The Gospel of Winter Read Online Free PDF

about this. You know how I worry for you.” He breathed softly through his nose and drew that concerned smile again. He sighed. “You’re growing up in awfully frightening times, Aidan.” He spoke with the knowing tone of a newspaper article and put his hand on my shoulder. It steadied me against the column. “We can’t pretend otherwise. And the last thing we should do in times like these is abandon one another.” He paused and leaned closer. “But God hasn’t abandoned you, Aidan. The Church hasn’t. I haven’t.”
    He stepped back. He rubbed at his chin and glanced at the house. “We’ve been doing a damn good job together,haven’t we? This campaign work. You like it, right? You’re not bored?”
    â€œNo. I love it.”
    â€œThat’s what I thought.” Father Greg nodded and turned me back toward the front door. “Strange, then, how your father hasn’t given his check yet, Aidan. He usually sends in his gift by now. I’m surprised.”
    â€œHe’s been in Europe all fall.”
    â€œI know, Aidan my boy. I know.”
    He led us back inside and, as we turned in our coats, Father Greg gave an across-the-room nod to one of the men near the library. With a hand on my back, he walked us past the crowd by the center table in the foyer. “Maybe it’s not him I need to speak with these days?” Father Greg said. He pushed us back into the thick of the party, to the sitting room. “Let’s go find your mother, Aidan.” He couldn’t see my face because I was in front of him, but he didn’t have to. He spoke down to me, over my shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he said cheerily. “We’ll have time to talk more soon. You’re scheduled sometime over the break, aren’t you? We’ll catch up. I know it’s been a while. I know you need to talk.”
    I stopped and turned back to him. He smiled but looked around the room. “We’ll catch up over your break,” he said. “Don’t worry.” There was a pause for a second or two in which I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. I thought he might have been waiting for me, but his eyes rolled up over my head, and he waved to someone behind me.
    Farther back in the sitting room, Mother had her own crowd of admirers huddled around her, friends like Cindy, but also other men and women I didn’t know. Mother stood on a footstool and drew her arms up in second arabesque, mirroring an image of a portrait of herself that hung on the wall by the narrow staircase in the library. She stretched her arms as she spoke, and looked around the room. I thought she saw me, but she didn’t.
    â€œThat’s how I had to hold myself,” Mother said. “Otherwise it would have been sloppy.”
    â€œDetermination. Stamina,” Cindy said. “That’s what class is all about.”
    â€œClass?” Father Greg said to the group as we approached. “Gwen teaches us about class every year.” Mother stepped off the stool, and he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Every year, you set a higher bar. What a party. Only you can outdo yourself.”
    Mother demurred.
    â€œIt’s true,” Cindy said. “You should plan my parties. I’m serious. Maybe you could consult for my next opening?”
    â€œYou make it look effortless,” Father Greg said. “It’s more than skill, it’s art. I’m sure your admirers would agree.” Mother bowed in plié. “Some of whom I’d very much like to be introduced to, if you’d be so kind,” Father Greg continued.
    â€œThe ones you need to meet are in the sunroom,” Mother said. She and Cindy laughed, and Father Greg mocked aguilty expression. It made me sick the way they played this game together—as if to be earnest means you lose.
    Mother offered to lead the way, and Father Greg took her arm in his