Julie | Fanfic | Ballykissangel

Is This Really Happening?
by Julie Barrett

Peter Clifford sat at the end of the bar and grinned like a fool. The last forty-eight hours had taken Peter from depression to exhilaration. There was just one little problem: He was still a priest. Okay, he told himself, it was a big problem.

He had come to Ballykissangel as Curate three years ago because it was easier to run rather than to face his problems. And the Church was happy to abet. Anything to avoid a scandal, it seemed. Jenny Clarke was a nice girl, and he told himself he had left to protect her as much as himself. Time and distance cooled any feelings for Jenny. On the other hand he found himself more and more drawn to Assumpta Fitzgerald, local publican and well-known enemy of the clergy. Initially they were simply good friends; two people who had managed to put their differences aside and respect one another. Slowly he had come to realize that there was more going on between them than just good rapport. In fact, he had spent months wrestling with his feelings for her and thought he had finally won the battle.

Going away on retreat a few months ago had helped, but then when his mother died he found himself reevaluating his own life. It was becoming increasingly clear to him that he was just not cut out to be a priest. Oh, he was an excellent counselor, and he was truly concerned about the spiritual health of his flock. Yet, behind the facade of Father Clifford there was one messed up man. And the veneer had begun to crack.

Finally, in an uncharacteristic bit of bravado, he bared his soul to Assumpta; although he fully expected that she would laugh him all the way back to St. Joseph's. That would be okay, he told himself, as it might just be the jolt he needed to center himself back on his vocation. Later he would realize that he was lying to himself yet again.

Much to his surprise, the publican revealed that she also had intense feelings for him. There was just one little problem: She was still married. Peter laughed to himself. This was getting even more convoluted than a plot from "Coronation Street:" The priest and the priest-hating publican. She was trying to bury her feelings in a failed marriage, and he endeavoring to cover his with his vocation. Truth was indeed stranger than fiction.

"I love you," he declared.

"Would you take that thing off before you say things like that?" Assumpta Fitzgerald indicated the priest's dog collar. That was easy for her to say, but with Father MacAnally standing just a few feet away, Peter had to behave himself. It was impertinent of him to say what he had, and yet...

"I can't help it."

"I know."

The lights flickered and went out. Assumpta growled an exclamation.

"I'll get it," someone offered.

"No." She turned to feel her way to the cellar door when she felt a hand brush her arm. With a tingle of excitement she realized that it was Peter.

"Serve your customers." Brian Quigley had produced a small lighter from his pocket, the flame illuminating his face. "I'll take care of it." She glanced at Peter, then back at Brian, trying to understand why he would deign to go down to the cellar to fix a broken fuse.

"Oh, go ahead. He'll probably charge me for it," she added as he descended the stairs.

"He'll probably charge you double," Siobhan observed, "since he's doing the job himself instead of handing it to one of his lackeys."

"Yeah," Assumpta replied. She decided that if he did send her a bill, she wouldn't pay on the grounds that she didn't approve of the rates beforehand.

"Hurry up down there," Brendan called.

"All right, all right," came a grumbling from below. Niamh appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a lit candle in one hand and a box in the other.

"I found the emergency supply." Peter took a candle, lit it from hers, and began to distribute the rest among the crowd.

Siobhan held one close to Brendan's face. "So is this what you had in mind when you promised me a candlelit dinner? I am not impressed."

Brendan rolled his eyes. "When did I ever promise you a candlelit dinner?"

Peter returned to his spot at the end of the bar and smiled. "I bet I know why you're so happy," Dr. Ryan nudged his arm, and he jumped. Did everyone in town know? "This is yours." He held out a small silver plastic cup. "Well done." Peter accepted the trophy with a laugh. When he had agreed to cook a dish for tonight's Food Faire he had no illusions that his dish would be well received. In fact, he was legendary amongst his brothers for his lack of culinary skill. Since every other entry in the contest had been prepared by BallyK's resident Chinese Chef, they had been disqualified. He had won by default, but he decided he might keep that little tidbit from his brothers. Not that he would be lying; he simply knew that they wouldn't let him live it down otherwise.

"What's keeping Brian down there?" Someone had brought in an emergency torch from their car. Assumpta had to give it a couple of whacks before it would stay powered up.

"Probably gathering secrets from the competition. I'll check on him." Padraig grabbed the ladder and began to ascend. He was stopped by a loud crash. "Uh, oh." Brendan ran around the bar and practically pushed Padraig down into the cellar in front of him. Assumpta and Peter followed with the torch, and they found Brian sitting in a pool of liquid and clutching an ankle.

"My lighter went out. This is a hell of a place to put beer." He had collided with a case of Harp, sending bottles everywhere and leaving beer and broken glass on the floor.

"It's a cellar, Brian. That's what it's for. Do you not serve drinks at your restaurant?"

"Ha. Ha."

Assumpta moved toward the fuse box. "If you want a job done right..."

Peter grabbed her arm, half in a panic. "Assumpta, don't."

Her face reddened in the light of the torch. "I think I can handle..."

"You're standing in a puddle of beer," Peter pointed out. "What would happen if you touched that fuse box?"

Assumpta shined the torch at her feet. Foamy beer escaped from broken bottles, spreading over the floor. She threw her free arm in the air in a gesture of futility. This would take hours to clean. "Okay, you win. Go on," she told the group in the cellar. "Go upstairs. Eat. Drink."

"It's a good thing the pumps aren't electric," Brendan quipped. "Uh, they aren't electric, are they, Assumpta?"

"No, but the till is. But don't worry. I remember my sums."

"What about me?" Quigley was still sprawled on the floor, surrounded by beer and broken bottles. "Get Dr. Ryan down here at once."

"It's mostly his pride that's hurt," declared the physician after he, Brendan, and Padraig helped Quigley upstairs. "He'll survive." Brendan and Padraig vanished back into the cellar with the torch.

Assumpta poured a large whiskey for Brian and handed him a towel. "Drink up. No charge for this one." Brian made a sour face but did not refuse the drink. "And thanks for going down there."

"Those cases should have been against the wall, you know."

"They were. Did that one just jump out and bite you or something?"

Padraig's head appeared out of the cellar. "Assumpta, don't touch that fuse box until I come back in the morning. There's a wire exposed inside of there. If you'd have touched that at the wrong time..."

Assumpta threw up her hands in disgust. Peter felt a shiver run through his body with the realization that she could have been seriously hurt - or worse. "Now, what am I supposed to do?"

"We can go to my place," Brian offered.

"Or we can stay right here," Niamh countered. "It's pouring with rain out there." A low rumble of thunder punctuated her remark.

"Sounds like a plan to me," Siobhan rejoined. Someone brought out a penny whistle and began to play.

 

The evening had been a success in spite of the fuse box troubles, and Assumpta was surprised when she counted up the evening's take and realized she had made a decent profit on drinks. The twinge of guilt she felt at making so much money off of a charity event quickly dissipated when she spied the overflowing jar of donations for the hospital.

She saw Niamh out, locked up, and made sure that all of the candles were out save the one she carried upstairs. Assumpta extinguished the flame and sat on her bed, reflecting on the past day and a half. Not long ago she had toyed with the idea of putting the pub up for sale and leaving town. That was before Peter told her the story about the baby polar bear, which set off an angst-filled evening. Although she actually respected his devotion to his religion, she found herself increasingly irritated by his seeming inability to talk to talk to her about his feelings. Even when his mother was so sick, he wouldn't talk to her - or to anyone else for that matter - about it. Perhaps her death had caused Peter to re-evaluate his priorities.

Assumpta sighed and wriggled under the duvet. No use speculating about the past, she decided. But she could think about how she was going to handle the next few weeks while Peter did what ever had to be done. And speaking of such things...

"Oh!" Assumpta sat up in bed as if she had been awakened by a particularly nasty nightmare. "Leo!"

A songbird woke Peter well before his alarm. The priest was still dog tired, even though he didn't stay on after the Food Faire. He had offered to help clear up, but Niamh sent him packing. In retrospect, it was probably a good thing that he didn't stay late. Father MacAnally had been casting disapproving glances his direction for most of the evening. Peter had simply smiled and nodded in return, which had probably done no good for his superior's high blood pressure. He rose and walked to the window. Last night's rain had moved on, leaving the street glistening in the early morning light. The windows on the first floor of the pub were still curtained. The telephone rang and Peter lifted the receiver, ready to give Father Mac a piece of his mind. He was in no mood to talk to his superior, who was prone to calling him when he least expected it.

"I didn't sleep much last night." Peter relaxed.

"Neither did I, but when I did, I dreamt of you, Assumpta."

"Mmm."

"How'd you know I was awake?"

"Lucky guess. Wanna come down for breakfast?"

"Wanna come down for Mass?"

"I've got a better idea," she countered.

Morning mists still hung in the air, partially obscuring the lake. Assumpta spread a cloth on the ground.

Peter's car pulled up to a stop. He was dressed in his clerical suit, but minus the collar. "You just can't get a kettle to come to a boil quickly when you want it to," he declared, holding a small vacuum jug aloft triumphantly. "Hey, I can make tea, you know."

Assumpta smiled and hoisted a small paper bag. "Yesterday's pastries. They'll probably do."

"I don't care if they're last week's." Peter crossed over to Assumpta and placed his vial of tea on the ground. "As long as we're together." He slipped his arms around her waist. "Tell me this isn't a dream."

"I would, except I'm not sure myself."

"You certainly feel real."

Assumpta stepped back and sat on the ground. "We'd better eat. Don't you have to be back soon?"

"Yeah." They consumed their first few bites in silence, each just happy to be with the other.

"So," Asked Assumpta between mouthfuls of food, "what has to be done?"

"First, I have to talk to Father Mac." Assumpta made a face. "He knows. Actually, he kind of sussed it out before I got up the courage to tell him. And no, he was not happy. But I do have to go make it official."

"Mmmph." Assumpta felt the need to comment, even though she had just taken a bite of pastry.

"Be that as it may, I don't think he'll stand in my way. At least yesterday he seemed resigned to the fact that I was going to leave."

She swallowed her food and chased it down with a sip of tea. "I don't believe it."

"Even Father Mac understands that a priest who can no longer give all to his vocation is doing himself and his parish more harm than good. My next step is to submit a formal notice of resignation and then, well, to be honest, I haven't thought it all the way through yet. I don't know how long this is going to take. In the meantime..."

"I need to be released from my own vows, in a manner of speaking. I hadn't given much thought to Leo in the last day or so, but I'm going to have to do something."

