Authors: LaVyrle Spencer
He imagined her in a housedress and wondered if she had any hair beneath her wimple and what color it might be.
She imagined him in a kitchen, bringing firewood in and asking, “What’s for supper?”
He wondered about the shape of her arms and legs.
She wondered if he ever wanted to have more children.
Once she was up on a ladder, insisting she herself wash the statue of the Blessed Virgin before putting the slipcover on.
“Would you please hand me that wet rag, Mr. Olczak?” she asked.
She bent down. And he climbed up. And though their fingers touched nothing more than a soiled gray cloth, their gazes collided, and all within them willed summertime to hurry.
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Palm Sunday arrived, beginning a week of the most intense activity to happen all year long in and around the church. If Jesus Christ was going to rise from the dead on Easter morning, he would be doing it in surroundings worthy of Him. The women of the various church sodalities gave the building a thorough cleaning, supervised by Sister Regina. Every altar cloth in the place got starched and ironed, every candle drip scraped, the floors scrubbed and waxed, and every crevice of the ornate plasterwork dusted. Stained-glass windows, radiators, light fixtures, organ pipes, kneelers, pews—all fell under the relentless probing of the cleaning crew. It was a tremendous task that happened, so thoroughly, only this one time a year.
There were other preparations as well. The same canvas that had served as a Christmas crèche was hauled out of the basement and outfitted as a sepulchre with a statue of the dead Christ. The children practiced for Easter Sunday’s procession and the adult choir rehearsed its special music. The confessional was busy as Father heard the mandatory Confession of every member of the congregation. Add to all that the long and frequent ceremonies that took place between Maundy Thursday and Holy Saturday and the place was overrun with activity sixteen hours a day.
There was, too, an emotional buildup induced by the religious ceremonies themselves. From Thursday on, all candles were extinguished, no choir sang and no bells rang. Instead, only wooden clappers sounded through the Adoration of the Cross on Good Friday, through the kissing of the feet of Jesus on a large crucifix that lay on the floor, and through Friday night’s somber procession led by altar boys carrying a cross that was still covered with a purple shroud.
Holy Saturday morning’s ceremonies were long and somber: the blessings of the fire and of the Paschal candle, the reading of the prophecies, the blessing of the water, and of the Easter candle.
The somber mood lifted, however, on Saturday noon. Jesus had risen! Lent was over! Fasting was over! The children of the parish could eat the candy they’d given up for Lent, the adults could eat meat!
And Eddie rang the bells again.
He rang them and rang them, longer than at any other time of year, and with them he felt his spirits lifting.
The joyousness continued and even heightened throughout that afternoon, which was hectic for Eddie. The church building filled again for the annual blessing of the food when parishioners brought everything from coffee cakes to homemade horseradish for Father Kuzdek to bless. Eddie had to be on hand to ring the bells before and after the three o’clock service, and when the church finally emptied, it needed sweeping. The statue of the dead Christ had to be removed from the crèche and packed away in the basement, and a statue of the risen Christ hung in its place. Then the area surrounding the cave was decorated with Easter lilies. More lilies were placed on the altars and fern stands carried up from the storage room and filled with greenery. Also, throughout the church the purple shrouds had to be replaced with white ones before the evening service.
________
Sister Regina was there again with her two helpers.
It had been an exhausting week for both her and Eddie, and after the doleful stretch of Lent and the intense mourning of Passion week, the sudden elevation of mood affected them both. The church brightened with each white curtain that was hung. The vigil lights burned again in their little glass cups. The dozens of potted Easter lilies filled the nave with an overpowering perfume.
It was late in the afternoon when the last ladder had been put away downstairs, and the boys released to go home and dress for the evening procession. Sister Regina genuflected as she crossed the center aisle and smoothed the pristine white cloth that ran the length of the Communion rail. Everything so perfect—clean, bright, ready for celebration. Not unlike what it must be like preparing for a wedding, she thought.
She knelt in the first pew and made the sign of the cross, relishing the quiet and the cleanliness, the sense of accomplishment, even the weariness in her shoulders. She said a prayer, offering up the day’s toil for the greater glory of God. Then Eddie appeared, workworn and soiled in his overalls and heavy boots. He genuflected, too, then slipped into the pew across the aisle from her.
