The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 15

The Archdeacon looked at the paperwork and clicked his tongue. Turning the pages, he paused periodically, then used his calculator to check figures. Finally, he close the file and put it down. "Everything here is in order here, Freddie." Putting it aside, he consulted his notepad. "Now about the repairs to the Vestry Roof. I see that it was repaired quickly in November after—an accident. Freddie, tell me how your supervision of the facilities was responsible for this–disaster."

Returning the Renovation file to the cabinet, I brought out another on the Roof Repair. "You'll want to reference the Vestry minutes from the emergency meeting of 2 November 2005." He thumbed the pages and found the notes quickly. I laid the file on the desk. "On top, you'll find the report of Mr. Jim Lefebvre, contractor. This details the recent history of neglect of the Vicarage roof from Bishop Stokeley's tenure here on. The Sexton at that time, Mr. Bert Button assured me frequently that there were no problems. He was also the local building inspector, and did not visit the Vicarage for the last five years before his death."

"I understand he passed away in September. My condolences," Tommy said coldly.

"Thank you. The minutes record the Vestry's discussion and vote. Next, the detailed proposal from Mr. Lefebvre and the emergency clearance from the Local Council dated 7 November. We had to move quickly or I would have been homeless. Thanks to the generosity of Ms. Percival Clyde-Walker, we were able to pay in full, and the summation report indicates."

"Yes, Freddie, very interesting. However, you never checked out your attic yourself until the roof fell in."

"Yes, Archdeacon. I was assured there was no problem for years, and didn't see the need to double check myself. A lesson learned; a failing that won't be repeated."

"See that it isn't," came the sharp retort. "Well, things seem to be resolved satisfactorily, thanks to Mr. Lefebvre and Ms. Clyde-Walker. Undoubtedly this charity is why she was blessed with child so soon after."

***

"Now here's something I want to talk to you about," Barbara broke in, taking my cock in her hand. "I was there when Clarissa-–made her contribution. From the anecdotal evidence, timing and conclusion of the scene, which I saw with my own eyes, it seems that this revolver isn't firing blanks." She stroked it and it responded to her. Tickling my oysters, it began to jump and bob, searching for a home. "Yes, big boy, you seem to have made a baby," she cooed to my manhood,. "How d'ya feel about that?"

A moment passed; it was something Ihadthought about a lot since I heard the news from Artie. At last I said, "A couple of things. I'm glad that the equipment works. A man likes to know. As far as the baby, it's not really mine, even if I did provide the DNA. Clarissa told me over a year ago that if she had a baby, it would be all hers like Violette's. I figured it out: she's wanted a baby for years."

"She liked your looks, she liked your brains and she could make you do it."

"Exactly. What a conniving bitch."

"Agreed. Hardly a good description for the mother of your child, but agreed."

I shook my head. "He'll be a pampered heir, his mother will ruin his life, and someday he'll be a foppish rich man in his own right. She'd raise a daughter in her own image, which is quite frightening. The child I fathered with Clarissa will never really be mine. Someday, I'll have children that are really my own."

Her veiled head turned toward my stiff member. "Certainly, Alfie, certainly. In the meantime." She engulfed my moist cockhead and began working her magic tongue all around my corona, stroking the length with delicate fingers.. My stories were lost in her talented manipulation, and I responded by sneaking the nearest hand up her thigh, seeking the damp forest between her legs. Finding my goal, I slipped a finger into her moist canal and worked it at the same pace she was working my genitalia.

The sight of the dark veiled head with my cock in her mouth was still a powerful turnon. She sighed and hummed as I slipped another finger inside her, still matching her rhythm. Twitching her shoulders, she got the crucifix swinging between her breasts again: I was glued as it glided gently at first, then wider and wider, quicker and quicker, until it bounced roughly from side to side. It grazed her nipples, and her mouth gave me an slight, involuntary compression as it made contact with the lovely brown peaks. We worked faster, in perfect synchronization, her mouth on my member, my hand in her canal, until we found the great mystic moment of bliss together: her gushing a geyser on my hand, me sending a flood to her hungry maw.

I thrashed as she tongued me post-orgasm: I loved the sensations and she knew it. My hand massaged her fresh fluids into her thighs, which returned my gentle caress. As last, she lay beside me, pulling up the cover. The fabric of her veil was soft against my shoulder. The skin of her inner calf was soft against mine. She sighed and murmured: "I'm glad those potent baby makers aren't heading anywhere dangerous."

My eyes flipped wide open. "What about earlier? I thought I sent a load of baby makers down a dangerous direction about forty five minutes ago?"

Barbara looked at me with glassy eyes. "It's all right, Alfred, it's all right."

"You're on the Pill?"

She nodded her head. "Yes, I am. So no problems."

"I thought you Catholics didn't believe in the Pill?"

