Read The Countertenor Wore Garlic (The Liturgical Mysteries) for Free Online Page B

that rattled out of his mouth through clenched teeth. "I am a minister of the Gospel, not some primate's bootlicker. I prefer to be called Vicar."
    Noon of us were aboot to aergue.

Chapter 4

    I got to church early. I didn't usually practice on Sunday morning before church, but on this particular morning, I had my hands full. The title of the offertory anthem that was printed in the bulletin was a piece called Sing Unto God. It was a great anthem—one of the choir's favorites by Mr. Handel from his oratorio Judas Maccabaeus. Still, it was a toss-up whether enough altos would show up to make a go of it. The anthem began with altos singing the theme and only three had been to Wednesday night rehearsal. Truth be told, they weren't the three I would have liked to see sitting in those chairs. I could double them up with some of the sopranos at the beginning, but after that, we were toast. Too many runs, too much exposed singing. I had a back-up plan, though: another Handel anthem, also on a paraphrase of Psalm 96, this one in two parts and easy enough to put together in a few minutes if my worst fears came to fruition.
    Seated at the organ console, I had to assume that we'd do the first, more difficult one and it had more than enough black notes to persuade me that it would be a good use of my time to woodshed it before the choir showed up.
    I'd made it through the first couple of pages when I heard the first footfalls stomp up the wooden steps to the loft. I expected Marjorie Plimpton, one of our tenors who was almost always twenty minutes early. She'd drop her grandkids off at Sunday School, grab a cup of coffee in the parish hall, and head for the choir loft to refill the flask she kept under her chair before anyone else showed up. Her "refill" bottle was in the organ case stuck behind one of the larger pipes and I didn't dare ask what it contained. That I occasionally was there when she replenished her supply didn't bother her. I was mildly surprised, therefore, when I glanced up from a cadence and saw not Marjorie but Bev Greene. I stopped practicing and waited for her to speak.
    "I think that we and Bishop O’Connell have made a terrible mistake," she said.
    "Really?" I feigned surprise. Bev ignored me.
    "As church administrator I feel that I can offer a well thought-out opinion. He's horrible."
    "The bishop?"
    "The priest. McTavish."
    "Horrible in a good way?" I asked.
    "Horrible in a horrible way. He refuses to help with the communion service as long as Gaylen's celebrating. He's made it quite clear that he won't be served by a woman. Nor will any congregants once he is in charge."
    "Perhaps they have different customs in Scotland."
    Bev looked nervous. "He'll probably just stand there at attention for the entire service. The only thing he consented to do is to say the prayer after the offertory."
    "I'll bet he just wants to see how the service flows since he'll be taking over next week."
    "He growls to himself a lot. I think he's what you might call a Calvinist Anglican with strict Scottish Presbyterian leanings."
    "Sort of flinty, eh?" I said. "A bit rigid?"
    "In a word. He told me he prefers to use the 1549 edition of the prayer book in his daily devotions and, if he had his way, we'd be using it for services."
    "Hmm. Ol' King Henry's prayer book? Is that allowed?"
    "No," said Bev miserably. "But the old 1928 version is allowed if he gets the bishop's permission."
    "Has he?"
    Bev shrugged.
    "So," I said, "no more snuggly couples-counseling? No codependent nurturing support groups? No twelve-step programs?"
    "The only twelve-step program he'll be participating in is the eleven running steps he takes before he kicks you in the kiester."
    "We'll manage," I laughed. "It might only be for a little while. He might be just the impetus the search committee needs to move quickly."
    "I believe he'll be wanting us to switch to one of the Scottish metrical psalters."
    "Could be worse."
    "And we'll be getting fire and brimstone in