Anticipation

The Abbe Eiberle always has a good sermon on Sundays –so full of fire and castigation that yesterday, my slippers shook most wildly against the stone floor while I fancied my own inferno. I listened, despite the clatter of my trembling feet or the squawking of a flock of blackbirds in the graveyard outside.
After prayers, with his pinkish eye fixed in my direction, he mentioned my mother’s connection to Saint Gilgen and announced there would be a performance of my brother’s mass in C to celebrate the new organ. As I left my pew, I felt the child inside me turn and was glad of heart. N.