A Fire In St. Helen's Orthodox Parish Council
A FIRE WITHIN THE ST. HELEN’S ORTHODOX PARISH COUNCIL
By
Kiki Stamatiou
Chapter One
This is a story about how human nature sometimes gets the best of us. Especially when
we as a society are so quick to unfairly judge others without fully understanding the circumstances
first. The characters in this story do just that twice. They do so when it comes to determining
what makes individuals good Christians and who isn’t a good Christian at all. The year is 1945,
sometime in the evening. The story opens with Martin Fishbourne sitting on a park bench gazing
up into the heavens as he speaks to the Lord. “Jesus, my Lord and Savior. It is I, Martin
Fishbourne, your humble servant. We know not much. But we do what we can to survive on a day
to day basis. Your chalice rings with the music of your soul, and the wines of your blood embrace
the spirit of man. Yet, somehow, with blessings incurred, I find myself at a loss for your service.
I do not know how to ease the woes of your dying body. For we as a people congregate your
vessel every Sunday to lavish ourselves in your warm embrace. Dear One, tell me how to evolve
into remorseful tongues that speak the truth in the ways of your word. I cannot facilitate myself
into becoming something I know in my heart I am not. I never have and never will. All I can do is
right by you. For you have graced the pages of time through giving direction to tattered lives. I
will come to the point, my Lord. The St. Helen’s Orthodox Church is in dire need of funds in
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order to keep going. I know not where this money will come from, but maybe a voice in the stars
will hear my cries. Your congregation is not what one would call unified. There are those who
have much, yet offer nothing. Then there are we who have little; yet, offer all we have to your
kingdom.
Martin Fishbourne extends his left arm out with his left hand open and then closes it. “Is
this the cloud that cries for your lost sheep? Or maybe it is the flower that has wilted, as a result of
being overworked. All I know, your Holiness, is this. I can no longer sit back and let the
nothingness of the weak demolish your word through their selfishness and greed. Perhaps some of
the problem is my fault. I give more and more to always compensate for what is lacking. Of
course, there are the select few who are like me.” He stands and then falls to his knees with his
arms raised in the air. “Like me, they give and give until there is nothing but holes in our pockets,
because we have to scrimp and save to keep the doors of your sanctuary open. The older we get,
the tired we become and the harder we have to work to spread out our money for your home and
for ours. I can no longer climb these rocky mountains of destitution when it comes to saving your
home. My family and I have loved you for so long. For it was you who kept me strong in my
youth of revolution. And yet, I turn to you once more. Plead with you to help your children save
our church. It’s time for you to get into the conscience of the vile and the wicked so they may not
only bow their heads in prayer during the weekly sermons and for the holidays. Heavenly Father,
it is up to you to ignite enough passion in their hearts to help relinquish the financial burdens of
the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish. For it is your house that needs to be restored. We must be
enabled to heal this holy body in that we may continue to foster and spread the word of your name
and love.”
Father Anastasios passes through the park on his way home. He walks up to Martin
Fishbourne and greets him. “Is everything alright with you tonight, Mr. Fishbourne?”
Martin Fishbourne nurses his own tears as he stands up to greet Father Anastasios..
“Father Anastasios. Good evening. I was just out taking a walk to clear my head. I was in the
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neighborhood and decided to come here.”
Father Anastasios sits down on the park bench as he responds warmly by saying,
“Nothing wrong with that, my friend. Anything I can help you with?”
Martin Fishbourne sits down next to Father Anastasios on the park bench. He pulls out a
hanky from the inside of his coat pocket and wipes his eyes and his forehead. “Father Anastasios,
I have been trying to console myself through prayer. But it seems like our life’s struggles and
struggles with the St. Helen’s Orthodox Church is nothing but exhausting. I feel like I, that is to
say we all, are fighting a battle that we just cannot win. Most of we immigrants came to the United
States of America with nothing but the shirts on our backs. We built up our lives from the very
depths of the earth only to become uprooted and withered. Our church is dying. That is to say, the
building is gradually getting away from us. We are holding onto it with our finger nails, when
considering all the repairs that need to be made. How will we ever raise the money needed to
remodel the church, let alone make our payments on time with regard to the mortgage. Believe
me, Father Anastasios, if I were the richest man in the world I’d give the money that’s needed and
we could all rest easy. But unfortunately, I am a simple man with a simple life. I live in a modest
home. It’s clean. Livable. I am a janitor and I make enough money to provide the basic needs for
myself and for my family. My wife is a seamstress. My daughter works in a canary. And my son
is a waiter in a modest restaurant. Through combining all our incomes, we earn enough money to
survive on, in addition to giving fifteen percent of our family income to the church. I cannot afford
to give any more than that. We’d love to give twenty percent of our family income, be we cannot.”
“All we can do is pray, my friend. All we can do is pray. Will you join me, Mr.
Fishbourne?”
Martin Fishbourne and Father Anastasios put their hands together and bow their heads.
They recite the Lord’s prayer in unison.
Virginia Wrigley is passing through the park and stands three feet away from the two
men. She talks to the Lord. “Dear Lord. I’m calling out to you tonight, because I’m concerned
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about my darling husband, Victor. He works hard at his law practice. Not only that, but he and I
worked hard for every penny we have. Yet we have to endure the self piety of individuals who are
supposed to be our closest friends who claim to love you more than we do. My husband and I
contribute a great deal of money to the St. Helen’s Orthodox Church. We give twenty percent of
our weekly earnings. We live modestly. We work for the church just as much as our friends. Yet,
somehow, it’s still not enough to gain genuine respect of the Dunn’s, and the Fishbournes.
Sometimes I wonder how genuine Father Anastasios and his wife, Presbytera Zoë, really are.
Agatha Dunn is the one who shows up in church with her faux furs and ritzy attire. Of course, she
and her husband, Walter, give twenty-five percent of their weekly earnings to the church. Agatha’s
side of the family owns a chain of textile mills. Walter Dunn was made president of the company
after he married Agatha Dunn. It was an agreement between Walter Dunn and Agatha’s father.
Every summer the Dunn’s’ take a trip to Europe and travel to the British Isles. From there, they
go to Spain and then to Africa. Their son William lives in Africa with his wife Gloria and their
two sons Louis and James. I married comfortable. However, I know that if I had what the Dunn’s
have I’d be the happiest woman in the world.” Virginia Wrigley walks over to the park bench
where Father Anastasios and Martin Fishbourne are sitting in prayer. “May I join you,
gentlemen?”
Father Anastasios crosses himself from right to left and then makes room for Virginia to
sit. “Would you like to join us, Mrs. Wrigley?”
“No thank you. I’m on my way home from the Dunn’s home. As you know, tonight was
the night for bake sale preparations. I’m simply passing through here on my way home to cook
dinner for my husband. May I inquire your business here tonight, Father Anastasios? Or you, Mr.
Fishbourne?”
Martin Fishbourne blows his nose on his hanky. “We are simply passing through, Mrs.
Wrigley. That’s all.”
“Gentlemen, as you were. As I said before, I must get home and tend to my husband’s
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dinner.” Mrs. Wrigley responds in a snooty way and leaves.
Martin Fishbourne gets up from the park bench. He kisses Father Anastasios’ hand as is
customary in the Greek Orthodox faith with regard to a priest or other Greek religious leader. “I
must be going now, Father Anastasios. Thank you for your time and patience.”
“Good night, Mr. Fishbourne.”
Chapter Two
Father Anastasios spends the evening together with his wife Presbytera Zoë while she is
doing some kitting and he is playing with koumbaloi, which is a strand of Greek beads used for
calming one’s nerves. “How was your day? Did you enjoy your time at the Dunn’s residence
while preparing the goods for the bake sale, Presbytera Zoë?” he asked.