The church was absolutely silent. It smelled sweet as a garden. The penitents’ sins had all been confessed, and Father had closed up shop and gone back to his house for a respite before the evening’s service. On the seats of the first five pews, candles with cardboard sleeves waited for the children to light them and join tonight’s procession.
It had been an exhausting and rewarding week. And Eddie and Sister Regina had bumped into each other so often during all the work and worship that they’d begun to lose caution. As they knelt together one more time, the sense of wariness and disquiet were gone. Side by side they had prepared this house for their lord, and they were quiet and peaceful as they awaited His resurrection.
A curious thing happened as they knelt, tired, reverent, silent.
He blessed them.
They felt it as surely as they felt the cushions beneath their knees, and the hard pew beneath their wrists. A benevolence descending upon them in unison, washing over them and filling their souls like sunrise.
Eddie turned and looked across the aisle at her, and she returned his gaze. Goodness flowed between them, and for once it felt untainted by guilt.
He whispered, “The church looks beautiful.”
“Yes,” she replied, “I love Easter.”
“So do I.”
They stayed a moment longer, then rose and genuflected. She left the nave through the altar boys’ sacristy, and he followed, making no excuses for walking her out. In the curved passageway behind the altar, the late-afternoon sun angled through the amber and ruby glass, coloring the walls like Easter eggs. He opened the outside door for her and followed her out. When the door closed they lingered on a high concrete landing above a set of steep steps, enjoying an overview of the rectory, the playground, and, to their right, the convent. It was mid-April. Spring was freewheeling, and the smell of fecund, thawing earth lifted all around them. The trees surrounding Father’s rectory wore fat brown buds, and beside his garage a volley of crocuses were splashing color.
During their time in church, Sister had prayed for Krystyna, and for Eddie’s children. She remarked now, “The girls will miss their mother tonight, getting ready for the procession.”
“I’m afraid you’re right. It’s their first one since she’s been gone.”
“She always took such pains with their dresses and hair and veils.”
“That’s for sure. But between Grandma Gaffke and me, we haven’t been doing so bad, have we?”
“No, not bad at all. But tell the girls, if they need some special help tonight before the procession, they can come to me.”
“Thank you, Sister. I will.”
She descended the steps, then headed for the convent, her posture erect even after hours of labor. From his vantage point, he watched her go—the hat pin that secured her black veil on top of her head, the veil itself gently luffing with each step, her black shoes denting the hem of her dress as she walked away. He wondered what her feelings for him were, if he’d read her correctly, and what she’d think about the idea of being a mother to his children for the rest of her life.
________
Sister Regina’s remarks about the girls almost seemed prophetic, for that evening, after weeks of getting along well without Krystyna, Anne cried for her. Earlier that day Grandma Gaffke had set her hair in skinny metal curlers instead of pin curls like Krystyna used to, leaving it abysmally kinky. Eddie tried to help her comb it and put her white veil on so that the whole arrangement looked satisfactory. But Krystyna had had a magic touch that Eddie lacked. His efforts looked sorry at best. He and the girls were standing in his bedroom before the vanity dresser, Krystyna’s combs and brushes strewn on the dresser cloth, when Anne stared glumly at her reflection and got fat tears in her eyes.
“Do I have to go to church looking like this?”
“It doesn’t look so bad.”
“Yes, it does. It looks icky!” Her tears got fatter and her voice grew quavery. “I wish Mommy was here.”
Eddie’s heart suddenly hurt. Nothing hurt it so easily as the children’s tears for their mother.
“So do I, angel.”
As was often the case, when Lucy saw Anne get sad, she got sad, too. Her little pink mouth drooped like a ribbon in the rain and she looked ready for full-fledged tears. “And our bows aren’t tied right, either. We can’t do anything right without Mommy.” Eddie had tried to tie the sashes at the back of their dresses, but, again, he’d been clumsy.
He went down on one knee and said, “Come here, both of you.”
They fit themselves against his sides, trying to keep from crying, and met his eyes in the mirror.
“I know I don’t do as well as Mommy with the bows and things, but the new dresses I bought you are almost as pretty as the ones Mommy used to make, aren’t they?”
