Divine Intervention - 1. Farmer's Market Saturday

Summer 2019

Thomas felt a small hand wrap itself around his pinky finger. He continued talking with Maria and looked down to see a small boy, with a sippy cup in his mouth, looking up at him and smiling. The boy had on a soccer shirt of bright yellow. His blue eyes and curly blond hair caught Thomas’ attention as well as the fact that he was holding onto his finger.

“And who might you be?”

The boy looked at him and smiled. Thomas then noticed an older boy wearing the same color soccer shirt holding the hand of a handsome man. He guessed the boys to be about five and seven years of age. The father looked to be in his early thirties.

“Ahhh, there are two of you. Do you have names?”

The father spoke up and introduced his sons as Army and Robert. Army gave his father a quizzical look. He wasn’t happy.

One of Thomas’ hands was holding the bag of produce he had just purchased from Maria while Army was still holding the finger on his other hand. He normally would have shaken the father’s hand but he didn’t have a free one. Thomas looked him in the eyes and said his name. Thomas. Not Tom or Tommie but Thomas.

The father introduced himself as Mark. He pointed to the broccoli and said to Maria he wanted a bunch and also two squash. Maria bagged the purchase. The entire time Army was holding onto Thomas’ finger.

“Well, it was nice to meet you Robert, Army and Mark.” He was prepared to walk away but Army would not let go. His sippy cup still held in his mouth and his eyes looking up at Thomas. Not pleading but clearly directing him to stay.

Mark turned to the next vendor and Army held onto Thomas as they followed. The Farmer’s Market was not that big and he had some free time to wander on this Saturday morning. But why was Army still holding his finger?

They went to the next vendor and Mark said he needed a dozen eggs and a pound of sausage. Thomas stood patiently while the order was prepared.

Two more vendors were visited with Thomas accompanying the family of three. Mark would turn and look at him but didn’t say another word. He just accepted that Thomas was with them for their shopping. Thomas saw a vendor on the other side of the aisle he needed to visit. As he walked away, Army held onto him.

“Where are you going, Thomas?”

“I need some cheese, Mark, it will only take a minute.” Robert came over and held Thomas’ bags while he paid Charlene. Thomas was a regular and knew all of the vendors by name and sometimes spent an entire morning chatting, drinking coffee, and eating one of the cinnamon rolls that George always sold.

Mark stood in the center of the aisle while Thomas completed the transaction. The three of them walked back to Mark and Thomas asked what else was needed. Mark looked at him and his eyes welled up with tears. He choked out, “Nothing, I think we have everything we need today.” Army did not let go of Thomas’ hand who was standing in the center of the aisle.

“Come on Army.”

The sippy cup fell from Army’s mouth, tears welled in his eyes, and he said, “Please don’t call me that name. I hate it. My name is Belinda.”

Mark, in a quiet yet directive voice said, “We are not having that conversation right now. It is time to go.”

At that point, Mark started walking out of the pavilion to the parking lot. Thomas followed with the boys on either side. When they got to the big Ford truck, Mark unlocked the back doors and Robert climbed up to his child safety seat that was fastened into the back seat. Thomas went to the other side and lifted Army into his seat. He fastened the safety belt. He closed the door and was going to speak with Mark but he heard the driver’s door close and the engine roar to life. He moved away from the vehicle as it backed out of the space and then moved forward heading out of the lot. The boys waved at him but Mark never looked over.

Well, that was quite queer thought Thomas. Totally unusual. Thomas could not make sense of what had just happened. Oh well, a new adventure on a Saturday morning. He chuckled to himself thinking about what Joe would say when he got home.

Thomas turned and saw a new vendor with fresh peaches and stopped to purchase a peck before pulling the wagon uphill to where he lived. Joe loved fresh peach cobbler and Thomas was going to make one especially for his husband.

Joe and Thomas had moved to Hillsborough the prior fall. Thomas was born in South Carolina but had spent the last thirty-five years working in Philadelphia. Joe was a native of the City of Brotherly Love. They decided to take early retirement and had packed two huge rental trucks with all of their worldly possessions and headed south. They had decided on Hillsborough. The town was just outside of the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area known as the Triangle. It was a small town filled with writers and visual artists. It seemed like a great place to settle. After touring several historic homes, they found a two-story home sitting on a knoll above the Eno River. It felt perfect. It was also within walking distance of the downtown area where the farmer’s market was located.