"That's going to be rather sticky." Peter finished off his pastry and wriggled his fingers. "Speaking of sticky..."

"Oh, sorry." Assumpta reached into the bag and produced a fistful of paper serviettes and handed one to Peter.  "Can I do it and be legal, I mean, in the eyes of the Church?"

"I'm surprised that you care about that."

Assumpta blushed. "Only because I care about you."

"What kind of ceremony did you have?"

"It was in a registry office in London."

"Did you take any vows in the Church?" Assumpta shook her head. "I'm not an expert on Canon law, but I believe that if you can get Leo to cooperate, you could get nullification on the grounds that you did not have a Sacramental Marriage. It still won't be easy, but it is possible."

"And if Leo doesn't cooperate?"

Peter let out a breath. "It's still possible, but it will be quite difficult."

"This is going to be a mess, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Peter brushed his hand along Assumpta's cheekbone and touched his forehead to hers. "I'm up for it if you are...Uh-oh."

"What's the matter?"

"I'll just make it in for mass this morning if I hurry." He rose and dusted the crumbs from his black pants. "I may not be back in town until lunch or later."

"Do what you have to."

Kathleen Hendley adjusted her hat and waited until the last of the parishioners had left the church. "Are you all right, Father Clifford?"

"Uh, yeah. Quite all right."

She looked at the red bags under his eyes. "You don't seem to have had much sleep lately, Father."

"I'm still, er, trying to deal with recent events."

"If you don't mind my giving you some advice, Father..."

"Um, no?"

"Drink a mug of warm milk with Horlicks before you go to bed. It'll put you right out."

"Why, thank you, Kathleen." He busied himself with locking the church door as she walked away. "Horlicks. Yeech."

Assumpta Fitzgerald rummaged through her desk and finally found a tattered card. She held it up to the light and then dialed the number. "Hello? Mike? Actually, I'm not ready to update my will yet. I know it needs to be done, but not now.... Would you just wait a minute and let me get in a word? Thanks. I've broken it off with Leo, and I want to make it permanent... Uh, actually, I would like it legal in the church as well. After lunch? Sure." So much for meeting Peter. But this couldn't wait.

"I know the answer, but humor me. Is there anything I can do to persuade you to stay on?"

Peter Clifford shook his head. "I firmly believe that I am doing the right thing."

"Ah." Father MacAnally shuffled a stack of papers on his desk idly. "I had to ask. Please sit down, Father. This isn't a formal affair." Peter took a chair opposite his superior, who removed his collar. "I'm talking to you not as a priest, but as a man." Peter felt his back stiffen. "Don't do this until you've thought it through."

"But I have."

"How much thought have you given this? Be honest."

"Every waking moment. When you sent me on retreat, I was actually relieved. I thought that putting some distance between us would be the right thing. And when I came back and saw that she had married, I was both distraught and pleased. And as I watched their marriage breaking up..."

"And what did you do at this point?"

"I believed they loved each other."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Peter felt his face redden. "Father MacAnally, I am still a priest. And even if I wasn't, the last thing I would do is to drive a wedge between two married people."

"What God hath joined together..."

"Exactly. You may find this hard to believe, but I didn't approach Assumpta Fitzgerald about my feelings until I knew that it was over between her and Leo." The elder priest frowned. "Yes, Father, she is still a married woman, and I am a Catholic priest."

"Win double." The distaste was evident in his voice.

"This isn't easy for me. But it's not just Assumpta. I've been questioning my vocation for the last year. I was ready to turn in my collar when you sent me on retreat."

Father MacAnally shifted in his chair. "I suspected that at the time, which is why I sent you. Now, what do you intend to do?"

"I'll stay on until the new priest arrives. I owe you and Ballykissangel that much. Beyond that, I intend to honor my vows - all of them - until I obtain a release. If I have to move here or over to Wicklow, I'll do that."

"Well, then. There's not much else to do." Father Mac took the envelope containing Peter's letter from the edge of the desk. "I'll pass your request to the bishop. I can't give you any kind of timetable on how long this will take, but you have my word that I won't stand in your way."

"I appreciate that, Father."

"But I am afraid I'll have to relieve you of your duties effective immediately. You had a christening on Saturday, but I will do it."

"Father, I can stay."

"Considering your behavior as of late, I think that this is the best course of action. The bishop agrees with me."

Peter removed his collar. "All right, then."

"Just remember, you are still a priest."

"I won't do anything to embarrass you or the Church, Father."

"See to that. I want you out of your house by Monday. I'm sure you'll find somewhere." He looked down at his desk, signaling that the interview was at an end. Peter rose slowly and walked to the door. "And Father Clifford, Fitzgerald's is not an appropriate lodging."

Padraig O'Kelly felt as though the entire Wicklow hurling team was rampaging through is head. He was definitely regretting that last Harp - or six - this morning. And now he was going to have to give the lady impatiently tapping her foot next to the car the bad news. "I'm afraid it's the alternator."

"Can you fix it?"

"I'll have to get a new one in from Cilldargan." He closed the hood. Gently. The woman looked up and down the empty street.

"Did someone die around here," she asked sarcastically.

"Just a lot of brain cells. We had a charity event at the pub last night."

"Oh, really?" It was obvious she didn't care, but Padraig had a captive audience, and she was going to pay for this alternator in more ways than one.

"There was a competition to see who could cook the best Chinese dish. The food was sold off to benefit the hospital. Father Clifford won."

"The priest?"

"Yes indeed. I don't think he knows a wok from a waffle iron."

The woman perked up just a bit. "Oh, I see. He won because he's the priest."

"He won because their chef," he pointed to the Chinese restaurant across the street," cooked everyone else's dishes. They all got disqualified. He won by default. I'd better go order your alternator. I can have your car ready later this afternoon."

"So you'd recommend the Chinese place for lunch?"

"If they're open. There's also Fitzgerald's. Or you can get some food at the mini-mart and picnic by the river."

"Anything else to do around here?"

"There's the hand weavers down the road, and the church will be open if Father Clifford is in. Lots of nice country to explore," he offered.

"Is that it?"

"You could sit and watch the traffic signal change - if we had one."

The woman let out a sigh. "All right. Whatever you can do. I've got to get back to Dublin before the day is out."

"Unless they don't have your alternator in Cilldargan, which is highly unlikely, you'll be back on the road in a few hours."

The woman thanked Padraig and walked in the direction of Hendley's. The mechanic hooked his tow chain to the car and then slid in the driver's seat to put the gearbox in neutral and release the parking break. As he went for the gear lever, he bumped a newspaper to the floor. He leaned down to retrieve it, and noticed that it was the Enquirer. "What a rag." He spotted another piece of paper on the floor and picked it up. It was a press placard for the same paper. "I can understand why this isn't your kind of place, lady."

The woman entered Hendley's and settled on a rack of picture postcards. Perhaps she would look up the priest and talk to him about charity affair. In her experience, once she got someone to open up on a mundane topic, other items of interest would reveal themselves. The story she had been sent to cover turned out to be a dud, so perhaps she could salvage the day after all. Of course, shopkeepers were usually a font of local gossip, so she might as well get started, she told herself. "I heard you managed to raise quite a bit of money for charity last night. Congratulations."

The shopkeeper wrinkled her nose in distaste. Bingo. "I didn't go. Though I did make a donation to the local hospital."

"I heard that the priest came away victorious last night."

"I'm not surprised, considering who runs the pub."

A tantalizing tidbit for sure, but she decided not to pounce too greedily, lest the font dry up. "I heard that everyone else got disqualified."

"Oh, was that it?"

Another angle, perhaps. "So, the publican - did he..."

"She," the shopkeeper corrected.

Ah. "She determined the winner, then?"

"I think people in attendance were supposed to vote. But again, I didn't go." She turned to the till to ring up the postcards. "I'm run off my feet with this store."

"Of course." A red car drove past just a little too fast. The driver wore a black suit. "Is that the priest?"

"Yes."

"Is he well-liked?"

"By most people. He's a bit progressive for my tastes, but his heart is in the right place - as long as he keeps it in the church."

The reporter smelled pay dirt. "Oh?"

Kathleen realized she may have said too much and handed the woman her change. "Have a good stay in Ballykissangel."

Lunch at Fitzgerald's was quiet. Padraig sat nursing an orange juice and Siobhan stared at her mineral water. Seemingly unaffected by the previous night's drinking, Brendan watched with anticipation as Assumpta topped off a pint of Guinness. "Ah, a dish fit for a king."

"You can still drink after last night?" Siobhan asked.

"I know how to hold my ale, thank you very much."

"With at least one hand firmly around the glass, I hope." Assumpta set the drink down on the bar.

"Very funny." Brendan took a long sip and let out a satisfied sigh.

Padraig leaned in to the group at the end of the bar. "You've seen that lady with the broken down car? She's a reporter."

"So what about it, Padraig?"

"She's with the Enquirer." I saw her press tag in the car.

"So you think she's here on a story?"

"Why else would she be here, Brendan?"

"Her car broke down?"

"She did ask about Father Clifford."

Assumpta's head jerked in Padraig's direction. "What did you tell her?"

"Only that he won the cooking contest last night." Assumpta let out a sigh of relief. "I'd be careful if she starts to ask you questions. You know what kind of paper that is."

"Excellent stuff for lining animal cages," Siobhan observed. "Quite absorbent."

"Maybe she's here to review Brian's restaurant?"

"And put his portrait on Page 3? I don't think so."

As the laughter died down, the door opened and the woman entered. She pointedly looked at Padraig, who showed the smile of a man who had all the time in the world to finish his juice. "The parts house had your alternator in stock," he said, "and I expect it in half an hour or so." Brendan and Siobhan turned and looked at her and at each other, then turned their attention back to their drinks.

"What can I get you," Assumpta asked.

"What do you do for lunch?"

"Just sandwiches today, I'm afraid. A bit of a problem with the electrics."

Brendan set his glass down. "Sandwiches? I thought you had a gas cooker."

"I have, but the electrics were out all last night, and Padraig just got the fuse box patched together a couple of hours ago. All my perishables are next door, save a few things in a cooler. If you want a hot meal, you'll want to go there."

"No, a sandwich is okay," she lied. Chinese would have been nice, but she had a feeling that the story was here. "Are you the publican?"

"Yes, I am."

The woman extended her hand. "My name is Carmel Power, and I'm with the Enquirer. I heard about your fundraiser last night, and I thought we might do a human interest, piece you know, to help get a little publicity?"