She took a deep breath. "I've always had irregular periods, it runs in the family. Mother went down particularly hard, and was glad when the Pill came out; my sisters felt the same way. When I get periods without drugs, I'm absolutely incapacitated, and I feel like shite for four days. The Pill makes me regular and takes most of the edge off 'that time of the month.'"

"You can take it for that?"

She nodded again. "It's a matter of primary and secondary effect; you know enough about ethics to understand that. The primary effect of me taking the drug is good health, and it's become essential that I take it. That's what makes it OK. The secondary effect is infertility, but that's not why I take it, so it's permitted. If the primary reason I took it was contraception, then I'd be in trouble, but as it is, the community pays for it, it's open and above board and I pick up my prescription from the chemist wearing a full habit."

"Sweet."

"Now for the rest of the story."

***

Archdeacon Tommy Hughes was looking vexed. His search for documentary proof of irregularities was finished, and fruitless. He sat back in my chair, looked out my window, and mused. "Several rumors are circulating about secret sexual activities, but I haven't gotten proof–yet. I would like to know about your new live-in housekeeper, Agnes Sterns."

I nodded. "Agnes is a graduate student at University in Organ, scholarship student, assistant Organist/Choirmaster, and she needed a place to live and work to pay some daily expenses. The Vestry thought it would be a good idea for her to work for the further assistance, and so the idea of her living in the apartment was broached by her grandmother, who is Chair of the Vestry. The Vestry agreed to the arrangement, as you can see by the Contract itself before you and the minutes of the August meeting. I do not have a key to the apartment, although there is one hidden in the kitchen for emergencies. . ."

"I'm sure. Perhaps the night gets a bit cold. . ."

". . .which can be verified by an inspection of my key ring. Ms. Sterns can confirm all this."

"I'm certain."

"As can her grandmother and the Sexton of the Parish, who happens to be her brother. I think it unlikely that multiple family members would arrange a situation where one of their women serves as a live-in, paid sexual surrogate."

Tommy leaned back in my chair. "Interesting, Freddie, and persuasive. Yes, I wouldn't set my sister up in a situation like this unless I was assured that everything was proper. Point taken."

Looking at me directly, he pushed on: "Most parishes this size, Vicar, have a Curate to assist with pastoral duties. You haven't had a Curate since you've been here, and with your duties at the Diocesan Planning Commission as well as here, I'm sure you could use the help."

"Then I wouldn't be able to afford my organist/choirmaster or his assistant."

"Many parishes your size make do with volunteers."

"I know, and they suffer. This is a High Church parish, always has been, and the quality of the liturgy is of primary importance in keeping the parish happy. Niall Jones has his ARCO, studying for the FRCO, and has a long tenure here. Agnes Sterns has her CertRCO, and is continuing her studies, also. The financial picture of the parish is the best it's been in years, and per capita, we're the biggest contributors to the Bishop's causes. I believe this is due to the excellent liturgy here."

"There is a young man, newly ordained, very bright and needing some mentoring that I'd like to send here to learn the ropes as your Curate," he said, with eyebrow raised and vocal inflection that suggested obedience.

"Unless you can pay him, I'm afraid we can't have him. Since I'm single and unattached, I have no problem doing all the pastoral care here as well as my sacramental duties, and we have a group of visitors that keep close track of the shut-ins. I believe the Bishop wanted me to write up that program? My health is good, my energy is good, and I appreciate your vote of confidence in me as a mentor. I must respectfully decline the offer of a curate.

"Also, under the terms of the endowment creating the choir school, we must have an accredited RCO member to direct it, and I am not at liberty to abrogate those rules. It compels the parish to spend the money; we don't have a choice. We must have a full time organist/choirmaster here."

***

"I've seen that dodge before," Barbara cut in. "He sends you a young priest who's his personal spy, who'll undercut you at every turn and build up his own constituency in the parish."

"Well spotted. Of course," I replied. "That's why I do the staffing as I do, and why I had your mother's gift written up the way it is. To block the Chancery out. To block Tommy out. Unless we can bring our general income up by half, we won't be able to afford a Curate. If I get overwhelmed, there's several retired Anglican Priests I can call on for help."

"Well done," Barbara murmured appreciatively, giving me a congratulatory kiss.

***

Archdeacon Tommy Hughes joined his hands and twirled his thumbs for a moment. "How's the scholarship coming? Is the article on the Council of Whitby done?"

"Yes, Archdeacon. I have an e-mail confirming receipt, and it will be appearing in the April edition. Yesterday, a grant came through for an essay comparing and contrasting the teachings of the Lollards and the Hussites; I'll start work on it shortly with a completion date of September."

"I'm sure that will be adequate for Bishop Delacroix and Bishop Langford in Topeka to maintain your status here as a visiting academe.Ad astra per aspera."

"I'm impressed you know the state motto of Kansas, sir. 'To the stars through difficulties.' How flattering."

