Frosty paused to fill his lungs. "Bishop Zimmerman asked me to come here. I said OK. But no more moves, I said, because I'm too old. He promised me, if I come here, I could stay until I die." Frosty stopped to catch his breath. He felt his heart racing.

Higgins remained silent.

After a moment Frosty continued. "So you go back, please, and tell Bishop Sweeney I am grateful for his concern, but the workload here is not too heavy for me and I will stay here at St. Francis as I was promised."

"Very well, Monsignor, I will convey your answer to the bishop." Higgins dropped the subject.

"By the way, Michael, who is it that wants my St. Francis parish so badly, if I may ask?"

"I'm not at liberty to answer that, Monsignor." Higgins got to his feet.

"Ya, vell then, Michael, give my regards to the bishop." He saw Higgins to the door. Frosty's belly churned for days at the recall of Higgins's message.

A week to the day of Higgins' visit, Frosty walked back toward the rectory from his roadside mailbox, scanning through the mail with a careless shuffle. When the chancery's return address popped into view, the churning started all over. Once inside, he slit the envelope:
 

Dear Monsignor Oberkirche:

Monsignor Higgins has faithfully reported his conversation with you of August 3. We have diligently searched your personal file, the file of St. Francis parish, and our own chancery archives. We have been unable to find the agreement you claim to have made with Bishop Zimmerman.

Accordingly, I am appointing you as pastor of St. Leo parish in Arkdale, the appointment to be effective on Monday, September 5.

We deeply appreciate your many years of service for the Church at St. Francis parish. I am confident you will continue your dedicated labor at St. Leo parish. In Christ's gracious charity,

I remain

Yours truly,
Frederick Patrick Sweeney
Bishop of Mill Valley

Frosty dropped into his desk chair. Beads of sweat formed across the expanse of his bald head. Do they think I am a liar? He asked himself. Would I invent such an agreement I had with Bishop Zimmerman back in those days? After all these years they would do this to me?

That night Frosty slept fitfully. He dreamed he was standing at the altar steps in St. Francis Church. He watched the elephant, with a miter on its head and staff in its trunk, slowly lumber up the main aisle of the Church. Frosty tripped backwards under the mammoth's pressing advance and watched in disbelief as the animal stepped on his chest. He raised his head and called out, "Gertrude," but his smothered lungs could force no sound. His head fell back.

The doorbell nagged Charles from his sleep. He threw trousers on over his pajamas, grabbed a pullover and stuck bare feet into loafers. He raced downstairs and opened the door. Maggie was shivering. Her hair was flat and tangled with wetness. "What the...?" Charles reached out and pulled Maggie into the rectory. "I'll get some towels. You sit here by the register." He crossed the room and turned up the thermostat, then ran to get towels.

"They fired me, Charles." Her voice was a hollow whisper.

Charles did not respond at first. He put a towel over her hair and raised her hands to it. "Rub," he said. He knelt, removed her shoes, and toweled her feet and ankles. "Who fired you? From what?"

"The Board of Trustees."

"Don't say any more yet," Charles directed quietly. He ran out of the room and returned with a pair of heavy cotton sports socks. He knelt down and pulled the socks onto her feet. "I find that hard to believe, Maggie. You've been a marvelous president. The college has grown so much. You gave it life."

Maggie stood and paced the room. "Can I have permission to cry now?" Her voice trembled.

Charles crossed to Maggie and wrapped her in a bear hug. Her sobbing came on slowly and then went out of control. Charles found himself repeating, "It'll be OK. You'll be OK."

"But I worked so hard."

"I know."

"And I did a lot."

"I know."

"And I really loved my job."

"I know." Charles rubbed the towel on Maggie's still wet hair.

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