The Silence by Mary McGarry Morris

Author:Mary McGarry Morris
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2024-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE FOOD PANTRY

Front page story. And four photos. The popular priest returns to his hometown parish and starts a much-needed food pantry in the basement of the parish church. “Father Phil is grateful for the overwhelming community support. Parishioner Dodie Weber, who is in charge of the Food Pantry’s day-to-day operation, says they are eagerly accepting volunteers.”

This is Ruth’s third day as a volunteer. No sign of the priest, but she makes sure she’s busy every minute. Whatever Dodie or anyone needs, Ruth is right there. She runs to unload deliveries, stocks shelves, tracks inventory. She gladly sweeps, scrubs sinks and toilets in the men’s and ladies’ rooms.

Dodie Weber is in her early seventies, so while Ruth’s help is more than welcome, Ruth is beginning to sense that she makes Dodie uneasy. Probably all her questions. Ruth wants to know everything about everyone. She doesn’t just walk into the food pantry, she charges in. There’s an engine in her chest and brain that’s always racing. She knows her intensity intimidates people, but she can’t help it. Sometimes it feels as if there’s not enough air to breathe. No need to come every single day, Dodie has told her as nicely as she could this morning, maybe even a bit timidly. Ruth just kept stacking cans.

A little later Ruth asks if “the priest” ever helps out.

Looking puzzled, Dodie asks if she is new to the parish.

“Just not much of a churchgoer,” Ruth says, quickly repeating her question.

“When he can,” Dodie answers. “No set days. Father Phil doesn’t have much free time.”

“Is he the only priest?” Ruth asks.

“There’s Father Barzak,” Dodie tells her. “Father John.” He’s seventy-four, Dodie’s age, but very arthritic. “Poor man can barely raise the host at the Consecration. Servers help him up and down the altar steps.”

When Ruth first came here, Dodie seemed grateful. It hadn’t been easy finding volunteers, she said. So many women work now and daytime’s when most of their “shoppers” come. Well, shop in a manner of speaking. All the food here is free. They even provide bags. What they don’t allow is greed, people taking more than their share.

“Now these three don’t look very needy,” Dodie says quietly, noting their big, flashy purses, pretty sandals, and highlighted hair.

“Can’t very well ask for proof of poverty, though, right?” Ruth says.

“Trust, all anyone can do.” Dodie sighs with a sharp second glance at Ruth.

Busy morning today. Always is at the end of the month, Ruth has learned; food stamps run low, welfare and social security checks just about gone. And, a lot more elderly shoppers, Dodie explained.

“So how come you switched to a food pantry?” Ruth asks, pausing to lean on the broom. She’s just swept out the mess in the playroom. Crushed crackers from the four noisy kids leaving with their mother and grandmother.

“Well … actually …” Dodie waits until they’re out of earshot. “The soup kitchen was pulling in a lot of undesirables. From all over the place. Other towns. Street people, addicts. And, other … things.

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