have resembled peace to the parishioners. To the new owners, however, the soft lighting only made the intruding darkness more potent, and cast the entire building in a deep, unsettling feel. It was almost haunting, if John believed in that sort of thing at all. After all, ghosts couldn't possibly be wandering about on holy ground?