“It was pleasant. We got much accomplished. Agatha Dunn suggested that we include
chicken dinners this year and serve lunch to the public in addition to Greek pastries. We are
having Greek lemon chicken with Greek style string beans and rice. Agatha also suggested we
advertise on the radio, in addition to advertising in our local papers.” Presbytera Zoë sighed.
Father Anastasios furls his eyebrows with worry. “The media will be costly.”
“That’s what I said, but Agatha says we have to spend money in order to raise enough
money for the survival of St. Helen’s Orthodox Church. It’s for the good of the church. Agatha
says we need to generate support for our church outside of our congregation in addition to getting
financial support from our own parishioners.”
“Do you ladies have enough money in your club funds to cover the costs for all your
expenses? I know that the Ladies’ Philoptohos Society has money in a special bank account. But I
hope you don’t go over your budget.” Father Anastasios advised his wife.
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“Father, leave the business of the Ladies’ Philoptohos Society up to me and the ladies.
Don’t you worry about our funds. I know we will manage. We always do. By the way, a letter
arrived for you today from your sister.” Presbytera Zoë sets her knitting down on the table and
pulled out an envelope from the pocket of her housecoat. The envelope has a black ribbon on the
front of it as is customary when there is a death of a family member or close friend or a close
acquaintance. She hands the envelope to Father Anastasios.
Father Anastasios takes the envelope from his wife’s hand and opens it quickly. He pulls
out the letter and reads it aloud. “My dearest brother. My heart is filled with great sadness this
evening. This letter is the hardest one I ever had to write. Our mother passed away tonight. She
has been sick for quite sometime. Cancer in her lungs. The doctors did all they could. The Lord
has taken her into His Grace. May she find peace where she is. May her memory be eternal. Give
my love to my dearest sister-in-law Presbytera Zoë. Love always, your sister Ana.” Father
Anastasios holds the letter with both hands and his arms stretched out on the table. He reads the
letter again in a whisper and then stares at the letter like he is frozen in time.
Presbytera Zoë walks over to her husband, stands behind him while putting her arms
around his neck and holds him. She speaks with difficulty. “A black ribbon on the outside of an
envelope is never good news. Especially when it comes from Greece. It’s always a sign of death
and mourning.” She puts her hands puts her hands on both sides of her husband’s head and kisses
it. Then she puts both hands around his face and kisses him on both cheeks, and then kisses him
tenderly on the lips. From there she puts her arms around his neck once more.
Father Anastasios gently pushes his wife’s arms away. “Presbytera Zoë, I’d like to have a
few moments alone to reflect.”
“Very well, Father. I’ll be outside in the yard picking some mint.” Presbytera Zoë says
as she heads out the door.
Father Anastasios sets the letter aside. He gets up from the table, gazes upward and talks
to the Lord. “Heavenly Father, I wish not to waste away withered thoughts. But I, instead, would
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like to engage in whispers of a stolen heart. The longer one comforts himself in forever, the more
he dwells inside illusion. My soul weeps and my heart embraces your loving hands as my spirit
turns to you for guidance and for your wisdom. For now, my mother is a song in your breath. I
graciously accept her calling to be a soldier now in your army of angels to guide and protect we
who are left here in this realm of education. A realm in which many must learn the lessons of life,
taking the bad with the good. But you must understand. I left home when I was sixteen years old.
My mother wanted a better life for me than to continue living in stricken poverty in Greece. She
sent me away. I was a skinny fellow. She and my Aunt Paraskevee piled on my clothes to make
me look husky and strong. I arrived at Ellis Island with mixed feelings. On the one hand I longed
to be back in my homeland in Greece surrounded by the love of my family. Yet, on the other hand
my heart raced the first time I ever laid eyes on the Statue of Liberty.” Father Anastasios wipes
away his tears with his hands. His voice trembles as he speaks. “Sometimes the waters to our
visions are clear goblets laced with holistic powers that guide and enlighten us. And then there are
times when darkness sets in and takes man through his journey of death. I cannot foster with
wilted hope. For when we are young the roads leading to opportunity branch out, because there is
more than one path for man to take. America filled my heart with great hopes for an opportune
wreath to be placed upon my head and allow me to be crowned with the jewels of success and
contentment. When I stepped foot on Ellis Island my heart was at peace in some way, because of
the plentiful work opportunities there were. My mother’s brother and sister-in-law were my
sponsors. I learned English through reading newspapers and by going to school to get my high
school diploma. My Aunt Vaso tutored me in the English language as best she could. However,
she and my Uncle Tassos thought it best that I be tutored in the languages of English, French and
Spanish, in addition to learning how to read and write the Greek language beyond college level. I
read books in all four languages. I studied English, French and Greek literature in addition to
studying theology. It was my father’s dream that I become a priest. It was his dying wish. I had a
deep passion for knowledge. Plus, helping people was one of my many great passions in life.” He
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sights. “Heavenly Father, you took my father from this world when I was sixteen. Years later you
took my son when he had an accident at the meatpacking plant. And now, you take my dear
mother. My burdens have been great. But now, I also have the endangered survival of the church
to contend with while my mother’s death weights down on my heart. My spirit has become
frustrated and my soul restless through my quest to find answers to resolving the issues that plague
my mind.”
Chapter Three
Victor and Virginia Wrigley are having a picnic late night supper in the park. They are
sitting on a blanket next to the park bench. Victor is taking food out of the picnic basket while
Virginia Wrigley makes some sketches on her sketch pad. She starts the conversation off with
complaints. “I don’t know why you suggested we come here, Victor. Who knows if we should be
seen by any of our friends at this hour. We could have at least eaten at a nice restaurant tonight.
You know the Dunn’s eat out at least three to four times a week while I have to slave over a hot
stove and cook meals at home. Can’t we ever go anywhere romantic, Victor?”
“Why do you trouble yourself with little things, Virginia? Isn’t it enough that we spend
time together trying to enjoy each others company? It seems like every chance you get, you bring
up your resentment toward the Dunn’s. Can’t we ever have an evening when you do not mention
those people? We need to focus on our own lives. Don’t you think? Really, Virginia. You are
making yourself sick worrying about what you lack, instead of being grateful for what you have.”
Victor Wrigley said sternly.
“Be grateful for what I have. You want me to be grateful for what I have. Just what do I
have that is worth my being grateful for, Victor? Hmm? Let’s see. My husband is a lawyer who
makes a modest weekly salary. He cannot afford to give me the luxuries I so desire all of my life
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to have. Instead of being able to hold my head high every time I attend mass at church, regardless
of the holiday or regular Sunday sermons, I have to pretend to be happy around our so called
friends. I have to be boastful through stories of fabrication in order to meet the standards of the
Anastasios’ and the Dunn’s. and what about Miss Valerie Khrushchev. Her family has nobility
within our congregation in spite of the fact that they are from a humble background. Lord knows
Merriel Fishbourne, Agatha Dunn and others of their stature within our modest community
practically kiss her feet, because they see her as royalty. Who is she that she should serve on the
parish council? What form of education does she have when it comes to political matters, let alone
when it comes to attending to church business? Sure, she makes baked goods for the Ladies’
Philoptochos Society, but like Celina Hippensteel, all she does is bitterly complain about how
there is never enough money for a single girl like herself to live on. If she’s that desperate for
money, then why doesn’t she spend her time finding a nice gentlemen to marry; thus, live off his
income? I hardly think it’s appropriate for a single woman to enter into the arena of a man’s world
when it comes to financial support. Both Valerie Khrushchev and Celina Hippensteel need not be
bitter about the way their lives turned out to be. Valerie Khrushchev went out on her own by
choice, because she found her parents’ arrangements for her marriage to be unacceptable. She
claims she found the man to be repulsive.” Virginia Wrigley said critically.
Victor Wrigley comes to the defense of the two women. “Are Valerie Khrushchev and
Celina Hippensteel the only ones who are bitter when it comes to the way their lives turned out,
Virginia? Countenance is the key to whispering through the lonely shields of a bleeding lake. If
you have rapture within your heartstrings, the music when strummed will be pitchy. More or less,
it will be a harsh, scratchy sound that makes one’s nerves jilt.”