"For whom," Brendan mumbled.

"We made our goal last night, and then some," Assumpta declared.

"But I'm sure they'd love more donations," the reporter pressed.

Assumpta pulled a business card from her till. "Here's the number for the hospital press office. I'm sure they'll be happy to talk to you."

Carmel shifted on her stool. "I was hoping to build a story around the town. You know, small town pulls together, that sort of thing."

Brendan stood. "If you'll excuse me, I've got to give a maths exam. Did Kevin study, Padraig?"

"He better have. I can't be the only genius in the family, can I?"

"I don't think you'll have to worry about that,"

Peter Clifford donned a checked shirt and looked at the suit hanging in his wardrobe. He supposed now that he would never wear it again. Admittedly, that would feel strange. As he closed the door, he wondered what his mother would have said. "As long as you're happy, Peter," he said to his reflection in the wardrobe mirror. "And I am."

Nevertheless, he had to decide how to break the news to his parishioners. He'd told no one, though he suspected that nearly everyone knew - or at least had an inkling that something was up. Talking with Assumpta first would be the best course of action, he decided. The question was, should he go to the pub now, during lunch, and just sit and smile like a Cheshire Cat? Or should he wait?

He set off outside and walked to the gates of St. Joseph's, contemplating whether or not he should go inside and contemplate over the Virgin Mary, or go down the street and contemplate over beer and the woman he wanted to marry. The squeak of a bicycle wheel broke his reverie. "Brendan, shouldn't you be in school?"

"They'll be okay for a few minutes," he replied, indicating the school with a nod of his head. "I just wanted to warn you to watch your back."

This was all he needed. "Oh?"

"There's a reporter in town. From the Enquirer. She claims to be just passing through. Said she heard about last night's fundraiser and wanted to do a profile on the community's efforts to help raise money for the hospital.

"Okay..." Peter was unsure what this had to do with his current predicament.

"You do know about the Enquirer, Peter." The priest said nothing. "I suspect her motives aren't entirely altruistic, if you get my drift."

"Meaning?"

"For God's sake, Peter, do I need to spell it out for you?" The priest shrugged. Brendan looked up and down the street to see if anyone was within earshot. "I don't think your delighted demeanor last night was all due to a little cup."

Peter looked heavenward. His eyes rested on the statue of St. John the Evangelist, and he recalled the time he convinced Ambrose that it was St. John the Baptist. Perhaps it really was he, in which case it would be an apt metaphor as he felt he had completely lost his head. "Brendan, can the kids wait another five minutes?"

"Are you sure you've thought this through," Brendan asked as Peter finished his story. The sanctuary was dark and cool. Peter had locked the door so they wouldn't be disturbed.

"You think I haven't thought about this night and day?"

"I'm serious. The repercussions could do both of you in. This isn't urban England, you know."

"What do expect me to do? Continue to deny my feelings? Keep standing up there," he indicated the pulpit "telling people to do things I can't even do myself? How can I dispense absolution when I'm so..."

"Human?"

"That wasn't quite the word I was searching for."

"Welcome to the human race."

"Thanks. I think."

"Actually, Peter, I'm surprised you held out this long."

Peter sank down in a pew. He had a suspicion that most people in town might have harbored a notion about how he felt for the publican, but it still stung to hear someone put it into words. "And I suppose someone had laid odds on this happening?"

"Not really. I think several of us suspected, but no one wanted to be the first to broach the subject. Look, I've got to get back to the school, but would you consider a piece of advice?" Peter nodded slowly. "You probably want to shout this from the rooftops, but use some discretion. Not everyone in town is going to be as accepting as I. When is your last mass?"

"This morning. Father MacAnally won't even let me christen Kieran tomorrow."

Brendan whistled. "Boy, when that comes out..."

"I know."

"If you do go to Fitzgerald's, be careful. That reporter was there when I left. And if there's anything I can do, don't hesitate to ask. Except drink a Boddingtons, that is," he added with a wink.

"Oh, get to class."

Peter said a prayer to the Blessed Virgin, all the while wondering if she understood what he was going through. He glanced at his watch. Lunchtime was nearly over. Perhaps the reporter had gone on to bother someone else. Standing between him and Fitzgerald's was Peking Ducks, or whatever Brian was calling his Chinese restaurant today. He had no choice but to walk right past it. Hopefully Brian would be occupied. The last thing he needed now was an angry grandfather, especially when that grandfather was Brian Quigley. Perhaps Brian hadn't heard the news yet. Niamh apparently hadn't. Otherwise she would have been down to the church to give him a piece of her mind. He wondered if Father MacAnally had said anything to them. Surely he had, for the christening was a little over twenty-four hours away.

Peter made it past the Chinese restaurant and slipped into the Accommodations door at the public house under the cover of Siobhan's parked Land Rover. Between the vet and Assumpta, the reporter was probably getting a grilling of her own - a thought which buoyed Peter. Assumpta cast a quick smile Peter's direction as he found a spot at the end of the bar opposite the woman he took to be the reporter. He resisted the urge to respond with more than a pleasant "hey, what's for lunch" smile - the terribly benign expression the clergy find so useful.

"I'm taking last lunch orders. You're just in time."

"In that case, I'll have a beer." He fished in his pocket and produced a few coins as she began to pull on the tap.

"I'll have another Diet Coke, if you don't mind," Eamon called from a table.

Carmel Power grabbed her glass and slid to the other end of the bar. "So you're the priest?" She sat the glass down, held out her hand, and introduced herself.

"So what brings you to Ballykissangel?"

"My car broke down. But I heard about your efforts to raise money for the hospital, and thought I could help." Peter and Assumpta exchanged a significant glance. Siobhan put her hand to her face to suppress a smile. She knew that Peter could hold his own with the reporter and probably put her in her place as well. "So did you organize the event?"

"It was a town effort," he replied, "but I didn't do much at all. I just cooked a dish and showed up."

"Isn't that rather unusual in such a tight-knit community? I mean, in my experience the priest takes a prominent role in town affairs." Peter nearly flinched at the final word, but managed to maintain his composure.

"Ah, but I was out of town." Carmel raised an eyebrow. "They don't chain us to the church building, you know."

"You're English, aren't you?"

"Nothing gets by you, does it?" Peter pushed the coins across the bar and accepted his beer.

"You're a long way from home."

"This isn't exactly Dublin, is it?"

Okay, Carmel told herself, perhaps the best way to get information is to give a little. "I was out this way on an assignment when my car broke down. I was out to investigate a story concerning the ghost of a recently departed donkey that was said to cure diseases."

Siobhan snorted. "In my experience, it's the ghosts of sheep that you should be keeping an eye out for."

Eamon rose from his chair. "We've got one, you know. He walks the hills when the mists lie low. I can hear him at night: 'baaaaaa!' 'Tis a terrible sound indeed."

"Has the ghost ever hurt anyone? Or caused a miracle?" Eamon shook his head. "Then my paper isn't interested."

"It did cure a poacher of constipation once." The old farmer winked at Peter, who could no longer hold in his laughter. "It's true." Both Peter and Siobhan looked at the farmer. The twinkle in his eyes told them that he was playing along with the joke, but one could never be completely sure with him.

"That's quite funny," the reporter said politely. "Maybe I will write that up - sometime."

"You do that." Eamon put on his hat and ambled out the door.

Carmel tried to get back to the topic at hand. "So how long have you been in Ballykissangel, Father?"

"About three years."

"Do you like it here?"

"I'd like to think I can call it home now."

"It must be difficult, being an English priest in rural Ireland?"

"I'm sorry, what does this have to do with raising funds for the hospital?"

"Just a little background. She flashed what she hoped was her best disarming smile.

"You're with the Enquirer, you said?" Carmel nodded. "You're not exactly the Catholic Herald, are you? Somehow I don't think I'd come out very well."

The reporter downed the last of her drink. "I think I'll go see when my car will be ready."

"She's on a fishing expedition," Siobhan observed after the door closed behind Carmel Power.

"You think?" Assumpta retorted.

"She won't get anything out of me, don't worry."

"Anything about what," Assumpta asked innocently.

"The scandal." Peter and Assumpta both exchanged a guilty glance. "You know, the professional chef cooking everyone's food except yours, Father," she said with a wink. "Truly scandalous."

"I think she knows," Assumpta stated as she locked the door behind the vet.

"So does Brendan."

The publican threw up her arms. "Who doesn't?"

"It seems we sure had each other fooled." He slipped his arms around her waist.

"Do you think that reporter has found out anything?"

Peter drew the publican closer. "Hopefully not. But I have a feeling she's on the phone to her editor right now: 'Drop the dead donkey; I've got something better.'"

"I hope not."

"That makes two of us." He kissed her forehead.

"As much as I'd love to wallow in your arms all afternoon, I've got to go see another man."

"Dumping me already," he said with mock disappointment.

"My lawyer. I thought I'd better start the ball rolling. Oh, how'd it go with Father Mac?"

"The good news is he didn't give me a hard time - well, not much of one, anyway. The bad news is that I'm relieved of my duties effective immediately. I won't be doing Kieran's christening."

"That's going to go over like the proverbial lead balloon with Niamh."

"I know. I'd best go break the news." He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Good luck."

"Yeah, I'll need it."

"So will I."

Amongst the clatter of Liam and Donal clearing tables and sweeping up, Brian Quigley counted the receipts and poured himself a cup of black tea. Shamie Chung emerged from the kitchen carrying a beer. He placed it on the table and sat down, leaning his forearms on the table. "Not exactly a bang-up opening, was it, Mr. Quigley?"

Brian shook his head. "No, but we'll build word of mouth. How can we go wrong with food like this?" Shamie raised his bottle and tipped it in Quigley's direction in salute. "If we can just get someone down here to review the place..." The tinkle of the bell on the front door cut him short. "I'm sorry," he told his visitor, "we're closed."

"That's okay, I've already eaten." Carmel Power surveyed the establishment. "What a lovely restaurant." She introduced herself.

Brian pushed his papers aside and stood to greet her. "Are you here to do a review?"

"Are the waitresses topless?"

"Liam and Donal?" He shuddered to erase the thought from his mind.

"Actually, I'm writing a profile of the town and your fundraising efforts. I hear you have quite a chef."

Brian pointed across the table. "Shamie Chung." The cook stood and shook the reporter's hand. "He's the genuine article."

"Pleased to meet ya," Shamie responded in his best brogue. Carmel returned the handshake with a smile and no further comment, much to the chef's chagrin.

