The Haunted Heritage

One

One

THERE IS NOTHING LIKE a trip through the western Maryland mountains in the early fall to restore the spirits. Today, the first Saturday in October, is the perfect day for it. The fall colors are nearing their peak, with a clear blue sky and crisp air that’s just about perfect for a drive through the area.

Particularly if one is alone with one’s much loved soon-to-be-wife.

Even if she does want to shop.

Helen has insisted on going to the outlet mall in Hagerstown at least once a month since we got engaged, saying again and again that she needs just “one or two” more outfits for our honeymoon cruise. At this point, I don’t see how any ship could possibly stay afloat with all the luggage she appears to plan on taking with us.

But I admit, it’s not a bad way to spend a day. We’re away from the trials and tribulations of our respective vocations. For Helen, that means there are no criminals to interrogate, no crime scenes to tromp through. For me, it means no emergency phone calls to the hospital, no confessions to hear. She doesn’t wear her sidearm, and I don’t wear my collar.

But since neither of us is ever really off duty, she does carry her backup weapon, carefully tucked in her mysterious thigh holster, and I carry my stole and a bottle of holy oil in case someone needs anointing of the sick.

Or last rites.

Fortunately, in our approximately half-dozen trips, Helen has not once had to chase down a perp through the food court, and I have not had to give the last rites of the church to an elderly person struck down by the kiddie train that runs by with alarming speed and regularity.

Our trips typically follow the same pattern. We leave right after 8 a.m. Mass, swinging by The Muffin Man for coffee—and, of course, muffins—to enjoy on the long drive. Once we get to the mall, I drop Helen off at one of the plus-sized women’s clothing stores and then park the car. I go inside and take a seat near the fitting rooms, where I spend the next hour or so oohing and ahhing over everything she tries on.

Since I love and appreciate Helen’s wonderful curves, this is the highlight of the day for me.

Unfortunately, my enjoyment is limited, because when she’s done with the regular clothes, she shoos me out into the mall “to get us something to drink.” She and I both know that this is unspoken code for “OK, Tom, I’m going to shop for lingerie now, so you need to go.”

Neither of us speaks of it because, well, it’s unspoken.

I wander around for a while, staying close enough for Helen to find me but far enough away so that I can’t see what she’s buying. After a while, she comes out.

Then I carry the bags to the car, laden down like a pack mule, usually with at least three store bags and one dress bag.

Inevitably, Helen catches me trying to sneak a peek. “You might as well give up, Tom,” she usually says with a giggle. “I always have the clerk put the unmentionables at the bottom of the bag underneath everything else.”

“I know,” I usually sigh, “but you can’t blame me for trying.”

“Tsk, tsk, Father Greer,” she says, shaking her head. “What would people think if they saw a priest trying to catch a glimpse of a woman’s underwear?”

“Why do you think I never wear my collar?” I say.

After this exchange, we go to a late lunch at one of three restaurants we particularly like. Since we always go on the last Saturday of the month, when Father Wayne comes out to celebrate the 4:30 p.m Mass, we drive back to Myerton. There we usually end our day together with a long, luxurious kiss when I drop Helen and her purchases off at her apartment.

We have just reached the point in the day when I have been shooed out of the store and am wandering up the wide hall in search of a comfortable bench when I see a blue-haired young woman in a wheelchair being wheeled toward me by a flustered-looking young man.

Of course, I think. Nate and Gladys had the same idea for a relaxing drive up into the mountains.

It's actually a relief to see them together—and by together, I mean somewhere other than my office or Mass. In the couple of weeks since the revelations about Nate’s activities leading up to the murder of Ashley Becket, when he hired her as a prostitute in a frankly idiotic plan to lose his virginity, the three of us have met together to discuss their relationship. Nate is intent—almost desperately so—to show Gladys how sorry he is and is willing to do anything it takes to earn her forgiveness. Gladys—well, let’s just say she’s been a little mercurial, alternating between merciful and forgiving one moment and angry and accusatory the next.

So, the fact they’re together in a mall in Hagerstown the first weekend of October, apparently not arguing with each other, is a good sign.

Since no one wants to run into their priest—even one who is out of uniform—when they’re on a date, I try to make myself scarce. Unfortunately, before I can escape I hear Nate say loudly, “There’s Father Tom. We should ask him what he thinks.”

