Three Times a Lady

Chapter 40

Dana tossed and turned all night Saturday with Bill Krugman’s words still echoing in her ears:

Do it for me, Dana. Do it for Crawford. Do it for that little boy you want to adopt.

Hell, do it for yourself.

Dana sat up in the darkness and wiped tears from her eyes. The only problem with Krugman’s request was that she didn’t know if she could do it for herself any more. She’d focused so intently on helping other people her entire life, on putting her own selfish concerns to the side, that she’d lost sight of herself somewhere along the way. Now it felt like she didn’t even know who she was any more. Hell, wasn’t sure if she’d ever known.

At quarter to eight on Sunday morning, Dana dressed in a knee-length white skirt and a conservative, light-pink blouse before walking over to Ascension Catholic Church. She knew that she needed help making the decision in front of her, and thankfully, she knew exactly where to look for it.

Settling into a pew in the back of the church ten minutes later, she started to pray as the church began to fill up with people:

God, please help me. Tell me what I should do. I’m so lost right now.

Dana hadn’t been to Mass in years, but there were some things in life you never forgot, no matter how much time had passed.

At its heart, Catholic Mass was an assembly. Greeters met you at the door with warm smiles. Everybody had literally dressed in his or her Sunday best. Near the entrances, bowls of holy water glistened, beckoning for worshippers to dip in their fingers and make the Sign of the Cross, starting at your forehead and ending at your right shoulder. The act of genuflection before the altar had been imported from medieval Europe, where it had been customary to drop to one knee in front of a king or nobleman.

A few minutes after she’d taken her seat in back, the first strains of the opening processional filled Dana’s ears, bringing a smile to her face.

The upbeat song lifted her spirits immediately. Before she knew it, she was singing On Eagle’s Wings right along with the rest of the congregation. Several moments later, three altar boys – the lead one carrying a large crucifix affixed to the top of a long metal pole – processed down the main aisle in front of the priest.

Dana’s jaw dropped when she got her first look at the holy man bringing up the rear.

It was the old landscaper from the previous day, the same one who’d urged Dana to look for the answers she was seeking within the walls of the building he’d been working so hard to beautify out in the hot Florida sun.

Dana shook her head in bemusement. No wonder the man had been so intent upon selling her on the concept of attending church as a means to finding the answers she was looking for. He was the shepherd, and he’d led Dana right into his flock without her ever even realising it.

She had to admit, she was impressed.

When the last strains of the opening song drifted away, the landscaper/priest ascended the steps that led up to the altar and turned around to face the worshippers. Stretching out his arms in his flowing purple robes, he greeted the faithful.

‘Good morning, everyone. My name is Father Lance Middleton. Thank you so much for joining me this fine morning to give thanks and glory to the Lord our God. Each one of us are truly His children, and He loves each one of us dearly. Please don’t ever forget that.’

The rest of the Mass was easily recognizable to Dana despite her long absence from the Church. She’d minored in theology at Cleveland State, after all, so she’d spent plenty of time inside places of worship just like this one. And much like chapters in the FBI guidebook, the details of the rites had stuck to her brain like glue.

After the greeting came the penitential rite, followed by the opening prayer and the Liturgy of the Word. Then there were three readings and a psalm before the congregation stood for the reading of the gospel. As it turned out, today’s selection came from the Book of Job. Appropriate, to say the least.

Clearing his throat dramatically, Father Middleton began to read, his deep voice booming over the church’s sound system.

‘In the land of Uz there lived a man whose name was Job. This man was blameless and upright; he feared God and shunned evil…’

The story went on from there to recount Job’s trials following Satan’s challenge to God that Job worshipped Him only because he’d been blessed in life. Job endured countless horrors during the tests foisted upon him, including the loss of his family, wealth and sanity, yet he still praised God’s name.

When he’d ended the reading, Father Middleton immediately launched into his homily. The main crux of the priest’s sermon hit Dana in a very personal way.

‘Whatever burdens we bear in this life, we must always remember that there is a reason for the trials the Lord give us,’ the priest said. ‘We may lose our way from time to time, but God always knows exactly where we’re going. Follow His light and your path will always shine bright before you. That much I assure you.’

The rest of the Mass passed quickly for Dana after that as she reflected on Father Middleton’s words, just as she’d reflected on Bill Krugman’s words the previous night. Before she knew it, the final blessing and dismissal were being delivered. Never before had an hour of her life passed so quickly. To top things off, the closing song was Amazing Grace – one of Dana’s all-time favourites.

Tears filled her eyes as she sang out the words with the rest of the worshippers from the very bottom of her soul.

Ten minutes later, the church gradually emptied out, but Dana remained on her knees for a while, still praying.

This time it was a prayer of thanks.

She couldn’t explain it, but she somehow felt filled with the Holy Spirit right now. No matter how hard things had been for her in her life, she knew that there were others out there who had it far worse than she did. A renewed sense of strength flowed through her body. She was finally ready to get back to work. Finally ready to fight the good fight once more for those who weren’t strong enough to fight it for themselves.

A tiny hand on Dana’s left shoulder jerked her mind back into the present. Looking up, she saw the lead altar boy standing over her, dressed in his snow-white cassock.

‘Excuse me, ma’am,’ the boy said in a shy voice. Not much more than nine or ten years old, he had sandy brown hair and an angelic face sprinkled with freckles. ‘Father Lance asked me to invite you back to the sanctuary. He said to tell you he was very happy to see you at Mass today and that he’d like to thank you personally for coming.’

Dana smiled at the boy and resisted the urge to reach out a hand and tousle his hair. ‘Please tell Father Lance I’ll be back there in just a minute,’ she said.

When the boy nodded and had turned away, Dana closed her eyes and exhaled deeply, feeling the entire weight of the world slip from her shoulders.

Time for just one more quick prayer of thanks.