Authors: Judith Campbell
Olympia had not seen her granddaughter since the day of her birth and could barely contain her excitement. The chubby, smiling two-and-a-half-month-old in her red velvet dress with a knitted lace collar instantly became the feature attraction, and Grandma Olympia was duly and justly delighted.
Laura and the boys took a little longer to relax with one another. At first the conversation was somewhat stiff and impersonal, but as Jim’s liquid contributions to the day softened the edges, they looked for and found more and more common ground. Their genetic similarities were readily observable, but it was the familial gestures and shared speech patterns that had them pointing and laughing with each other by the end of the meal. That was when Olympia finally allowed herself to relax, and unseen by the others, Frederick raised a glass and smiled at her across the table. They had done it.
After the meal and before the mountain of desserts, Malcolm pulled out his guitar and made a noble attempt at getting them all to sing some Christmas carols. Frederick did a solo version of “Good King Wenceslas” and delighted them all by spooner-izing several of the lines into nonsensical utterings about good King Winklehoff going out on his feets uneven. Randall did his special rendition of, “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch,” dramatizing it with grand gestures and wonderful tonal inflections. He had a deep, rich baritone voice that everyone wished he would use more often. But it was Laura who surprised them all by taking Malcolm’s guitar and singing, “What Child Is This?” in a clear, lyric soprano that left them all in tears.
After all of that the Christmas pudding was almost anticlimactic, but not really. Frederick, in his own inimitably British and rambling fashion, explained at length the custom of Boxing Day. Only Jim, smiling, taking a turn with the baby and topping up glasses, was quieter than the others, but Olympia knew that smile and made a mental note to find a time when they could talk about what was on his mind.
By eight in the evening, Olympia, Frederick and Jim, distended and content, were sprawled around the woodstove. The dishwasher was churning through its second load, and the scents of dried-out Christmas tree, wood smoke, and Christmas pudding laced with cinnamon and cloves were part of the afterglow of a magical family gathering.
“It’s been quite a day for you, hasn’t it, Olympia? You must be really happy that it all went so well.”
Frederick was sitting nearest the fire, and Thunderfoot, the lonely ginger cat, was taking advantage of both an ample lap and the nearby heat.
Olympia nodded and looked at him through half-shut eyes. “There are no words for how I feel right now, but if I had to choose one, it would be … grateful.”
“Considering how close you came to being an unpleasant statistic last week, that may be an understatement. Have you told Laura and the boys what happened?”
“I thought about it but decided not to right now. There are still too many unanswered questions. When it’s all settled, maybe I will, but I didn’t want anything even remotely negative near us today.”
“I don’t think you needed to worry, Olympia. Your granddaughter not only stole the show, but she brought a smile to everyone’s face; and Laura, what a voice. I didn’t know she could sing.”
Olympia chewed on her lip and looked off to the side. “I didn’t either, Frederick. There’s so much that I don’t know about her.”
“It’s easy to feel sad about what could have been,” said Jim, “but that was then, and this is now, and you have a future you never thought you’d have. Think of it that way.”
“Speaking of futures, Jim, I know you well enough to see that you’re thinking about something. What’s going on up there between the ears?”
Jim leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head. “I don’t know whether this is a decision or an exaggerated procrastination that will eventually lead to a decision, but the result will very likely be life changing for me.”
Both Olympia and Frederick sat up to attention as Jim continued.
“You know I’m struggling with the tension between my sexual identity and the dictates of a Church I love and have served for a good part of my life. Last week I connected with the Abbot of a Monastery in Kentucky, and in mid-January I’ll be going there on silent retreat for two months. They have a wonderful spiritual director there, and I’ll be working one on one with him.”
Olympia’s concern and implication were obvious. “Will it be safe for you there, Jim?”
“By that are you asking if can I be myself and not be out-ed from here to hell and back?”
“In a word,” said Olympia.
