gate to the basement pushed open and Fran rushed into view. Her face was twisted and small tracks of silver glittered in the emerging sunlight: tears. Fran had been crying. To see such a stout and determinedly capable woman in tears was a shock, even to Auntie Lil.
Father Stebbins followed quickly and stood silently on the sidewalk, watching Fran rush down the street. The distraught woman reached Eighth Avenue and turned quickly north, not seeming to care that she rammed into a late commuter and sent him careening off a parked car. His briefcase bounced off the bumper.
Auntie Lil could be discreet and let the drama play out. Or she could be herself and dive in, head first. It wasn't much of a contest.
"Father Stebbins! Father Stebbins!" she called out loudly, scurrying across the street with unseemly haste in an effort to beat out a large bread truck that seemed intent on reaching the next corner in three seconds, even at the price of her life.
The priest looked up, startled. "Lillian! What brings you back here? You must be a sign. In the darkness, yea, I will send thee a sign."
"A sign?" she demanded. "A sign of what?"
"Of divine intervention," he said unhappily, turning away.
The intervention part was certainly right, but not even Auntie Lil considered her role "divine." She fell into step beside Father Stebbins. Together, they descended the steps toward the basement. His worried look had deepened.
"Who was that young boy I saw you with this morning? A new volunteer?" She tried to keep her voice light, but failed. The question sounded like an accusation.
"Young boy?" He stopped and stared at her blankly. "What young boy?"
"On the steps of the church just a little while ago." She should not have asked. A little more finesse was called for. Now she would warn him away.
The priest turned away and unlocked the door. "I'm afraid you're mistaken," he said evenly. "Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. I have been seeing a few special members of my flock who are unable to attend regular confession. That is all. What were you doing? Hiding in the shadows like the enemies of the Church in ancient times?"
She wisely decided to drop the subject. "I came to ask you a few questions," she said instead.
He sighed as eloquently as any martyr the Church had ever immortalized. "What kind of questions? I cannot always supply the answers, you know. A man of the cloth may be as confused as anyone. It seems I lack many answers these days. I have not been of much help to my flock, as it were. Like all others, I am but a man with feet of clay."
"Was Emily one of your parishioners? Did she come attend services here?"
"Mass," he corrected her primly. "No. Although she was a Catholic, I cannot ever recall seeing her at mass at St. Barnabas. She was a private woman and preferred to attend St. Peter's, where none of her friends belonged." He sighed again, distracted, his mind on other topics.
"You seem preoccupied," Auntie Lil said softly. "Is there anything I can do to help?"
His face cleared. "You can cook the meal today," he said hopefully. "I'm afraid Fran has just quit. I don't know what I'm going to do."
"Quit?" Auntie Lil stared at him. "Whatever for?"
Father Stebbins shrugged unhappily. "Sometimes I think that this is a very wicked world indeed." He ignored her question and held the door open as Auntie Lil hurried inside. The basement was dark and smelled faintly of pine.
"The lieutenant ordered me to stay away," she reminded him.
"I'm ordering you to stay and help." The priest wandered back into the kitchen area and opened the pantry door with a heavy sigh. "This world is not fit for the truly good, my dear Lillian," he said. "Too often, what is good only masks evil. And what is evil too often masks still more evil. Nothing is what it seems."
Auntie Lil threw together a hasty stew of odds and ends, but no one complained. There was an uneasy air about the soup kitchen that day, brought on by the chill in the weather. Undeniably, winter was coming and, with it, freezing temperatures and the danger of snow. Soon, the streets would not be an option for many of the homeless in line. They were worried. Where would they go? Few wanted to return to the city shelters. One visit had been more than enough for most of those waiting to