Rescue

reception desk, was what looked to be a gift shop. It had bumper stickers and T-shirts, bookmarks and CDs, coffee mugs and trivets. At the distance, the only things I could make out were the shirts. They had simple legends like REJOICE and PRAISE WORSHIP, as well as more elaborate ones like DON’T GET CAUGHT DEAD WITHOUT JESUS. My favorite was a face of the crown-of-thorns Christ with DYING TO MEET YOU, intended, I guessed, as a birthday gift for that terminally ill friend who has everything.
    Urlene said, “Mr. Francis?“
    “Yes?“
    “I’m just as sorry as I can be, but the Reverend is engaged right now and simply cannot be disturbed.“
    “How about Mrs. Wyeth, then?“
    Something moved behind the woman’s eyes, but she still sounded the same. “Uh, well now, generally, when the Reverend is engaged, Sister Lutrice is engaged with him.“
    Urlene said it without the slightest hint of double meaning.
    I shrugged. “That’s too bad. It was to be a very large contribution.“
    She got the tense of my sentence. “Well now, you just sit tight for another teeny moment, and I’ll see what I can do.“

    After a second internal phone conference, it turned out that what Urlene could do was get another woman to come down and lead me upstairs. This woman, a near carbon copy of the receptionist in appearance, was a little more concise in demeanor and didn’t bother to introduce herself.
    “We’ll just go down this hallway, Mr. Francis.“
    She walked in front of me along a corridor toward a staircase. On one side of the corridor was a thick door leading into a small television studio, the arrangement of chairs and table for interviewing, the color of the leather more maize, probably as an allowance for the klieg lights that would turn anything white into a radioactive glare. On the other side of the corridor was an equally thick door, an internal window showing a four-sided table and as many radio microphones spreading in an octopus rig from a central, piped cable, a hand-printed sign saying:

    while on the air
    *speak 2 to 3 inches away from the microphone
    *do not touch or tap microphone!
    enjoy the show and have a very blessed day!

    My guide said, “Mr. Francis?“
    “Sorry.“ I caught up to her at the base of the staircase with a white carpet runner on it.
    She forgave me. “We’ll be going upstairs, now.“
    I followed her, getting the feeling that a lot of the people she guided needed the constant reassurance.
    At the top of the stairs were two office doors on the same side of a corridor shorter than the first floor, as though one of the offices had taken part of the second’s hallspace. Six people, all women around thirty, were working at desks and computer terminals in an open area. My guide knocked at one door, nodded once tersely, and opened it for me with a practiced smile, not coming in herself.
    The woman inside the office was already standing behind a blond wood desk with stacks of correspondence and a space-age telephone on it. About forty-five and trying hard to look ten years younger, she wore stage makeup and a navy blue gingham dress from the Daughter Nell collection that went well with her frosted hair and fluttery blue eyes. I had the feeling some of the makeup was coordinated with the dress, too, but I couldn’t tell you why. There was a modest wedding band on her left ring finger, only pinpoint diamonds in her earlobes. She had the smile of a small creature who fed on smaller ones.
    “Well, Brother John Francis. So nice to meet you!“
    “Mrs. Wyeth, the pleasure is all mine.“
    “Sister Lutrice, please. We’re all family here, Brother John.“
    She came from behind the desk, shapely legs but a strange way of walking, almost prancing like a majorette twirling a baton. At ten feet, I realized the dress helped to hide full breasts, and at hand-shaking distance, the face seemed drawn and tight, too many nips and tucks by the plastic surgeon’s scalpel.
    Wyeth took my hand, nails against the palm, one making a nice trail across it as she withdrew her own hand. “Urlene tells me you’re giving the Church a very large donation, and I can’t tell you how pleased the Reverend and I are to receive it.“
    Only they hadn’t, yet. “Well, as I explained to Urlene, since it is a rather large donation, I didn’t want to simply leave it in an envelope.“
    I thought there was a flicker at “rather large,“ as though Wyeth were lowering her sights a little and the candlepower of