The two clerics were a hoot.
“Kevin Murphy, at your service.” The priest leaned forward and thrust his hand toward her. “If you get bored with the good pastor’s sermons, you’re always welcome to join us at St. Francis.”
“Did you come for Danish, or are you trolling for new parishioners?” Reverend Baker’s scowl was offset by the glint of mirth in his eyes.
“I’ll take whatever I can get.” The priest turned to Steven. “I’m glad I ran into you. What’s the latest on the show?”
“I was about to ask Reverend Baker if we could use the fellowship hall for auditions—assuming we can line up a production team. And we may want to borrow it for rehearsals too, if we get that far.”
“I’m sure we can work out a schedule.” The minister angled toward her. “Helping Hands is doing a musical this summer as a fundraiser.”
“Oklahoma.” Father Murphy clasped his hands behind him and rolled forward on his toes. “I believe I’ll sign on too.”
Reverend Baker stared at him. “You mean, join the cast?”
“If I’m picked after I audition. I always wanted to be a cowboy.”
“You’re a priest.”
“So? Jesus went where the people were, and a lot of residents will be part of this effort. It’s a wonderful chance to mingle with townsfolk.”
“Do you sing, Father Murphy?” Steven joined the exchange.
“Of course I sing. Every priest sings.”
“Not necessarily well.”
As Reverend Baker spoke under his breath, the priest propped his hands on his hips. “I heard that. At least I’m willing to let my voice be heard in support of a worthy cause.”
“It will definitely be heard. What you lack in quality, you make up for in volume.”
“I’ll have you know our choir director says I have a fine tenor voice.” The padre dusted a spec of lint off his black shirt.
“You pay his salary. What do you expect?”
“You’re just jealous because you can’t carry a tune in a bucket.” He finger poked his fellow cleric in the chest. “As for my voice, we’ll let the musical director of the show decide whether it’s worthy.” He turned his back on the minister and spoke to Steven. “Do you have someone in mind for that yet?”
“As a matter of fact, I was hoping your choir director would consider taking the job. Since he also teaches music at the high school, he’s known in town. Do you think he’d be interested?”
“I’ll be happy to ask him, if you like.”
“I’d appreciate that. If he agrees, the last remaining slot we have to fill is the choreographer.”
Reverend Baker pursed his lips. “It’s a shame Devyn is only passing through. She’s a famous ballerina.”
All heads swiveled her direction.
“I didn’t know that.” Father Murphy gave her his full attention, admiration sparking in his eyes.
“You don’t knoweverythingin town.” The minister refocused on her. “Lauren mentioned once that you’d been promoted to principal dancer in New York. That’s an impressive achievement.”
“Indeed it is.” Father Murphy bobbed his head. “Can we convince you to stay around long enough to help us out?”
“Kevin. She’s here to assist her sister.” The minister wagged a finger at his fellow cleric. “I doubt she’d have time to take on that job even if she was going to be here until the show—which I doubt.”
Once again, everyone looked at her.
Devyn shifted her weight from one foot to the other. “I have no idea how long I’ll be in town. Lauren may not need me for more than a week or two.” If she even agreed tothat. “And I’ve never done any choreography, only danced it.” Though it would be an interesting challenge to take on if she stayed around.
