Somewhat more serious than my others. Still comical with a little mischief. 

Evelynna navigates intimacy in three facets of life, the Chicago Bears win the game, and the DeLancys attend Sunday Mass. 

Part 1 – The Wash

“Evelynna, does your husband ever wash his own laundry?” Isadora inquired. She stood behind a checkered ironing board smoothing a bedsheet. 

Evelynna perched on a stool at the kitchen table with a sheet of heavy cotton paper and charcoal, sketching a portrait she called Woman At Work. 

“He’s capable,” Evelynna responded nonchalantly, hardly looking up. Isadora cleared her throat. 

“Well, I mean, does he do the washing by hand? Without you.” Her olive cheeks grew pink. Evelynna set down her willow stick gently, understanding the shift. She slowly picked up her head to meet her friend’s gaze. 

“Oh. That washing.” She paused for a breath. “Most men learn to scrub their linens by hand long before they marry. Vigorously.” Isadora’s mouth fell agape and she covered it with one hand. 

“And they don’t hang up the washboard just because their wife will do the washing,” Evelynna added. The other woman’s cheeks tinted yet another shade darker. She busied herself folding a pillowcase before asking her next question.

“So, you think that’s perfectly natural then? For men to do the washing? Solo.” She grabbed the iron handle and attacked a small crease with a hiss of steam like it had personally offended her. 

“Sweetheart, it’s perfectly natural for men—and women—to wash their linens by hand every now and again.” Evelynna’s voice was softer. Isadora paled.

“Evelynna!” She squealed, eyebrows shooting mid-forehead. 

“It’s just linens.” Evelynna smirked. Isadora set her iron upright. It gasped with a cloud of vapor.

“Surely you aren’t washing your own linens without Tom’s knowing,” she hissed. 

“Surely, he’s aware that women do air out their linens sometimes.” Isadora blushed from ear to ear, crossing herself. 

“I was always told I’d go blind if I washed my linens alone,” Isadora whispered through her fingers.

“Oh my stars,” Evelynna grinned. “Yaya told me my gloves would get furry if I washed them by myself.” 

Isadora snorted. Then she took a seat at the table with her chin in her hands, her smile fading.

“Sometimes I think John prefers to do his own washing,” she confessed. 

“Darling, I’m sure he’s perfectly happy with your washing machine.” Evelynna scooted closer. “But men tend to be more practical. If they have a linen to starch and a basin, they’re apt to take it into their own hands,” Evelynna said. Isadora sat quietly for a moment. 

“So you’re okay with Tom… rubbing out a stain without you?” She asked. Evelynna snickered. 

“Sure. It’s part of his laundry routine,” she affirmed. 

“John and I are a little behind on our washing,” Isadora confessed quietly, tucking her dark curls behind her ears. Evelynna laid a hand on her knee. 

“Sweetheart, you’re raising three young girls. You’re bound to get behind now and then. You two will catch up,” she said gently. 

“It feels like a mountain of linens piled between us,” Isadora sighed. “How do you and Tom keep up with it?” 

“Well, we talk about what needs washing,” Evelynna began. She picked up her willow stick again and etched fine lines on the page. 

“Sometimes we only have enough energy to sort the colors, but even a small task is a start.” Isadora took her words in quietly. “Tom follows my lead in the laundry room,” she winked. Isadora’s eyes popped open. She sat up straighter in her chair. 

“He does? But don’t you think that’s a little, scandalous,” she gasped, her palm flat on the table to steady herself.

“Scandalous, is letting a stain on the fabrics set in,” Evelynna leaned in. “Between you and me, Tom likes his linens wrung out well.” 

Isadora crossed herself once more.

“Opa! We have certainly shared enough to give Father Raoul an earful next confession,” she giggled. 

“I’ve never been,” Evelynna mused.

“Oh, heavens, you mean you aren’t Catholic,” Isadora placed a hand over her chest. “What with Tommy going to school over at Holy Trinity—”  

“Tom was raised Catholic,” Evelynna cut in. “I went to shul.” 

“Oh,” Isadora gasped. “Oh, well, that’s fine.” 

“We visited the Methodist church last week, actually,” Evelynna said, laying a couple heavy lines onto her paper. 

“Oh? How was it?” Asked the other woman. Evelynna shrugged. 

“It was fine. Well, a bit… theatrical. And the hymnals were stiffer than the pews.” She added in a hush, as if Kathy Embleton herself was listening to the critique through the walls. Isadora chuckled. 

“I miss Chicago,” Evelynna admitted quietly. 

