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I had to support my husband’s ministry. Somehow.
I wasn’t quite sure what that would look like yet. Supporting his faith while retaining my own would be a balancing act. Maybe the parishioners would never accept me. It was entirely possible that everyone seated behind me right now was staring daggers at the back of my head, cursing me with the máti, or the evil eye (which was witchcraft, by the way—not that they wanted to be told that) but at least the family was here with me. And Raynie was a matriarch in the church.
I’d read a lot of Gus’s books. I didn’tdisbelieve anything about his faith. Except maybe the thing about communion being the literal body and blood of Christ. I believed in a sort of God. But “god” was too small of a word for such a vast concept. It was like trying to fence in the universe.
I was raised going to various protestant churches, never liking anything they had to offer. Granny had been a Christian as much as she was a folk witch. Nothing was spiritually incompatible in the religions in my world. It was the cultural differences I didn’t want to appropriate.
I was from a tiny mountain town where churches were in rundown strip malls with grape juice communion and neon signs out front. I loved participating in his Greek Orthodox customs in his gilt and marble church, but I would never truly belong here.
My jaw was slack, watching Gus become Father Constantinos. A different man. Not even a man. A vessel.
Gus moved differently in his vestments. All the layers. The length of the robes restricted him from doing anything quickly. The way he offered blessings, the way he turned, or walked, or moved evena single muscle was slow and studied. Some of the things he’d told me about were clicking into place.
It was designed to happen this way. Every cell in his body was in a state of prayer and worship.
Raynie sat next to me, offering nuggets of knowledge throughout the service. “This is theCheruviko, the hymn is beautiful, but here, read the prayer.“ She pointed to the book in my hands. Under the slow, almost mournful hymn sung by the choir, Gus intoned a low prayer, asking the Holy Spirit to bless the Eucharist. As far-fetched as it was, it was beautiful.
Beautiful to watch my husband living this life he was born to live, and beautiful to watch all these people here this morning, practicing their own craft together.
Wasn’t that what we all were… witches? Coming together to worship a deity with rituals.
When communion began, both Gus and Father Vasili served, but almost everyone had vied for a spot in Gus’s line.
He didn’t even look nervous. He only glanced at me once, and it was more to tell me to step aside to let his family pass by me in the pew on their way up.
Waylon, Bethany, Jim, and I stayed back while I held my soon-to-be, unofficial Goddaughter, Athena.
Gus said the same thing when each person stepped close to the chalice. Raynie was the first to receive Holy Communion from her son.
“The servant of god, Ourania…”
Then Soula, then George.
“The servant of God, Athanasia. The servant of God, Georgios…”
After he spooned the communion into their mouths, he continued the prayer as they blotted their lips with the red cloth and stepped carefully, crossing themselves again.
“…partakes of the Precious and All-Holy Body and Blood of our Lord and God and Savior Jesus Christ, unto the forgiveness of sins and unto life everlasting,”Gus’s voice would occasionally cut through my thoughts as he repeated the blessing for each person.
My eyes grew hot. I pressed my fingers against my sinuses, trying not to be so emotional. People were watching me. Wondering about time as they passed. The non-Orthodox woman who’d stolen the prize of their parish.
I won’t take him away from you. I promise!
We were relieved he was assigned to his home parish. Father V had worked it out for Gus to remain local, taking over as head presbyter after Vasili retired next year, but technically, the bishop could have been a dick, and Gus could have been sent to serve in Alaska, or worse, Florida—and having done it, I’d prefer not to spend the rest of my career exhuming remains from the alligator-infested Everglades.
An elderly woman, still walking in heels with her smart black suit and perfectly brushed silver hair, was up next in line.
“O doulos tou Theou, Ioanna,”Gus said in Greek.
Athena was drooling onto her dress as she gnawed on my knuckle. I asked Waylon for a burp cloth and three seconds later, when I looked up again, something had happened.
People were looking around. All noise ceased, except for the choir chanting the communion hymn.
“Ah,oxi. Signomi, I’m so sorry, Father.“ The woman crossed herself again as someone took her by the shoulders and led her into the pew opposite me.
The dark-haired altar boy to Gus’s right dropped the cloth he’d been holding under the chalice and stepped back. Clearly, the teenage boy had made some kind of blunder, because his face was white as a ghost.
The communion line stopped moving. It was like the entire world had stopped.