Virginia Wrigley got defensive. “How is it you bring this rain upon my soul, Victor? Do
you honestly think I, Virginia Wrigley, am like Valerie Khrushchev and Celina Hippensteel?
Indeed not, Victor. I am a woman of taste and fortitude when it comes to the mastery of wisdom
and logic. I know the holy laws and I do follow them as much as anyone does within our
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congregation. The shrubbery to the soul is not based on collective pettiness, but on good
measure.”
“Whatever you say, my dear. Whatever you say. But remember one thing, Virginia.
There is only one judge in the kingdom of heaven. For we are not casualties of others, but victims
of our own minds. For to foster in the relics of the past does the spirit more harm than good. We
must put away sad songs into the cedar chest and let the anger simmer when it comes to a boil, so
that it may cool and be made ready to drink.” Victor Wrigley advised his wife.
“I have no need for you pasteurized words, Victor. I have only need of what’s due me
when it comes to tasting the Lord’s wines.” Virginia Wrigley said abruptly.
“And that is--” Victor interjects, but Virginia interrupts him before he can finish his
sentence.
“I’d like to bring down Agatha Dunn from that high pedestal she sits on. The good Lord
knows the flames that will burn, once this pedophile has had some sense knocked into her.”
Virginia Wrigley shouted while raising her hand in the air and shakes her fist.
“Remittance of a false heart is the ignition for fueling a bitter conversion to a
hemorrhaging valve. One cannot dress him or herself up in the holy creed alone. It’s one thing to
know the laws of the church and it is another to follow them. It’s important to analyze one’s own
heart through feeling of one’s own brew that sits within. Get to the source of one’s own bitterness
and then question what he or she can do to bring forth a positive outcome within one’s own life.”
Victor Wrigley sighed.
“What are you telling me? Do you honestly think me to be a hypocrite? How can I be
when all I’m doing is expressing the emptiness within my life? Is it wrong for a woman to
question what ails the deeds of others?” Virginia Wrigley snapped.
“I’m only saying that your selfish ways are constrained by this need to be living the life of
another.” Victor Wrigley said while trying to be humble to his wife. He then took a bite of an
apple and chewed it.
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“Presbytera Zoë Anastasios was telling me about the most dreadful things that go on at
that mental hospital she works at. But the again she would know, being that she is a registered
nurse. She told me one can find some interesting people there with peculiar circumstances. One
man who is a former solder wears his army uniform everyday. He drew an American flag on a
piece of drawing paper and hung it up on the wall of the recreation room where the patients also
have their meals. Did you know that this man would salute the flag every morning before he would
sit down to eat breakfast and every night before he would go to bed? Not only that but he sings the
Star Spangled Banner after he salutes the flag. He also salutes the American flag even after he gets
done singing the Star Spangled Banner.” Virginia Wrigley said thoughtfully.
“Hmm. There should be more like him.” Victor Wrigley responded with interest and
then took another bite of his apple.
Virginia Wrigley was appalled by her husband‘s response. “Hardly.”
“Why not?” Victor Wrigley asked.
“It’s just that he’s worn his uniform ever since his wife brought it down to him. And now,
he won’t take it off so it can be washed. It’s as if he has an emotional attachment to it or
something.”
Victor Wrigley sympathized with the man. “Poor fellow.” Victor Wrigley then takes a
plate of chicken legs and a bowl containing some purple grapes and eats them.
“There is a woman there whose infant recently passed away. The dear woman clings to
the child’s stuffed toy and cries all the time. Presbytera Zoë says it’s going to be a hard climb to
reach the woman. As for me not ever having children of my own, I wonder how I would have
handled the situation if I were in that patient’s place. It must be a dreadful feeling. I imagine I
would simply be at a loss for anything else in life, because I would have given up all hope of ever
being happy again.” Virginia Wrigley said sympathetically with regard to the woman. She then
looks at Victor Wrigley while furling her eyebrows. Then speaks silently to herself. “Look at him.
Just chomping away like he hasn’t a care in the world. In the meantime my world is falling apart.
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The fact that I am a founding mother of the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish is the only thing I have in
my life that I can take pride in. Yes. It’s true that my husband Victor is a founding father, but
what does he know about keeping up appearances with our fellow parishioners. He is a man, after
all. And all he has to worry about is his practice and leading the church community. Goodness
knows what he’s doing to save our church. The day I married him, I vowed that I would uphold
standards within our quaint family. I strive to create a world of rectitude where one can appreciate
the way the wind blows. Or how the ways of the sun can light of the earth with the brush strokes of
the good Lord’s hand. I strive to create the finest iniquities of what the world truly is through
maintaining eclectic visions of grace.” She then speaks to her husband. “Can I safely presume that
the meal is to your satisfaction, Victor?”
“I wouldn’t trade your cooking for anything else in the world, Virginia, dear. You should
partake of this scrumptious delight.” Victor Wrigley puts some chicken and grapes on a plate for
Virginia Wrigley and hands the plate of food to her.
Virginia Wrigley sets her drawing pad and pencil aside. She then takes the plate of food
from Victor Wrigley and partakes of the meal. Picks a piece of the chicken with a fork she takes
out of the picnic basket and puts the fork to her mouth and eats the piece of chicken.
Chapter Four
Walter Dunn sits behind his desk reflecting on his life as he confides his troubles to the
Lord. He gazes up toward the heavens. “Dear Lord. My palate is drying up. What with wasted
measures of my aspiring dreams coming closer to a halt. It seems like with each day that passes
my lips peel away layers of Homeric voices. My lungs have grown bold and my mind feeble,
because I know not what to do with myself. I come to you this evening with a troubled heart. My
company is in great trouble. The textile mills need to be brought up to code when it comes to the
safety of my workers. However, my hands are tied. I don’t know how to approach my father-in-
law about his matter. Although I am president of the company, he is chairman of the board.
Therefore, he has the final say on how the company is to be run. I don’t want to betray him. He is
the one who put me where I am when it comes to my social stature. But on the other hand. I want
to do right by you, Lord. I could buy my way out, but I would at the same time be doing a
disservice to my workers. If I don’t take some kind of action. I’ll have to declare bankruptcy. My
wife, Agatha, spends more money than the company is able to take in. Soon we will not be able to
give twenty-five percent of our weekly income to the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish, because our
available funds will decrease unless things change right now. I simply must put my foot down if
my wife and I are to live comfortable lives and if the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish is to survive.
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Our congregation must maintain enough money to pay off the mortgage and other bills pertaining
to the church. We also must come up with money to cover the cost of repairs needed for the
church.
Martin Fishbourne enters Walter Dunn’s office. Walter Dunn gets up from his seat,
walks around his desk to greet Martin Fishbourne and shakes hands with him. “Martin, I’m glad
you could come by tonight.”
“You sounded urgent.” Martin Fishbourne replied as he sat himself down on the seat that
was opposite Walter Dunn’s seat.
“Yes. Anyhow. A man cannot steal another man’s time cloth. But to reanimate through
one’s living law extricates pure seeds I like to call the righteous duties of man. But this is a song
that breathes into the flesh only to grow rotten when it reaches the very core of primal existence.”
Walter Dunn exclaimed.
“Walter, there is no escape from wounds brought on by the blades of a Pandora’s box.
Keepeth the light glowing so the power is embraced by the life giving spirit. For it is there one
will find sanctuary. I must confess. I call out to the angels of mercy to protect me from the
savored whip that burns with flames of greed and corruption. For this steed is at times a wild
stallion that must be broken, but never crushed. Think of it as an opportune stream that continues
to flow down the bodies of earthly beings who cannot foresee their own claims to salvation. Liveth
through the voices of yesteryear to embrace thought and deed of those who danced in their own
time. However, we must also learn new steps to follow when it comes to our generation to dance
to the music of today.” Martin Fishbourne informed Walter Dunn while stretching back in his
chair and yawning.
