Page 120 of In the Pursuit of Haven
The gray stone gothic building always reminded me of a castle with its battlement rooftop and stained-glass windows. That was due to its 1800s remodeling, of course, since I doubted they’d have this kind of architecture when Philip English had built it.
“I’m not sure what we’re looking for,” I said. “All we have is their names and a date.”
“And the cross with the time,” Jessie said. “We’ll look for a cross first.”
That wouldn’t be hard to find. Unlike the Puritans, the Anglicans… or the Episcopalians—as they were now called after the American Revolution (since they could no longer swear allegiance to the Crown)—had plenty of crosses. The trick would be figuring out which one held the clue.
Before we entered the building, I stopped to read the sign at the front. “Nathaniel Bowditch was baptized here,” I said. Our famous Salem mapmaker was making an appearance everywhere on our treasure hunt.
Jessie treated my habit of sharing random facts with a kiss on the cheek before we headed for the bright red door. We slid inside with the crowd of Sunday gatherers and entered an elegant cathedral. Graceful prelude music met my appreciative ears.
Finally, some peace!
The building was beautiful, with mahogany-paneled pews that were rumored to be the originals from 1733. Inside a secure glass case were antiques from years past, including the original key to St. Peter’s 1833 door. I prayed we wouldn’t have to find a way to get through the thick glass to get to our Relic.Please, let this be simple.
We were running out of insider help—I didn’t know anyone in the church business.
An altar under three elaborate stained-glass windows was at the front, and there were crosses everywhere—on the organ, against the pews, at the offering table, on the altar, on the flag (next to the American one, lest we think we were in the Church of England).
The Puritans definitely would’ve been enraged at the sight of all these crosses, and I wondered if some of these were taken from the original structure to be used in the remodel. Did it matter? If the Relic happened to be here, it had definitely been planted by later Shepherds—these mysterious souls could very well be watching over it now. A quick glance told me that Ruth and Jude weren’t hunkering nearby.
I turned to Jessie. “We’ve got crosses.”
More than enough.
He reached over to take my hand and we sat down in a side pew. Jessie’s eyes were watchful. It was almost ten o’clock, and I wasn’t sure what to expect.
A lady with a tall hat sat in front of us, blocking our view of the front, though I could see the big red cross on the stained-glass window over her head. There was a star behind it, the points reaching in between the cross at quarter intervals… like the one line that had been etched in the rock at Tinker’s Island.
I nudged Jessie. “Look at that cross ahead of us.”
His head snapped up, and he studied it. “What does it do at ten?”
Not much probably. The only thing that changed on a window like that was the angle of the sun. “It’s the shadow,” I said suddenly. “Where’s the shadow of that cross?”
Jessie lurched up in his seat just as the priest made his way through the aisle separating the pews. The priest held an elaborate cross, his entrance signaling the start of the meeting. I groaned, seeing that my husband had every intention of causing a scene. He was already standing.
I reached for Jessie’s jacket and pulled him down. He landed against the seat next to me with a grunt. After a deep breath, he leaned over my ear to impart a gruff whisper, “The shadow’s against the pew over there.”
“Okay, well, mark it with your eyes,” I whispered back. “That pew isn’t going anywhere.” It had been there since 1733 actually. “We’ll check it out as soon as the service is over.”
He leaned back with a sigh even as someone handed us a leaflet of what to expect during the next hour. That was thoughtful. I scanned through it, seeing there would be plenty of singing. Hiding a smile, I decided I’d enjoy witnessing Jessie try out his rusty pipes. I could use the time to reflect myself.
A procession of ministers carrying crosses walked down the aisle while everyone sang the opening hymn. Following the program on the leaflet, I found the hymn and shoved it Jessie’s way.
He didn’t bother to figure out how the song went. His eyes didn’t leave the pew where the shadow of the cross marked the wood like the X on a pirate map.
The shadow drifted away as we sat for the prayer and sermon. We knelt for confession before the presider gave absolution, and then he afterwards introduced: “The Peace.”
Everyone stood up around us. The lady with the tall hat turned with a sweet smile. “Peace be with you,” she said before extending her hand to me. I shook it. Others embraced across the aisle. Another neighbor to the side of me repeated the loving greeting, making me realize that I should be saying this too.
Jessie was oblivious. He stepped around the pew to try to sneak to that spot again and I snatched his arm. “Don’t even think about it,” I hissed through clenched teeth.
He turned to me with a grin. “Honey? You afraid I’ll cause a scene?” His teasing eyes met mine, and I was reminded all over again about how we’d been tucked together in that abandoned shack on an unexpected honeymoon getaway, and he didn’t even have to say a thing. “I have a few ideas how we can do that.”
My cheeks heated. “We’re—we’re in church!”
“Right… we’ll get absolution later.” He winked. “How about it? We can ruffle a few feathers when I dip you for a kiss? That might be enough of a distraction while I run to get the Relic.”
