Read A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) for Free Online
Authors: Diane Moody
always looked the
part of a pastor. “Dr. Theodore Wendel” had served as senior pastor at Hickory
Street Cathedral for many years until he retired a few years ago. Since then,
he’s served in an interim position at First Church covering pastoral ministries for that
downtown church. A perfect fit.
“Frannie told me about the whole hostage
situation. She’d seen some of the footage online and said it was terrifying to
see—like something out of a movie.”
“It was. You see these things happen on
television, and you feel so bad for everyone involved. But you never think it could
happen to you or someone you know. It’s so surreal.”
He side-hugged me again, then put both
his hands on the side rails of Mark’s bed. “From what your mother told me, Lucy,
all things considered, it’s a miracle he survived.”
“I know. I just wish he’d wake up.”
As he leaned over to get a better look at
Mark’s bruised and bandaged face, a technician knocked softly on the door and walked
in with a rolling cart. “Hello, friends and family,” she said in a soft,
sing-song introduction. “I’m Mishala, and I’m here to borrow a little blood
from Mr. Christopher.”
I moved out of the way. “Hi, Mishala. Do
you need us to leave?”
“No, y’all are fine. I’ll be out of your
way in just a few minutes.” Mishala’s warm smile and wide dimples framed her
beautiful face, the color reminding me of café au lait.
I motioned for Uncle Ted to move with me
to the other side of Mark’s bed. That’s when I noticed his eyes were wide as
saucers, glued on the vials of blood lined up on the compartmentalized cart
tray like so many dark red soldiers standing at attention.
“Uncle Ted?”
“Uhhh, I get . . . a
little, uh, squeamish at the sight of . . . blood. Maybe I
should—”
“Oh my gosh!” Mishala whisper-squealed,
clapping her latex-covered hands. “You’re Father Ted, aren’t you?!”
I watched my uncle make a valiant effort
to smile, his eyes still fixed on those blood vials. “Yes, yes, that’s, uh,
me.”
“Well, butter my cheeks and call me
cornbread! I see you all the time on TV. Father Ted—it’s a real
honor.” She reached across the bed to shake his hand. “Course, I almost didn’t
recognize you without your monk’s robe.” She giggled, tearing off the gloves
and putting on a fresh pair. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell my kids I met
Father Ted today!”
I guess I should mention Uncle Ted’s
other job. A few years ago he did some radio spots for a local charity. He’s
got one of those rich, gentle voices that endears him to everyone he meets. The
commercials were a huge success, bringing in a record number of donations, so a
local TV station hired him to do a number of Public Service Announcements. That’s
when he did a commercial for a local tire company dressed in a brown monk’s
robe and sandals. “Father Ted” would look straight in the camera and say, “When
driving on life’s highways, you know who to trust—Royal Tires.”
Or something like that. I guess you could say he’s a local celebrity. He gets
invited to all kinds of grand openings and sales events around town, always
giving a blessing in the guise of the famous monk known as Father Ted.
But to me, he was Uncle Ted, which
is why I’m always caught off guard when people like Mishala makes a big fuss
over him.
Suddenly my brother stirred. “Oh, hey,
Uncle Ted.” Chad yawned, stretching his arms over his head, the Sports
Illustrated sliding off his lap onto the floor. “When did you get here?”
Uncle Ted tore his eyes from the tray of
blood vials, shook his head a little, then made his way over to Chad. “Just a
few minutes ago. How are you, Chad?”
My brother stood up and gave him a hug. “I’m
good, thanks. Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Uncle Ted wiped his
forehead. “Is it hot in here to you?”
“Ah, he’s okay,” Mishala answered
part of a pastor. “Dr. Theodore Wendel” had served as senior pastor at Hickory
Street Cathedral for many years until he retired a few years ago. Since then,
he’s served in an interim position at First Church covering pastoral ministries for that
downtown church. A perfect fit.
“Frannie told me about the whole hostage
situation. She’d seen some of the footage online and said it was terrifying to
see—like something out of a movie.”
“It was. You see these things happen on
television, and you feel so bad for everyone involved. But you never think it could
happen to you or someone you know. It’s so surreal.”
He side-hugged me again, then put both
his hands on the side rails of Mark’s bed. “From what your mother told me, Lucy,
all things considered, it’s a miracle he survived.”
“I know. I just wish he’d wake up.”
As he leaned over to get a better look at
Mark’s bruised and bandaged face, a technician knocked softly on the door and walked
in with a rolling cart. “Hello, friends and family,” she said in a soft,
sing-song introduction. “I’m Mishala, and I’m here to borrow a little blood
from Mr. Christopher.”
I moved out of the way. “Hi, Mishala. Do
you need us to leave?”
“No, y’all are fine. I’ll be out of your
way in just a few minutes.” Mishala’s warm smile and wide dimples framed her
beautiful face, the color reminding me of café au lait.
I motioned for Uncle Ted to move with me
to the other side of Mark’s bed. That’s when I noticed his eyes were wide as
saucers, glued on the vials of blood lined up on the compartmentalized cart
tray like so many dark red soldiers standing at attention.
“Uncle Ted?”
“Uhhh, I get . . . a
little, uh, squeamish at the sight of . . . blood. Maybe I
should—”
“Oh my gosh!” Mishala whisper-squealed,
clapping her latex-covered hands. “You’re Father Ted, aren’t you?!”
I watched my uncle make a valiant effort
to smile, his eyes still fixed on those blood vials. “Yes, yes, that’s, uh,
me.”
“Well, butter my cheeks and call me
cornbread! I see you all the time on TV. Father Ted—it’s a real
honor.” She reached across the bed to shake his hand. “Course, I almost didn’t
recognize you without your monk’s robe.” She giggled, tearing off the gloves
and putting on a fresh pair. “Oh, I cannot wait to tell my kids I met
Father Ted today!”
I guess I should mention Uncle Ted’s
other job. A few years ago he did some radio spots for a local charity. He’s
got one of those rich, gentle voices that endears him to everyone he meets. The
commercials were a huge success, bringing in a record number of donations, so a
local TV station hired him to do a number of Public Service Announcements. That’s
when he did a commercial for a local tire company dressed in a brown monk’s
robe and sandals. “Father Ted” would look straight in the camera and say, “When
driving on life’s highways, you know who to trust—Royal Tires.”
Or something like that. I guess you could say he’s a local celebrity. He gets
invited to all kinds of grand openings and sales events around town, always
giving a blessing in the guise of the famous monk known as Father Ted.
But to me, he was Uncle Ted, which
is why I’m always caught off guard when people like Mishala makes a big fuss
over him.
Suddenly my brother stirred. “Oh, hey,
Uncle Ted.” Chad yawned, stretching his arms over his head, the Sports
Illustrated sliding off his lap onto the floor. “When did you get here?”
Uncle Ted tore his eyes from the tray of
blood vials, shook his head a little, then made his way over to Chad. “Just a
few minutes ago. How are you, Chad?”
My brother stood up and gave him a hug. “I’m
good, thanks. Are you okay? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine. Really.” Uncle Ted wiped his
forehead. “Is it hot in here to you?”
“Ah, he’s okay,” Mishala answered