Peter left the pub and began to walk briskly in the general direction of St. Joseph's. How would he break the news to Niamh? The answer to his question came stalking across the street from the Garda house. "Father Clifford!"

"Niamh." They stopped in front of the window of her father's restaurant. "We need to talk about the christening. Let's go up to the church, shall we?"

"What do you think you're doing?" Niamh pushed her long dark hair away from here face. "You are supposed to be christening Kieran tomorrow."

Peter tried to dampen the woman's fuse. "Niamh, let's not talk about this in the street."

She pointed inside the restaurant. "Does my father know?" Peter looked inside and glimpsed Brian talking with the reporter.

"I don't think so." Peter began to walk in the direction of the church. "Come on." He didn't even have to look across the street to know that Kathleen Hendley was watching from the window of her shop. "I won't discuss this here."

Niamh threw her arms up in the air in a gesture of futility and followed the priest up the hill.

The confrontation did not escape the notice of Brian Quigley. "My daughter," he apologized. "Tomorrow is my grandson's christening. She's probably fretting over some minor detail."

"Congratulations."

"Thank you."

"Will Father Clifford be officiating?"

"Yes."

"I gather he's well-liked in the community."

Quigley offered Carmel some tea, which she accepted. "Yes, it's going to be a shame when he leaves."

The reporter seized on the comment. "Why would he leave?"

Realizing that he might have gone a little further than prudent, Brian began to backpedal. "We've had a procession of priests come through this town, Miss Power. They never stay long. They either don't fit in, or they've got their eyes on another position."

"Father Clifford seems to fit in." She decided to change her tack slightly. "Has he made a lot of friends here?"

"Oh, nearly everyone likes him," Donal interjected.

"Is he close to anyone?"

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, you know. Any special friendships?"

Brian smiled. "Now, there's Teresa McDonnell..."

"Really?" Carmel began to turn on the charm.

"He spends a lot of time with her. Big brown eyes, lovely dark hair. That is, until it all fell out." Liam turned his back and hunched over a broom to hide his laughter.

"Fell out?"

"Happens with babies, you know. Her mother died in childbirth. Father Clifford was with the mother when she went into labor, and when she died. Wormed his way right into her heart, little Teresa did."

"How sweet." Carmel tried to hide her disappointment. "But surely..."

"If it's the love of his life you're wanting - other than God, that is - check out the football pitch. He lives and breathes the game."

Carmel knew she wouldn't be getting any more out of Brian Quigley. "Thank you. That gives me some good background." She rose to leave.

Brian followed her to the door, anxious for the interview to continue on his terms. "Hey, don't you want to ask about the food? You should have seen the dish Shamie cooked up last night. It would make a great addition to your story."

"I'm more interested in the human angle, thank you."

Niamh Egan reluctantly followed the priest up the hill to the church. He stopped at the door to his house while she trudged onward. "The church is there, Father," she said coldly.

"Let's go inside and have some tea." He indicated his house.

"I don't want any tea," she answered through clenched teeth.

"Well, I do." He opened the front door and motioned inside. "Coming?" She brushed past him and stood in the small sitting room, arms crossed over her chest. "Sit down, Niamh." No answer. "Please." Niamh stood her ground. "Suit yourself." He walked into the kitchen and filled the kettle.

"Father MacAnally says you're no longer a priest."

Peter slid a chair out from the table and indicated it. "Sit down, and we can talk." Niamh did so reluctantly, glaring at Peter as he brought the cups and other tea paraphernalia to the table. "What else did he tell you," Peter asked as he placed a few teabags into a pot. The kettle came to a boil, and he poured the steaming water into the pot.

"He just said that he would be doing the christening tomorrow."

Peter brought the pot to the table and took the chair opposite his guest. "Niamh, I'm afraid what he said is partially true. I've resigned my post, and have asked for a release from my vows. I tried to give notice, but Father MacAnally insisted that my resignation be immediate."

"Why? Where are you going?"

Peter took a deep breath. "It's hard to explain. I haven't lost my faith as much as my vocation."

"I'm not sure I understand..."

"Neither did I until the other day."

Niamh's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying what I think you're saying?"

"I don't know. Mind reading isn't my speciality."

"Father Clifford, she's a married woman!"

"Yeah, and I'm a priest. It's a hell of a situation, isn't it?"

Niamh jumped up and began to pace in the tiny kitchen. "You could have waited a few days!"

"I didn't have a choice. Father MacAnally was pressing me for a decision. If I'd known that it meant I couldn't do the christening, I'd have done everything in my power to put him off." Peter poured two cups of tea. "Come on. I hate to drink alone." Niamh sat down and pulled the chair up to the table with as much force as she could muster. "I know you're upset."

"You think I'm upset? What's my father going to say? Does he know?"

"I don't know." Peter knew full well what Brian Quigley would say, and he knew it wouldn't be flattering. He had no intention of telling his daughter that, although he suspected she was thinking the exact same thought.

Niamh added sugar to her tea and began to stir rapidly. She dropped the spoon on the table, sending little droplets of sugared tea flying. "I guess I really shouldn't be surprised. I did everything I could to steer Assumpta away from you, because it wasn't right. And when she married Leo, I thought that everything was going to be okay."

"So did I."

"Then what happened?"

"I wish I could give you a good answer." Niamh looked at him incredulously. Peter sighed and slumped down over his coffee, staring at the liquid for a long moment. He looked across the table, his eyes reflecting his bewilderment and lack of sleep. "It's the truth. I don't know what else to tell you, because I don't know how it happened. It just - did."

Once again Niamh stood, her manner more composed. "Thank you for the tea, Father. I need to discuss this with Ambrose."

"Do me a favor and keep this to yourselves for now." Niamh raised an eyebrow. "I'm not going to hide this, trust me." He held up a hand to cut off her retort. "But there's a reporter in town, and she's asking some rather pointed questions. The reason Father Mac removed me immediately was to avoid trouble. That's not what I wanted, but I have to admit that I can see his point of view. Then along came this reporter from the Enquirer." Niamh wrinkled her nose. "She may not only dig up dirt, but she just might manufacture some of her own. I don't want anyone to get hurt..."

"You should have thought about that before." With that, Niamh turned on her heel and left.

Peter stared at the closed door, wide-eyed. All he wanted was to do the right thing, and every one of his good intentions seems to have backfired spectacularly. Instinctively, he reached inside of his shirt and brought out a small silver crucifix attached to a chain. His mother had given it to him on the occasion of his first Communion, and he had worn it ever since. It gave him comfort of sorts - as a reminder of Christ's presence and as the one memento he carried of his mother - but no support. Peter collapsed into a chair and looked at the picture of Christ on the wall, his own eyes filling with tears. "What have I done?"

Assumpta Fitzgerald knocked on the door of her solicitor's office. She had been contemplating this action for a couple of weeks, but had not been able to bring herself to do the deed. Whether this was due to some vestige of her Catholic upbringing, some hope of a renewed spark with Leo, or just plain fear, she was unsure. Now there was no reason to hesitate. The door was answered by a middle-aged man. Reading glasses hung around his neck, resting on a bit of a paunch he'd been meaning to do something about. "Mike. Thank you for seeing me." The lawyer showed her through to his office.

"You told me over the telephone that you want to start divorce proceedings against Mr. McGarvey?" Assumpta nodded. "Well, there's a bit of a hiccup." He held up a fax transmission. "Mr. McGarvey's attorney sent this to me a couple of hours ago. "Seems he's beaten you to it."

Assumpta felt both relieved and incredulous. "Leo?"

"I took the liberty of calling so I could have as many details as possible for you. He wants a divorce on grounds of adultery."

"He can't do that. He has no proof."

Mike cleared his throat. "I'm sorry to have to ask you this, but you know I will keep it confidential. "Is there someone else?"

"Oh, god."

"I know this is difficult, but the only way I can help you is if you're completely honest with me."

Assumpta swallowed and wiped away a tear. Mike passed a box of tissues. "There is no adultery. But there is someone else. When I married Leo, I was acting impulsively. I knew that I couldn't..."

Her attorney winced. "So the other man was already married?"

"In a manner of speaking. He's a priest."

Mike dropped his pencil on the desk and leaned back in his chair. "Assumpta Fitzgerald, I've been seeing to your family's legal affairs for longer than I can remember. I thought nothing you did would surprise me. I was wrong."

"If you're going to sit here and condemn me, I'll find someone else to handle this."

"No, no. Please sit down. I'm not going to cast judgment on you. It's just that given your well-known views on the church, this comes as a surprise."

"You're telling me."

The lawyer stood and walked over the credenza, atop which stood a small collection of bottles and glasses. "Want a drink?"

"I'm driving, but don't let me stop you."

"A wise idea." He opened a door below to reveal a small refrigerator. "You won't say no to mineral water, would you?" Without waiting for an answer, he procured two plastic bottles and placed one in front of his client along with a glass. "Now," he declared as he returned to his chair, "You'd best start from the beginning."

Brian Quigley was seething. He sat in Peter's kitchen just as he had two nights before, demanding tea and answers. "What is the meaning of this?"

Peter went through the motions of making the beverage for the second time in half an hour. "Of what?"

"You know what I'm talking about."

Peter turned to face the other man. "That's a very open-ended question."

"Don't play games with me."

"Brian, I'm not in the mood to play games, believe me. I take it you're referring to the christening tomorrow?"

"Damn right."

"Father MacAnally has relieved me of my duties. If you want..." The ring of the telephone cut him short. Saved by the bell. Peter picked up the receiver. "Hello...Yes, I'll hold...Your Grace, hello...That's...No, I...That's not...Yes...Two days...Surely I can... I see. Good bye." Peter slowly replaced the receiver. "You had better talk to Father MacAnally about it. I've been recalled to Manchester."

"Just like that?"

"Yes, Brian, just like that. If you'll excuse me, I've got to pack. I need to make the next bus to Wicklow." Peter started up the stairs, trying to contain his anger.

"Let me at least give you a lift."

"Thank you, no. You need to be with your family now. But there is one thing."

"Name it."

"Can you send over the rest of my things later?"

"That sounds kind of final, doesn't it?"

"You've got a new priest on the way. Send it, store, it, I really don't care. Give it to the charity shop."

"Two days? Surely you can stay until the morning."