Walter Dunn picks up his wedding picture on his desk and examines it. He then speaks to
the picture as if it were a human being, because he forgets that Martin Fishbourne is still sitting in
his office. “It was a beautiful arrangement, Agatha, my dear. But now it’s as if I dig holes in the
earth and find nothing on the other side. We cannot keep up this rapid exchange. For when a man
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must take control of his own destiny he must follow the patterns of direction, instead of going
against them.”
Martin Fishbourne knits his eyebrows. “What’s troubling you, Walter? You seem as if
you are in another place right now.”
Walter Dunn looks up at Martin Fishbourne and sets the picture back down on his desk.
“Forgive me, Martin. I’m not myself these days. It’s just that the good Lord has placed obstacles
in my path. Hurdles that I must jump. Sometimes doing the right thing means losing all a man
holds dear in the process.”
Martin Fishbourne gives Walter Dunn some words of comfort. “There comes a time in
one’s life when he must shear the wool from his own back in order to follow in the path of
enlightenment which in turn leads to the shield of salvation. It’s not easy, but it serves to be more
practical then hiding behind dresses of fear. This is especially true when it comes to pure
conscience. As for family, our relation is what lays behind the gates of heaven.” Martin
Fishbourne offered Walter Dunn a kerchief he pulls out from his coat pocket. “Take this Walter.
Wipe you burdens away and let your fear be absorbed in the waters of tranquility.”
Walter Dunn accepted the kerchief from Martin Fishbourne’s hands. Wipes his own
forehead and the rest of his face. He then folds it back up and sets it down on his desk in front of
Martin Fishbourne. “My company is in trouble. There are set backs, because my textile mills are
not up to code where safety is concerned.”
Martin Fishbourne leans forward while pressing his hands firmly on the desk. He raises
his voice. “Not up to code for safety? Walter, I expected more from you. My God. There are
people close to us who do factory work. How could you let this go on in your company? The
logical solution is to bring everything up to code. For how long has this been going on?”
Walter Dunn expresses his other concerns. “ I must replace some of the equipment. The
machines I have are more that adequate. But the city says I must tear down the buildings and build
them up again from scratch in order to bring them up to code. When my textile mill were
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inspected five years ago they passed inspection. They met the codes and regulations back then.
But times have changed. The building inspectors say my buildings are too small and the workers
work in cramped spaces. Now days the company buildings must be more elaborate and made more
efficient. The big problem is money. Not only that, but if I close down the textile mills to rebuild
them from scratch, so many people will be out of work. I have to put my workers interests into
consideration. How will they support their families without the jobs I provide them with at my
textile mills. Not only that, but you know that my wife and I must continue giving our twenty-five
percent to the St. Helen’s Orthodox Church each week if the church is to survive. I must sell some
of the textile mills in order to not only come up with the money to build up others from scratch, but
I must give compensation to my workers to live off of until they are able to find new jobs. I also
must be able to have some kind of income for my wife and me to live off of in addition to
considering the comfortable living of my in laws. And I must be able to make more than enough
money when it comes to my contributions to our church.”
“Walter, you must have the courage to talk over these matters with all parties involved.
As for the church, we must get the rest of the congregation to contribute. Talk to your father-in-
law. He is the chairman of the board. If he’s unreasonable, then you must have the gumption to
take charge and do what’s in the company’s best interest. I truly believe the Lord will give his
hands of guidance to you when it comes to getting out of this darkened tunnel you are in. You are
an honorable man. I know you will do the right thing.” Martin Fishbourne assured Walter Dunn.
Chapter Five
Three months later the five members of the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish Council, along
with Father Anastasios are seated around a table, because they are holding a meeting in the church
basement. Father Anastasios gets up from his chair and starts off the meeting with a prayer. The
members of the parish council also get up from their chairs and all of the individuals bow their
heads. And Father Anastasios begins. “Dear Lord. Blessed are we. Please guide us in making
our most important decisions when it comes to the operation of this church. Take care of all your
flock. And through it all, strike our minds with your divine wisdom and fill our hearts with
compassion for our fellow man. May we never famish for any of these two elements. Bless this
church and take care of all your people not just here at the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish Council,
but throughout the world. In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.”
Father Anastasios and the board members cross themselves from right to left, saying in
unison, “Amen.”
Victory Wrigley, the president of the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish Council, addresses
Celina Hippensteel, who is the secretary of the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish Council. “Madam
secretary. If you will start with the minutes please.”
Celina Hippensteel opens the log and reads from it. “When we were here last time, we
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covered the issue of making repairs for the church. We need to repair the steps, the plumbing, the
wiring, the roofing and the concrete of the church. We need to raise money to add on a church
library for the church. We also need new robes made for the alter boys and for the choir. The
ladies of the church have raised eighty five dollars from the bake sale that was in the front yard of
our church three months ago. But we still need more fund raisers in order to support the church.
Fifteen of the thirty-five families have paid their dues for the church. From the dues money we
have one hundred dollars. On a whole, our parish is one thousand dollars in debt, because of the
mortgage for the church. We purchased this church for five thousand dollars four years ago. It is
because of the parishioners who have paid their dues that we are able to stay afloat. The church
bake sales are a big help, but the majority of the money has come from those who have paid their
annual dues for this church and from those who have made many generous donations.”
Victory Wrigley stands up to speak. “Thank you, Miss Celina Hippensteel. Now,
moving right along to new business. I’d like to present to you, my fellow board members of the St.
Helen’s Orthodox Parish, with estimates I’ve taken the liberty of putting together for the costs of
repairs needed regarding this church. I’ve asked around at different companies who specialize in
the areas of electrical work, concrete, wiring and plumbing, and these are the figures the
individuals gave me for both labor and materials.” Victor Wrigley takes the pieces of
documentation out of his briefcase and begins reading from the various itemized lists from the
different companies who specialize in the areas of expertise that the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish
requires. “The estimates are as follows. For the repairs regarding the concrete work, I have
estimates from three different companies. From the Laurel & Son’s Concrete, Incorporated, I have
an estimate of sixty-five dollars for labor and thirty dollars for materials. From Jenson & Hawkins
Company, I have an estimate of forty dollars for labor and thirty five dollars for materials. From
Tale Baum Construction, I have an estimate of ninety-seven dollars for labor and sixty-nine dollars
for materials. One thing to keep in mind is that they have been in business since nineteen
seventeen. Which is much longer than the other two companies I’ve mentioned. Their many years
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of experience is something to think about when making the decision as to which company to go
with. For the repairs with regard to the roofing, I have estimates from five companies. With
regard to the electrical work and the plumbing, I’ve gathered estimates from seven companies a
piece for each of those areas. I have not however taken the liberty as of yet to get estimates from
tailor shops to make robes for the parish choir or for the alter boys. I did however go to a local
print shop to print up copies of the pieces of documentation for the companies regarding roofing,
electrical work, plumbing and for the companies I’ve mentioned to you moments ago.” Victor
Wrigley distributes copies of the documentation to Father Anastios and to the other board
members.
Trustee, Martin Fishbourne rubs his chin after listening intensely to President Victor
Wrigley speak, and then gets up to voice his own opinion on the matter. “As president of this
parish, you have done some good for the church by gathering this information, Victor. However,
as trustee, I see it as my duty to point out to you this much. We are a good size community for our
parish, Yet, we still need more money. We cannot financially afford to spend money of which we
don’t have.”
Walter Dunn scratches his head and then wipes his forehead with his white handkerchief
of which he takes out of his pocket, and says, “I have to agree with Mr. Fishbourne, in that it will
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take a huge generous donation to get us out of debt. And those who do give generously to this
church are unable to give anymore than they do.“ He then folds his hands on the table.
