6…Psalms

I am meandering with Petal after leaving all the bills on the desk for Bea to mail. All but one. This one, I have stuffed into my back pocket, envelope and all because I didn't want Bea to see it, but I'm also not yet sure how to deal with it. It is a multi-page accounting from the Rehab of the billing that Henry's insurance will not pay for. And it is staggering.

I do a mental calculation of the money coming in versus the bills going out and the math of it doesn't work. Henry supplemented his income after semi-retiring by teaching those university seminars, although I know money wasn't the reason he did it. But whatever, that's out for him now, obviously. And I don't want him to get kicked out of the Rehab for non-payment. Would they do that? And what about after his inpatient rehab when he's ready to go outpatient? How much will that be? Will I need to hire a home nurse to help?

I notice Petal is lagging and turn behind me to see she is clearly exhausted, walking slowly with her head down. Merde! I've really got to remember that she's elderly and I tend to walk far when I'm thinking.

I look around for a place for her to rest and realize we've walked all the way up to Grace Church on Broadway; no wonder she's knackered, it's well over a mile from our building. And I didn't bring water for her either, like I usually do on our longer walks.

I feel a pull at the extendable leash and look to see that Petal is collapsed with her head between her paws on a patch of grass under a tree, just inside an open cast iron gate in a little garden next to the church. The tree's blossoms are raining down on her. Cherry blossoms, I think—Grandmother's favorite flower and tree.

I follow her in, pointedly not looking at the signs posted everywhere that I'm sure would prohibit this very action. I kneel on the walkway beside her, trying to coax her up, but she's not even lifting her head. She looks at me with those sweet pleading dog eyes of hers.

"I'm so sorry, honey," I whisper to her. "My fault. I should've paid better attention." I freeze when I hear a man's voice behind me.

"Miss…" I don't turn around. I know what he's going to say next: you're not supposed to be in here.

But he doesn't. "Miss, did you drop this?"

I lift my guilty eyes from Petal's prone form to see a thin balding man with blonde hair and kind eyes dressed in nicely pressed casual khakis and a button down shirt. He's standing by the little gate, holding an envelope in his hand.

I open my mouth to say…What?…I'm sorry, maybe? I know I'm not supposed to be in here, but instead I blurt out, "I need a job!"

I don't know where that came from, except it's the only answer to our money dilemma and the thought just popped right into my head and right out of my mouth.

He walks a few feet inside the garden towards me still crouched in front of Petal. "What kind of job?" He tilts his head questioningly, interested, and the expression on his face has so much comfort in it that I answer ruefully to this nice stranger.

"All I've ever done is translate or teach foreign languages."

"Which languages?"

"Spanish, French, Japanese, Chinese and I have a piddling knowledge of some others."

"You speak all those? Writing, too?"

"Si, oui, hai, and shi." Okay, so I'm not perfect in traditional Chinese writing, but I'm not bad either and my simplified Chinese hanzi is darn good, although Professor Zhang-Lei might say otherwise. But I'm distracted from my inner dialogue because an astonished look dawns clear on the man's face.

He pauses for a beat before saying excitedly, "Stay right there for me, okay? Please!? I'll be right back!" He points at me until I nod in shocked acquiescence.

He almost leaps back through the gate and wheels left at the sidewalk, disappearing from view. I swivel on my heels and fall back on the grass next to Petal, facing the gate, dumbfounded at the course this little forbidden stop at the church garden has taken.

"He might be going to get the police to arrest us for trespassing, Petal. I bet they don't have dog treats in jail." At the key words, dog treats, she cocks one ear, then lets it languidly drop when I don't say anything else.

A minute or two later, I don't know, the thin blond man comes around the corner again, clutching the arm of a grizzled, bearded, gray-haired older man, maybe a decade or two younger than Henry, wearing a beat-up navy corduroy mariner's cap. As they stand in front of me, the blond man drops his hold on the other man's arm and elatedly looks between us.

"Captain Gray, I'd like you to meet…" his arm sweeps toward me with a flourish as I look at both of them, mutely.

