This was so unexpected, she didn’t realize for a second or two what was taking place. The woman had come in to rob someone, and she intended to grab the wallet and run. Chiyo immediately placed her hand firmly over her purse, zipped it shut and placed it directly on her lap, gripping the strap. She slid over to the right so she could look to the side and keep the woman in her peripheral vision. But the woman behind her slid over, too. Chiyo knew instinctively that the woman would try again, this time perhaps to grab the entire purse. Chiyo held on with a fierce grip and heard the woman give an exasperated sigh, as if she was giving up. Whatever the minister was saying had to be ignored because Chiyo had to be on her guard. The service was mercifully short. She heard the words “by the grace of our Lord,” and then the minister was walking down the aisle during the final hymn. He was carrying the silver collection plate close against his body, one of his large hands covering any money that lay within. The collection plate had not been brought to the back rows during the service.

He went directly to the woman behind Chiyo and said, in a calm, knowing voice, “Claudine, you took money from the collection plate last week, didn’t you?”

The reply was a sucking in of air and then a plaintive “Yes.”

“You needed the money for drugs?”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t know what else to do.” Claudine’s voice was hoarse, as if she’d been chain-smoking for days, weeks.

Chiyo put on her coat and fished a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet and dropped it into the edge of the plate, which the minister was still holding protectively. His palm moved quickly to cover the bill. Claudine’s eyes stared greedily and hard as the money moved from wallet to plate. Chiyo nodded to the others, who had grouped around the minister and the woman. They all seemed to know one another; they’d been through this before. Collective counselling, of sorts.

Next time, she told herself. Next time—if I ever return—I’ll leave my purse and any other bag at home. She stepped out into the street. As she walked, she thought about her own life. So many people had problems worse than her own. There would always be people who were badly off. She had resources, an education, work that she loved. She had so much more.

Maybe she should be offering a free class of some sort in the church basement one evening a week. Maybe she could start showing up at the winter soup kitchen, giving a hand. Maybe she should move beyond her own safe borders, with or without her mother’s ruling hand. And what would her mother say about all of this? About Chiyo picking up her own life? Now, Voyager, indeed.

December