Peace in Wilton

The little Episcopal Church of St. Matthew's, in the little exurbanite community of Wilton, Conn., was holding its Christmas pageant. The Three Kings, swathed in sheets and parents' hand-me-down finery, came with their gifts to the manger. "Sleep in Heavenly Peace," sang the congregation. "Slee-eep in Heavenly Peace."

A harsh cry from the back of the church made everyone jump. "Peace! Peace! Where can we find peace?" Shouldering through the crowd at the door came a stocky man in a khaki jacket wearing a pistol in a shoulder holster. Following him were a woman in a peasant kerchief and a small girl. In a front pew, severe-looking Gifford Proctor, a business executive, demanded: "Who comes to this house of God seeking peace?"

"We're from Miskolc," said the stranger. "We escaped yesterday morning, just before the Russian tanks closed in. My name's on the police list. In the name of Hungary, let us hide here!" By this time, everybody could see it was Sam Lawrence, editor in a publishing firm. He kept sneaking a look at the script he had in his hand, but he was grim about his part.

Gifford Proctor protested: "But if you're caught here, all of us will go to jail," and others rose to argue pro and con. Suddenly a high cry of anguish broke into the dialogue. "We'll take them in! We'll save them, won't we, Mother?" shrilled five-year-old Kim Sanders. His mother shushed him, and the talk went on.

After a while Gifford Proctor changed his mind. "You'll save us?" asked Sam Lawrence. "No." said Gifford quietly, "it's we who will be saved." The "Hungarians" were hustled off behind the altar then, and the people in St. Matthew's raised their Christmas voices in Gloria in Excelsis Deo.

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