Page 46 of Theo of Golden

Ellen stood silently for a moment, still defensive against the bodies that surrounded her. It took a moment and several hard blinks, but eventually a glimmer of recognition filled her gaze. Her hands relaxed.

“Hello, Miz Ocie.”

Mrs. Van Blarcum was a matriarch of St. James, a venerated and lifelong member whose family name was empaneled in the grand window that covered most of the sanctuary’s west wall. She knew well and lived devotedly the ethic of the eponymous James: “Faith without works is dead.” She was not merely capable of saintliness. She was saintly. Some would have argued she was a saint.

While she fit in comfortably in the highbrow world of St. James, Ocie Van Blarcum was no stranger to the soup lines and homeless shelters in Golden. She and Ellen had seen each other often at such places.

She understood the difference between “troubled mind” and “troublemaker,” and she recognized in Ellen all the signs of the former — a wounded soul, a lost sheep, a “least of these, my brethren.”

The sound of sirens had grown in strength until they were just outside the building. Clearly, more than one police vehicle had responded to the disturbance. Mrs. Van Blarcum instructed several of the ushers and vestry members, in a tone of voice that would not be defied, to tell the policemen to leave. Her eyes blazed with an authoritative “right nowness.”

“Ellen, come this way, darling. My family is right here. On that row. We have room for you.”

Ellen shook her head, “No, ma’am. I’m looking for Mr. Theo.”

At that moment, he smiled and stepped forward into the small space that belonged to Ellen and Mrs. Van Blarcum.

“And Mr. Theo has been looking for you,” he said cheerfully. “Good morning, Ellen.”

Theo and Mrs. Van Blarcum knew each other only vaguely. They had met on a previous Sunday and had crossed paths occasionally since then. Standing there together with Ellen, they were the embodiment of goodness and mercy. And for the moment, the room belonged not to Father Lundy but to Ocie and Theo, surrogate shepherds of the flock.

No one shaving or dressing or selecting shoes or watching television before driving to St. James earlier that morning would have guessed that a church service could be as engrossing as this one was shaping up to be.

No one could have anticipated the sight of an old man guiding a garishly attired homeless woman and her bicycle down the center aisle, eighth pew from the front, and helping her find a seat at the end of the row.

Ellen kickstanded the Noble Invention, sat and patted her blonde dress, touched her necklace, rested her hands in her lap, smiled at Theo, and then directed her attention to the pulpit.

Father Lundy began to speak. By then he had regained his composure. He knew a teachable moment when he saw one. He also knew that the congregation, if only they could see it, had just witnessed and participated in a sermon. Need he say more?

His voice was thick with emotion as he spoke. “Let us be silent and pause to reflect before we have our morning prayer.”

The organist, in a stroke of musical eloquence, played a simple rendering of “All Things Bright and Beautiful” as a never-before, widely-enlarged sense of reverence filled the room. Some still looked at Ellen. Most, “the oldest first,” had redirected their attention away from the spectacle of her strange appearance and had turned their gazes inward.

One could almost hear the sound of stones dropping to the ground.

After the morning service, it was agreed that, in the future, Theo would sit in the last row, on the outside aisle, so that when and if Ellen attended (which, in fact, she began to do regularly), her bicycle could be parked beside her. That way the Noble Invention would not impede movement up and down the center aisle when collection of the offering and celebration of Holy Communion took place. It was the practice at St. James to dispense the bread and the cup at the altar to all in the faith who were able to walk forward. After the first week, when Ellen insisted on wheeling her bike with her to the Communion rail, Theo was able to convince her that it would be safe at the pew. He and Mrs. Ocie would guard it.

He also encouraged Ellen to be on time for the service. She was never late again.

CHAPTER 27

By the time Theo made his first walk down Broadway early the next morning, the story of Sunday’s drama was already in wide circulation.

When Tony first heard about it, he recognized it as the stuff of local legend. He was more than his usual animated self when he saw Theo approaching the Verbivore.

“Good morning, Mr. Theo! I hear the management over at St. James had quite a brouhaha yesterday morning, and you were right in the middle of it. For once, I wish I’d been in the house of worship. Tell me what happened, Theo.”

Theo smiled. “Tony, my good fellow, it was a wonderful morning and I do wish you would join me there sometime.”

It was hardly the answer that Tony had wanted. Something in Theo’s expression suggested to Tony that the old man might not want to make light of anything pertaining to Ellen.

“Well, maybe I will visit sometime if you’ll promise a morning as entertaining as yesterday must have been.”

“Tony, it might actually be more shocking to all of us if you walk through the door.”

“Touché! Touché!”

Laughter followed. Then Tony’s voice and the look in his eyes turned serious. “Theo, really, tell me what happened. All I’m hearing is second and third hand.”