Chapter 3

“How’s your Mum doing, Dulcie?” Helen Billing’s voice sounded as though she was genuinely interested.

Dulcie, though, took a deep breath and hesitated, both of which Helen noted. “She ... died ... an hour or so ago.”

“Oh! I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be, Helen. It’s not as though it was unexpected, and ... she met the Lord before the end.” Dulcie hesitated again, but went on, “I admit I’d have liked a little longer. You know, to get a bit closer.”

“I suppose so. Is this the wrong time to be asking about Sharlene’s mum?”

“Oh! Ah...” pause, “no. No. I’m sorry I’ve been rather preoccupied. When would suit?”

“Sylvia’s working part-time at Costa Coffee. I’ve told her it’s unnecessary, but she’s determined to contribute to the housekeeping. I mean, it’s good that she helps with Dougie, and I’m a bit limited just now. I think this had better be the last baby. I have to admit that it’s been easier than it might have been, but I am past the age when childbearing is sensible.”

“Oh, Helen! You’re ageless. But two is a nice number, I think.”

“Thank you! We’ll get this one born, and re-think, I expect. Anyway, Sylvia’s mostly working afternoons or covering lunches. Tomorrow morning?”

“How about asking her to come to Matins tomorrow?”

“That could work.”

************************

Friday morning at St. Mary’s, with the usual handful of elderly ladies augmented by Helen Billings, Sylvia Smith and Sam Robison;

Dulcie, in her cassock, surplice and black scarf, paused by Sam. “This is getting to be a regular thing, Sam.”

He smiled. “I find that the day goes better when I start it off like this. The project can get along without me for an hour in the morning. Not every day, of course. I don’t know what I’ll do in a couple of months when I have to move to a job further away.”

“We can talk about that another time, if you like?”

He nodded. “Good idea. Yes, please.”

She moved on. “Good morning, Helen! Nearly time?”

“Oh, yes. I can’t wait!”

“Sylvia! Let’s have a chat after Matins?”

Sylvia Smith met Dulcie’s eyes soberly. “Certainly.”

“Oh, don’t worry – I don’t bite!”

A reluctant smile, and Dulcie went to her stall, smiling at her regulars. She knelt there for a few moments before standing. “Good morning everyone. Let us pray together...”

The service (called, technically, an ‘office’) proceeded. Dulcie had always favoured the 1662 ‘Book of Common Prayer’ for the daily offices, despite the archaic wording. That had been the form her Grandfather had used, and the form that Peter Hanson had used the evening she stumbled into St. Jude’s in Sheffield. As it happened, the form was also favoured by the regular attendees, most of whom were elderly. The readings for the morning were from the book of Amos, and the letter of St. Paul to Ephesians. Now the prophesies of Amos are a vigorous condemnation of the Israelites, where Ephesians is a discourse on the difference between the old and new covenants.

She would not always deliver a homily at Matins or Evening Prayer, but on that occasion...

“My friends, I am truly grateful we live under a covenant of grace, or I would not be speaking to you this morning. ‘For it is by grace we are saved, through faith – and this is not from ourselves, it is the gift of God.’ So often our pride leads us to try to earn our salvation, which we cannot do. It is a hard thing to release our control on our lives and often it is only when we find ourselves helpless and at rock-bottom, that we can finally surrender and accept the grace freely offered us in Jesus Christ...”

Matins is not a long office; even with a short homily, so by eight thirty-five, Dulcie was bidding farewell to her little congregation, other than Helen and Sylvia Smith. The latter was looking nervous.

“I would stay, but I need to get home and rest,” Helen said. “I’m sorry, Sylvia. Dulcie will look after you.”
“I know. Thank you for what you’re doing for me.” Helen smiled and left.

“Well, Sylvia, would you prefer to talk here, or come back to the Rectory with me? It would be warmer, more comfortable, and there’s a kitchen where we can make tea and coffee.”

“I think I’d like that.”

It’s about a half-mile walk to the Rectory from the church, where Dulcie found Liina in the kitchen. “Would you make coffee for Ms Smith and me, love? We’ll be in the lounge, rather than my study.”

“Of course, Dulcie. It’ll be just a few minutes.”

Dulcie led the way to the lounge. “Take your pick, Sylvia, and make yourself comfortable.”

Her guest smiled a little uneasily, and did not sit immediately. Dulcie tilted her head, smiling, but then opened her arms in an invitation for a hug. Accepting, Sylvia found that the tension which had been building in her drained away, leaving her calm and, in fact, almost limp.

Liina arrived with a tray, which she placed on the coffee table in front of the settee.

“Come on,” Dulcie encouraged her, “never let your coffee get cold. Unless you like it iced, of course.”

Neither spoke then for some minutes as they poured and sipped their coffee. At length, Sylvie put down her cup. “Do you know why Father Tom sent me to see you?”

Dulcie frowned and hesitated. “Yes and no. I think there were several associated reasons, two of them being my gender and my history.’

“I understand gender, but your history?”

“I was a teenaged drug addict who prostituted herself for money to feed my habit.” Dulcie spoke quietly and calmly, and it took several moments before her words actually registered with Sylvia, who was shocked and it showed.

“You...”

“My mother was a party animal and I was in my grandfather’s care for years. When he died, well ... I drifted into a similar lifestyle to my mother’s, and got so far down...” she stopped, took a deep breath. “I might have died, but I walked into a church one November night and the Vicar and his wife helped me. The next morning I asked the Vicar if I could join him as he said his morning prayers. Some words from the daily readings went right to my heart, I met Jesus, was delivered from my addiction, and began the path which has led me here.”

“Your mother?”

“Resurfaced a few weeks ago wanting to apologise and reconcile. She had cancer and had only a few weeks to live. We reconciled, and she found peace with God just before she died.”

“Did you forgive her?”

Dulcie opened her mouth to say ‘of course’, but stopped herself. “I did. That’s something which is possible when one is following Jesus, because God gives us the ability, the power if you like, to do things which are impossible normally. God says ‘My grace is enough for you, because my power is made perfect in your weakness’.”

“Sharlene forgave me.”

“Yes, I know.”

“But there’s still ... something ... I don’t know how to explain.”

“Father Tom said you were trying hard...”

“I am! I was!”

“But Sylvia ... grace isn’t something you can earn, no matter how hard you try. It’s a gift. When I met Jesus, it was just that I was desperate. Do you understand?”

“I have to be desperate?”

“No, love. You just have to accept what’s on offer. If you’re desperate, it’s easier to let go of your pride or whatever it is you’re holding on to. Often when people pray it’s to ask for something. God wants us to pray because we want to know Him.” Dulcie could see that Sylvia was still not ‘getting it’. She sighed, inwardly. “May I pray for you?”

“Yes, of course.” There was, in Sylvia’s tone, an element of ‘that’s why I’m here’.

Dulcie crossed the room, knelt in front of the other woman and laid a hand on her knee. She closed her eyes and began to pray, her words rhythmic, melodic, flowing – and quite incomprehensible to Sylvia, who couldn’t hear the Voice that spoke to Dulcie.

“Sister Dulcie, it’s not time yet. She’s not ready to come to me.”

Dulcie’s voice did not falter, but internally she replied, “Lord?”

“She needs to come to Me because she knows she needs Me. But I am pursuing her.”