Each Saturday morning, Thomas would get his Red Flyer wagon and walk to the market. Some days the wagon would be filled with wonderful finds and other days it barely had anything in it. Thomas always left it at one end of the market pavilion where Becky and Alice would watch it for him. Thomas loved the fact that they were lesbians and would take out anyone who messed with their friends. They were very generous especially since they didn’t carry products that Thomas and Joe normally ate. They were purveyors of all things vegetarian. Certainly, Thomas and Joe liked vegetables but Becky and Alice had taken simple things and done strange things to them. What was kombucha? What were these strange soured vegetables in jars with wild yeast? It seemed that everything they sold was somehow fermented.

On this Saturday morning, Thomas arrived home to find that Joe had prepared homemade biscuits, sausage, eggs, cheese, jams and jellies and lots of coffee. And rice. Always rice. Thomas grew up in the coastal area of South Carolina and insisted on this dietary staple. When Thomas entered the house with arms full of produce, he smelled the breakfast that Joe had cooked while he was shopping. It was one of the smells of home. It was just one of several smells that Thomas associated with home; others being beeswax furniture polish, Irish Spring soap, and 4711 which was Joe’s favorite cologne. The best smell of all was when Thomas would lean over and put his face in Joe’s hair. He didn’t think the shampoo smelled the same on him but it didn’t matter because he only wanted to smell it on Joe.

Thomas placed the produce on the kitchen counter and looked out at the cardinals in the backyard trees. Joe had thoughtfully placed Thomas’ filled coffee cup on the counter so he only had to reach down for his morning beverage. They knew each other like clockwork. Each gesture was filled with love and a knowing of what pleased the other.

They sat at the gateleg table and smiled at each other. Then their smiles shifted to the bow window boxes that were filled with flowers. Bees and butterflies were hovering over each bloom. There was an over-abundance of blooms, bees and butterflies this morning so they enjoyed the view while it lasted. Life passed so quickly. They knew before long summer would end and they would be preparing everything for fall. Ahhh, that was another smell that Thomas associated with home; the smell of the first fire of the fall. Actually, he never tired of the smell and was thankful that their old home had working fireplaces. Home and Joe. Thomas felt complete and thankful.

Thomas told Joe about the strange experience at the Farmer’s Market with Mark, Robert and Army who said his name was Belinda. He told the story with a sense of wonder about the meaning of the encounter. Thomas always believed that such encounters had an underlying significance. He knew to wait for it to be revealed. All of his years as a priest had allowed him to live into this time of transition between unknowing and knowing. In the early years of his ministry he would rankle when the reveal wasn’t immediately evident. He chuckled and thought that when he finally mastered that part of his spiritual life was when he retired. Well, there was no such thing as retirement as he was often called on to celebrate Mass on Sundays for vacationing priests. It did provide him with an opportunity to go to most of the Episcopal churches in the area. The extra income also provided some niceties like shopping at the Farmer’s Market and never balking at the prices.

Joe listened patiently. It was a virtue he had acquired from living with Thomas. He knew not to interrupt. Joe was a doer and wanted everything on the checklist marked and completed with a big check mark on the page. He would then move onto the next project. He was focused on the tasks and how to accomplish each one. He never spent time contemplating why he was doing the tasks. He took pride in the finished product. Usually, it was Thomas who had given him something to be done. His years as a master cabinet maker and carpenter had taught him to pay attention to detail and that everything had to be constructed a certain way. There was logic to what he was doing. Sometimes he would sit back in awe at the finished product.

An uneaten biscuit sat on Thomas’ plate. On most days, he scarfed them down with locally churned butter and homemade blackberry jam. Thomas was also stirring the rice on his plate. He hadn’t tasted the rice and it was a favorite. He was lost in thought and didn’t hear the question from Joe.

Fall 1988

Joe had a bemused look on his face. He had lived in this territory with Thomas since they met in their early thirties. Thomas had called Joe for a repair that was needed on the altar at the church where he was priest. Joe arrived and immediately was impressed. Everything was so beautiful and old. Thomas removed the fair linen from the altar and showed Joe the damage. Joe told him it was easy fix. Thomas was relieved because the church was beautiful and filled with items that would be hard to replace yet the parish had fallen on somewhat hard times. This was happening everywhere with inner city churches. Thomas liked to think of himself as a caregiver of the building as well as being a shepherd to the congregation. Most of the congregation had moved to the newly developed suburbs. They tried to be faithful driving into the city each Sunday but he noticed that over time fewer and fewer made the trek. Thomas blamed the Bishop for building all of these churches in the suburbs that were closer to people. He actually didn’t blame him because it was the practical, logical thing to do. Thomas was neither.