"The last thing I'd like to bring up is the case of Ms. Lucinda Parkhurst--Frazelton. She has been the largest donor to St. Dunstan's and to the Diocese over the past three years. There is rumor that she rambles about—interesting and private events of her life and encounters with her Vicar."

"As the elderly frequently do. Who knows what are real memories and what is fantasy?"

"As does my mother, and nothing shuts her up. With Ms. Parkhurst–Frazelton's feeble mental state, I'm uncertain her wishes are being met with her donations. Do you have any correspondence on the nature of her contributions?"

Once again, I dug out a file. "Here are the letters from her proposing the gifts that started the 'Stanley Parkhurst-Frazelton Memorial Choristers Endowment' and the 'Barbara Parkhurst-Frazelton Young Women's Scholarship Endowment.' I can collate a definitive list of recipients of the Choir Awards if you wish from our data files, and the second is being given to Ms. Agnes Sterns this year. The Financial Records of these two funds are before you."

"Do you have documentation that gives her family's endorsement of her actions?"

"She hasn't been declared incompetent at this time."

"True, but we must hold to a higher standard."

"Really? Her contributions to the Bishop may be discredited as well."

"I doubt it," he said brazenly. If the context would have been a poker table, I would have put him on a bluff, but calling it would be difficult. His face was hawkish; he was circling on his prey in lazy, wide circles. "I believe that Ms. Parkhurst-Frazelton is in Hospital at this time, unavailable for an interview, and her solicitor Mary Sterns, who just happens to be the Chair of your Vestry, is also unavailable at this time. You were to have documentation of all possible concerns before my arrival."

"Of course, give me a moment." I picked my cell phone out of my pocket, hit speed dial and said, "Now." A moment later, the door opened.

***

"And that's when I rode to your rescue," Barbara gloated as she raised up on her elbow triumphantly.

I kissed her and chucked her chin. "And that's when you rode to my rescue, in full habit and papers in hand. He was floored to see a full bird penguin, and to find out that Lucinda's designated representative was her youngest daughter who happened to be the head of a religious community. You put him straight about everything your mother gave us, everything she did, and what her motivations were. It was funny to see his jaw open and close so rapidly like that. You tamed a tiger, Barbara." I gave her a big, sloppy kiss thanks.

"Yes, indeed.," she chuckled. Barbara could still be like a schoolgirl at times; she lay on her stomach on my chest, her legs kicking back and forth and her toes wiggling in glee. She rolled over onto the bed; I glanced at her beautiful breasts: there were marks from the crucifix that were already starting to turn from deep red to purple. "You owe me big time, Alfie boy, big time. You ass is mine."

"You weren't able to stick around for the aftermath, Barbara."

***

The Archdeacon accepted a cup of tea and some biscuits after we finished in my office. chatting pleasantly enough about different people we knew, but part of him was disconnected as we sat in my sitting room. We never made eye contact. "Violette brought the baby around the office yesterday to visit Grandpa. I never understand how infants can turn perfectly sensible adults into drooling idiots, and Horace is the worst I've seen."

"Have they figured out who he looks like yet?" I said, stirring my cup of tea calmly, using my best poker face.

"Well, he's just getting out of the worm face stage. He's about six months old, and he seems to have missed getting his mother's nose. His fuzz is getting thinner, but it's red. Horace thinks he looks like him, and nobody disagrees."

Fortunately, we didn't continue the charade of forced conviviality for long. He left a dazed man, obviously tired and a bit frustrated as I saw him to the door. He whispered just before he left: "Next time I'll find something, youwillscrew up somewhere and your delicious ass will truly and literally be mine. Your sweet lovely cheeks will have to bend over and part for me someday, Freddie boy, and then I'm in, just you wait and see." He stepped into his car and was whisked downtown.

***

Barbara and I lay in each other's arms, my head resting on her chest next to her crucifix. My hand was idly toying with her nipple, and my leg was over hers. The space heater clattered a little bit from time to time, and the openings to the outside, sealed by plastic, showed that sunset was approaching. Her hand was resting on my head and occasionally she gave my brow a kiss.

"I'm glad your ass is safe for now," she said. "You've never been interested. . .?"

"No. Doctor's office visits confirm my preference for one way traffic down there."

"Mmm. Can't say I'm interested in that either." We lay there, savoring the incense burning in the corner and the candlelight. "So you're sure Archdeacon Tommy Hughes is going to be the next Bishop?"

"Well, he's the front runner. Don't know what the strength of his support is, or how his reputation will affect him once Queen Horace abdicates. Machiavellian, that man is. His shit list doesn't seem to be long, and a lot of the guys on it are on the fringe of the diocese."

"Like you?"

"Like me, although not geographically."

She stroked my hair and I stroked her breast. Another kiss on the head, and she asked: "What will you do if he gets elected Bishop??"

"I don't know. I just don't know."