CHAPTER 1

Midway in our life’s journey,
I went astray from the straight road and woke

to find myself alone in a dark wood.

                                                                                                                    
                                    Dante, Inferno Canto I

   The tinder sparked to life, igniting one of the logs and bringing the fire to a crackle. The rectory’s front light would stand vigil until 9:00 PM while the foyer remained dark in hopes that there would be no visitors tonight. John looked at himself in the full length hall mirror. He was about average height, but growing thicker around the middle. No he-man but he guessed he was in decent shape for a man of fifty-nine.

   Sometimes he wondered if he was attractive. No one had ever volunteered an opinion in his thirty five years of being a priest and he had never thought to ask for one. His appearance seemed irrelevant in his occupation. His father once told him he would be bald by age thirty five, but a few wisps of hair still clung to his scalp.

   Father John Spador eased himself into his favorite easy chair and raised the footrest. Should he have brewed a cup of tea before sitting down? It was a little more of an effort to get up and down these days. He realized that he was more likely now to think of doing something after he should have done it. Well maybe he would just sit for a while in the quiet. He could brew some tea later.

   As the fire grew brighter in the fireplace, its reflection danced on the floor, walls and ceiling, chasing away ghostly bands of light and shadow which flashed across the room with each passing car. John felt most at ease when the fire provided all his light and soothed him with its warmth. The day began to fade from his awareness and that was just as well.

   Six AM Mass, a funeral, stopping by the reception afterwards to comfort the family, a visit to the hospital, reading the Divine Office and jotting down some thoughts for Sunday’s homily all scrolled through his mind. During the day, his darker thoughts had no time to creep into his awareness. Maybe tonight he would be able to just sit peacefully with his thoughts.

   John listened to the crackling syncopation of the fire, and watched the flames dance. His muscles began to relax, he breathed easier and the band of tension in his scalp receded as he let go of the day. Dinner with three fellow priests took his mind off his concerns at least for a while. As usual, he had eaten just a little too much for dinner. The filet mignon sat like a rock in his stomach. He really should find something lighter to eat when he went out for a late dinner. But steak was his favorite. Maybe next time he would try something different. Father Mike had commented on how delicious his salmon was.

   His mind kept churning. During the day he tried to stay focused on the needs of his parishioners and his parish. He kept thoughts about himself at bay when he could. Most of the time he was successful. But once he reached this part of the day when no one else had any demands on his time, his thoughts wandered back to his life, to his decisions and to his actions and regrets.

   John had tried many ways to keep his feelings from unsettling him. Meditation on religious mysteries only increased his discomfort. Relaxation exercises, yoga, long walks and racquetball helped. But in the end, everything he tried fell short. His thoughts kept turning to what he could have done differently or should have done before his life reached this point.

   Interrupting his reverie, the chimes announced someone at the front door. Turning on the parlor light brought his brought his train of thought to an abrupt halt. In some ways the interruption was a relief. He did not like the direction his thoughts were taking him.

   He turned on the vestibule light and opened the door to a stocky, uniformed policeman and an equally stocky middle aged woman carrying a black zippered portfolio. Both were stone faced, giving nothing away. He saw neither the smiles nor deferential bows which usually greeted him. Theirs was obviously not a social call and they seemed an odd pair to be ringing his doorbell at eight thirty in the evening. A twinge of discomfort started to rise but he forced it back down.

   The officer remained stony. The woman looked down at her portfolio rather than meet his gaze. He could not read them but their reserve unsettled him. The officer finally spoke, “I’m Deputy Sid Jerome from the sheriff’s office and this is Mrs. Lempel from Social Services. Are you Father John Spador?”

No point being evasive. Maybe one of his parishioners was in some trouble and they thought he could be of service. “Yes. I am. How can I help you?”

   While the woman looked back and forth between the two men, the officer continued. “A situation has come to our attention and we think you might be of some assistance.”

John felt a little on guard, but still not sure he had anything to worry about. “What kind of situation if I may ask?”