On the Third Day Read Online Free Page A

would be trained fully on the day’s worship and on Father Thomas himself.  They would seek, and record, but Quentin was no longer certain that what they sought was the truth.
                He snapped his attention back to the moment.  All but the last stragglers had entered the church, and in moments he’d be too late to slip around the rear of the rectory and get into position in time.  On this day, of all days, he wanted to be punctual.  He wanted everything to play out like an old, familiar movie with no surprises, and no guest appearances.
                Last to mount the steps was a formidable figure that brought the morning’s first genuine smile to Father Thomas’ lips. 
                Weighing in at 242 pounds, and seventy-four years, Gladys Multinerry hit the bottom step with the determined stride of a general getting ready to confront her troops.  Her huge arms quivered, and Father Thomas saw her grimace with pain as she lifted herself up the first step. 
                Without a further thought about being late for the Mass, or the black Cadillac, which had just cruised down the drive and stopped not fifty yards away, Father Thomas hurried down the stairs and offered the woman his arm.
                “Gladys,” he said, half-chiding, half-greeting the woman.  “Here – let me help you up the stairs.  Where is Norman?”
                She glanced up at him.  Relief flashed across her features, then gratitude, but they flickered across the broad expanse of her face so quickly that only one who knew her well would have noticed them at all.  Her brow furrowed in pain and concentration, Gladys took his arm.
                “You’d just better help me, young man.”  She said querulously.   “I haven’t missed an Easter Mass at San Marcos in the past fifty years, and I don’t aim to make this the first.  Been coming here longer than you’ve been alive.                          
                “Norman, now, he wouldn’t come here on Easter any more than any other Sunday.  But you know that, Father.” 
                Father Thomas nodded.  He’d heard the speech before, and he fought to suppress the grin that rose to greet it.
                “I know, Gladys,” he replied, smiling.  “I believe the Lord would send one of his Archangels to check on you if you didn’t make an appearance, and that’s a fact.”  He didn’t ask after her son again.  Norman Multinerry was not fond of Mass, or of Father Thomas, for that matter.
                Gladys glanced at him sharply, and then grinned.
                “I’ve seen priests come and go, Father,” she said, turning back to her laborious effort at climbing the stairs.  “I was here when that one was young,” she nodded over at Bishop Michaels, who had exited his car and stood staring up at Father Thomas sternly while the Cadillac’s driver emptied equipment out of the trunk.
                Father Thomas only nodded, helping her up another few steps.  When they’d almost crested the top, she hesitated, and he turned to her, questioning.
                “Never seen anything like last year,” she said softly.  Father Thomas gazed thoughtfully into her eyes for a moment, reading the concern there – the compassion he’d thought he might find in Bishop Michaels, and, again, he smiled.
                “Neither have I, Gladys.  Neither have any of us.”
                They reached the summit, and Gladys rested there for a moment, still searching Father Thomas’ face for something.  He wondered if she was finding it.
                “I mean it, Father,” she insisted.  “I’ve never seen a thing like it.”
                “Now Gladys,” Father Thomas replied, trying to keep the slightly annoyed, slightly pained expression off