Valerie Kruchev clears her throat and then uncrosses her legs while she gets up to speak
in an angry tone. “What about collecting money from the other twenty families who contributed
nothing at all thus far to the church. They come to church and don’t even bother to put money in
the tray. Not even for lighting the candles every Sunday morning or for Easter. Surely they can
they can afford to give at least five cents a week to the church if not a dollar a year. No one is that
poor that he or she cannot afford to contribute anything at all. These are the people who don’t
even wish to support the bake sales or any of our church functions, let alone work for the church to
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raise money for any expenses the church has. All they really need to do is to donate their time to
work for the church and make a little more effort to contribute money to the church funds. It’s not
fair to depend strictly on the fifteen families and individuals who already give generously to the
church. They can’t give more or work harder than they already do.” She then pounds her fist on
the table. “I came with my family to this country when I was five years old. We had nothing when
we came here. We worked in the fields for money. We earned every penny we had. We scrimpt
and saved money to buy food and shelter and whatever necessaties we needed to have for survival.
And God bless it, we may not have given much to the church in comparison to the rest of the
families. However, we gave all we had. And we do so till this very day.“ Valerie Kruchev knods
to Walter Dunn and then sits back down in her seat, pushing her chair closer to the table.
Walter Dunn stands up to speak. “I’d like to have some pressure put on those individuals
who don’t give not even one penny to the church. A way to do that would be to put them on the
spot in the front of the rest of the members of our congregation. As a result, they will have no
choice but to give money to the church. Even if it is two cents. At least they would be giving
money; therefore, helping the church get out of debt. We could even persuade them to volunteer
their time to work at church functions. And get more women involved with the bake sales.”
Victor Wrigley furls his eyebrows as he gets up to speak. “Your talking about obtaining
money from these individuals in particular by humiliating them. Some of these people who don’t
give money are struggling to put food on their tables and live in two room shacks. Your talking
about taking away money that puts food into their children’s bellies. Not to mention taking away
the dignity and humility of these good people.”
Martin Fishbourne raises his eyebrows and gets up to speak with a direct tone. “Victor
Wrigley, one who is always on the side of the underdog. Let me tell you something. We as a
congregation cannot have a church if we have no money to pay the bills. Where would that leave
us as a congregation? Every single one of us here, including some other individuals, founded this
church through working together as a team. That not only means by donating money out of our
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own pocket, but by practically kissing the feet of some prominent business men in this city. Three
business who donated money for purchasing this church were the same companies who gave you
estimates for the repairs needed for this here church. And now, you want to worry about how those
families who never gave any money to the church, and still don’t till this very day, will put food in
their children’s bellies and use this as an excuse for them not contributing to the house of the Lord.
I tell you one thing. You listen to me, Victor Wrigley, and you listen good. I worked too damn
hard for this church as did many good people who continue to keep this here church afloat, and by
golly, there is just no way I’m going to let all of our hard work and hard earned investment go to
hell. This church is an investment in man gaining peace within himself through listening to the
sermons and through observance of the individual saints’ days we celebrate in the form of name
days. But who do you chose to take the side of? No one other than the freeloaders who come to
church taking candles and lighting them without paying for them first. This church cannot be kept
afloat on prayer alone. It takes money. Money of which we all know those individuals have.
Money of which they can and will give. One way or another, we will get this church out of debt.
Through any means necessary. Through any means necessary.” Martin Fishbourne pounds his fist
on the table three times. He then sits back down in his seat.
Celina Hippensteel gets up from her and speaks while pressing her fingers firmly on the
table. “Another thing I’d like to point out is that these individuals who contribute nothing to the
church have the money when it comes to buying expensive clothes and diamonds, but not when it
comes to contributing even a single penny to the church funds.”
Victor Wrigley gets up from his chair to speak. “Miss Hippensteel, you base everything
on outward appearances, or rather you see what you want to see, and you believe what you want to
believe. But you must realize that there are times in one’s life when his own eyes deceive him. Do
you honestly believe that if these families are living in two room shacks that they would have the
money to purchase expensive material possessions? Ladies and gentlemen of the board, let’s be
realistic. And realistically speaking, it’s just not possible for these people to be able to afford such
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material possessions you specify, or any expensive luxuries at all for that matter when considering
the fact that these people you speak of either work in sweatshops, factories, in the fields, or in the
coal mines, or even in meat packing plants. These such professions pay very little and usually with
no compensation or benefits of any kind for if an individual is injured or unable to work for any
reason at all.” Victor Wrigley shakes his fist, he’s pounding the air, at the sametime while he
clenches his teeth. “All of you board members are nothing but a bunch of hippocrates. You, Mr.
Fishbourne, claim that the church cannot sustain itself on prayer alone, because it takes money to
pay the bills. Boy do I have something to tell you. I agree with you, Mr. Fishbourne, on one point
and one point only. It does take money to pay the bills if the church is to stay open.“ Victor
Wrigley points his right index finger down at the floor at the same time he is speaking. “If this
here church is to stay open and if we are to have a church at all, for that matter. However, I do
know for a fact that money alone. Money that an individual that or individuals gives doesn’t
necessarily make him a good Christian. But one must attend the services from start to finish. And
that means coming to church at least fifteen minutes before the church service begins, in order to
give folks time to get settled. But instead, what do some of you do and several other parishioners
do who base being a good Christian on how if an individual gives money to the church. And even
works for the church or who doesn’t do or give to the church for that matter do? You come at the
last five minutes of the sermon. Some come during the weekly announcements that Father
Anastasios reads from the weekly bulletin.” Victor Wrigley points his finger at every single one of
the board members while he is still speaking. “And that’s what Christianity is to you. And you,
and you and you and you.”
Martin Fishbourne gets up from his chair and tap his right index finger on the table while
raising his voice to Victor Wrigley. “How dare you speak to any of us that way. I can’t speak for
speak for everyone, unlike you. I can however speak for myself and my family. I and my family
come to church every time church services are in session. We receive holy communion. We do
our cross, and we pray while kneeling down on our hands and knees, humbling His Grace, our
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Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. And like me and my family, those who pay dues and contribute to
the church generously are the reason we have an Orthodox church available for attendance to begin
with. So don’t you dare make yourself and those freeloaders out to be better than the rest of us.”
Victor Wrigley smacks his right hand down once on the table and raises his voice to
Martin Fishbourne. “Just a minute. You and your family humble the Lord. However, it is to my
knowledge of the Divine liturgy that it is you, your family and all of us who should be humbled by
the Lord. Not the other way around. By stating the fact that you and your family humble the Lord
when you do your cross and kneel in prayer, you put yourself and them above His Grace, He
Almighty.” Victor Wrigley points upward to the heavens with his left index finger. “Father of all
creation, Jesus Christ.”
Martin Fishbourne speaks in a controlled, but stern voice. “Victor, I grew up on the
streets of Germany in stricken poverty. When I was going hungry, along with my family, we
prayed to the Lord before an icon of Jesus Christ that was hung upon the wall in the room where
we all slept within our two room shack. That icon was the only valuable possession we had. It
was a Christmas present to all of us from my father. He carved into a warped piece of wood he
found on the streets that someone disposed of, and he made the beautiful icon which my mother
proudly hung on the wall of the room where we all slept. The other room was used as a cooking
area and an eating area. We worked hard to put food on the table. Every single one of us in my
family. I was four years old when I began working in the fields picking vegetables to help my
family earn a few pennies in order to put food on the table. When receiving stipends for our work,
we were humbled by the Lord. And when we knelt down in prayer to thank the Lord for blessing
us not only with food at the dinner table, but when kneeling down in prayer each and every night
for blessing each and every one of us with a job in general to enable us to put food on the table, we
were humbled by the Lord. When rainwater came into our two room shack through the holes in
our roof, we did not ever complain. Instead, we thanked the Lord for a means of quenching our
thirst and cleansing our bodies of the soil and dirt that drenched our bodies with the filth of the
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manure we shoveled on the farms and spread all over the fields for fertilizer with our bare hands
and bare feet so that the vegetables would have nutrients for proper growth. And we were
humbled by the Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ for blessing us with of means of making nutrients for
nutritious food to grow. Food that we would put into our bellies. Whenever I, along with my
family went to church, we contributed at least ten percent of our weekly wages. Each and
everyone of us in my family. And we were glad to do it, because we were humbled by the Lord.