Oh. That's my cue, I guess. "Ellawyn Ellis?" I say, not meaning to put a question mark on my name.

"And pray tell the captain, Miss Ellis, what kind of work you do," the blond man says with rising mirth, looking at Captain Gray, who stares at me sternly.

"Um…I translate and teach foreign languages?" Again my voice lifts up in a question.

"And remind me again which languages you're proficient in."

"Japanese, Chinese, French, and Spanish?"

They both gaze at me, the blond man with something like jubilation.

The captain says to the blond man grumpily. "She's too young."

I blurt out, "I just graduated Stanford!" Okay, so, I still need to send in that form Professor Gardner gave me, but essentially I am a graduate.

They turn back to each other, the blond man with a grin that is both sweet and smug. "Might I remind you, Captain, the subject of last week's sermon, which I noticed you attended? It was from Psalms 4:1, 'Answer me when I call, O God…Have mercy on me and hear my prayer.' Remember that?"

I have no idea what's going on, but I watch, rapt. Captain Gray, I notice, is wearing a button-down white shirt under a navy blazer that matches his cap. Complete with his topsiders, he truly looks every inch a storied sea captain. He doesn't answer.

The blonde man continues. "And do you remember what was used as an illustration of one point of that particular psalm? From the Titanic? And how the Lord wanted the captain to take the messages out of his pockets? Surely you would remember that reference since it involved a famous ocean-going vessel." He is practically glowing. "Well, I first came to speak to Miss Ellis here because an envelope fell out of her pocket."

Oh, I'd completely forgotten about that. He hands the envelope to the captain before turning to me, holding up his hand, "Forgive us, dear, but the stubborn captain has been having a crisis of conscience and faith as of late, and I need to walk him through this." He punctuates this sentence by winking.

I think I nod. He's reminding me of Bea from earlier, walking me through my own crisis, just with less sarcasm.

The captain looks at the envelope, which is addressed to Henry and then his eyes move toward Petal for a moment. "Are you any relation to Rosamunde Ellis?"

"She was my grandmother."

"Was?" he asks.

"She died around a year and a half ago," I answer, a pang shooting through me.

"I'm sorry to hear that. My wife really liked her. Good woman." He hands me the envelope with Henry's rehab bill that I'd stuffed in my back pocket. "I met her at a couple volunteer gatherings, although she was part of a different outreach then I am." He nods his head toward Petal. "She brought the dog occasionally. Thought I recognized her."

I had no idea she volunteered here, but I know she loved this church and was brought up Episcopalian.

The captain regards me pensively. "I volunteer with the Seamen's Church Institute affiliated with Grace Church, assisting seafarers from around the world when they come in port here. But my actual job is with a company called Falk Atlantic Investments."

He stops, as if weighing his thoughts. I am pinned, unblinking, by his piercing gaze. He reaches a hand into the inner breast pocket of his blazer, pulling out a business card, but he makes no move to hand it over.

The blond man breaks in, "As much as I'd love to see this through, my dear wife is waiting for me and I must leave you to it." He looks joyfully between us. "I'm sure I'll see you at tomorrow's Holy Eucharist, Captain. We'd love to have you too, Miss Ellis. The very apropos subject of the sermon will be how Grace Church ministries have been channels of God's grace!"

He smiles at each of us elatedly and turns to walk out of the garden onto the city sidewalk, heading north along the fence. I watch him go, realizing I don't know who he is.

The captain calls out to him, "The Titanic sank, you know!"

The blond man calls back over his shoulder, not breaking his stride, "But only because the captain didn't listen to the Lord's messages!"

Captain Gray shakes his head at this, a begrudging smile forming on his weather beaten face. He turns back to me. "Your dog looks done in. Let's see if we can't find you a cab that will take the both of you home."

He reaches out a hand to pull me up, then hands me his card.

I take it from him old-school Japanese style, using both of my hands, bowing deeply.

"Hajimemashite, Senchou Gure-son."

I like the way his answering smile makes his blue eyes crinkle at the corners.