“The answer is yes. I know I’ll be safe, and I know I can be honest. What I don’t know is what will happen after that, but whatever I decide, I will have thought it through with one of the most caring, intelligent and deeply religious men I have ever known. He understands what it is to be human and will not insist that I choose dogma over the calling of God and the human heart. He’s a rare spirit.”
“Then I’m happy for you, and we’ll be here when you come back.”
“We’ll see,” was all he said. If he had planned to say more, it was lost in a resounding crack from the woodstove which startled the cat on Frederick’s lap and set him hissing and flying across the room.
“Well, then,” said Frederick, getting out of his chair and dusting the cat hairs off his trousers. “This is a perfect opportunity to honor my ladies.”
Olympia looked puzzled, and Jim looked smug.
“Frederick, what are you talking about?”
“Be back in a moment, Dearie. I’ve left something in one of the rooms off the kitchen, and I need to go and get it.”
“Jim?”
The priest held up his hand. “Just wait.”
Frederick returned with a covered basket over his left arm and a bright red Christmas rose in his right hand. He made a low theatrical bow and placed the rose on the mantle in front of the clock. “For Miss Winslow, a true Christmas Spirit, if ever I saw one.”
Olympia was in a fit of giggles when he turned and bowed even lower and more dramatically before her and then placed the basket at her feet. “And for my own Christmas rose ‘ere blooming,
un cadeau pour toi.”
“A gift?”
“
Un CAT-eau!”
re-pronounced Frederick. “I had it delivered a few minutes ago. That’s probably what set off Thunderfoot.”
Olympia looked down at the basket to see a little black nose, framed by black whiskers and topped by bright green eyes, all on a round little kitten head pushing up from the inside of the basket.
“
Un cat-eau
,” repeated Frederick. “Happy Boxing Day, Reverend, Darling. It’s been quite a year, hasn’t it?”
December 29, 1861
This year of many chapters is almost at its end…and as I do at the end of every year, I think upon what has been and ponder upon what might come to be. One thing is assured and that is that Aunt Louisa will stay on with us. This is my most treasured Christmas gift. When Jonathan is older, we will spend more time in Cambridge…and with her to look after him and my kindly neighbor across the street to look after the house in my absence, I shall once again present myself to Harvard College and ask that I might be allowed entrance. In the meanwhile, I will continue to write my stories under the nom de plume of C.K. Barrow. I am most encouraged by my unexpected success and may even consider attempting a novel.
In these twelve months I have given birth to a precious little boy, published my first story, adopted a stray kitten and learned to live with a wounded soul. But life does go on. I learned that, too. Aunt Louisa did ask me if I ever thought of looking for a husband, but I told her that I never wanted one. Not even now with Jonathan. If I became a wife I would lose my land and my inheritance and all that which I will one day pass on to my son. I will not do that to him…or to myself, for that matter
I told her that I could never be content to be the mindless ornament on the arm of a man. The world holds more for me – and one day I shall find out what that will be. But the fire is guttering and the wind is beginning to stir the branches overhead. I must bring in more wood before the snow flies. By the look of the sky and the scent in the air, it won’t be long in coming.
More anon, LFW
Meet Author Judith Campbell
Rev. Dr. Judith Campbell is an ordained Unitarian Universalist minister and the author of several books and articles. She has published children’s stories and poetry, as well as numerous essays on the arts, religion, and spirituality.
She holds a PhD in The Arts and Religious Studies and a Master of Arts in Fine Arts, and she offers writing workshops and spirituality retreats nationally and internationally.
When she isn’t traveling and teaching, she spends her time on the island of Martha’s Vineyard and in Plymouth, Massachusetts, with her husband and best friend, Chris Stokes, a “Professional Englishman,” together with their annoyingly intelligent cats, Katie and Simon.
To learn more about “The Sinister Minister” or to invite her to lead a writing workshop, preach at your church, or speak at your library or book group, please visit her website at
www.judithcampbell-holymysteries.com
. “Rev Judy” loves to talk to her readers.
