SUNDAYS

May 5, 1946

Little Ginger Grant stood in the foyer at St. Mary Michael's Cathedral. Her white patent leather shoes were highly polished, and her small lacey veil was set perfectly atop her red hair. She was standing in line, alphabetically, with the rest of her First Communion Class. Seamus Fitzpatrick stood in front of her, fidgeting and picking his nose.

Peggy O'Malley was standing a few spots behind Ginger, crying softly. Ginger turned around and asked "What's wrong, Peggy?"

"Oh Ginger, my stomach hurts. I feel sick."

Ginger got out of line and went to the nearby restroom. She got a damp paper towel and brought it back to Peggy. "Here, put this on your forehead. It will feel cool."

Sister Margaret came around the corner, shushing the children and straightening the line. She spied Ginger out of line, but quickly realized that she was helping Peggy, who had a tendency to get sick to her stomach. Sister Margaret smiled at Ginger and motioned for her to get back in line, and she took Peggy over to a bench to sit down.

Then the organ music started, and the children marched by two's up the center aisle of the cathedral. Ginger walked proudly, with her hands clasped in front of her. On the eastern side of the church, the sun was shining through the stained glass windows brilliantly. The colors were reflected off the little white suits and dresses up and down the line. The effect was beautiful. Ginger smiled and felt like she was walking in the middle of a rainbow.

August 19, 1951

13 year-old Ginger Grant came flying through the front door, her long red hair flowing behind her. She had tears in her eyes, and she was furious.

Frankie Jenkins, the boy next door, called after her. "Ginger, come back. I was just kidding. I didn't mean it."

She whipped around to the open door and yelled out, "I'm never talking to you again, Frankie Jenkins. You just . . . just . . . aaagghhhhhhh", and she slammed the door with as much strength as she could muster.

She ran up the stairs, sounding like a thundering herd, and threw herself on her bed, sobbing. A minute later, her mother came in and calmly sat at the foot of her bed. "What did Frankie do this time?" she asked, unable to keep the small smile from escaping.

Ginger sat up and glared at her mother. "He called me Howdy Doody! Howdy . . . DOODY! Just because I have red hair, doesn't mean I look like a stupid puppet – and a boy puppet at that," she huffed as she folded her arms across her chest.

"Now Ginger, you know you're a lot prettier than Howdy Doody," her mother said, soothingly. "But, you do both have a flair for dramatics."

Although Ginger was trying hard to maintain her fury, she couldn't help the small giggle that escaped. She crawled across the bed, down to her mother, and tried to squeeze her gangly frame onto her mother's lap, making them both laugh.

They looked towards the window as a sudden rainstorm drizzled across the glass. It was one of those quick-passing summer rains where the sun still shines bright.

"Look, Ginnie," said her mother, pointing towards the window. "There's a rainbow."

Ginger scooted over to the window, and sat and watched the sprinkles. The colors of the rainbow were brilliant. Then, the rain stopped just as suddenly as it started. Ginger looked out at the front of the house, and saw Frankie and the other kids riding their bikes through the puddles. After a quick kiss on her mother's cheek, she bounded down the stairs and back out the front door.

As she rode her bike through the biggest puddle, she watched the stained-glass colors of the rainbow's reflection ripple across the surface.

March 14, 1954

The Grant family was piling out of the car after church services. Francine looked up at the window on the corner of the house, and saw her daughter, Ginger, peeking through the curtain. Ginger had been complaining of severe cramps that morning and begged off mass.

Francine entered the house and walked up the stairs towards Ginger's room. Knocking on the door softly, she called, "Ginnie, how are you feeling? Do you feel like dinner?"

The door opened, and Ginger stood there, pouting. "No, Mother, I don't want dinner, thank you. Maybe, I'll be down a little later to eat something."

Now Francine was concerned. Though she was tall and thin, Ginger didn't miss many meals. As she started to walk down the stairs to fix dinner for the rest of the family, she heard a crash in Ginger's room. Running back, she saw that Ginger had fallen, knocking over her Tiffany lamp, breaking the stained glass lampshade. She was now lying on the floor, amid the broken glass, clutching her stomach.

Calling for her husband, Thomas to come help, Francine brushed the glass away from Ginger. Her son, young Tommy, was hovering in the hallway. Thomas ran in, and the two of them carried Ginger down the stairs to the car.

"Tommy," yelled Francine, "we're taking her to the hospital. Uncle David is on his way over for dinner. Please wait here for him and have him drive you to meet us."

"Okay, Mom," he answered with a worried expression. "We'll get there as soon as we can." He watched his parents pull out of the driveway rapidly, and take off down the road for the hospital.

After they left, Tommy went up to Ginger's room. He knelt on the floor and picked up the stained glass pieces. It didn't look too bad, he thought. I can fix this.

Hours later, Ginger Grant lay in the hospital bed, slowly working her eyes open. She had been taken in for an emergency appendectomy. She was groggy from the medication, and her eyes were so heavy. She could hear the soft murmur of voices nearby. As she finally worked her eyes open, she could see a rainbow of colors across her pillow. As she focused, she could see that the colors were coming from her beloved Tiffany lamp. She thought she had broken it. What was it doing here?

"I broke it." She whispered.

"Francine, she's waking up," Ginger heard her father say. Suddenly, her mother was right there, near her.

"What, Ginger? What did you say, Dear?" her mother was asking.

"I broke my lamp," she said again, with a furrowed brow. "I heard it break."

Suddenly, Tommy stepped forward. "I glued it back together, Gin," he said with a shy smile. "I brought it to you to cheer you up. I know it's your favorite."

Ever since Ginger was a small girl, the sight of light shining through stained glass has brought her a joyful sense of peace, though she couldn't explain why. She smiled at her little brother, and mouthed the words "thank you" to him.

April 3, 1966

Sunday mornings on the island were special to Ginger Grant, at least, ever since Gilligan had shown her the little mango grove near the waterfall. If you walk through the grove in the early morning sun, the rays peeked through the canopy of trees with a rainbow of colors. It reminded Ginger of stained glass windows. The other castaways usually steered clear of the area on Sunday mornings, as that was a contemplative time for her.

This particular Sunday morning, she thought that she spied a flash of red off and on throughout her walk. Was Gilligan following her? Or ahead of her?

When she arrived at the mango grove, though, a spectacular sight met her eyes. There were dozens of hanging decorations in the trees. Someone had taken little pieces of colored sea glass and wrapped them with wires, dangling them from the branches. The effect was stunning and brought tears to her eyes. It was like walking through a kaleidoscope.

She spied the red again, up ahead, and laughed. "I see you, Gilligan. Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Gilligan stuck his head around a tree, with a huge grin. "Happy Birthday, Ginger," he called out, giggling.

"How did you know? I didn't tell anyone." She exclaimed.

"Remember when I was helping you and MaryAnn clean your hut a few months ago?" he asked. Well, your driver's license fell out of your little purse and I saw the date. I marked it down so I wouldn't forget," he said proudly.

"But how did you know that I loved stained glass?" she asked, winking and flirting with him, sliding her hands up his chest.

"That was a lucky guess," he said with a grin. "I've been collecting it for a while now and wanted to make something pretty. I know how you like the way the sun shines through the trees and flowers, so I figured you'd like this, too."

"This is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me. Thank you, Gilligan," and she topped it off with a kiss on the tip of his nose.

In an uncharacteristic move, Gilligan refrained from his usual ducking away. He accepted the kiss with a smile and a blush, then took off through the jungle, in his typical rapid fashion.