“Murder is the very least of my concerns. Injury perhaps, for in that case I wouldn’t be able to attend the performance, but Murder! Who would wish to take the life of an honest, self-giving woman?”
Mrs. Barnes laughed and sipped her tea. Pastor Taft looked off into the distance at the gigantic Baobab tree at the head of the sweep.
“Aha! But that may be the very reason! You say you are honest and there are several people I could name who would kill you for that.”
“Oh Father Taft!” cried Mrs. Barnes playfully. “What nonsense. But I am dying to know the names of my so called murderers. Tell me! Or my curiosity will kill me before they even have the chance.”
“You laugh now but if you knew, I’m sure you would be glad if Curiosity killed you first,” went on Fr. Taft solemnly.
Mrs. Barnes stared at him. “Oh you surely don’t call those accidents...What do you mean? You know, don't you? Do you know the person who has been making an attempt on my life?"
"I told you several people, not just one. I only wish that were the case. One is easier to stop than several."
The woman paled. Her face looked silver against the orange evening sky.
" I have been hiding everything from my husband, even my closest friends. How did you know Father? How did you perceive the danger I am constantly drifting towards?"
The priest leaned back in his chair and gazed at the woman before him. He recalled the first time he had met this woman. It was on a Sunday in July. The weather had been especially hellish. His cassock stuck to him like honey and he had found it strangely difficult to breathe. It was as if someone was holding something like a banana peel up to his face. He had noticed Mrs. Barnes because of her hat. An extraordinary affair with wilting feathers and artificial clumps of gleaming grapes and oranges and bananas. She had been quietly reading a prayer book in the corner of the first pew, supposedly oblivious to the heat. Her husband was sitting next to her, puffing and coughing and scrubbing his thick red neck with a large spotted handkerchief. Fr. Taft hadn’t payed particular attention to them, partly because of the muggy weather, and then because he never had favorites among his congregation. Mrs. Barnes had approached the priest with her two daughters after the Mass and loudly praised his sermon(which Fr. Taft barely remembered) and asked him to dinner. He declined. He had to celebrate the next mass.
"Well, no matter. We were going to the Lomax's anyway," she had said. He had thought that curious. Why would you invite a priest over when you already were engaged for dinner? He never did understand women(except his own dear mother). After that, the Barnes were not apart of the congregation for five months. He heard from an unreliable source that they were away on a business trip to West Africa for the summer.
Fr. Taft had gone on a walk the day after Christmas. He chanced to meet Mrs. Barnes on the way back to the mission church and she stopped, asking him over for lunch.
"We will only be having leftovers but it would certainly please myself and my husband if you came. He hasn't had anyone to talk to except the ranch hands and livestock traders for months."
Fr. Taft had agreed to the proposition of lunch and just he was leaving to bring along his mass kit(as he did when he traversed outside of the small town), he heard Mrs. Barnes cry out. She was stooped over her purse and there, stuck in a small sapling that bordered the street was a green bowie knife.
Fr. Taft rushed to her side and helped her up. "Are you all right? You might have been killed if you hadn't dropped your purse."
Mrs. Barnes was duly shaken. "Oh, it's nothing. I expect one of those black boys at their tricks again. We never heard the last of the circus. Especially the knife thrower. They came last year to put on a show." She giggled nervously.
“Perhaps some other time, Madam, I will have the pleasure of partaking in a meal at your house. Now, I do think it would be best for you to rest and have a quiet meal with your husband.”
“Thank you, Fr. Taft. You are right. I am sorry for this...intrusion. Could you come for dinner on Sunday?”
“That suits me very well, Mrs. Barnes. Would you like me to walk you home?”
“Oh no! Don’t bother. The car is waiting on the other side of the store. Goodnight, Father. We will look forward to your coming sunday evening at 7:30.” And Mrs. Barnes walked stiffly to the waiting car.