My mother volunteered once a month to make the holy bread which the Greeks call prosfero. And
she was glad to do it, because she was humbled by the Lord. When I carried the prosfero up to the
alter to present it to the priest. I was glad to do it, because I was humbled by the Lord.”
Martin Fishbourne sits down in his chair.
Victor Wrigley speaks with a calm and collected voice. “Martin, I would think that
coming from a poverty stricken background yourself that you’d be the first one to show these
impoverished individuals, who have no money available to contribute to the church nor don’t have
the luxury of time needed when it comes to working for the church, a bit of compassion and
humbly accept them into your heart.”
Martin Fishbourne gets up from his chair and speaks with his teeth clenched. “Victor
Wrigley, you think you have all the answers needed to solve all the worlds problems. You who
were born into a wealthy family.” Martin Fishbourne points his right index finger at Victor
Wrigley and waves it up and down at him. “Get this straight, Victor Wrigley. Just because you
have a law degree from Harvard University and have you own practice and are a big shot lawyer.
You are not above sin. I know all about you, Victor Wrigley. Not just about you, but I know all
about your entire family. Your father owned a speakeasy together with you and the other men in
your family. Not only one speakeasy during prohibition, but you had seven in this city.”
Victor Wrigley gets defensive and raises his voice to Martin Fishbourne. “What
does any of this have to do with the church? I fail to see how your statements have anything
to do with our issues regarding the needs of the church.”
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Martin Fishbourne leans towards Victor Wrigley, with his hands placed firmly on the
table. He speaks to Victor Wrigley with his teethed clenched. “I want you to get it through your
head that you are not the saint you make yourself out to be. How can you be when you were
involved with illegal doings with regard to bootlegging during prohibition?“
Celina Hippensteel furls her eyes at Victor Wrigley. She speaks bluntly to him. “Mr.
Fishbourne is right, Mr. Wrigley. You stand here before us judging us, the board members on
what kind of Christians we are. Not only us, but other individuals. You make the accusation in
you own sneaky way that we are not considered to be good Christians at all. Just because we don’t
attend services from the very beginning. Where I’m concerned, I work the overnight shift at the
factory where I’m employed. This is especially true with regard to Saturday nights. I don’t get
home until three-thirty in the morning from the factory. By the time I’m finished showering,
brushing my teeth and with whatever else I need to do in order to get ready for bed, it’s four-thirty
in the morning. Church services start at nine-thirty in the morning. I work sixteen hours a day.
I’m too thoroughly exhausted to get up early in the morning to go to church from the beginning of
the service. I get up ten-thirty in the morning and get ready for church. I live an hour away from
here. I do make it to church early enough to receive holy communion. When I arrive at church, I
put one dollar in the tray for the most expensive candle to light in memory of my mother, and for
all other my family members who have passed away. I then put fifty cents in the tray each time the
tray is passed around the church to collect donations. I don’t have much. But I do contribute to
the church financially and otherwise, in that I even make apple and cherry pies and Greek style
baklava for the bake sales. If I can find a means of helping out the church financially, so can these
others who do nothing for the church.” Celina Hippensteel sits down in her chair.
Walter Dunn gets up to speak. “With regard to these individuals who do not contribute.
There were some who got married and had their children baptized in this church and had the
sponsors pay their dues for them. These freeloaders attend funerals at the families’ homes of the
deceased loved ones and can’t even offer their condolences. They just go to funerals for the free
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meals. Believe me when I say I know what I’m talking about. That’s precisely what they did when
they came to my home for my mother’s funeral. They couldn’t even go up to the casket to pay
their respects to my deceased mother. They walked by the casket without even glancing at the
deceased. All they did was head straight for the table with the food,. They each picked up two big
plates from the table and piled on the food with all the trimmings. They‘re ill manners and lack of
consideration for others are unacceptable. Especially when it comes to their lack of respect for the
deceased.”
Victor Wrigley gestures with his hands while speaking in a more gentler tone. “Walter,
they probably didn’t know how to approach you. Sometimes it’s hard to find the right words to
say when it comes to offering one’s sympathy to the loved ones of the deceased. Especially, when
it comes to offering comforting words that will ease the pain of the loss.”
At this point in time, Walter Dunn is irritated. “Excuses. Excuses. Excuses. When will
you ever stop making excuses for those people, Victor. Like Valerie Kruchev and Martin
Fishbourne, I too am no stranger to poverty. When I was a boy of ten years old, I cleaned
chimneys to earn some toppins. I earned ten cents a week. I worked six days a week for fourteen
hours a day. I lived in a boys home, because I was taken away from my parents. There were six
children in my family. My father made very little working in coal mines. As did my mother while
working in textile mills. They just didn’t have the money needed to provide my siblings and me
with shelter and other basic necessities. So I lived with other young men who were in similar
situations as I. Every Sunday, I attended church. Of my funds, three cents went to my church
every week. Seven cents went for my room and board every month. And five cents went towards
my meals. The rest of my funds went towards the basic necessities I needed. The children of my
day new the value of a nickel, more so than some of the adults of today who contribute nothing
here at St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish. It’s a disgrace. Those who don’t have much give. Those
who do have much don’t give. So before you judge me or others, Victor, think first. Then speak.”
Father Anastasios pushes back on his chair with his legs and feet while he is still seated.
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He puts his hands on the table, pushes himself up, and leans on the table with his hands and leans
forward. “I’ve been sitting here quietly with patience, listening to all of you. I’ve been absorbing
every word. Instead of bickering about who gives what and who doesn’t give, we should be
coming up with ideas for fundraisers. The only solution to the problem of getting the rest of the
families to contribute money who don’t contribute at this very moment, and haven’t done so in the
past either is to have me make an announcement in church this Sunday about how desperately this
church needs funds and what will happen if we don’t come up with the necessary funds in order to
keep up with the mortgage payments and other bills of the church. I can make the announcement
this Sunday preceding the sermon. It’s a perfect time to do so. Most everyone is usually there at
that particular time.” Father Anastios looks Valerie Kruchev in the eyes. “Valerie Kruchev, you
are the parish treasure. How about you mentioning at that time what’s going on with the parish
budget. It would also be a good idea to mention how much money is going towards what for our
expenses. If we can share this information with the good people of our church community, then we
can urge everyone to give what they can. Even if they are only able to give two cents a piece.
That would still be considered a generous donation. Every little bit of money helps. We can
share with the congregation the issues regarding St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish. Tell them that if the
repairs are not made, then there is the definite possibility of we as a congregation losing St.
Helen’s Orthodox Parish to the mortgage company at the bank where we currently owe the one
thousands dollars on the mortgage. Show them the notice we have received from City Hall stating
that if repairs are not made by the specified deadline, St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish will get
condemned. If this church is just as important to those individuals who don’t usually give money,
let alone work for the church, as it is to all of us, then they will give what they can. I know this
much. They do attend services held at this parish from the time the services start until the time
they end and announcements are read. This is the best way to encourage them to attend and
support our church functions, not just through attending services alone in and of themselves.
Believe me when I say that I share each and everyone of the concerns all of you have. And I can
29.
also tell you in my honest opinion that I believe all these concerns stated by everyone here are
valid points. Even though there are disagreements. I say, let’s feel free to voice our convictions.
We all have that right to do that.”
Victor Wrigley taps the gabble on the table. “I officially declare this meeting adjourned.