My heart sinks even as I paste on my best pastoral smile. The reason that I assume people don’t want to run into their priests is that I, said priest, don’t want to run into them. All I wanted was a nice, quiet, drama-free day with Helen. We haven’t had too many of those lately.

Oh, well, it’s too late. At the very least, chances are this encounter will be interesting.

“Hi, you two,” I say pleasantly, when they reach me just past the Boardwalk Fries. “What brings you here today?”

“Shopping, because of Nate’s irresponsible behavior,” Gladys scowls without hesitating. Even with an IQ on the high end of genius, she often lacks the gift of discretion.

“This situation is not just my fault,” Nate snaps, at least for the moment refusing to be cowed. “You could have believed in me. ‘Stand By Your Man,’ you know?”

“Are you really trying to win me over by using song lyrics from a bad 1970s country song?”

“No, but I am saying—”

“Hey, guys,” I say, trying to head this same argument that I’ve already heard off at the pass, “Why don’t you just tell me what you’re shopping for?”

“Halloween costumes,” they say in unison.

I just stare at them. “Halloween costumes,” I say. “That’s what you’re arguing about today?”

“Uh-huh,” Gladys says firmly, “and it’s all his fault.”

“It is not my fault,” Nate says. At her glare, he shrugs. “OK, it is my fault. But you didn’t have to cancel the plans we had already made.”

“Why would I have her waste her time when I didn’t know if you’d even be out of jail by the time we needed them!” Gladys shouts, causing several people to stop and stare.

“Gladys,” I say quietly, “please tell me why you two are almost coming to blows over Halloween costumes.”

She takes a deep breath. “Because Nate and I were a couple, we needed to have matching Halloween costumes. We talked about what we were going to be since June, and we settled on The Little Mermaid and Flounder. I had already lined up someone to construct a rock around my chair and to custom make our costumes—I’d be the Little Mermaid, of course, and Nate would be Flounder.”

“OK, those both sound nice,” I say. “So, what’s the problem?”

Gladys grits her teeth and says, “Nate had to go and get arrested for murdering a hooker. I just assumed I’d be alone again and cancelled the costumes. But now, we’re back together, since he didn’t actually kill her, so now we have to find new costumes. OFF THE RACK!”

She’s pretty agitated by now and getting loud as more people begin to stare and Nate turns eight shades of red. I try to calm her down by saying, “Well, I’m sure it shouldn’t be too hard to find something. What about Raggedy Ann and Andy?”

“Dad, really?” Gladys snorts.

“Yeah, Father,” Nate says, rolling his eyes. “We’re not kids.”

“OK,” I say, wracking my brain for something even moderately helpful. “What about something from the classics, like Anthony and Cleopatra?”

“I like the sound of that,” Nate says, grinning at Gladys in a way that I’m pretty sure is not appropriate for my eyes.

“No,'' Gladys says sharply. “I’m not going to dress up like some Egyptian Queen in that scanty sort of harem outfit”

“Gladys, that is hardly what I was imagining,” I insist, blushing.

“I want to do something from Star Wars,” Gladys says, shooting Nate a look, “like Princess Leia and an Ewok, but he won’t do it.”

“An Ewok,” I say, grinning, “Hey, that’s a great idea. You’d be so cute as an—”

“No,” Nate says with a dismissive wave. “It’s too undignified for someone who now has his own business. I’m still trying to recover from that issue with the murder accusation.”

I refrain from pointing out that two people in their mid-twenties standing in the Hagerstown outlet mall arguing about Halloween costumes is hardly dignified in the first place.

“Anyway,” Nate continues, “I think implying there’s a relationship between Princess Leah and an Ewok is bordering on b********y, which I know is against the Commandments.”

“Hah!” Gladys says loudly. “You’re one to talk about something being against the Commandments.”

“For the millionth time, Gladys, I didn’t actually commit fornication!” Nate yells.

When I visualized what my life as a priest would be like, and even when I visualized my life as a parish priest, I never foresaw that it would include standing in a mall in Hagerstown, Maryland, talking about b********y as it relates to Princess Leia and an Ewok, with two people, one of whom just yelled the word “fornication.”

But then, as my professors always said, you never know.

“OK, Nate,” I say, desperate to bring this increasingly uncomfortable conversation to an end, “you don’t want to be an Ewok. What if you were Han Solo? He was her boyfriend.”

Nate grins. “Hey, I like that!”

I feel a flush of triumph and I think I have a winner. Then Gladys says caustically, “He’s not tall enough to be Han Solo.”