"The bishop wants me out of town now. And they've threatened disciplinary proceedings if I'm not in Manchester by their deadline. I think its best that I leave, don't you? I'm really not in the mood to explain it all. Talk to Father MacAnally. I'm sure he will be happy to give you all of the sordid details." Brian for once had nothing to say. "I do need to pack, Brian. Thank you."

Peter Clifford locked the door to his house for the final time. As he walked down the street, he placed his key in an envelope and sealed it. He dropped the envelope in the letterbox at Peking Ducks, then rushed to Fitzgerald's and began to bang on the door. "Assumpta!"

Niamh stuck her head out the door at the Garda house. "She's still in Cilldargan."

Peter looked at his watch and winced. "Any idea when she'll be back?"

"I'd have thought she'd be back by now." She caught sight of Peter's rucksack and her eyes grew wide. "You're not leaving, are you?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Hang on." The Gard's wife vanished and returned with Kieran. "I'm still mad at you, but I'd like you to stay for the christening."

"That's very kind of you, Niamh, but I don't have any choice in the matter." The bus for Wicklow rumbled to the bridge. "Talk to your father. He can tell you what happened."

"Oh, no. What's he done this time?"

"He's got nothing to do with this." Peter picked up his rucksack. "He just happened to be present when I got my marching orders."

"You can't leave without telling her goodbye!"

The bus came to a stop with a squeak. "Tell her I'll call her tonight." Niamh stepped forward to give Peter a hug. Peter, in turn, kissed Kieran on the cheek. "You be good and don't wet all over Father Mac tomorrow." He mounted the first step, and then hesitated. Reaching inside his shirt, he extracted his crucifix. "It's all I have. Would you give this to Assumpta? "

Niamh took the necklace. "Of course I will."

"And please, tell her that I love her." With that he turned and made his way on the bus. Niamh watched him move to the rear. He sat face forward, biting his lower lip, not daring to look back. Niamh took Kieran to the bench and began to cry.

She was still there ten minutes later when Assumpta's blue van pulled to a stop. The publican bounded out. "Thought I'd get some supplies while I was in town. And traffic in Cilldargan was a mess." Niamh sniffed and cuddled Kieran. "What's wrong?"

"He's left."

"Not Ambrose?"

"No, Father Peter." She held up the crucifix. "He asked me to give you this."

Assumpta took the necklace and collapsed on the bench next to her friend. She examined the crucifix, noting that it had lost some of its detail in several places, indicating that he had worn it for a number of years. "Didn't you try to stop him?"

"Yes, but he wouldn't listen. He did, however, say that my father would explain everything."

Assumpta felt her temper began to boil. "Why, that..."

"Assumpta, Peter said dad had nothing to do with it. Just that he knows the story."

"Where's he gone?"

"Back to Manchester. He told me he had to leave, and that he had no choice in the matter." Assumpta slouched down on the bench. "He also wanted you to know that he would call you tonight. And," she blushed, "for me to tell you that he loves you."

Assumpta stared down at Peter's token. "He would give me a crucifix."

"He said that's all he had."

"Well, then." Assumpta undid the catch on the chain and put it around her neck. "When did he leave?"

"He took the last bus to Wicklow."

Assumpta looked at her watch. "That was a quarter of an hour ago, right?" Niamh nodded.

"Will you watch the pub? I've got to make Wicklow fast."

The blue van pulled up at the bus station entrance with a screech. Assumpta jumped out and ran up to the ticket counter. "When's the next bus to Dublin?"

"You just missed one. The next one is in a couple of hours."

"Damn. Can you tell me if a man carrying a rucksack got on the bus?"

"Lots of those, Miss."

"He was a priest. Oh, but I don't think he was wearing his suit."

"Had one man with a rucksack come from Cilldargan and he took the Dublin bus. Dark hair, checked shirt..."

"That was probably him. When does the bus make Dublin?"

The man consulted a timetable. "About an hour and a half."

"What station?"

"It makes several stops." He handed over a paper. "Here's the timetable."

Assumpta studied it. "It terminates at the central station?"

"That's right."

"And from there he could get to the ferry port or the airport?"

"Easily done."

"Right. Thank you." She ran out to the van and stopped dead, her face registering an expression of anger mixed with disbelief. "Clamped!"

Brian Quigley sat impatiently in Father MacAnally's study, waiting on the parish priest. He couldn't understand what Peter Clifford had done to get himself ordered out of town so quickly. Sure, everyone knew that he had a thing for Assumpta Fitzgerald, but as far as he was aware, there was no hanky-panky going on. Quigley considered himself to be a good judge of character, and he honestly could not imagine Peter tossing his vows aside lightly. No, he decided, Peter was the squeaky-clean type, he simply would not throw his set of values away casually - dog collar or no. After their conversation two nights ago, Brian had the distinct impression that Peter would be giving up his vocation for the publican. Of course, as a man of the world, Brian couldn't expect Peter to hold out forever, but this was a little soon in his opinion. Hopefully Father MacAnally would shed some more light on the situation.

Finally, the parish priest arrived, making apologies. "I had to take confession this afternoon."

"I'll get straight to the point. What happened to Father Clifford?"

"Oh come now. You must have had an idea what was going on."

"That wasn't any reason to ride him out of town on a rail, was it?"

Father MacAnally paused, his frame hovering over his desk chair. "Excuse me?"

"He got a call from the Bishop while I was paying him a visit about the christening. He told me that that he was recalled to Manchester and was told to get out of Ballykissangel immediately. Don't tell me you didn't know about that."

Father MacAnally eased himself down. "No, I did not know about that. I delivered his resignation letter to the bishop this morning. This afternoon, some reporter came asking questions about him. I then called the bishop to tell him that the sooner he could arrange a release for Father Clifford, the better. But I didn't mention the reporter. Then I went to take confession." He looked at a pile of papers in front of him and selected a small slip. "Ah. A telephone message from the diocese confirming Father Clifford's move. This is not what I'd expected."

"You had nothing to do with it?"

"I had given my word to him that he could stay in his accommodations until Monday, and had told the diocese as much. I can only speculate that the bishop heard about the reporter in Ballykissangel, assumed the worst, and decided that the best way to avoid a scandal was to have him leave quickly."

Quigley frowned. "I'm afraid that might have just fanned the flames."

"I'm afraid that I agree with you. I tell you what: I'll try to get hold of the bishop and see what's going on. If he's ordered Father Clifford out of the country, I doubt there's anything I can do." He looked at the diary which lay open on the desk and his face fell. "I think he was going out of town this afternoon." Father MacAnally wondered to himself if his superior had some ulterior motive to call at a time he knew he would have to leave a message, or if there was a more innocent explanation. Just then the telephone rang. He expressed his hope that it was the Bishop's office.

"I'll see myself out, Father."

Brian had just closed the door to his car when Father Mac came rushing out.

"Brian, Niamh's on the line. You'd better talk to her. She sounds upset." He ushered the other man into his house and handed over the telephone.

"Niamh, honey..." Even through he had moved across the room, Father MacAnally could hear the young lady's voice through the line. She must be quite cross indeed. "Okay, calm down... He did, did he?... No, no... Niamh, I'm on my way. I'd rather not talk about this over the telephone... Assumpta? She's done what?... No, you did the right thing. Absolutely...I'm on my way. Give my love to Kieran... Yeah, and tell Imelda 'hi' as well." Brian hung up the phone and launched into a short recitation. "If I wasn't driving, I'd ask you for a good stiff drink. It seems that Assumpta was here in Cilldargan when Peter left. He didn't even get to say goodbye. I had offered him a ride to Dublin and he refused. I should have insisted." Without thinking, Brian reached for a cigar and his lighter, then remembered where he was. He held the items in his hand, waving the cigar for emphasis. "Now Assumpta has gone off after him. Niamh has to open the bar. And Imelda's having a fit over it. I'd better get back and try to smooth things over."

"Blessed be the peacemakers," Father Mac recited humorlessly.

Peter found he had nothing better to do on the bus than to think. Often, he fell asleep on the bus to Dublin, but he was too keyed up to even think about sleeping. The bishop had given no explanation except "recent events" for ordering him out of town. Perhaps he shouldn't have left so fast, but he didn't see that he had a choice. He thought they'd done a pretty good job of putting off that reporter from the Enquirer. Either they really hadn't done so, or Father MacAnally had decided to supplement the details in his letter of resignation. Peter had kept it simple, citing his issues with his faith. That had seemed the best route to take, even though he suspected the bishop had at least an inkling of his real reasons. Still, he should have let Brian bring him to Dublin so he could have told Assumpta goodbye.

Between the up and down emotions and the lack of sleep his head felt as though it had been used as the ball in a particularly ferocious football match. Perhaps he could blame the state of his head on why he so quickly acquiesced to the bishop's demand that he leave immediately. There was no reason to leave so quickly save fear. Peter was most definitely afraid that if Carmel Power wrote a story about Ballykissangel, he would figure prominently. It didn't matter one whit whether or not anything in the article was true; enough people would believe what they read to cause a lot of pain for the people and the town he loved. Perhaps leaving was the best thing to do. Slumping against the window of the bus, he watched the hills turn dark green in the late afternoon sunlight as he tried to ponder his near-term future. He was certain he would get a release from his vows, but in how long? And what was he going to have to endure back in Manchester until then? Was this really what the vow of obedience was about?

Peter rummaged through his rucksack in hopes of finding a bottle of water. Normally, that was one thing he always packed but given his current state of mind, he would probably find that he'd packed a bottle of milk instead. Or a beer, which they wouldn't appreciate being consumed on the bus. Finally, he reached the bottom of the pack. No water was to be found. He shrugged and closed the bag.

Open country gave way to city as they approached Dublin. The bus went up O'Connell St., across the River Liffey, and eventually into the Central Station. From there it was a short walk to Connolly Station where he found a bus waiting. Peter paid his fare and boarded for the short ride to the ferry port.

The bus lurched to a halt in front of the ferry station. Peter discovered that he had missed the last boat to Liverpool, but he could catch the next ferry to Holyhead because it was running behind schedule. Getting to Manchester from there via rail would be a major inconvenience, however. It might be best just to wait until the next day. He decided to take the next bus to the city centre and find a hostel for the night. First, he had something to do. He bought a phone card from the newsstand and found a kiosk with a bit of privacy. He had a lot of explaining to do, and the sooner he got started the better.

Niamh had talked Brendan into helping with the Friday night crowd. He covered the bar while she tended to the kitchen. Between the two of them, they managed to keep up with the flow of customers. Brendan produced a bottle of Harp for Padraig, who was in the process of wrapping up his tale of dealing with the journalist. "I got her alternator in and sent her packing," he declared.