And I’ll see all of you in church this Sunday.“
Chapter Six
Later that evening at the Wrigley residence, Victor Wrigley’s wife, Virginia, is sitting
in her rocking chair reading a book, while rocking back and forth. She doesn’t notice her husband
when he walks through the front door. Victor Wrigley sets his briefcase next to the sofa, walks
over to Virginia and kisses her on the cheek. She jumps, because she is startled. After putting
her hand on her chest to catch her breath, she greats him coldly. “Victor, you startled me. You
should say hello when you walk through the door. But instead, you chose to sneak up on me and
give me a heart attack. Then again, judging by what has happened this evening while you were at
the church board meeting, sneakiness in nothing new. “
Victor Wrigley furls his eyebrows while he takes of his coat and lays it on the sofa and
speaks to Virginia with a defensive tone. “What the hell are you talking about, Virginia? I only
kissed you on the cheek; thus, greeted you warmly. What’s so sneaky about that?”
Virginia Wrigley turns a page in her novel and puts a bookmark into the book. She then
gets up from the rocking chair and tosses the book on top of it, walks over to her husband and slaps
him across the face continuously with both hands. Victor Wrigley grabs a hold of Virginia’s hands
and pushes them away from his face. “What in the world has gotten into you tonight, Virginia?”
27.
31.
Virginia Wrigley walks over to the sofa and pulls out a large, brown envelope from
beneath the sofa cushions. She then presents it to Victor Wrigley. She says flatly, “This came for
you today. A man dropped it off. He looked to be in his late thirties, early forties. He wanted to
speak with you. I told him you were not in. When I asked him why he wanted to see you he gave
me this envelope and told me that its contents will explain everything.”
Victor Wrigley glances down at the large, brown envelope and then looks into
his wife’s eyes, dumbfounded. “What’s this all about?”
Virginia Wrigley shakes the large, brown envelope in his face then smacks him
with it while raising her voice. “Take it! Don’t just stand there looking at me like I’m crazy!”
Victor Wrigley takes the large, brown envelope from Virginia Wrigley’s hand, and
glances down at the envelope. He then glances up at Virginia Wrigley. He opens the envelope
and empties its contents onto the sofa. A small photo album and a large scrapbook slide out of it.
Virginia Wrigley stands there glaring at him with her arms crossed. Victor Wrigley picks up the
scrapbook and flips through it. Virginia Wrigley then picks up the photo album and slaps him in
the face with it. She then tosses the photo album back on the sofa. She says in a stern tone, “How
do you intend to explain to me why a stranger would have such a book with articles of you from
your military days? How do you intend to tell me why the young man would present me with a
photo album containing pictures of you, another woman and a small child?”
Victor Wrigley sets the scrapbook down, picks up the photo album and looks through it,
glancing at the pages of photographs. He then looks up at Virginia Wrigley and speaks somberly.
“The woman in this picture is Elizabeth Bar dot. Not only was she a talented actress in the theater,
but she and I were married ten years before I met you. The boy in the picture is my son. As you
can see, he has his mother’s eyes, but has my nose and chin. Elizabeth and I divorced when
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley was only five years old, for reasons I don’t care to discuss.”
Virginia Wrigley turns her back to Victor Wrigley with her arms crossed. She then paces
back and forth still keeping her arms crossed. Victor sits on the sofa and looks through the
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scrapbook and the photo album closely while Virginia goes into hysterics. “Victor, in all the
twenty years we were married. You never saw it fit to tell me that you had a wife before you met
me. I had no clue that you even had a child. The problem is that when I opened the envelope and
looked at its contents, Mrs. Presbitera Zoë Anastasios, along with Mrs. Agatha Dunn and Mrs.
Merriam Fishbourne were here this evening for a visit. You know that on the days you have board
meetings at the church, the ladies and I have our literary society meetings to discuss the literature
we are reading. We were talking over coffee and coffeecake. I opened the envelope. Dumped its
contents on my lap and looked through the photo album and scrapbook. The women saw in the
photos in the photo album and the scrapbook containing articles from your military days. There
was no explanation given for the two books or its contents in them. Especially no explanation as to
why you would be with another woman and her child. If you look closely, the child has your thick,
overbearing eyebrows. He looks nothing like his mother, with the exception of her smile. Zoë
Anastasios is a quiet reserved woman who says nothing against anyone. However, you know
Agatha Dunn, and especially Merriam Fishbourne. There’s no proof you were ever married to this
Elizabeth Bar dot other than your letters you wrote to her when you were away on business. You
signed them, with love from Victor, your darling husband. What were those three women to think?
And you know what will happen when they tell their husbands and the other members of the board.
We’ll be ruined. Your downfall will be my disgrace in our church community. How will I ever
face anyone else in the church ever again when you have no documented proof that you and the
woman were ever married, let alone divorced from her.”
Victor Wrigley says excitedly, “The young man that came to our home this evening.
Describe him to me.”
Virginia Wrigley responds abruptly. “What does it matter what he looked like? He had
jet black hair and olive skin. Tall. Handsome. What more can I say? He did however ask me to
tell you, GEO stopped by.”
Victor Wrigley looks up at his wife, and then proceeds to look through the photo album.
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He says solemnly, “GEO was a nickname I gave him when he was a baby. And to think. He
remembered it after all these years.”
Virginia Wrigley speaks with a snooty tone in her voice. “He left a telephone number on
the envelope, of the hotel he’s staying at. Of all times he chose to stop by, he had to pick a night
when my literary society meeting was taking place. At least had he stopped by on any other night.
A night when there were no other people around other than you or me, it wouldn’t be so bad. No
one would have been the wiser. But it’s too late now. Soon, they’ll all know, if they don’t know
already. Have you ever considered what this scandal will do to your career should word get out to
the local newspaper, let alone what it will do to your position at the church. You are president of
the St. Helen’s Orthodox Church. The other members of the parish council can and will cause
trouble for you if you cannot produce the necessary documents stating you were married to this
woman.” Virginia Wrigley breaks into tears. “When I was a girl, I envied my two sisters. Delia
and Nora were the beauties in my family. Although like them I married well. However, growing
up, I never had many gentlemen callers like they did. I thought that if I could get married to a
good man, I could be as content and productive as they are. They have their own biological
children. I, being unable to have children after you and I were married, talked with you many an
occasion with regard to adoption of a child or two so we could have a beautiful family. But you
refused me. You always refused me, giving no explanation as to why you didn’t want any
children. All you said was we are a perfect family, just you and I. What greatly concerns me is the
issue regarding our marriage. All this makes me wonder if our marriage would be considered
legal? After all, if Father Anastasios and the board members accept your letters to that Bar dot
woman as evidence of your marriage to her, then you could be accused of bigamy and I could be
labeled as an adulteress.”
Victor Wrigley informs his wife, “The boy’s mother and I were married in eighteen
ninety-six. Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley was born nine years later. That would make him forty
years old today. His mother wanted to wait until she was much more established with her acting
34.
career before she was to be with child. I told her I would support her on her decision, even though
I told her I’d be the main provider once I finished law school sometime within the next eight years
that followed. It was a good idea, because it gave me the perfect opportunity to focus on my
studies. But she did get pregnant two years later and had a miscarriage. Three years that followed
that she gave birth to a stillborn baby girl named Louisa Victoria Wrigley. She took two years off
from her acting career, and took up writing her own plays. The first one was called, My Little
Lamb. It was an autobiographical account based on her own experiences as an actress, the love of
her life, and the pain of losing two children, in addition to showing the mental and emotional
anguish she went through. Writing was a form of therapy for her. She had a gift. I encouraged her
to share it with the world. Up until the time she gave birth to Geoffrey, or as I preferred to call him
Geo, she wrote continuously, cranking out five plays a year. One hit after another. When I
divorced her, I chose to start from scratch. Elizabeth Bar dot Wrigley held onto our marriage
license, I thought it best. She also had the divorce certificate. I wanted nothing that would remind
me of our marriage or our life together.”