Joe promised to return the following Monday to start the job. He told Thomas it would only take three days. The timing was perfect as Thomas could hold the weekday services in the chapel. This filled a need to help the faithful congregants, who never wanted change, to rethink about heating the entire church for the 8 a.m. and noon services each day. It wasn’t practical but tradition was tradition. Tradition was often capitalized, bolded and italicized in the Episcopal Church. For many, this was their little piece of England in the United States. Thomas smiled at that thought because he fit easily into the role of being an Anglophile snob. Living in the inner city, he was thankful to have this beautiful edifice to live and worship in. The church Close and garden were his favorite places. The noises of the city would be lessened when he sat on a wooden bench and contemplated how gifted he had been in life. He considered his time at St. Anselm a gift that was yet to be fully opened. He was still untying the bow even though he had been at the parish for three years.

On Sunday morning, Thomas announced that the repair work to the altar would start the next day. He heard clucking sounds from the congregation. He hadn’t invited the head of the Altar Guild to meet with him and Joe. After the service the Junior Warden, who was in charge of the building, was in his face. Thomas had ready explanations and invited both of them to meet with Joe the next morning. Thomas knew that if he had included them in the earlier meeting with Joe the decision would be assigned to committees and taskforces and study groups and would take three years before they were ready to move forward. There was satisfaction in knowing that it would be completed in less than a week.

At seven a.m. on Monday morning, Thomas was introducing Joe to Mack and Anne. They had questions and Joe patiently explained what he was going to do. He had made drawings and written specifications for the small job. Joe liked to have the client understand the scope of the work and to sign off before he started. He was prepared. Thomas left the three of them talking while he set up for the 8 a.m. service. After the service, Thomas normally sat in prayer and meditation for an hour. It was part of his practice of his rule of life. His spiritual mentor had identified that Thomas needed time each morning for prayer and contemplation. Today, it was hard for him to sit for the hour. His brain was in overdrive wondering about the outcome of the meeting.

Finally, the hour was up and Thomas entered the sacristy to hang his vestments in their wardrobe and to put on his cassock. He always wore his simple black cassock when he was at church. He spoke to his secretary about any special needs that had presented. Heather smiled and said the phone had been quiet since she arrived. That was unusual but Thomas saw it as a gift and sign that he was needed in the church. He quietly entered the nave and sat in a pew. He expected to hear voices, rather all he heard was some humming and the sound of a hammer and chisel at work.

He didn’t know why his heart was beating so fast. Maybe it was because of his working outside of the norm in hiring Joe. Maybe it was because of Joe himself. Joe definitely had a Scottish background. He stood tall with a head of ginger hair, a barrel chest, small waist and long legs. He had a bit of a burr to his voice. Thomas had been captivated with him when they first met. He thought Joe so handsome, it was hard for Thomas to pay attention to what the man was saying. Thomas was definitely English in background. The blond hair, pallid skin, ordinary features and his affinity to speaking in a voice rich with Received Pronunciation made it clear where his proclivities lay. Thomas didn’t know that Joe almost melted when he heard him speaking.

Thomas stood from the pew, straightened his cassock and walked up the steps into the chancel. He reverenced the altar before continuing. He assumed a happy countenance given that Joe was actually working. Joe looked up and smiled. There was a twinkle in his eyes. Thomas got weak in the knees and returned the smile.

Joe had charmed Mack and Anne. They were in total agreement with the work to be done. They had insisted on signing off on the plans and specs that Joe had reviewed with them. Thomas smiled even broader. Thomas tried to engage Joe in conversation but somehow that effort was deflected in a manner that didn’t leave hurt feelings. Joe said he was on a time schedule for the job and wanted to make sure that he finished on time and that the work was his best. Thomas left to take care of parish business.