I look at her like she’s lost her ever-loving mind, because that’s the only thing that can explain her behavior.

Then, I take a closer look at Gladys. She doesn’t appear angry. She doesn’t even appear hurt.

She looks . . . disappointed.

This is not about the costumes. This is about something else.

“Hey, Nate,” I say, keeping my eyes on Gladys, who is looking at her clasped hands. “Can you go in that store and tell Helen to meet us down at the ice cream shop? I know she’d like to spend a few minutes with y’all. Gladys and I will go ahead and head that way. You stay here and help carry Helen’s packages.”

I take Gladys‘s chair and we head towards the Baskin Robbins. On our way, I say, “OK, Gladys. You and I both know this isn’t about Halloween costumes.”

“It is,” she says quietly. “It’s just about the costumes. I know it sounds stupid to you, Dad—”

I push her over to a wrought-iron table right outside the ice cream parlor and sit down. “Gladys, I may not understand it, but I don’t think it’s stupid. I don’t think it’s about the costumes, though. So, what is it?”

She looks up at me, a tear trickling down her face. “OK. It’s not the costumes themselves. Not really. It’s . . . it’s what they mean. Or, what they meant.”

I sit quietly, knowing she’ll tell me in her own time without prompting from me.

“Halloween was always my favorite holiday as a kid, even more than Christmas,” she says. “Not because of the ghoulish stuff, but because I got to dress up, become someone else. Especially after I lost my ability to walk, I could be anybody. I put on a Wonder Woman costume, and I was Wonder Woman for a few hours. Everyone else saw the chair, but in my mind I could run, and jump, and fight the bad guys. Everything I couldn’t do in real life.”

“I can see that,” I say, “but it still doesn’t explain—”

“I was by myself, Dad,” she whispers. “I didn’t have a brother or sister to dress up with. And when I was a teenager, I didn’t have a . . .”

“A boyfriend,” I say quietly. And with that, things become clear.

“Right,” she says with a pained smile. “I was homeschooled, I didn’t get to know guys my own age, and even if I did, you know how insecure teenage boys are. They were never going to go for the genius in the wheelchair.”

“And in college,” I say, “you didn’t have a boyfriend, either.”

She laughs bitterly. “I loved Richard, or I thought I did, but he wasn’t exactly the kind of man who would dress up in a costume. Then of course, the guys and girls I had s*x with, well, they weren’t really interested in a relationship that had any real meaning to it. Honestly, by that time, I wasn’t, either.” She takes a deep breath. “But I’ve told you that.”

I stay quiet, and she clears her throat. “By the time I came to Myerton and took the job at the police department, I’d given up on relationships of any kind. I decided I was just never going to have a real boyfriend. As far as imagining dressing up for Halloween with the man I loved—well, I’d given up on that years ago.”

She pauses for a moment. Quietly, I say, “And then you met Nate.”

She looks at me, a smile lighting up her face. “I know everyone else thinks he’s goofy, but Dad! He was like a dream come true! I mean, not only was he interested in me as more than an easy lay, he liked me. He loved me. He liked costumes, and dressing up, and Halloween, and cosplay, and everything I liked. He was different.”

Gladys’ smile disappears. “Except he really wasn’t. He really isn’t. And that’s why I’m so upset. Because he’s not what I thought he was.”

“Gladys,” I say, “you know he still loves you, in spite of what he did.”

“But what I still cannot get my mind around, Dad, is that he did it in the first place. He says he loves me, but I’m still having a hard time believing that.”

“Let me ask you a question,” I say, folding my arms. “Did you expect Nate to never disappoint you?”

“I never expected him to hire a hooker,” Gladys says.

“Frankly, I didn’t expect that, either,” I say. “And it was wrong. It was sinful. It hurt you. And it’s something that he’s confessed to you and asked forgiveness. He’s been to confession and received absolution.”

“I know all that,” Gladys says, nodding her head. “But it’s like I don’t know who he is anymore.”

“He’s still Nate,” I say.

“But he’s not who I thought he was,” Gladys whispers.

I consider my next words carefully, for my own sake as well as hers. “You worked with Helen on her investigation into Joan’s murder, right?”

She nods. “Yes.”

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but one of the most difficult things for me about that was not having to relive her murder,” I say. “It was discovering that the woman I loved—still love, really—was not who I thought she was.”

Gladys looks at me. “Oh,” she says quietly. “I never really knew for sure if you knew. Mom never told me.”

