The Soprano Wore Falsettos Read Online Free

answer to anyone for that. Everything else he wanted out of his purview. When he interviewed Bev for the job, after she mentioned that she wouldn’t mind giving it a try, he asked her if she would have a problem disciplining a member of the staff or telling a volunteer that his or her talents might be better used elsewhere.
    “Hell, no,” she said.
    “Let’s say that the sexton steals something from my desk when he’s cleaning up.”
    “I’d fire his sorry butt,” she said, then added demurely, “with your permission, of course.”
    So now, as Parish Administrator, Bev was in charge of writing the checks (although she didn’t keep the books), scheduling the building, and all other various and sundry chores that fell under her “job description.” One of them was to come to the worship committee meetings. The books had been kept, since the dark ages, by Randall Stamps, an ancient bean counter who had come to a grisly end last fall. Now they were sent to an accounting agency. Beverly was still in charge of collecting pledges, however, and making sure they were kept current by gentle reminders.
    Also present at the meeting were Brenda Marshall and Joyce Cooper. Brenda was the St. Barnabas Christian Education director. She hadn’t been a popular appointment with many of the old guard Episcopalians, being, as far as anyone could tell by her freely-spouted, touchy-feely theology, a Uni-luther-presby-metho-lopian. She had never even attended an Anglican church before being hired by the previous priest, something she alluded to frequently with a certain amount of pride. Bev was just itching to fire her, and she’d actually thought that Brenda was the reason that Father George had hired her — to bring down the ax. Privately, Bev had confided to me that it was going to be tough to get rid of Brenda. She’d been there over a year, she hadn’t actually done anything wrong and there would have to be a very good reason for her dismissal. Brenda had seen the writing on the wall and was already hinting at lawsuits having to do with the previous priest. Bev didn’t know if she was bluffing or not.
    Georgia Wester, one of my good friends, had been on the worship committee when I left last October, but she had rotated off in January and had been replaced by Joyce Cooper, a member of the Altar Guild.
    “Good morning, everyone,” said Father George, bringing the meeting to order. “And I’m sure we’d all like to say ‘thanks’ to Hayden for coming.” He addressed me. “I’d really like your input on our services even though you’re technically on leave.”
    The rest of the group nodded in agreement.
    “I brought some coffee, if anyone would like any,” said Father George, pushing the carafe into the center of the table.
    “No thanks,” said Bev.
    “I’m trying to cut down,” said Brenda.
    “I already have some,” I said.
    “Me too,” added Marilyn.
    “I think I’m allergic,” said Joyce. I snorted, but managed to turn it into a cough. Joyce, sitting next to me, whispered out of the side of her mouth, “It’s all I could think of.”
    Father George, shuffling through his papers, didn’t seem to notice.
    “As you are all aware,” he continued, “Easter is three weeks away.” He turned to me. “We’ve already made plans for Holy Week.”
    “Of course,” I said, with a genuine smile.
    “But, feel free to make whatever suggestions you’d like. We’ll try to incorporate them if we can.”
    “I probably won’t,” I said. “I’m sure that whatever you’ve decided to do during worship services will be meaningful and appropriate.” I meant it. Really. In the days before my sabbatical, I had been very involved in planning the services, but now that I wasn’t actually attending St. Barnabas, I was having a hard time generating any concern. If I was going to be asked for my opinion, I probably couldn’t keep quiet, but I was sure going to try. Less stress, I told myself.
    “How’re we doing