Free Big Daddy Sinatra: Carly's Cry by Mallory Monroe

wouldn’t be a super-diverse
group, this was Maine after all, but
she didn’t expect total uniformity.   Why
in the world, she wondered, as she made her way down the aisle, did the Bishop
in all of his infinite wisdom appoint somebody like her to come to a place like
this?   It seemed like a monumental mix
match!
    The members of the vestry sat in
chairs at the very front of the church and every one of them appeared to be as
surprised by the view as she was.   Some
even looked at each other, as if to confirm that others saw what they were
seeing.   They knew a woman was coming.   Her name made that clear.   But apparently, she realized as she walked,
they had no idea the woman would be this young and, undoubtedly, this black .   But she had a job to do.   She kept
on walking.
    A gray-haired man was the only one to
smile.   He stood up, clasped his hands
together, and then hurried to greet her.   “You must be our new Headmaster,” he said.   Then he smiled nervously, stopped in his
tracks, as his face began turning beet-red.   “Head mistress ,” he corrected
himself.   And then he continued to hurry
toward her, extending his hand.   “I’m Joe
Huddleson.   The parish priest.   The priest in charge, actually, of both
church and school up until your appointment.   Welcome to Saint Catherine’s!”
    “Thank you,” she said as she removed
her attaché case from her right hand to her left, and shook his hand.   “I’m Sharon Flannigan.”
    He was all smiles as they shook, and
welcoming in tone, but she could see the reluctance even in him.   He was the man in charge of a failing
school.   She was replacing him.   She understood his reluctance.   But unlike Joe, the rest of the members, most
of whom were women, weren’t even pretending.   They seemed to be too busy experiencing the shock of it all.
    Joe continued.   “Once I introduce you to our church
leadership, and after a morning assembly where you will get to meet all of the
school staff, and after I give you the grand tour of the church and
school.”   He paused, catching his
breath.   Then added: “Such as it is.   We are, I am quite sure, a far cry from what
you are used to in a big city like Baltimore.   But after all of that, after all of the introductions and tours and the
meet and greet of staff, I will be happy to escort you to the Inn.”
    Sharon was confused.   “The Inn?”
    “The Jericho Inn, why yes.   A bed and breakfast here.   Given your . . . um .   Your . . . um .   How shall I say it?   Given your gender,
yes, your gender , we felt it would be
unwise, or it would be best for you to select where you would prefer to
live.   We did not want to be presumptuous
and select a place for you.   And the
Rectory will not do.   And now, looking at
you,” he said with a smile, “I think it was quite a stroke of genius actually.”
    “A stroke of genius?” Sharon
asked.   She never cared for
hyperbole.   “In what way?”
    Joe cleared his throat.   He was most uncomfortable and Sharon couldn’t
figure out why.   Was it because of her
sex, her race, her age?   All of the
above?   None of the above?   Then she decided it didn’t matter either way.
    “What I meant to say is that I think
you will feel right at home at the Inn.” Joe pulled out a handkerchief and
began wiping his forehead.   The man was
so nervous he was literally sweating.   With him in charge, Sharon thought, there was no wonder the school was
failing.   Was the rest of the leadership
this rubber-backed?
    He continued.   “What I meant to say is that the lady who
runs the Inn, Jenay Sinatra, is a most welcoming sort of person.   And the Inn itself is a lovely place.   You will be comfortable there.   That is what I meant to say.”
    Sharon could tell he meant to say a
whole lot more, but she wasn’t there to quiver with him or anyone else.   She had a job to do and she was going to give
it her all.   It felt like starting at