“What was your church like there?” Isadora leaned even closer. The women were almost brushing their knees together.  

“Warm. Passionate. I could breathe there.” A kettle on the stove began a steady whistle.

“That sounds nice,” Isadora said before standing up to fetch the tea. “You could visit the Holy Trinity. My family goes to 9 o’clock Mass,” Isadora offered, pouring steaming water over a packet of dried chamomile.

“We just might go. Thanks,” Evelynna smiled, wrapping both hands around the warm teacup offered to her. Isadora let her fingers linger on the porcelain underneath Evelynna’s for an extra beat. 

Part 2 – The Game

Dinner had long been put away. Tommy snored softly in his bedroom. Tom remained in uniform, on-edge from work that day. 

Real crime didn’t happen often in Milford, but once in a while someone got belligerent downtown. It was procedural, but Tom’s nervous system remembered his Chicago patrol days. His hand still twitched for his club every now and then. 

Evelynna hummed a tune and sharpened the details of her Woman At Work sketch on the sofa. 

Tom fiddled with the scanner. He fine tuned the dials on the radio. He tapped his foot.

“Pet, darling, won’t you sit down,” Evelynna suggested softly. Tom closed in on a fuzzy station broadcasting the football game. 

“Too tense, honey,” he said, leaning over the radio cabinet. 

“Brown receives the pass ten yards from the end zone. 

Donovan and Marchetti closing in. 

Brown still in possession. 

All the way to the five now. 

Donovan leaps—and Brown is down! 

Here come Marchetti and Watkins piling on before the whistle blows.

And Bears’ Coach Halas calls a time out. 

What a play, ladies and gentlemen! Still early in the first quarter. 

We’ll be right back folks.” 

“Gosh, darn it!” Tom slapped the top of the cabinet.

“Pet,” Evelynna said sternly. 

“I’m sorry, I just—”

“Pet, dear. You need to relax,” Evelynna said in a low voice. Tom drew a deep breath and held it a moment. 

“You’re probably right,” Tom sighed.

“Probably?” Evelynna stood, squaring her shoulders. Tom straightened his posture.  

“You are right, Mistress Eve,” Tom corrected. 

“That’s better. Let’s get you out of that uniform,” she instructed. Tom looked down at his badge, then around the hall toward Tommy’s closed bedroom door, and at the beige curtains pulled in front of the window. 

“Here?” He gulped. 

“Here.” Pet slowly undid his belt. Mistress Eve took a few slow steps forward as he began to loosen his black tie. 

“Leave the tie,” Mistress Eve commanded, sliding the silky material out of Pet’s hands. 

His breath hitched as Mistress Eve firmly tugged downward and brought his ear to her mouth. 

“Now the buttons,” she whispered. 

Pet fumbled to undo them. At last, he stood at attention wearing a white v-neck, shorts, socks, garters, and the tie. 

“Let’s fetch something from your box in the bedroom,” Mistress Eve purred, leading Pet by his black cotton tether. 

Pet retrieved the black shoebox labeled Pet’s Things from the closet. 

While Mistress Eve intently looked on, Pet laid the box on the end of the bed and opened the lid, hands trembling. 

“Show me what you want,” she encouraged. 

Pet sifted through the items in the box: handcuffs, ruler, a bit of rope, bandanas, candlesticks, and some photographs. Mistress Eve’s eyes widened with each possibility Pet picked up and set down. 

Then suddenly, his hands stopped sifting. He deftly pulled his selection out of the box. Grinning.

“Are you sure,” asked Mistress Eve, eyebrow raised. Pet nodded. 

“Yes, Mistress Eve. This will help me relax, and I want you to deliver it to me.” 

“Very well,” she nodded in approval and took a worn hardcover copy of Homer’s Iliad with her free hand. 

Finally, Pet lifted an embroidery hoop from the box and held it up for approval. On the stretched fabric was a half completed orange and blue Chicago Bears logo.

“Excellent choice,” Mistress Eve praised. 

She held his tie and walked him to her favorite arm chair. Pet curled up on the floor by her feet, stitching away while his Mistress’s voice soothed him with Homer’s words. 

The radio announcer finished narrating the game faintly in the family room. 

“Touchdown!”

Part 3 – The Steps

“Mom. Why do I have to be here on a weekend,” Tommy whined. The DeLancy family had barely stepped out of their car into the gravel parking lot beside Holy Trinity. Evelynna began to attack Tommy’s cowlick with a licked thumb and the plastic comb she kept in her purse. 