"Did she ask you any questions about...you know," queried Siobhan.

"Nothing I couldn't handle. I made sure she knew she was barking up the wrong tree."

"Good man." Brendan sat the beer down in front of Padraig.

In the kitchen, Niamh scurried to put dishes together while her father told her what he knew of Peter Clifford's predicament. "And you let him go, just like that?"

"Well, you let him go too, didn't you?"

His daughter placed a plate on the sideboard and then wiped her hands on a dishtowel. She hated it when her dad was right. "I'm sorry, dad. I just can't believe he had to go." Brian grunted in agreement. "I wonder if Assumpta found him." In answer, the kitchen door banged open. A bedraggled Assumpta Fitzgerald pushed through and plopped down at the table.

"What's he doing here?" She indicated Brian.

"Telling me about Father Clifford."

Her face brightened up. "Have you heard from him?"

"Sorry, no. I take it you didn't connect with him."

"I got clamped at the Wicklow bus station by some over-officious, pompous twit of a Gard." Assumpta paused, realizing she had just indirectly insulted her best friend's husband. "Sorry, Niamh."

"It's okay." She placed a plate of food in front of Assumpta. "Eat. Can I get you something to drink?"

"A whisky, thanks. And one for your father. I think he's got something to tell me."

Brian related the tale for yet another time while Assumpta picked at her food.

"That man is so impulsive," she finally said.

"Look who's talking," Brian retorted.

"Okay," Niamh cut in, "that talk is getting us nowhere. "If you were Peter, where would you be right now?"

"Doing my duty," Assumpta finally responded. "Getting the heck out of Dodge." Assumpta tried a bite of cabbage and then tossed her fork on the table beside the plate. She was ready to change the subject. The more she thought about Peter's behavior, the angrier she felt. "You both know about Peter and I, right?" Brian and Niamh looked at each other. "Oh, don't spare my feelings."

"I think just about everyone in town knows," Niamh said.

"Even the dogs in the street," mumbled Assumpta.

"What was that?"

"Nothing, Brian." Assumpta rubbed at her temple. "You both think I'm nuts, don't you?"

"Well..." Niamh tried to put it into words. "If I say yes, you'll get angry because I don't understand. If I say no, you'll fly off the handle because you'll think I'm patronizing you. The answer isn't that simple." Assumpta leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms. "I mean, he is the priest, isn't he? On the other hand, if you're really in love with him, and if he's really in love with you, then why be miserable?" She held up a hand to cut off her friend's response. "But think about what you're doing. I'm sure I'm not the only one who has given you that bit of advice, but this is serious. I know that you probably don't give a toss about what the church does, but Father Clifford..."

"Father Clifford," Brian interjected, "is a grown man. He can make his own decisions, and he knows he'll have to live with the consequences. But to answer your question, Assumpta, this business between you two has caused a good deal of upheaval in this town - more than you know. And the sooner you resolve it one way or the other the better as far as I'm concerned. What you do and how you do it is up to you. I just hope you understand the consequences of your actions."

"Meaning? "

"Meaning that as long as you know what lies ahead, then..." The ringing of the telephone in the bar cut the conversation short. Assumpta jumped at the sound.

"Brendan's got it. Relax."

The kitchen door swung open. "Assumpta, Peter's on the line." The publican slowly rose. Niamh patted her shoulder in support. "I'll see if I can get a few punters to move to another table so you can have some privacy."

"Thanks, Brendan." She felt everyone's eyes on her as she made her way to the phone. "Peter?"

"I am so sorry." She could tell by the crack in his voice that he had been crying, and that made it more difficult for her to hold back her own tears. "I did this because I didn't want to hurt you or cause even more trouble in Ballykissangel, but I'm afraid I've only made things worse."

Assumpta only felt relief knowing that Peter was okay. "Where are you?"

"At the Dublin port. As soon as I get my ticket for tomorrow's boat to Liverpool, I'll go to the city centre and find a place to doss. I'll call you again from there."

"Just don't move a muscle, Peter. I'm coming up."

The other end of the line was quiet for what seemed like an eternity before Peter finally spoke his assent. "Assumpta?"

"What?"

"If I did that, I couldn't tell you that I love you." Assumpta smiled, knowing that Peter was no doubt smiling as well. At least he still had his sense of humor.

"Ah, I love you, too. Just - stay there, will you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Assumpta hung up the telephone and bounced into the kitchen. Brendan followed. "Peter is at the port in Dublin. I'm going up there. Maybe I can talk some sense into him. If not, at least we can say a proper good-bye."

"Don't go alone," Brendan cautioned.

"I think I can take care of myself, thank you, Brendan."

"What I mean, Assumpta, is you've had a long day, and we wouldn't want you falling asleep on the road. That wouldn't do either of you any good, would it?" Assumpta shook her head. "And how many of those have you had?" Brendan pointed at the empty glass.

"Just the one. But - Oh, you win, Brendan."

"Let me come along," Niamh offered.

"You'd better stay here with your family."

"Will you be back in time for the christening?"

"You will be if you take Siobhan," Brendan said. "Hang on a tick."

"Let me at least help you get ready."

"I think I can change my own clothes, thank you, Niamh." She glanced into the bar area, surveying the now thinning crowd. "Close early tonight. Go home and get some rest. The mother shouldn't have bags under her eyes at the christening."

"Too late. Kieran's done that for me already." Assumpta shot her a look. "Just go. Brendan and I will take care of things."

Siobhan appeared in the doorway. "I understand you need a chaperone."

"Thanks. Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

"Great. Give me ten minutes to freshen up."

When Assumpta returned to the kitchen, she found Padraig had joined the crowd. "What is this? I'm not going away on a cruise, you know."

Niamh held out a basket. "Sandwiches, coffee, and water."

"And it's not an expedition to Everest."

"No, but you might want to feed Father Clifford. I'll bet the man hasn't eaten all day."

"You're probably right there."

Brendan touched her arm. "Before you go, Assumpta, we just want to let you know that we'll be here for both you and Peter." Everyone nodded their assent, including Brian. This surprised the publican, and she said as much.

"When the landlady is happy, the town is happy. That's good for business."

Assumpta rolled her eyes. "I should have known."

"Just remember our conversation, okay?"

"Get out of here," Brendan ordered, "you've got a clandestine rendezvous to make."

"As if the whole town doesn't know about it." Assumpta looked around at the assembled group. "Thank you. Now get back to your drinks."

The N-11 was mercifully empty until just outside of Dublin, and so the women made good time. Siobhan navigated and they made it to the port having only missed two turns. Assumpta made sure she parked in a marked space to avoid the clamp. They marched into the port, carrying the basket between them. After some frenzied searching, they found Peter asleep in a corner.

"I'm surprised they didn't do him for vagrancy," Siobhan whispered.

"They wouldn't do that to a priest. Not in Ireland."

"Ah, but he isn't wearing his collar, is he? Look, I need to find the facilities."

"Again?"

"The curse of the pregnant lady." Siobhan left Assumpta with Peter. Truth be told she could have held out for a while yet, but it seemed a good idea to let them have their reunion alone.

Assumpta knelt down and kissed Peter on the forehead. "Thanks for waiting."

"Mmph." Peter shook himself awake and then put a hand on her face and kissed her. "I'm so glad you came."

"Me, too." They embraced and held each other as tight as they could. Assumpta thought if he didn't let up soon, she'd faint. After a long moment they parted.

"You could have left a note."

Peter looked at his shoes. "Yeah. Niamh showed up, and then the bus..." He bit his lip, not knowing what to say. "And the written word somehow seemed...inadequate." He drew her back into an embrace. This time around she didn't protest when he began to kiss her neck.

"Ahem." Siobhan stood over them.

They let go, and Assumpta caught her breath. Peter glanced up at the vet. Assumpta shrugged like a child who had to say something mildly embarrassing and pointed her thumb at the other woman. "Erm, she came along." Brilliant line, she said to herself.

"A chaperone," Peter asked.

"To keep her from falling asleep at the wheel." Siobhan's purse began to chirp. "I hope it's not an emergency. Excuse me." She stepped a few paces away while Peter helped Assumpta up from the floor. They took the opportunity to steal another kiss. "That was Padraig. Seems he and Brendan have been calling hotels all over Dublin, and have found us a couple of rooms at the Mespil."

"That's a good idea. You two shouldn't be driving back tonight."

"One of the rooms was meant for you, Father Clifford."

Peter shook his head. "I don't think that is such a good idea..."

Assumpta stomped a foot. She was not amused. After having come all the way to Dublin in the pitch dark to see Peter, here he was playing games. "Are you trying to be a martyr, or are you just trying to be trying? If it's the latter, you're doing an excellent job. If it's the former, perhaps I should just leave you here to wallow in your self-pity. You can call me when you're ready to talk." She picked up the basket. "Come on, Siobhan."

The vet stood her ground. "I think you're both acting like a couple of schoolchildren. Maybe Brendan should have come along to deal with you two." Peter and Assumpta simply stared at each other. "I'm going to the hotel. If you two want to be petulant about it, you can stay here and slog it out amongst yourselves. I need to get some rest." Siobhan took the basket in her hand. "And I'm eating for two. You can fend for yourselves." She turned on her heel and left.

Peter leaned against the wall and shook his head. Assumpta took his hand. "This is silly, isn't it?"

"I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too. Why don't you come along to the hotel? We'll eat and then if you're more comfortable staying elsewhere Siobhan and I will find you a place."

"You didn't just come up here to make sure I was well-fed, did you?"

Assumpta shook her head. "You didn't think I'd let you leave without saying good-bye, did you?"

Peter managed a smile and grabbed his rucksack. "We'd better hurry, or she'll go off with out us."

Assumpta reached inside her coast pocket. "No chance of that. I've got the keys to the van." She held up her key ring and they both laughed.

"You don't suppose she realized that when she took off, did you?"

"What do you think, Sherlock?" Assumpta slipped her arm around Peter's waist and they went off in the direction of the car park.

They all shared a late supper and then Siobhan excused herself. "I'll let you two have at it. Don't do anything I wouldn't do." Peter raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that does leave it wide open, doesn't it?"

"Leave me a key. I'll be along in a bit," Assumpta assured her.

"I'm still a priest, remember," Peter added. The vet shrugged her shoulders and left the room. Peter and Assumpta sat together on the bed, resting against the headboard, arms around each other.

"This could be dangerous..." Assumpta began.