Anne nodded dismally.
Lucy did the same.
“And Sister Regina said that when you get there tonight, you look for her and she’ll help you out with anything you need. Now how does that sound?”
“All right, I guess.”
“All right, I guess.”
They still sounded forlorn.
“She can help you tie your sashes and put your veils on—how’s that?”
The two little girls tried to cheer up, but it didn’t work. Anne said, “If Auntie Irene would have set our hair it’d look like when Mommy did it.”
“I know, but we can’t rely on Auntie Irene forever. Come on, now,” he cajoled. “Get your new coats and let’s go. You can help me ring the bells. And don’t forget—you get to carry candles tonight. That’ll be special, won’t it?”
“I guess so,” Anne replied dutifully.
“I guess so,” Lucy parroted.
But his efforts to cheer his children only left Eddie himself blue. He missed Krystyna tonight with an exceptionally sharp ache. He supposed it had to do with tradition—another one changed by her absence. Easter had always meant new clothes for all—dresses, hats, gloves and shoes for the children and Krystyna, and some years a new suit for him. The girls had their new coats—matching lavender ones with a row of pearl buttons down the front, ordered out of the Montgomery Ward catalogue—and new white gloves, and new white shoes, and long white stockings, and their crisp white veils for tonight’s procession, and white straw hats with daisy trim for Mass tomorrow, but as the three of them walked to St. Joseph’s in the cool damp of that spring twilight, the girls walked one on each side of Eddie instead of between him and Krystyna as it had always been before. The sound of their hard heels on the sidewalk brought such a lump to his throat he had to look up at the sky and force himself to think about something else to keep his eyes from welling up.
At church they helped him ring the early bell, and that cheered them somewhat when they got to ride the rope on the upswing. Then they went with him to flip light switches and illuminate the place to its fullest, and look up in wonder at all the purple shrouds turned to white, and peer into the stone cave and grow amazed at the appearance of all those lilies, and smell their sweet scent, and see the candles lying in wait on the front pews and realize with a touch of growing excitement that they would be trusted to carry burning flames in a very short time.
By the time they returned to the vestibule others were arriving. Mothers were spitting on their fingers and smoothing little boys’ rooster tails, and clamping veils on little girls’ heads. Fathers were collecting coats and carrying them inside as they found pews. Nuns were organizing the procession and shushing the children’s whispers. Overhead, the organ started playing and the rumble could be felt through the floor. Inside, the altar boys were busy lighting candles.
Someone touched Eddie’s elbow. “Hello, Eddie.”
He turned. “Oh, hello, Irene.” She looked quite pretty tonight, in a new soft pink spring coat and a hat with a fine veil that floated above her carefully curled hair. She wore eyebrow pencil and tomato-red lipstick and she’d darkened her lashes the way Krystyna always had. Eddie noticed that she looked quite a bit thinner, too.
“Happy Easter,” she said.
“Same to you.”
“Happy Easter, girls.” She looked at their pathetic hair and hid her dismay from them, turning instead to their father.
“I thought you might send for me to help the girls get dressed for tonight.”
“Grandma Gaffke helped.”
“I would have done their hair like Krystyna.” She looked hurt.
“I know, Irene, but I thought... well, you know.”
“And who tied their bows? Girls, come here, let Auntie Irene fix you up a little bit.”
The exchange between Eddie and Irene was observed by Sister Regina from across the vestibule, where she was lining up her students in preparation for the procession. She watched Irene touch Eddie’s elbow, and Eddie turn to find her there, and the two of them visit. Then Irene knelt down to retie the children’s bows. Irene was thinner and, since losing weight, bore a noticeable resemblance to Krystyna—same hair color, same makeup, same smile lines in her face as she turned the little girls to face her, took a comb from her purse and began performing magic on their hair. She produced some bobby pins, opened them with her teeth, drew their hair straight back, clamped it in place with their veils and showed them the results in a compact mirror. They both smiled and flung her a hug and a kiss. When she stood up, Eddie smiled at her, too, and touched her shoulder as they exchanged some conversation. For only an instant, a hint of coquettishness telegraphed itself from the angle of Irene’s head and the slight tilt of her body toward Eddie’s while she left one hand on each of her niece’s shoulders.