The hat rack was in plain sight

“You were right, Miss Lynch. Absolutely.” He looked around, his head gliding, his hat in his hand. “Now little man,” he said, “if you’ll kindly relieve me of my hat.” “Rufus,” said Hannah. “Take Father’s hat to the hat rack.” Bewildered, he did so. The hat rack was in plain sight. “Now Father, if you won’t mind waiting just a moment,” Hannah said, showing him in to the sitting room. “Rufus: Catherine: sit here with Father. Excuse me,” she added, and she hastened upstairs. Father Jackson strode efficiently across the room, sat in their father’s chair, crossed his knees narrowly, and looked, frowning, at the carefully polished toe of his right shoe. They watched him, and Rufus wondered whether to tell him whose chair it was. Father Jackson held his long, heavily veined right hand palm outward, at arm’s length, and, frowning, examined his nails. He certainly wouldn’t have sat in it, Rufus felt, if he had known whose chair it was, so it would be mean not to tell him. But if he was told now, it would make him feel bad, Rufus thought. Catherine noticed, with interest, that outside the purple vest he wore a thin gold chain; on the chain was a small gold crucifix. Father Jackson changed knees and, frowning, examined the carefully polished toe of his left shoe. Better not tell him, Rufus thought; it would be mean. How do you get such a blue face, Catherine wondered; I wish my face was blue, not red. Father Jackson, frowning, looked all around the room and smiled, faintly, as his gaze came to rest on some point above and beyond the heads of the children. Both turned to see what he was smiling at, but there was nothing there except the picture of Jesus when Jesus was a little boy, staying up late in his nightgown and talking to all the wise men in the temple. “Oh,” Rufus realized; “that’s why.”