Thomas kept thinking of the carpenter. Somehow in his brain on that Monday morning he thought of Jesus being a carpenter and conflated the scenario beyond its logical bounds. It didn’t make sense but that didn’t bother Thomas. He handled each of the day’s problems with grace and aplomb. Even Heather said he seemed to be in a very good mood that day. It was late afternoon when Thomas re-entered the church. He was alone. Joe was gone. The church was filled with shadows as the afternoon sun was shining through the stained glass windows. An empty feeling filled Thomas. Joe had cleaned up his work area and the materials were stacked neatly to the side. All of the tools were gone.

Thomas sat in his altar chair and tried to picture Joe working at the altar. The rough hands, the broad shoulders, the head slightly bowed, and his haunches crouched so that he was directly facing his work. There would be a pensive look on his face as he paid attention to every detail. Thomas broke his reverie when he heard a noise from the nave. He looked up and saw Joe walking up the side aisle. A smile formed on his lips. Joe explained that he was looking for Thomas so he could review the work he had accomplished that day. Thomas nodded as Joe explained each and everything he had done. When he finished, Joe asked Thomas if he was pleased with the work thus far. Thomas said that he was more than pleased. Then Joe said good night, turned and walked out of the church.

It was a restless night for Thomas. He didn’t hit on people. He wasn’t seeking a sexual outlet but rather a partner in his life. If he was entirely honest with himself, he would admit that he was incredibly lonely and felt incomplete as a person. He had a congregation to take care of and they truly loved him but there was a void. During the interview process he made clear that he was a single gay man and was not looking for a relationship. The congregation was progressive and were somewhat relieved that Fr. Thomas was not going to be bringing men to the rectory. The treasurer did a quick calculation in his head about the reduction in cost for the benefits they were required to provide. That put a smile on his face. There was also relief among some that the single men in the congregation wouldn’t ever think that Thomas was trying to have sex with them. That worked for the first two years and then members of the congregation thought that it was time for Thomas to find someone to spend his life with. They saw that he was lonely. All of a sudden all of the gay cousins, brothers and nephews of congregants were being paraded in front of him. Thomas would chuckle when he climbed the steps to the pulpit on Sunday mornings and would see another handsome gay man in the congregation. They always looked a little uncomfortable because they knew they were on display. He was grateful but knew that when he met the man of his dreams there would be an instant recognition, a spark, a lightning bolt. He felt that when he met Joe.

There was a major problem though. Thomas didn’t know how to date or make his intentions clear. He was a novice at this love stuff. Surely Joe wasn’t gay. He was this macho looking carpenter. Yet, there was the spark.

Thomas gave a big sigh and walked through the church making sure that everything was secure for the night. He then returned to the parish house to lock everything away and turn off the lights. It was an unusual night because there were no church meetings. He yanked on the heavy oak door so it would shut properly and then put his key in the lock. He loved that the locks were original to the church and just the tumblers had been changed through the years when the doors needed to be re-keyed. He felt blessed to be part of the history of the church.

He walked through the church Close and up the steps to the rectory. The church, parish hall, and rectory encompassed an entire city block. He didn’t mind ‘living above the store,’ as it were, and was grateful that he was provided an historic three story home. It was rather grand. It fronted on a different street than the church so even though everything was connected it felt like he had some privacy. It was built of the same granite as the church and the parish hall. Solid. Long lasting. Comfortable yet slightly intimidating. Some nights he would leave the parish hall and walk around the block to his home. He would climb the imposing granite steps and enter the front door into the large foyer. The staircase was to his left in the foyer and climbed to the third floor. There was a full basement but Thomas didn’t count that as part of the house. In fact, he only went down there when there was a problem with the electrical panel. That hadn’t happened but once in the three years since he moved in. The front parlor had tall windows that let in an abundance of early evening light. Behind that was the dining room, then the butler’s pantry and finally the kitchen and food pantry across the back of the house. A library sat to the left of the dining room and was behind the foyer. It was Thomas’ favorite room. There was a fireplace that was used on a regular basis; there were built in oak bookcases, oak paneling and a William Morris style wallpaper. Sometimes Thomas would put on a smoking jacket and sit in the library. He had a collection of antique pipes and would smoke on those evenings. Thomas hated the taste of the tobacco but felt that was secondary to the mood he was setting. He knew that he was being a snob and inauthentic to his clerical self and would always decide to repent in the morning. Usually he was comforted when we settled in the library after a light dinner at the kitchen table. That night he was restless and couldn’t settle. He kept thinking about Joe.