On the Third Day Read Online Free Page B

his face.   He needed to get inside before Bishop Michaels had something else to hold against him, but somehow this moment needed completion.
                “Let’s not make more of this than it actually is,” he said at last.  “We’re here to celebrate the day our Lord arose from death into the light of a new day.  A day, I sometimes think, was much like this one.  Let’s keep ourselves focused on that, and see where the Lord leads us.”
                It was Gladys’ turn to nod, but she wasn’t quite finished.  She looked him up and down a last time; then she reached out and gripped his shoulder in one meaty palm, giving him an encouraging squeeze.
                “I’ve seen a lot of things, Father. I’ve done a lot of things as well; make no mistake of that. Some I admire, some I regret, and you could get some tales if you could bring back all the priests I’ve confessed them to, but I’ll tell you one thing.  I’m blessed to have attended your Mass, and that’s a fact.”
                Father Thomas’ throat constricted very suddenly, and his eyes burned with the threat of tears.  He tried to speak, but no words came, so he gently gripped Gladys Multinerry, eldest member of his Parish and speaker of truth by both her chubby shoulders and spun her toward the doors.
    He shooed her with a wave of his hand, and turned away, slipping off around the wall and out of sight.  Beneath him Bishop Michaels had mounted the stairs himself, a heavy case in one hand.  With every passing moment the sun grew brighter and rose closer to the center of the sky.

~Three~
                The glow from high stained glass windows drenched the polished wood of the altar rail, the ornate pews, the lush carpets and heavy tapestries hanging on the walls in deep rich color.  The daylight blended with the dim brilliance of sconces lining the walls.  The two sources of illumination joined to create a mellow glow of light that suffused the room.
                A balcony ran across the back of the Cathedral, about twenty feet up from the floor, and curled around the sides of the room toward the front like a theatre.  Nearly every seat on the main floor was filled.   Colorful hats and intricate hairstyles glittered.  Diamonds and pearls captured splinters of light and flashed them back toward the walls and the ceiling.  A dull roar of voices vibrated the air.  The sound echoed off the walls, rustled among the shuffling feet and slipped in and out of tune like a radio stuck on scan, first one station, then the next, never staying with one voice long enough to truly make sense.
                The air rippled with tension. 
                Father Thomas stood just out of sight, not quite ready to enter.  He watched the sea of faces beneath him, as he had watched them a thousand times before, and he shivered.  He took several deep breaths and closed his eyes, centering on the next few moments.  He knew that once he had started, once the ancient words rolled off his tongue, that he would be fine.  They were a part of him – the Mass was a part of him, and he knew that it would not let him down once he had the chance to release it.  A lot of what he faced frightened him, but the Mass itself was not among them.  This was where he had always been meant to be.
                He stepped out from the shadows and a sigh rippled through the congregation.  He strode forward in silence, concentrating on each footstep.  He put the past out of his mind and spoke, welcoming them all to San Marcos, and to another Easter.  He spoke briefly and pointedly of the day, and its meaning.  Then, without further preamble, he launched into the opening words of the liturgy.  He felt the palms of his hand go clammy with sweat, and for a panicked moment mistook the sweat for the blood he’d felt the previous year.  He thought, just for that second, that the