WHEN THE NIGHT OWL HAS SPOKEN

March 3, 1973

Dear Great-Grandma Griswold,

I hope that this letter finds you all right. Everyone here is just fine, although father has been battling a bit of a cold. I miss you.

I wanted to write to you to see if you could help me with a school project. I would ask you in person, but because we live about eight hours away from you, I cannot ask you in person. Please feel free to say no to my request if you would prefer to.

The Backward Pawn

“A pawn is a powerful piece if it can reach its potential.” My father said as the trail of cigarette smoke waffled around us. “Once it completes the struggle of getting to the opponent’s back row, it can become anything it wants to be. Never underestimate the potential of a pawn.”

I stare at the board and let my hand reach for a piece to push forward. My Father matches the move, plunking his piece on the board with the confidence of a general. His motion is quick, decisive, authoritative.

The Angels of Ulysses

Every night in the small town of Ulysses, when the wind knifed through the branches, or the darkness shut in like a closed coffin, that’s when you knew the angels were close by. Knew that in a few moments, the shadows would arrive at your door, be invited in, and be directed to be quick. Often, the angels moved from house to house, door to door, speaking to the living about the dead. Sometimes there were six or seven departed souls that needed attending. Even after the sickness came and the death raged, wiping out three-fourths of the living, Calvin and Miss Mary, the angels of Ulysses, kept their hands faithful to the task. Never complaining. Never muttering under their breath. Never once refusing the work God had ordained for them.

Little Red

Sister Agnes walked into the room where the children were sleeping, checking each of them one by one in the dim candlelight. Every night she wandered through the grand hall that was strewn and littered with cots, trying to ensure that the orphans were washed, had brushed their teeth, and said their prayers. For the most part, she considered it a tedious job given how many of these forgotten ones there were, but she tried to put the boredom of this nightly ritual out of her mind. She knew that she needed to focus on her work. Truth be told these children were the only thing keeping her and the other workers of the soup kitchen going. Without the little orphans here and the others before them, the Sacred Heart would have perished long ago.