Virginia Wrigley sits down next to Victor Wrigley on the sofa and looks on as he looks
through the pages of the photo album. “Do you still love her, Victor?”
Victor Wrigley closes the photo album and looks into Virginia Wrigley’s sullen eyes.
He assures Virginia Wrigley, “You are my wife. Elizabeth is my ex-wife. She’s my past. Not
even a memory. I have not thought about her since the day I divorced her. The memories of her
only resurface in my mind now after having looked through the photo album and scrapbook. As
for the wedding pictures, she kept all of those. However not one of them seems to be in the photo
album. Not even in the scrapbook. My guess is that her sister, Virgilia, took them. She was
always one to hang onto things that Elizabeth no longer had any use for.”
Virginia Wrigley folds her hands and lays them on top of her lap. She hangs her
head. Victor Wrigley takes the scrapbook and tosses it on the floor. He looks towards his Virginia
Wrigley and puts his arm around her. “You need not see her as a phantom coming between us. I
35.
have no use for her.”
No matter how much Victor Wrigley reassured his wife that she is his one and only wife
and is the one he’s in love with, not Elizabeth, Virginia Wrigley expressed her concerns about his
former marriage. “How will you explain everything to the board and to Father Anastasios?”
Victor Wrigley is just about to answer his wife, when they hear a knock at
the front door. He gets up from the sofa to answer the door. He opens the door to see Walter and
Agatha Dunn, Martin and Merriam Fishbourne, Valerie Kruchev, Celina Hippensteel, along with
Father Anastios and his wife Presbytera Zoë standing before him.
Walter Dunn shouts, “Victor, I’m sure you have some idea why we are here.
“Of course. Won’t you all come in?” Victor Wrigley says flatly.
The board members and the others enter the house and proceed into the living room.
Walter Dunn continues his rude tone while he interrogates Victor Wrigley. “My wife and
Mrs. Fishbourne have brought it to our attention that you may have been practicing bigamy all
these years you have been married to Virginia. This sort of thing will not be tolerated in the
Orthodox faith. And unless you can show proof stating otherwise, we ask that you resign as
president of the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish.”
“I’m not going to do that, on the basis that I have one wife, and one wife only. And that is
Virginia. As for the previous wife, we were divorced years before I ever met Virginia. And
I fail to see why you should even make an issue of that notion now. It’s fires like this that start
when gossip is spread from one person to another until everything is blown completely out of
proportion.
Martin Fishbourne holds some old church logs of which shows to Victor Wrigley. “I hold
in my possession five of the old logs from when church services were held in my barn. Bare in
mind this was before we have the existing church now. You were married to Virginia around those
days. But one thing straight. According to the copy your marriage license found in the church
records, we found that the initials E. B. were listed where it asks if you were married before. That
36.
verifies your marriage to the woman who is pictured with you in the photographs of the photo
album my wife and Mrs. Dunn saw this evening during their meeting for the Ladies’ Literary
Society.”
Victor Wrigley gets defensive. “My documents passed legal inspection all those years
ago. I can assure you that my marriage papers are in order. I divorced my first wife years before I
ever met Virginia. My divorce papers were left with my ex-wife in France. The priest who signed
the divorce papers at the church over there also has copies of the documentation. A simple phone
call was made to him and he verified over the telephone that I was telling the truth about being
legally divorced from my first wife. Not only that, but he sent a copy to my lawyer that I have here
in the United States. So there is no need to rehash the issue of my divorce any further. I will give
no letter of resignation from the church board on the basis that there is no need. All of you need to
go home, get a good night’s sleep and take care of yourselves. There is nothing further to discuss.
Walter Dunn responds smugly. “You’ve redeemed yourself for now. But in the future, I
advise you to be more clear with regard to such matters.”
Victor Wrigley opens the door. The board members, followed by Father Anastasios and
the others exit the front door. Victor Wrigley closes the door behind them. Victor Wrigley speaks
with contempt for the other board members and the others. “The nerve of those people to believe
such a notion that you and I are not legally married. They had the documents before them; yet,
they still couldn’t see the facts that lay before their eyes. I had to point the facts out to them. I
know the laws. After all, I am a lawyer for God sake. They know I’ve been practicing law for
over thirty years. Then they wanted to accuse me of practicing bigamy.” Victor Wrigley is
startled when there is a knock at the door. “Who can that be at this hour?” He says agitatedly.
Victor Wrigley opens the door. Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley is standing before him. Victor
Wrigley speaks with a tremor in his voice. “Geo.“ Victor Wrigley and Geoffrey Lawrence
Wrigley embrace each other. Victor Wrigley weeps.
“Father.” Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley says warmly.
37.
“Won’t you come in? Let me get the door.” Victor sighs as he chokes on his tears.
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley enters the house.
“Geo. I’d like you to meet Virginia. She’s your stepmother.“ Victor speaks with a hint
of bursting joy in his voice.
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley takes Virginia by the hand, leans over and kisses her on the
cheek out of respect. “You are my second mother.”
“Welcome to our home again, Geoffrey. Won’t you sit down?” Virginian Wrigley said
warmly.
“Thank you.” Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley sits down on the sofa next to Victor Wrigley.
Virginia Wrigley removes the novel from the rocking chair and sits down while she tosses
it on the floor next to the rocking chair. She rocks back and forth in the rocking chair. “May we
offer you some coffee or tea or a refreshment of some sort, Geoffrey?”
“No. Thank you though for the beautiful gesture.” Geoffrey replied.
“Victor and I never had any children of our own. Of course, I’ve always wanted a child
or two. But, anyway. You are just as much of a blessing as would have been if I had given birth to
you myself.” Virginia confessed.
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley opens his briefcase and presents Victor Wrigley with a file
filled with documents. When Victor Wrigley opens the file he discovers a thick, small envelope.
Victor Wrigley examines everything carefully.
“You’ll find everything in order. I wanted to tell you about mother myself. Mother
passed away six months ago. She left a will. I’ve been trying to reach you. I didn’t have your
address. I did run into someone who knew you, whom I happened to run into on my flight. His
name is Victor Kruchev. He gave me your address. I decided to come to take a trip to the United
States on a hunch that you had gone back here to the city you grew up in.” Geoffrey Lawrence
Wrigley points out his mother’s will, and takes it out of the file to show his father. “If you look at
the will, you will find that your name is mentioned. Open the envelope, if you would, please.”
38.
Victor Wrigley opens the envelope and pulls out its contents. “Geo, I cannot accept this.
You are the one who should be entitled to this money.”
“I received plenty from my mother. Besides, it was mother’s dying wish that I do
whatever it takes to get the money to you. Please don’t make me disrespect her or her wishes. She
told me that some how you’d know what to do with it. You know how she always had those
instinctive feelings about her.” Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley informs his father.
Virginia Wrigley makes a suggestion as to what Victor would be able to do with the
money. “Victor, what about the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish?”
Victor responds with a hint of joy in his voice. “That’s a perfect place for this money.“
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley gets ready to leave. Victor Wrigley and Virginia Wrigley get
up and greet Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley as he leaves.
Virginia Wrigley says in a somber tone, “It was nice to meet you, Geoffrey.”
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley hugs his father and kisses his stepmother on the cheek. “It
was good to see the both of you.”
Victor Wrigley gave his son one last salutation and then sent him on his way. “Take
care of yourself, Geo. And don’t be a stranger.”
Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley exits the door. Victor Wrigley closes the door behind him.
He then stares down at the money in his hands that Geoffrey Lawrence Wrigley gave him
moments ago. “I’m going to get in touch with Father Anastasios tomorrow to tell him an
angel just saved the St. Helen’s Orthodox Parish. A fire within the St. Helen’s Orthodox
Parish Council.” Victor Wrigley says cheerfully to Virginia Wrigley.
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