Since then there had been many 'accidents' with Mrs. Barnes. In the confessional, someone had unhinged the kneeler so that when she knelt down, she fell upon the marble floor and severely bruised her kneecaps. When this was not meant to kill her, she was on bedrest for a week. Unfortunately, no one knew who had been to confession before Mrs. Barnes. Another time, her glass of punch had a strong odor of turpentine. And still another event she fell deathly ill of food poisoning, or so she thought. Upon an examination by the doctor, it was found that she had a few grains of arsenic in her hair. All of these things, Mrs. Barnes made light of.
Fr. Taft sighed heavily.
"What are you thinking of?" asked Mrs. Barnes.
"I am thinking of all these so called accidents."
Mrs. Barnes shuddered.
"You don't call them accidents anymore do you?" he asked.
"No. I believe they were all meant to stop me from doing something but I don’t know what," she responded sadly. "Oh, Father! I thought I was a friend to everybody!"
"You certainly tried to be," comforted Fr. Taft soothingly.
"It just shows how blind I was. What are the names of the people trying to kill me? I must know so I can change everything for better."
“I have been investigating a bit and found these people to have been capable of these doings.”
Fr. Taft leaned over his plate and dropped a wad of paper on her saucer. Mrs. Barnes picked it up and read the names to herself. She came to the last entry and began to sob.
"Oh, Father! Tell me it is not true! Please! I beg of you! They can't all be trying to...get me out of the way!"
Fr. Taft nodded slowly. "I'm sorry Mrs. Barnes."
"Oh, but it can't be! You must be wrong!"
"I have been watching all mentioned and they all seem to have some motive for killing you, whether it's money or an old grudge."
“Fr. Taft! You could be wrong! Tell me you could be wrong!”
“I could be wrong, Madam. But I have the strangest idea that I am right. Espcially since you are a very wealthy woman who appears to enjoy life.”
The maid came in at that moment and stopped, confusedly in the doorway of the summerhouse. Seeing her, Mrs. Barnes hurriedly wiped her face with a napkin and crumbled up the paper in her hand.
"Hello, Mitty," she said brightly.
"Hello, Miz Barnes. Want me to clear?"
"Why yes. You may have a cheese stick if you don't break anything."
"Oh! Thank you!" cried the girl in delight and began carefully stacking plates and silverware.
"How long have you had Mitty, Mrs. Barnes?" asked Fr. Taft absently.
"Two years Father. She's a good girl. She's ten years old."
Fr. Taft nodded slowly in thought. Mitty left the summerhouse.
"You don't think Mitty could ever-" began Mrs. Barnes.
"No. I don't think such a young girl could want to kill anything. She's just a child. I don't even believe these village boys you have been romanticizing about have been trying to hurt you."
"Do you hold a grudge against me, Father?" asked the woman quaveringly.
Fr. Taft looked at her in amazement. "Me! I would never kill one of his sheep! You are a decent woman, Mrs. Barnes. I couldn't resent you. I believe you knew that already."
"I did," sighed Mrs. Barnes. "You are a kindred spirit like a book once said."
"You mean Anne of Green Gables?" smiled the priest.
Mrs. Barnes smiled weakly. "I should really read that again. It has been since I was a little girl."
"You should. Full of goodness and beauty and life."
"I guess I won't be alive for much longer."
"Don't say that. It's not true, it hurts the Father. Live life to the fullest and pray. Pray for clarity in this matter. They may be little accidents after all."
"No. Father they were real. Accidents don't happen anymore. There is always a cause and a motive. "
"So the door will say to itself, 'Let's get in the way of Mrs. Barnes and hurt her big toe' eh?"
Mrs. Barnes laughed disagreeably. "You know what I meant and now I must oversee dinner. Thank you for coming to tea Father."
Fr. Taft stood up and brushed off the crumbs from his lap.
"I thank you for the refreshment. I will see you on Sunday."
"Oh, yes."
"May the Lord bless you and your family. In Nomine Patri, et Fili, et Spiritu Sancti. Amen."
"Amen."
