“You’re always welcome, Alex, you know that, but you’ve got your own life to lead.” He put his huge hand on Alex’s shoulder.
“Thanks to you,” Alex said, and meant it. “Now, do you have those roof tiles I need?”
Father Harry pointed over to a corner of the hall where the roof still seemed to be in good shape. “Brother Thomas has them on a table over by the good light.” He led Alex over to the table that stood under a shaft of bright light. “This corner is closer to Empire Tower,” Father Harry said. “This light never goes out.”
Alex laughed, setting his bag down next to a stack of fired clay roof tiles.
“I remember,” he said. He took a sharp metal stylus and a hard pencil from his bag, then added a jar of grayish paste and a small putty knife.
“I appreciate this, Alex,” Father Harry said. “I hate having to interrupt you at work.”
“It’s really no trouble, Father,” Alex said, tracing a modified Barrier Rune on the first tile. Once he carved it into the tile with the stylus and filled the cut with the wax solution of camphor oil and coal dust, the rune would cause all the nearby tiles to repel the rain.
Father Harry drew up a chair as if he intended to watch. From experience, Alex knew that he really wanted to talk. Alex had only lived here five years, but Father Harry had been like a real dad to him. He’d never admit it, but Alex looked forward to these talks.
“Maybe you should make the cuts deeper this time,” Father Harry said. “So they last longer.”
“You know it doesn’t work that way,” Alex said, smiling at the suggestion. “Runes wear out — that’s just what they do. If you want this roof to not leak permanently, you need to hire a sorcerer … or a roofer.”
Father Harry chuckled and sighed. “Too expensive. Thank God I’ve got you.”
“You do good work here, Father,” Alex said. “I enjoy helping. After all you did for me, it’s the least I could do. How’s the mission going these days?”
Father Harry’s countenance brightened.
“We’ve got two dozen people living in the guest wing, and we feed over a hundred every night.”
“Sister Morgan still do the cooking?”
“No,” Father Harry said. “She got too old. Asked to be transferred to a convent in Arizona. We’ve got a whole crop of new Brothers and Sisters now.” He looked sad for a moment as the years seemed to weigh on him. “The work goes on, though. There are always the poor and the forgotten to be cared for.” His countenance brightened after a moment. “So, how are things with you?”
Alex sighed.
“That bad?” Father Harry said, concern on his face. When Alex just shrugged, he grabbed Alex by the chin and pulled his face around so they were eye to eye. “You listen to me, boy. You’re a good detective and a fine runewright, God will give you a break one of these days.”
“God sure is taking his time about that,” Alex said, trying not to sound resentful.
“In the sweat of thy face shall thou eat bread,” Father Harry quoted.
“Genesis, chapter three, verse nineteen,” Alex recited. Father Harry had drilled the scriptures into his head while he lived at the mission.
“You know where it’s found but you don’t know what it means,” he said. “God doesn’t just give us the things we want, he expects us to work for them. To earn them.”
Alex flashed back to the lessons he’d had in this very hall. “The Lord helps those who help themselves,” he said.
“So you were listening,” Father Harry said, and smiled. “But did you learn the lesson?”
“If I keep working, the good Lord will bless me,” Alex said.
“In his good time,” the Father said with a compassionate smile and a nod. “We all must be patient.”
Alex looked up from his work and met the old man’s eyes.
“Thanks, Father,” he said. “I’ve been so busy, I must have forgotten.” He meant every word. It was impossible to let the world get the better of you when Father Harry spoke. He carried the light of his faith around like a torch that drove back the darkness. Alex wondered why he didn’t come back to the mission more often.
“So,” Father Harry said, a sly look crossing his face. “Have you found a nice girl yet?”
“Didn’t you just give me a lesson about patience and the Lord’s good time?” Alex asked, remembering why he didn’t come back very often.
Before the Father could rally, a Sister Alex didn’t know came hurrying across the floor.
“Father Clementine,” she said. “Sister Catherine can’t get the stove lit again.”
“Sorry, Alex,” Father Harry said, rising to his feet. “Duty calls.”
Saved by the bell, Alex thought.
Alex continued casting runes until the stack of tiles dwindled to nothing. As he finished each one, a Brother in a black cassock would take it up to a walkway that ran around the upper level, fitting it into a slot Alex had cut for them years ago. As each one went into place, the nearby leaks abruptly stopped.
As he worked, a thousand things came back to Alex. The time he scuffed up the floor with a pair of dime store roller skates. Sister Gwen had stayed up all night watching as Alex polished out the marks on his hands and knees. When Father Harry caught him smoking and made him eat the whole pack of cigarettes. He hadn’t touched another until he was out on his own. It wasn’t the plaza, but there were far worse places to grow up.
Somewhere in the middle of the stack, Father Harry came back and they spent the rest of the time catching up. It was one of the more pleasant evenings Alex had spent in a long time. Eventually, the smell of potato soup began to percolate through the hall. Based on the smell, a local butcher was giving the Mission his fresh scraps to add to the pot. Every little bit helped.
By the time Alex finished casting his runes on the roof tiles, the Brothers and Sisters of the Mission were setting out the evening meal to feed the poor. Alex couldn’t see it, but he knew that a line of ragged, downtrodden people had formed in the rain outside.
“Stay and eat with us,” Father Harry said, as Alex closed up his runewright kit and pulled on his suit jacket. Alex shook his head.
“Looks like you’ve got plenty of mouths to feed without mine. Call me when the roof leaks again.”
Father Harry put his hand on Alex’s shoulder and leaned close, as if he didn’t wish to be overheard.
“Can you come back on Saturday?” he asked quietly.
Alex thought about it, then shook his head. Saturdays were busy days in the detective business and he needed to be at the office. “I can’t on Saturday, but how about next week? I’ll come by and take you to lunch.”
Father Harry looked as if he would object, but then nodded.
“That sounds good,” he said, shaking Alex’s hand. “There’s a matter I need to discuss with you. In private.”
Alex was about to ask why the Father was acting so secretive, but his hand came away from the handshake with a five spot tucked inside.
“You know I can’t accept this,” he said, holding the bill up. Father Harry put one of his massive hands over Alex’s, closing it around the bill.
“Nonsense,” he said. “You really helped us out.”
“I can’t have you robbing the poor box to pay me,” Alex said.
Father Harry didn’t loosen his grip.
“I get a stipend from the church,” he said. “I put most of it into running this place, but I keep some back for my own use.” He looked Alex right in the eye, something he’d done often when Alex was growing up. Father Harry had a way of looking right into your soul with that gaze. “Let me do this,” he said. “The laborer is worthy of his hire.”