Preview of the fifth Olympia Brown Mystery
coming from Mainly Murder Press in 2013
A Predatory Mission
by Judith Campbell
Prologue
Search for doctor’s wife and children continues as concerns for their safety grow
The whereabouts of Yolanda Emerson Nikitas and her two children remains a mystery since the three vanished on Thursday of last week. Mrs. Nikitas, the estranged wife of Doctor Nicholas Nikitas, a family practitioner in the community, was planning to leave the children with her mother for the afternoon on the day of her disappearance but never arrived. Her abandoned car was located the next day in a commuter rail parking lot. Police are exploring all possibilities and ask that anyone who might have information regarding this incident call Millbridge police headquarters or the anonymous information hotline listed in the town directory.
Police Inspector Steve Vages handed the folded newspaper across the desk to his partner, Officer Ginny Simon.
“It’s not even been a week, and they’ve already demoted the story to page three.”
“It’s a disappearance, Steve. Unless there’s a dead body or a suicide note or a paper trail to some romantic hideaway on a tropical island, it’s hard to know exactly where to start looking—or even what we’re looking for. We’ve followed protocol to the letter, and we’ve come up with a big, fat nothing.”
Vages opened a manila folder marked
Nikitas
.
“This is the narrative of the interview with the husband. I want to go over it one more time and see if anything jumps out that we might have missed. I’ll read it out loud so I don’t skip over anything.” He cleared his throat, spread out the papers on the desk in front of him and began to read.
“Dr. Nikitas states that he first learned his wife and two preschool-age children were missing when his mother-in-law called him on Thursday to ask if he knew where they were. She said they had been expected two hours earlier, and she was getting concerned because Yolanda wasn’t answering her phone. He said that he cancelled the rest of his appointments and drove to the family home, where she lived with the children. Upon arrival he noted that her car was not parked in its usual spot in the driveway, nor was it in the garage. Using his own key, he entered the house to find no one there. He said that this was totally out of character because his wife is highly organized and very punctual. In a second interview he stated that there was no sign of any kind of struggle in the home, and nothing seemed to be missing—that his wife’s and children’s clothing was still neatly folded in the dressers and hanging in the closets.
Dr. Nikitas said that his wife had been despondent of late, but he didn’t think she was suicidal. He also noted that despite their marital difficulties, she was a devoted mother, and taking off with the children without some sort of explanation was something she simply wouldn’t do.”
Vages shook his head and closed the folder. “That’s it as far as the actual interviews go. The rest of the stuff in here is pictures and personal information.”
Ginny shook her head. “I went to school with Yoli. We were in the glee club together. She sings in the local church choir, or at least she did up until she left and started going to that church across the street. This whole thing is unreal. I know we’re in the crime business, but when it involves someone you grew up with, it really does change your perspective on things.”
Steve sucked in his lower lip. “No kidding, and the first place we always look is the next of kin.”
Ginny nodded. “Don’t think I didn’t start there, but the good doctor is a total Mr. Clean. He doesn’t even have speeding tickets. Medical stuff is all in order. Highly respected in the community. Regular church goer. No skeletons in that closet unless they’re left over from an anatomy class.” She made a face and shook her head before saying, “They were living apart, so we know there were problems, but lots of people have problems. Sometimes all you need is a little time out to clear the air.”
“Yeah, but what isn’t being made public is that there was absolutely no sign of foul play in either the car or the house, and her cell phone was found, turned off and locked in the glove compartment.”
Steve tapped the folded newspaper with the tips of his fingers. “Somebody somewhere knows something, and that somebody isn’t talking.”
“Or there’s something big and nasty that we totally missed.”
“It’s strange that after a whole week we’ve come up with absolutely nothing. On the other hand, the fact that there was no explanatory note, no sign of a struggle and nothing of value missing from the house doesn’t give us much to go on, but it’s not as worrisome as a trail of blood and shredded clothing.”