"Well, if you've got the energy, you have my undying admiration. But as I told Siobhan..."

Assumpta let out a sigh. "Yeah, I know..."

He stroked her hair. "You do understand, don't you?"

"Actually, I do. As much as we both want it, it really isn't a good idea."

"Well, perhaps this is." Peter rolled off of the bed and dropped to one knee. He took her right hand in his. "Will you marry me? I mean, when we're both free." She hit him with a pillow. "Hey! What was that for?"

"I thought we'd worked that out already, Peter. As if you didn't know the answer."

"I just wanted to make it official. I'm afraid I can't get you a ring just yet, though."

"Ah, but I have this." She pulled the necklace from underneath her shirt. "Yeah, I thought I'd never wear one of these things again. But it means a lot to me because it came from you."

"I'm glad you think so." She leaned over to the edge of the bed to give him a kiss just as he tried to stand. Peter leaned to meet her and lost his balance as his lips grazed her cheekbone. "See? You make me giddy," he joked.

Assumpta frowned. "Are you okay?'

Peter nodded. "Nothing a little sleep won't fix. Okay, a lot of sleep." Assumpta shifted her position on the bed. "Don't go."

"I was just going to help you up."

"Oh, I can make it," he replied as he eased himself to a standing position. "Thanks, though."

"Do you really have to go back to England?"

"I don't see that I have a choice," he declared as he sat back on the bed. "If I don't show up, I expect that they can make things difficult."

She let him settle in and then moved close, placing her head on his shoulder. "How?"

"They could drag out the paperwork on my release for a start."

"Can't you just march in and tell them you quit?"

"I could. I tried. If Father MacAnally hadn't broken his promise..."

"He didn't." She related the story as told to her by Brian.

"Then I really don't think I have any choice for now."

"You can stand up to them."

"I'm just a curate, Assumpta. I'm not even that any longer. I have no standing, no pull." Peter took a sip of coffee. He'd been over this in his head so many times already; he was tired of thinking about it. "So, what happened with your lawyer?"

"Oh, more bad news, if you can stand it. Leo's divorcing me - on grounds of adultery. He got to his lawyer first."

Peter let out a low whistle. "Then it really is best if I leave. I think my presence would only complicate things."

"I told Mike about you - about us. If he's going to help me he needs to know everything." Peter nodded in assent. "You know that I wasn't in the best emotional state when I married Leo. He'll deny it, of course, and it could turn into quite a fight. But Mike thinks he can obtain a divorce on those grounds, and that might be acceptable to the Catholic Church."

"It sounds so easy on the surface."

Assumpta pulled Peter closer. "I know." They sat in silence for a moment. "I suppose you'll be available to marry long before I am."

"If I am, you know I'll wait for you." He gave her a kiss on the forehead.

"I have lips, you know."

"Yeah, I know," he said appreciatively.

"Don't tell me that's part of being celibate."

"Not really, but..."

"Oh, Peter. Just hold me."

They sat in together for the next half hour, simply holding each other, until Peter fell asleep. Gently, reluctantly, Assumpta extricated herself and left Peter to his dreams.

The drive to the port had been hectic because Peter had already purchased a ticket for the 8.00 boat and they all overslept. Assumpta left Siobhan in the van ("Play up the pregnancy!") on the double yellow line at the entrance and escorted Peter inside. He stopped and turned to her, touching her hair. "You do understand that I have to go?"

"If this is part of what has to be done, yes. But it doesn't mean I have to like it."

He cradled her head against his chest. "If I could see any other way out of this..." A voice on the loudspeaker announced that boarding would soon terminate.

"Call me, will you. Peter?"

"You know I will. And give my good-byes to everyone."

"Hurry, you'll be late for the boat." They shared a kiss before Peter ran to the barrier, ticket in hand. He presented the billet and found himself a spot on the crowded vessel. He hated to take this ferry, but he was short on funds, and eight hours on the water would give him more time to think, not to mention delay his arrival in Manchester until as late as possible.

"Father Peter Clifford," the disembodied voice on the loudspeaker droned. "There is an urgent message for Father Peter Clifford at the aft snack bar."

"What now?" Peter grabbed his rucksack and made his way to the rear of the boat. "There's a message for me," he stated as he showed his clerical ID. The cashier handed over an envelope. Stepping away from the snack bar, he tore it open.

Just to make it official, the missive read, the answer is yes. Peter held the note to his heart. "This is insane." He ran back to the snack bar and cut to the front of the queue, apologizing. "How long before the boat leaves?"

The cashier glanced through a nearby window. "Just a couple of cars left to get on board. Shouldn't be long."

"Thanks." Peter looked at his watch, and then to his rucksack. In one headache-inducing second, his entire path was laid out before him. Could this be what St. Paul felt on the road to Damascus, he wondered? He quickly asked forgiveness for even considering such a notion. Nevertheless, after weeks of living in a fog the way ahead was finally clear.

Assumpta and Siobhan pulled into Ballykissangel with plenty of time to spare before the christening. "So," Siobhan asked, "Did you and Peter..."

"We talked. Then he fell asleep."

"Do you expect me to believe that?"

"Siobhan, you were right next door. What did you hear?"

"Nothing."

"That's exactly what happened."

The vet shook her head as if to clear it. "You mean to tell me you had the perfect opportunity..."

"Nothing happened. At least not what you think."

"Oh?"

"Okay, he proposed. Keep it quiet, though."

"You did say yes, didn't you?"

; "I hit him with a pillow."

"Assumpta Fitzgerald!"

"Ah, he knows the answer. I hit him because I thought we'd already decided to get married."

Siobhan hugged her friend. "Good for you."

The christening went off without a hitch. The party at Brian's place showed no signs of stopping, even as it drew close for time to Assumpta to open. She reluctantly left and went into town. It wasn't as if anyone would be there, she told herself, but this divorce was going to cost her a packet, and she'd better try to make a few punts whenever she could. She got the bar open, uncovered the taps, and went into the kitchen to get a start on food. After the spread Brian had put out, no one would want to eat. There could be a few tourists through, though, and she might as well be ready for them. She pulled a few items out of the pantry and walked over to the refrigerator. "Be right with you," she called as she heard the front door open and close. She heard the sound of footsteps approach the kitchen door, which slowly swung open.

"Any chance of a drink?"

"Peter!" Her hands began to shake. Carefully, she managed to maneuver a plate of cold meat onto the table before she dropped it. "What are you doing here?"

"I couldn't do it." He closed the door and took her hand. "Now you're shivering."

"What do you expect? I've been rummaging about the refrigerator."

"Maybe I can help warm you up." They held each other tightly until she thought she was going to stop breathing. Finally, he relaxed his grip.

"You sure know how to take a girl's breath away."

Peter blushed. "Sorry. I didn't mean to do that."

"Did I say I didn't like it? How about a sandwich? You must be hungry." Peter assented, and she set herself to work. "So, you're now AWOL."

"Well, technically not until tomorrow sometime, I suppose, but I may as well be." He ate heartily. If Assumpta hadn't known any better, she'd have thought he hadn't eaten in days. "I just couldn't leave it this way."

"What are you going to do?"

"I've given it some thought. Sit down." Assumpta pulled a chair to the table. "It's funny. I've always stood up for the rights of my parishioners, but I've never really stood up for myself. It just never seemed important in the grand scheme of things because a priest is supposed to be a servant, I suppose. I couldn't even stand up to the diocese when they wanted to transfer me out before. I mean I tried, but it didn't seem worth fighting for after a point. At least until you stepped in..."

"It was a community effort, Peter."

"In any case, who knows where I would be right now?" He squeezed her hands in his. "I wouldn't be here, that's for sure." One hand broke free and brushed one side of her face. She laid her head in the palm of his hand. "You know I've probably made a pig's breakfast of this whole thing now. But as long as I have you, I can face anything."

She kissed his hand. "I'm glad you came back."

"So am I."

"Peter?"

"Mmm?"

"About that polar bear joke?"

"Yeah?"

"Whatever happened to the baby bear?"

"Ah, now that's an interesting story. You see, he finally got up the courage to leave. Then he moved south, married a beautiful lady bear, and lived happily ever after."

Assumpta cocked her head to one side. "Erm, wasn't he underage?"

"Funny you should mention that. A polar bear can mature in as little as three years. I saw that on a BBC documentary."

Assumpta gave a sly smile. "And you've lived in this town for how long?"

Peter began to count on his fingers. "Is that in bear years or human years?"

"Oh, forget it." She leaned across the table and planted a kiss on his lips.

 

Part 2

"Wow!" Peter leaned against the back of his chair, his face plastered with a grin.

"What's the matter," teased Assumpta, "haven't you ever kissed a girl before?"

Peter felt his face redden. He wasn't sure which was the more embarrassing - being teased by Assumpta, or the knowledge that her jibe carried more than a grain of truth. "Uh, let's just say that it's been a very long time." He could get very used to this. That, of course, was a bit of a problem. As long as he was still a Catholic priest, Peter Clifford felt that he had no choice but to stick to the straight and narrow path. This, he knew, would be a lot easier said than done.

"Would you like some more practice, then?"

"Well..."

The noise of someone entering the bar rescued Peter from an awkward situation.

"Service, Assumpta! I know you're back there!"

Assumpta swallowed. "It's Brendan," she whispered.

"Yeah, I know. Go on. I'll be okay." Assumpta stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt. She was unsure whether or not Peter had told anyone else he had returned, or if he preferred to keep low for a bit. Perhaps it would be best, she decided, to keep his presence to herself for the time being.

"Can't a man get a beer around here?"

"Coming, Brendan!" She turned to Peter, kissing him on the forehead. "I thought that teachers were supposed to be patient."

"Not when it comes to stout."

"Right." The publican left the newly-returned priest with a "don't go away" smile before she pushed open the door to the bar. "Sorry," she apologized as the door swung closed behind her. "I'm trying to get a start on dinner."

"Something's certainly cooking in there," Brendan retorted. Instead of answering Assumpta busied herself in the ritual of pulling the pint. "You don't have to hide him from me, Assumpta."

"Excuse me?" The publican tried without success to maintain an air of normality as she drew the glass of stout.

"Have it your way." Brendan produced a newspaper from his coat pocket and began to study the crossword. After a moment he abandoned all pretenses and slapped it down on the bar. Assumpta flinched as she topped off the pint. "It's probably none of my business," he began. She cut him off with a sharp glare as she sat the stout on the bar.

"Drink," she ordered.

