AFTER GLADYS LEADS a confused Nate through the kitchen, I meet Helen in the living room. She’s ensconced in the recliner, Anna’s church laptop and the Rectory phone sitting on a small table so her left hand can type. She’s contentedly reading one of her romance novels, waiting for the phone to ring so she can spring into action. She is dressed in a long black skirt that I recognize from our first time meeting with the Archbishop, but today she has topped it with a loose-fitting red sweater. The effect is amazing.
“So, my darling,” I say cheerfully, “how do you like your new job?”
“We will see,” she says, placing a bookmark in her book and closing it. “But I am not sure I am temperamentally suited to coddling old ladies who call to tell you about their latest ailments.”
“Well, you know w