“Because it’s the Lord’s Day,” Evelynna stated.

“I thought the Sabbath was yesterday,” Tommy grumbled. Tom gave him the look and the three DeLancys marched toward the front steps in their finest clothes. 

The architecture of the church was elegant. 19th century limestone, steep tiled roof, small bell tower, and a white cross crowning the peak. Evelynna scanned beyond the building, eying a cluster of houses on the other side of a nearby river and noticed many people gathering into a large brick church with a tall steeple. 

Isadora called out near the steps. “So glad you folks could make it,” She said, leaning in toward Evelynna. Then she hesitated, suddenly aware of several parishioners stepping around them. The other woman greeted her the rest of the way with a quick kiss on each cheek. 

Tom and John Vance shook hands and removed their hats at the door. 

“What denomination is that church over there?” Evelynna pointed in the direction of the river. 

“Where? Oh,” Isadora gasped, accepting a bulletin from an usher by the door. “Baptist, I believe.” 

“Is that so,” Evelynna said thoughtfully. She could just make out the faint sounds of a choir and clapping from inside the building. 

“They certainly are lively over there,” Isadora lowered her voice once they were in the narthex hanging their coats. 

“I think I’d like to check it out sometime,” Evelynna announced. 

“Oh. Evelynna. Um,” Isadora’s cheeks began to tint. “Well, I’m sure you’d be perfectly welcome, it’s just that they’re not, erm—it’s a different community over there. Of course, they’re the same as everybody else, they’re good people, it’s just well—” Isadora stammered.

“It’s okay, Isadora, I understand,” Evelynna interrupted. Isadora sighed, letting her shoulders drop in relief. 

“I’d still like to check it out,” Evelynna added. Isadora paused on her heel for a split-second, blinking. 

“Yes. Of course, I didn’t mean—if you’re comfortable with them, that’s just swell.” She cleared her throat and adjusted her necklace. “Oh, I’ll catch you later,” she rushed, giving Evelynna a quick hug before catching up to Mr. Vance and the girls. 

Evelynna fell in step behind Tom and Tommy into the nave. The boys genuflected and lowered onto the kneelers. Evelynna tipped her veil and took a seat at the end of the pew next to Tommy. 

She took in the artwork around her and the people kneeling. The nuns knelt just a few rows ahead, heads bowed, rosaries clasped. 

Then she realized she was the only one sitting and slid down next to Tommy just as the altar boys stepped out to begin the service. Everyone sat up. Moments later, Father Raoul emerged wearing a bright green chasuble with a gold cross embroidery. 

Evelynna rose a beat after everyone else. She didn’t understand Latin, but she didn’t reach for the missal. She let herself become entranced by the incense smoke and chanted echoes. 

Father Raoul looked different in priestly vestments than his familiar black shirt and white collar. His strong, hairy-knuckled hands gripped the side of the lectern as he delivered the homily on unity. 

At last, the priest said a final blessing, telling everyone to go in peace. Then he disappeared with a flap of his green chasuble. 

The parishioners let out a collective sigh. Kneelers thunked into place and a hum of chatter filled the air.  

Cheering and clapping could be heard from the Baptist church flowing into the river as everyone filed outside after Mass. Isadora caught her staring. 

“Their service always runs longer,” she offered. 

“Ready to go home, honey?” Tom had caught up with the women on the first step and threw his jacket over one shoulder. Tommy was chatting in a circle of classmates in the parking lot. 

“Nearly,” Evelynna said. Mr. Vance and the girls trailed behind Tom. 

“You followed that Bears win last night, John?” 

“Sure did, read about it in the paper this morning,” he grinned. 

“Say, Tom,” Evelynna began slowly, her eyes already twinkling wickedly. Isadora rummaged in her purse. “Do you know whether Father Raoul washes his chasubles himself?” 

Isadora froze in place. Her grip tightened on her purse. Wide eyes locked on Evelynna with bated breath. 

“Well, I believe the sisters wash the vestments for him,” Tom replied. “Unless he’s in a real pickle, then I suppose he’d take care of it himself,” he added, matter-of-factly. 

Isadora straightened, blinking rapidly. Her nostrils flared and her lips began to quiver. She had to bite her knuckles through her white glove. Evelynna grinned, satisfied with the response. 

“Thank you. I was just curious dear,” she said innocently. 

“Not a problem honey.” Tom and John moved on, but the women lingered. 

Isadora turned to Evelynna and promptly thwapped her with her purse. 

Both women erupted in giggles on the church steps as the nuns looked on.