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Mary Stafford was a widow, Harry having gone to his maker five years before and leaving her to fend for herself at fifty two. She hadn't had much schooling and wasn't suited to life in the business world, only knowing what she had been doing for the last thirty years. That was keeping house and cooking and making sure that her husband was content in all manner of speaking.

Not knowing what to do, she went to the parish priest with her troubles, as she always had done. Father John was more than understanding, offering her a live-in position as his housekeeper. The man was practically a saint in her eyes, and if not that -- her savior at the very least.

It was all quite awkward at first. Mary wasn't sure how to act around a priest -- they were next closest to God than anyone save the Pope. However, they grew more accustomed to each other as time wore on, falling into a comfortable and companionly routine of sorts. Most times it was just the two of them in the rectory, and they quite liked it that way.

The cups clinked on their saucers as she carried the tray of tea things into his study. Diane Foster would be coming soon for her "Private Counselling" and Father John was always especially edgy toward week's end. He'd need a bit of soothing to be sure, she thought with a knowing smile.