Margaret bustled around the house doing the last minute chores before leaving for work. She cleaned out the grate, lit the fire and loaded the coal bucket. That should do it now, until I get home, she thought to herself. Just then her mother hobbled into the living room.
“Don’t forget now, Margaret, today is Ash Wednesday, so bring an envelope to get me the bit of ashes.”
“Don’t worry Mam, I won’t forget,” Margaret replied, as she grabbed her handbag and threw on her coat.
“See you then, Mam” she called as she banged the door shut.
She had no time to spare when she got to town, so she decided to go looking for ashes during her lunch break. At one fifteen, having had a hasty cup of tea and a sandwich, she made her way to the Capuchin Friary. She was just about to ring at the door when she saw the notice, ‘Closed for Lunch, 1 – 2.’
“Just my luck,” she muttered, as she moved away. She made a mental note to call back before going home. Things were very busy in the office all afternoon. At five thirty, she tidied up, put the cover on her typewriter and headed for the shops, as she needed to get some things for the tea. Her mother usually shopped at the local grocers in the village, but now that she was housebound, Margaret had to see to it herself. Each place she went to she got delayed but eventually she was ready. She glanced at her watch, five to six.
“Oh no!,” she groaned, “No time to run to the Friary now. I’ll miss my lift if I do. What am I going to do, I’ll never hear the end of it from Mam. Ah, well, it can’t be helped. It certainly wasn’t my fault the way things worked out. I didn’t plan it this way.”
She hurried on down to where her friend, Mary, was waiting patiently to give her a lift home.
“I was just about to give up on you,” she said, “Where did you get to?”
Margaret explained about her mother’s sprained ankle and apologised for the delay. On the way home Mary was in a talkative mood, but Margaret found it difficult to concentrate on what she was saying. Uppermost in her mind was the blessed ashes, or, no blessed ashes. She knew her mother would be very disappointed but couldn’t come up with any solution to the problem. As she neared the back door she tripped over the ash bucket.
“I hope God will forgive me for this,” she said.
Her mother greeted her as she got in.
“You’re late home, Margaret.”
Margaret began to explain what had happened as she entered the living room, but stopped short as she looked at her mother ensconced in the armchair with a distinct cross on her forehead. Her mother beamed at her and in answer to Margaret’s unspoken question said,
“The new PP missed me from morning mass and called around with the bit of ashes. He’s such a nice man”
Margaret sighed with relief and sent a silent prayer of thanksgiving heavenwards, as she hastily stuffed the bulging envelope back into her pocket.
Phil Kennedy
1992
