Keohane, G. - Solomon's Grave

Before she closed the door she said, “Such a popular boy, my man is.”

Nathan’s walk to the car, and the drive home, were lost in a turmoil raging in his head.

My man , she had called him.

She wanted to see him again.

Try as he might to suppress his excitement—he was a grown-up now and shouldn’t be acting so love-struck—he couldn’t stop grinning, picturing himself as Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer in that Christmas animated special, jumping through the air yelling, She said I’m cute!

The kiss was unplanned. He assumed Elizabeth understood that any future dates would not go any further than that, at least until—

Until what? Could he possibly be thinking of marriage? She didn’t even believe in God. History showed that preaching the Word to Elizabeth was a sure-fire way to send her running. Besides, she might not be considering anything long-term. Not any more.

But they belonged together. Aside from his own calling to the ministry, nothing else in his experience ever felt so right. He needed to be patient, trust God’s plan for them.

Whatever that might be.

Chapter Twenty-Five

Monday morning brought a cool breeze and the smell of changing leaves. Autumn had arrived at last. The dramatic changes in New England seasons were an aspect of home Nathan missed most during his tenure in Orlando. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the church, Reverend Hayden consulted a well-worn list. The sheet was wrinkled from constant handling. He looked from the list to the suitcases and bags on the sidewalk.

“Have you got everything, Pastor?” Nathan asked. Hayden waved away the question with one of his dismissive gestures then tucked the list into the back pocket of his chinos.

“It’s amazing,” he said. “All these years, and what do I leave with? Two suitcases and two bags of books. You’d think I’d have accumulated more stuff, eh?”

Nathan smiled. “You always said we should accept whatever God offers and want for nothing else.”

Hayden grumbled, “Is that what I said? All those sermons and you just remember that one. I suppose it’s true. Jeannie was the pack rat of the family. Over the years, all that bric-a-brac found its way into church fairs, charity or what-not. She would have liked it that way. I was always more of a minimalist.”

He screwed up his face, doing his best to maintain an impatient, almost cranky façade. This church had been his home, serving the parish the meaning of his life, for over thirty years, and he’d been alone here since Jean Hayden went to the Lord thirteen years before.

Today it was over.

Nathan wanted to put a hand on his shoulder, offer some comfort. It would be the wrong thing to do, to knock down the emotional wall Hayden had built.

“I’ll make you proud, I promise.”

A rusted SUV approached. Its directional light came on and the car pulled to a stop in front of them. Hayden ignored it. “You make sure no more fainting spells. Life can be traumatic enough without the pastor adding any drama.”

“I promise. You sure you don’t want to leave some of this here until you’re back in town?”

Hayden shrugged and said simply, “No, no.”

Vincent Tarretti emerged from his Blazer and walked casually up to the two men. His face was its usual emotionless mask.

“Reverend,” he said, nodding his head to Hayden, then turned toward Nathan. “Reverend,” he repeated, with a slight trace of a smile.

“Vincent,” said Hayden. “I’m sorry. I should have told you what day I was leaving.”

He shrugged. “Not to worry. I heard about it. Wanted to catch you before you left, see if you’ve everything you need.”

A car drove by slowly, but did not stop. Nathan looked up and saw his father’s friend Mr. Paulson, watching them from behind the wheel. The car rolled past. Nathan felt a tightening in his stomach he couldn’t explain. Why did that man make him nervous?

“No, I’m all set, but thank you just the same. Just showing my young protégé here how few items I have to take along.”

Tarretti looked down at the luggage, then back up at Hayden. To Nathan, he seemed distracted. “Well, if you think you have everything. Nothing I can help you with?”

The old man patted Tarretti’s shoulder and lifted a suitcase. “No, Vincent, but thank you for the offer. I have everything I need right here.”

A blue sedan arrived, pulling to the curb in front of the Blazer. “Besides,” he added, “my ride’s here, and they don’t appreciate too many material goods in the monastery. Too much of a distraction.”

Tarretti nodded. “The one in Leicester?”

“The one and the same.”

The man who emerged from the other car looked younger than Nathan, wearing long tan robes tied at the waist with a rope sash. The monk’s attire was a stark contrast to the modern world. He introduced himself as Brother Armand. After perfunctory introductions, he proceeded to load Hayden’s luggage into the trunk of his car. Vincent and Nathan helped, and by the time the trunk was closed, Hayden was already in the passenger seat.

He rolled down the window and shook their hands. Brother Armand got behind the wheel and started the motor.

“Take care of your flock, Pastor,” Hayden said. “Above all else, there is nothing more important than them.”

“Agreed, Reverend. Good luck.”

“Vince....”

“Goodbye, sir. It was a pleasure. If you need anything, just—”

But Hayden had pressed the window switch and there was suddenly glass between them. Tarretti and Nathan watched the blue sedan pull from the curb and followed its progress until it wound around a corner out of sight.

* * *

Vincent had made it a point to check the weight of the old man’s bags, try and feel some of the power he remembered from so long ago. No indication that he was leaving with anything more significant than socks and underwear. The grave had not been opened; he’d set his alarm for three o’clock this morning to check just that. He’d left Johnson in the house, much to the dog’s displeasure, and quietly crept along the grounds and into the woods, unseen by anyone who might be stationed nearby to keep a watch on him. It had taken almost an hour to reach Greenwood Street Cemetery via his pre-planned route through the back streets of Hillcrest. Only when he was at the base of the grave did he risk turning on the flashlight from his backpack and examining every detail around the site. Nothing looked disturbed; no more than small burrowing signs caused by a chipmunk or mouse.

He now looked askance at Nathan Dinneck, who seemed uneasy with Vincent’s silence. Obviously the preacher wanted to get back inside and start his first official day in charge. Vincent had been silent for twenty-seven years, cautious and careful for almost half of his life. Now, he wanted to grab this young pup, shake him, ask if he was the one, the “priest” to carry the lost contents of the Ark to a new, safer place. His tongue was stayed by twenty-seven years of walking among the headstones of the town’s cemeteries, of blending into the background like a chameleon, never drawing attention to himself. He continued to stare, until finally Dinneck broke the silence.

“Well, I guess I’ll be heading inside now. Lots to do.” He laughed nervously, started to offer his hand, but withdrew it, realizing the gesture would not be reciprocated. Vincent finally forced himself to blink and look away.

“Yep,” he said, “me, too.” He walked to his car. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

The silence of the night permeated everything. His cell, the hall outside. Ralph Hayden shifted uncomfortably on the bunk. The dark was so complete he couldn’t see his own hand held in front of him. The normal nighttime sounds of cars along Dreyfus Road, the occasional barking dog, voices of walkers passing the church, these had been the background noise of his life for thirty years. Already he missed it... that, and the extra thick mattress which he assumed Nate Dinneck would now be using. A bed Ralph and Jean shared in their glorious, if too brief, time together. Living their dream.