Good Graces - Lesley Kagen [33]
I beg, “No . . . please, please don’t do that. Father Mickey will tell Mother and she has enough on her mind with gettin’ better from her sickness and waitin’ for her letter from the Pope and . . . I think Troo took some pencils and paper so she could start writing her ‘How I Spent My Charitable Summer’ story and that’s a good cause, right? I’ll pay you back.”
Mrs. Kenfield waves me off because unlike Aunt Betty, she is very religious. She wears a girdle to keep her wiggle in check and doesn’t go to church only on Sundays. Even during snowstorms, she’s up there. All Mother of Good Hope kids have to go to Mass every morning when we’re in school, so I’ve seen her kneeling, always in the same pew. The one that’s closest to the St. Christopher statue. He’s the saint that keeps people safe when they’re traveling.
“And don’t think you’re getting off scot-free either, Sally,” Mrs. Kenfield adds on. “I’ll see that Father Mickey knows the part you play in these little escapades.”
The second his name is mentioned, Aunt Betty gets that same goofy look on her face that all the girls and women get when the subject of Father Mickey comes up. “Michael Patrick Gillespie,” she sighs like Sandra Dee. “You’re only a coupla years older than me, Joyce. You knew Mickey back in high school, didn’t you?”
“From what I heard, not nearly as well as you did, Betty,” she says, looking down her long nose at her.
Aunty Betty throws her head back and laughs. Ladies are always whispering behind their hands about her being “a hot patootie,” so she’s used to it. I really admire how she takes those snippy comments as compliments about how good-looking she is. That is making the best of a bad situation.
Aunt Betty says with a fond-memory voice, “I remember this one time Helen and I came across Mickey and Paulie down at Honey Creek—”
“Paulie? Our Uncle Paulie?” I’m shocked. “I didn’t know that he knew Father in the olden days.”
Mrs. Callahan brings her hand to her bosoms and says, “They were best friends. Those two boys gave your granny her gray hair.”
I already know that our uncle was hell on wheels because Ethel Jenkins told me all about him last summer, but this is the first time I heard that Father Mickey was a troublemaker from around here.
“When did Father Mickey move away?” I ask.
Mrs. Callahan closes her eyes. She always does that when she tries to come up with an answer to a question. I can do a pretty good imitation of her if I borrow some of Mother’s blue eye shadow. “Well, let me see . . . after he was ordained, Mickey was assigned to St. Stan’s and then some small town in Illinois and soon after that the church sent him all the way to the jungles of the Congo to do some missionary work with the little Pygmy people. That’s when I stopped gettin’ postcards from him, ’til he showed up here again.”
Sounds to me like she’s been keeping close track of him.
“You want to know something else, Sally?” she says. I really don’t think I do, but there is no stopping her when she gets this naughty smile on her face. She reminds me a lot of this kid from Vliet Street, Fast Susie Fazio, when it comes to spreading hairraising facts. “I wouldn’t say that Mickey had what’s known as a true calling to the priesthood.”
I know what she means by that. They’re always trying to convince girls to be nuns and boys to be priests up at school. To keep their ears open for a call from Jesus.
I say, “Kenny Schultz was told to join up in a dream. He went to St. Nazianz seminary right after high school.”
“Yeah, that’s how it goes for most boys, but M.P.G. . . . well, he wasn’t most boys.” I must look like I lost track of the conversation. “That was Mickey’s nickname back then. Ya know, his initials? M.P.G. Miles per gallon?” She rumble laughs deep in her throat. “That boy could give a girl the ride of her life and . . . hey, don’t take my word for it. Ask your mother,” she says, with a wink.
“That’s quite enough, Betty!” Mrs. Kenfield smacks her hand down on the glass case. Then to me, she says, “Make no mistake about it, I’m