“No reason she shouldn’t have,” I say with a shrug. “But yeah. I didn’t know about her struggles with mental illness. I didn’t know about her multiple hospitalizations as a teenager. And I certainly didn’t know about her first marriage.”

“How did you feel when you found all that out?”

“Hurt,” I say with a tight smile. “Angry. Confused. I was that way for a while. You know I left town and went to a monastery as their chaplain for a few months after Helen solved the case. One of the things I came to grips with during that time was what I learned about Joan. I finally realized that she didn’t hide who she was from me to hurt me. She didn’t mean to deceive me. She did it because she was afraid if I knew the truth, I wouldn’t love her anymore.”

“But that’s ridiculous!” Gladys declares. “She was sick! You wouldn’t have stopped loving her!”

“Of course not. I still loved her, even after I learned the truth. I was disappointed, true. But it wasn’t the first time Joan disappointed me. And I disappointed her plenty of times. And Gladys, Nate will disappoint you again. It’s inevitable. Not because he’s a particularly bad or evil person. But because he’s human. He’s a flawed and sinful human being, as we all are.”

She says nothing, so I press forward. “And you will disappoint him, too. I’m sure you have.”

“Me!” she says indignantly. “How?”

“He said it. You didn’t stand by him, not the way he thought you should. Now we can argue whether or not he’s right, but that’s how he feels.”

“But he—”

I hold up my hand. “You heard him tell you that when he first met you, he assumed you were a virgin because you seemed so sweet and innocent. Gladys, do you think he wasn’t disappointed when you told him otherwise? You don’t think he struggled with anger and sadness over that?”

“I don’t know,” Gladys says quietly.

“Did he ever berate you about it? Did he bring up your past over and over again?”

She shakes her head. “No.”

I take a deep breath. “The point is, Gladys, you can wallow in your disappointment over finding out that Nate isn’t who you thought he was. You can continue to be angry with him over something that he’s already sought your forgiveness for. You can give him hell for hiring Ashley Becket in the first place for the rest of his life. But if that’s what you want to do, then end things with Nate right now so you can find a man who will never disappoint you, and so he can find a woman who won’t disappoint him. And when you do, I want to meet him.”

Gladys looks at her hands. “But I don’t want anyone else,” she whispers. “I want him.”

I sigh. “Then Gladys, you need to decide if you can accept him as he is. Flawed. Sinful. And very likely to hurt and disappoint you in the future.”

She doesn’t say anything and I don’t say anything. I leave her at the table and order ice cream cones for Helen and me—butter pecan for her, chocolate caramel swirl for me. By the time I get back to the table, Nate and Helen are there. The young man looks as weighed down with packages as I have been on occasion.

“Hi,” I say, handing Helen her cone and giving her a kiss. “Mission accomplished?”

“For today, anyway,” she says. “Oh, butter pecan. My favorite.”

“I know, that’s why I got it for you.”

While we’re talking, I’m aware that Gladys and Nate are sitting next to each other quietly. I wonder if I’m going to have to continue counseling them when Gladys says, “You know, Nate, I’ve thought about it, and I think that you’ll make a wonderful Han Solo. Let’s go back and get those costumes we saw when we first got here this morning.”

“Really?” Nate says, a smile breaking out on his face. “Are you sure?”

Gladys looks him in the eye and says, “Yes, Nate. For the first time in weeks, I’m sure.”

Nate clearly looks confused by this, but I give Gladys a smile. “Well, you two have fun. Helen and I are going to wander the mall eating our ice cream cones like teenagers.”

“We are?” she asks. I give her a look, and she says brightly, “Oh, we are. How fun will that be?”

We tell Gladys and Nate goodbye as Nate says, “Don’t forget I’ll be by tomorrow afternoon to talk to you about the Myer Mansion.”

I have been dreading this but know that it's an important part of promoting the Haunted Mansion, so I say, “Yes, Nate, 5:00 p.m, right?”

“Yes. See you then,” Nate says. “Oh, and at Mass.”

My work finished, Helen and I walk off to stroll happily through the mall, licking ice cream cones like two little children out of school for the first day of the summer. When we get some distance from them she asks, “What was that about?“

“Nothing you need to be concerned with. File it under pastoral counseling and don’t give it another thought.“

Much to my surprise, she grins at me and says, “Thankfully.“ Then, having finished her ice cream cone, she slips her arm through mine and we head back towards the car, carrying the latest additions to her honeymoon wardrobe.