Daffodils to Chrysanthemums II

Growing up with a father who is the pastor had its ups and downs, but the best thing about it was living by the church in the vicarage. The house itself was beautiful and my room was in the attic and looked right at the twin spires of the church. When I was a little girl I used to think they were so high that God could use them like giant listening horns to hear what Dad was saying in his sermon every Sunday. Even though I was now grown up and lived away from them, they were still my spires, stretching out like giant arms welcoming me home. Today didn't feel any different, and the warmth from the church that enveloped me as we drove into the car park made me smile and forced my frosty crust to crack. I could see that this was going to be a good weekend.

Obviously, not everything felt the same, as there were still corners of the garden the spring hadn't found their way into. As we were getting the bags from the car, Dad appeared from one of those cool, dark enclaves with his characteristically broad smile, lifting his glasses on his face.

“Here she is,” he said, coming over to give me a big hug. The scent of his cologne reminded me of being ten years old and there were only two choices in the shops. One so expensive it was only for crooked politicians and thieves. The cheaper version was sold in large bottles and had similar properties to lighter fluid. I thought that his opting for the second was caused by the lack of choice, but seeing that the choice hadn't changed with the times, maybe there was more to it. One good thing was that now I knew what I could get him for his birthday next month.

“Don't worry about those,” Dad said waving at the bags. “I'll bring them up in a minute.”

“It's OK Dad. Don't fuss. Barbara can carry one, and they aren't that heavy.” And then, avoiding the glare which I knew Barbara would give me, I said, “I carried them to the station in Warsaw so I can cope the last few metres.”

Before she could say anything about Matt, Dad took the bag which Matt had carried earlier, and led me inside. “Oh, it's good to see you again,” he said as we went through the door. Everything looked the same as it had at Christmas, without the tree. The only thing which had changed was the super sized pot of daffodils on the table, which were made all the more yellow by the sun streaming through the windows engulfing the whole room in an aura of spring. Yes, it was definitely good to be home again, and I was wondering why I didn't make the effort more often when I was reminded by Barbara’s comment.

“You'd never guess who I met at the station, Dad!” she said in her “I've-got-some-gossip” voice as she left my other bag at the bottom of the stairs. Now it was my to turn to glare and Barbara's turn to avoid as she went on, “Matt Pollard. You remember little Matt, don't you?”

“Yes, I remember,” said Mum coming down stairs and moving my bag under the piano. I could see that I was going to have to carry it upstairs. “He was the one from the swings, wasn't he?” she went on. “Nice boy.” Then coming over to me she said, “And a hug for me?” I was glad for such a fast change of subject as she held me tightly in her arms. I could tell she was happy to have me home because her smile was rubbing on my check.

“You must be hungry. Dinner will be at 3, but would you like something to eat now?” she asked. “I went to the supermarket, but since you became a vegetarian I don't know what to buy.” She had that same indignant tone of voice as Barbara did, and it was only a little easier to take from Mum.

“Oh, Mum. You know that I eat almost the same things as before, just without the meat,” I said with as much patience in my voice as I could as this was the same thing I had said every time I came home for the past two years. Opening the door of the fridge I saw what she meant though. Meat was going to have centre stage in the upcoming table presentations. “These apples look good,” I said as I took one and sunk into my favourite rocking chair.

“So, Martha, how was your trip?” Mum asked.

“Matt was one the train with her, you know?” shot in Barbara. “They are seeing quite a lot of each other nowadays by the sound of it.”

I felt my face wanting to go red, and so had to think of something to change the subject. A swift scan of the room and I found my answer – Peter's saintly presence was missing. Relieved to have found a way out, I tried to disguise my lack of disappointment and asked Barbara, “Where's Peter? Didn't he come this week end?”

“He'll be here soon. He just popped out to pick up Justin, a pastor from England who is here for the conference Dad organized last week.”

That was one of the negative things about having a pastor as a father. Whenever we had a family meeting there was always someone else who would share our table. “I wonder what this one will be like?” I thought to myself. “Has he read Great Expectations?” But before I could answer myself, the door opened and in walked what I had to assume was Justin, followed by Peter.
Justin looked like a storybook pastor. A warm, understanding smile and a heart larger than my dorm at university, mixed with an ill-fitting coat and receding hairline. Dad jumped up giving him the kind of welcome fellow pastors save for each other, and then introduced me – the only one not yet to have met him.

“And you're the one studying English, right?” he asked, his voice strong but with a soft, slightly northern accent.

“Yes, that's me,” I said almost apologetically.

“That's wonderful. I really admire you. I would love to study another language to that kind of level. I can only speak English and enough French to embarrass myself when I am travelling.”
This took me back. I had to pause to think of how to reply. Most of Dad's guests wanted everyone to devote themselves full-time to the ministry and were never interested in my university. “It's not as interesting as it may look from outside.”

“Nothing ever is. But it's still something I would like to do,” he said.

“There's lots to read, and most of it is old and not that relevant to today's life or the way we think and feel these days. It has even less to do with what I plan on doing in the future.”

“Oh yes. What do you plan on doing in the future? If I may ask?”

I was surprised to find myself liking him so much. Someone I had only just met and I was completely at ease talking to him. I was more surprised to hear myself say, “I want to go to England and work through the holidays so that I can see if I want to live there when I have finished university.”

Justin was the only on in the room who was not frozen with shock. Even Mum, whose English was limited, had understood what I had said. She had stopped making the tea and was looking straight at me with her jaw a little lower than is normally accepted in the Pastor's Residence. Luckily, Justin didn't notice what a revelation this was in our house and so went on with the conversation oblivious to the confusion on Mum's face. He asked if I had any plans of where I was going, or if I had any friends to stay with.

I couldn't tell him I had only just hatched this plan minutes earlier and that I didn't have the approval of Mum and Dad yet, so I said, “Probably London. That's where most people try their luck. And if it doesn't go as well as I would like, it is a city I would love to explore. The history and the culture, so many legends were made there that I could never get bored even if I couldn't find work.”

Starting on the subject, I couldn't be stopped. Justin showed what a good pastor he was by listening to all the dreams of travelling that I never knew I had. It wasn't until I said that I thought it would be wonderful to live in Australia or New Zealand that Dad look more than a little concerned and started to talk about the conference they had organized together. Justin was then off into another world of volunteering, aid work and different missions that were in the planning stages.

To be continued.