The Toffee Tin
The aspirations of all humanity are found in the whim of a child.
The Author
Chapter 1
Father Schroeder Pays a Visit
Angela Macmillan set her broom aside and bent down toward the heavy
door mat, made all the heavier by a summer's accumulation of dust. She
picked it up by either end, so as to not have dirt cascade onto her
freshly swept floor, and carried it across the porch, idly kicking
aside one of Nigel's discarded stockings and a tennis shoe. She
stepped down off the stoop and shook the mat furiously, sending a
brown cloud sailing into the slight August breeze. Angela happened to
glance to her left at that point and saw her cantankerous neighbour,
Agnes Whitby. The old woman glowered back at her from beneath a
floppy, faded garden hat and gave a raspy cough.
"Must you!" she complained. "I can scarcely breathe in my own garden!"
Angela Macmillan pasted on a weak smile.
could muster, "Hadn't seen you there."
"You should be more careful then, shouldn't you?" Mrs. Whitby snapped
back.
Angela turned away and her smile vanished.
porch. She paused when she heard someone call her name.
"Angela! Hallo there mein liebes Mrs. Macmillan!"
It was Father Schroeder, of St. Peter's Church, walking briskly along
the lane.
"Hello, Father!" Angela hailed as he approached. The priest caught
Mrs. Whitby in the corner of his eye and gave her a smile.
"Guten tag, Mrs. Whitby," Father Arnie said cordially as he passed
her. "How are you today?"
Agnes Whitby made no acknowledgement of the greeting whatsoever.
Rather she rudely turned her back and feigned pruning her flowers.
Unperturbed, Father Schroeder greeted Angela warmly.
"So how are you and Roger?" the priest inquired, taking her hand.
"Oh, no," the priest interrupted and laughed, "I'm not here as the
Inquisitor! I was simply walking in the neighborhood and thought I'd
lately, that is."
And Father gave her an exaggerated frown. Angela chuckled.
"I'll put on the pot and take out a bit of cake."
As Angela prepared tea, Father Arnie sat in the parlour, in the
over-stuffed divan that nearly swallowed the diminutive priest.
Presently she came in and set the tea tray of cups, saucers and plates
clattering on the lamp table. She handed the priest a slice of angel
food cake on a painted china plate-their best china, having belonged
to her late mother.
"Cream?" she asked, pouring the tea.
"Ja, bitte," Father Arnie replied as he gingerly picked up the cake
and took a nibble. "And sugar, please, if you would."
"I'm sorry. I forgot the forks."
"Well, I'd say you've got some fairly basic British habits regarding
tea," Angela observed as he poured a rivulet of cream into his cup,
then plopped two lumps of sugar in afterward.
"Not British enough for some, I suppose."
For a moment, Angela was confused by his comment. Then she
understood.
absolutely hateful!"
"No, I didn't," Father Arnie said quietly. "Not this time. But I know
the look. I've seen it before."
"That woman can be utterly horrid." Angela frowned, sitting beside the
priest, "And I don't care if she is a bit potty. You should hear how
she berates Nigel every time he happens to set a toe near her precious
garden. She's a real child-hater, that one. I pray she'd just move
away. "
"Oh, she won't do that." The priest replied, smiling. "She's been in
that place forever, long before I arrived at St. Peter's, and that was
long before you were born, Angela."
"Still, I'm afraid she'll live forever." Angela groused, peering over
the rim of her cup.
and instead said, "I must apologise. My comment about Mrs. Whitby was
selfish and uncharitable. I hope you'll forgive me."
"Well, for God's sake, Father!" Angela protested, "What on earth could
that woman have against you?"
The priest absent-mindedly fingered his sliver of cake.
"I suspect my distinctive accent may provide a hint."
her mind, "Do you mean The War?"
"I was in the Luftwaffe, you know."
"Well, that's preposterous," the woman asserted, "One can't hold such
hard feelings for all these years."
corrected, "Painfully yesterday."
and I have to confess I've had some rather evil thoughts about her now
and again!"
"We'll leave the confessions for later."Father Arnie chuckled. He set
his plate on the table, and then gave an animated clap.
"So what's new with my young budding theologian?"
"Why little Nigel, of course!" the man exclaimed, laughing. "You know,
How is he doing?"
"I think he's doing quite well," she said. "Much better, as a matter
of fact."
"What? Running around naked?"
Father Schroeder raised his eyebrows in inquiry.
"I confess he is," Angela admitted, "But we've got him in his knickers
"Is he about the house today?" Father Arnie said, brightening. "I'd
like to say hello."
"Certainly," the woman answered, gathering up the tea. "He's probably
"Bare?"
"It's this way, Father."
They walked through the back door and into the garden.
"Nigel! Nigel!" Angela announced, looking over the yard, "Someone's
here to see you!"
"This is quite a miracle in itself. A superbly gorgeous garden!"
Father Schroeder exclaimed, then laughed, "I love the pool."
"It's been a real miracle for Nigel, and your gardener Harry was just
wonderful," Angela replied sincerely. "Not only for his work on the
garden, but for Nigel. He's really become quite fond of the man. I
can't tell you how much we appreciate it."
"An excellent man, Harry Campbell, certainly." The priest said,
walking up to the pool, which appeared to be sagging, and peered in
curiously.
"So I've discovered," the priest replied. There was a sucking sound
as he pulled his shoe out of a mud hole. He stepped gingerly away
from the pool and towards the shade of the alders, exercising due
caution as he went.
"Nigel!" Angela shouted again.
But Nigel was nowhere to be seen or heard.
Angela scratched her head in bewilderment, "I just don't have the
slightest idea where he's run off to."
lawn. "You see?"
He held up a pair of boy's trousers and underwear.
"Well, Father," Angela said, "I'm afraid that's no guarantee!"
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