Brendan took a sip and then stared into her eyes. "I know he's back there," he said in measured tones. "I heard his voice when I walked in."

Assumpta threw her towel on the bar as Peter emerged. The priest hesitated as he looked around the otherwise empty space. He and Assumpta exchanged a glance. "It's not as though I was trying to hide..."

Brendan produced several coins from his pocket and casually transferred them from one hand to another. "You look like a man with a story to tell, Peter."

"There's not much to say, really." He walked over to Assumpta and slipped an arm around her waist. She briefly thought about drawing away, but realized that it would look silly. Peter smiled sheepishly. "Well, I finally came to realize that running away wouldn't really solve my problems."

Brendan dropped the coins on the bar. "This round is on me." Assumpta poured herself a glass of wine while Peter drew himself a lager. Once all glasses were charged Brendan raised his in salute. "Here's to cajones."

Assumpta giggled while Peter looked slightly embarrassed. "If that's what I think it means..."

"You know you're going to have to get this man out more," Brendan deadpanned to Assumpta.

"Let's just say the terms they use in Manchester are less ah, poetic," Peter rejoined.

After a moment's silence, Brendan asked the inevitable question. "So, what are you going to do?"

Peter shrugged.

"We were just discussing that when we were so rudely interrupted," Assumpta said, her eyes twinkling.

Brendan cleared his throat. "Well, if you'd rather..." He made a motion to leave.

"Stay." Peter ordered. He took a stool from the front of the bar and placed it on the serving side. With a long sigh, he sat down. Brendan observed that the bags under the priest's eyes had grown since the day before, yet his countenance seemed lighter, as though much of his burden had been eased.

Assumpta stepped next to him. "You must think this is crazy." Brendan shook his head.

Peter let out a half laugh. "Well, it is kind of crazy." He leaned his head against Assumpta's shoulder. Brendan couldn't help but notice how happy they seemed together.

"You know you two are in for a rough road."

"Tell me something I don't know." Peter leaned forward to take a quick drink from his beer.

"I'm pleased that you two finally wised up," Brendan said, "but allow me to play Devil's advocate here." The couple across the bar nodded slowly. "I just want to make sure you've thought this through is all."

Peter felt Assumpta stiffen. Brendan's heart was in the right place, but he had no way of knowing how much that topic had been discussed between the two of them in the past twenty-four hours. He squeezed her hand in reassurance. "Sometimes, Brendan, you just have to take things on faith."

The Accommodations door swung open slowly. Peter felt Assumpta squeeze his hand back, but it was a gesture more out of nerves than fondness. A rucksack pushed through followed by a young woman. "Would you have a room available?"

Assumpta opened her register. "I did have one, but..." She looked at Peter, who in turn shook his head. Assumpta turned to the visitor. "How many nights, then?" Brendan shrugged and went back to his crossword. Both men had felt the temperature drop by several degrees. Peter went into the kitchen and returned with his sarnie, eating slowly and watching warily.

Assumpta finished up with her transaction and then blew into the kitchen without a word. "Should I throw some sod on the fire," offered Brendan in jest. Peter refilled Brendan's glass. "Don't go away." He started towards the kitchen, and then stopped to pull a handful of coins from his pocket. Brendan raised an eyebrow. "It's not my place to go about offering free beer." The unspoken word "yet" hung between them.

Brendan looked at his stout. It was mostly head. "You'll have to learn to pull a stout first."

"Yeah," Peter responded regretfully. "Sorry about that. It's been a while since I've helped out behind the bar."

Brendan waved it off. Under any other circumstances he would have considered the contents of his glass to be a supreme transgression against all that is beer. "You'd better go and talk to her."

He found Assumpta chopping vegetables. "I thought you might have wanted to stay here," she said without looking up.

Peter sat at the table, knowing better than to approach an angry woman wielding a knife. He was about to assign a number to his next statement to save him the effort of continually repeating himself: "I'm still a Catholic priest."

She released the knife and glared across the table. "Yeah. And I'm...Oh, I hate it when you're right." Peter stood and hugged Assumpta. "I do know. It's..."

"You knew the job was dangerous when you took it." He was pleased to coax a smile from her lips

"So, what are you going to do then?"

"First, I'll find a place to stay. You'll not like what I'm going to do next."

She crossed her arms. "And that would be what?"

Peter winced in expectation of a temper fit. "I need to talk to a man in a frock." She looked at him testily. "I could use an ally on the inside, if you know what I mean."

Assumpta moved her hands down to her hips. One part of her feared that if he made the call he'd be heading back to Manchester before she could put her shepherd's pie in the oven. On the other hand, she realized that she had to trust him on this. After all, he had a far better grasp of Church politics than she.

He reached inside of his shirt pocket for his phone card and held it up like a trophy. "Ah. I've still got some time left. Mind if I use your phone?"

"Are you sure that this is the right thing to do?"

"Not really, but I'm going to call someone whom I trust to give good advice." He took one of her hands in his. "He's a good friend, Assumpta. And yes, he happens to be a priest. But I can sit here and let them try to pull me away, or I can take some action. And believe me it will help to have someone I know I can trust on my side."

Assumpta reached out with her free hand and touched Peter's face. "Yeah, I know." She went back to her cooking, trying to mask her feelings about the situation. "I've got punters to feed...I hope. Go talk to your friend in the frock."

Peter left a message for his friend, and then spent the next couple of hours hanging about in the kitchen until it became clear to him that - in spite of Assumpta's protests - he began to get in the way of her work. At that point he decided it best to take up Brendan's offer to spend the night at his place. The two stayed up for several hours consuming the Saturday six pack and talking. About 1.00 Brendan brought out the last two cans.

Brendan had no lager on hand and so Peter was forced to drink stout. "Don't think I'm getting used to this stuff." In fact, he felt as though he would be quite sick the next day, but he honestly didn't care.

Peter sank down into the couch. "You've been a good friend, Brendan."

The other man shook his head. "That's the beer talking," he said.

"No, it isn't." Peter closed his eyes, and Brendan thought for a moment that the priest had fallen asleep. "I don't know," he said without opening his eyes, "am I really doing the right thing ..."

"I don't think you're spitting in the wind, if that's what you mean."

"I was thinking of a similar, but slightly more colorful metaphor." Both men burst into laughter. Peter stopped short and stared across the room. "Brendan?"

"Yeah?"

"What have I done?"

Brendan looked at the mantle clock. "It's too late for that."

"You mean I really have bollocksed it up?"

Now Brendan knew for sure that the beer was talking. Peter never spoke like that. "No, I mean that you should get some sleep. How you manage to keep going is beyond me."

"Nervous energy, I think." He smiled weakly.

Brendan stood. "Your things are in the spare room. Sleep as long as you want. It'll do you good."

Assumpta Fitzgerald had slept in fits and starts. She dragged herself downstairs to cook breakfast for her guests, and then fell back into bed once they had left. The backpacker checked out with the intention of heading points east. The American couple decided to attend morning Mass in Cilldargan and then tour the countryside. She packed them a basket of sandwiches and a flask of coffee and sent them on their way before she crawled back into bed for a couple more hours of sleep. Peter, she hoped, was also in bed. He'd promised to call when he woke up. Knowing him though, he'd probably gone off to Mass somewhere. As desperately as she wanted to talk to Peter, she knew better than to rouse Brendan this early on a Sunday. And on the chance that Peter was still in bed she thought it best to wait. If anyone needed rest right now it was he.

"Unngh." Peter Clifford rolled over and pulled the blanket up to cover his head. Whatever time of day it might be, it was too early. Why on God's green earth (all forty shades) did he ever try to keep up with Brendan Kearney in the drink department? It was only three beers spread out over several hours, but he was sure his head wouldn't be pounding like this if he'd only had lager. On the other hand, he had managed to sleep for longer than an hour or two at a go for the first time in what seemed like months. Admittedly, that was a plus. Still, he felt terribly guilty for allowing himself to get in such a state.

Peter tried in vain to go back to sleep. It was no use. He was going to have to get out of bed. Peter stuck an arm out from under the bedclothes and felt around on the table for his watch. Bringing it close to his face, he opened one eye just enough to see the time. "Oh, God." It was already 2.00.

He threw the blanket back to discover to his mild surprise that he was already dressed. On reflection he realized he was still wearing yesterday's clothing. At least he'd taken off his trainers, although he didn't remember having done so.

The gentle knock at the door rattled through his head like a sledgehammer. "Want some tea?" Brendan sounded too chipper. That was it. No more stout.

Peter stood, keeping one hand on the night table for balance. "Thanks. I'll be out in a minute." He found his rucksack on a chair and fished out a change of clothes and his toothbrush. A small sink stood in one corner of the room, and he did his best to make himself presentable.

"How'd you sleep," Brendan asked as Peter sat at the table.

"Like the dead - not unlike how I feel at the moment." Brendan poured Peter a cup of tea. "I guess I should call Assumpta."

"She's been by twice. We thought it best that you sleep."

"I needed it. Thanks."

"She said she'd drop in again later."

"Yeah, okay." Peter sipped at his tea, hoping it would help clear the fog in his brain. "When did she say she'd come by?"

"Ring her if you want. But do yourself a favor and eat something." He pushed a cheese sandwich across the table. "It's not much, but you ought to keep up your strength."

"You sound like my mother."

"Assumpta's orders, actually." Brendan paused as Peter took a bite of his sarnie. "She doesn't want you passing out on her," he added with a wink. "You've also had a telephone call." He pushed a piece of paper across the table; Peter tried to focus on the words. It was from the priest he had called last night.

Stay where you are. Noli nothis permittere te terere.

"He's certainly well-educated," Brendan observed. Peter scratched his head. "You do know what that means don't you?"

"Of course, I know what the Latin means. I think the rest is an order to wait for him. Did he say anything else?"

"I think he said his name was William."

"That's Father William. From my old parish in Manchester."

"Does this mean they're sending out the dogs?"

"I don't know." Peter stared at the paper. "I called him last night. He wasn't in, so I left a message for him to call back. I didn't expect him to come, but I'm not leaving, that's for sure."

"Good man."

"He's a good friend. If they had to send anyone, I'm glad it it's him."

Peter cleared off the table and insisted on doing the washing up. It was the least he could do. First, he rang Fitzgerald's. No one answered, so he decided it would be best to keep busy with the dishes.

He was going to have to go into Cilldargan or Wicklow and find a place, but not until he had talked with the other priest. If anyone could help him sort out what to do next, it would be William Fullington. The two of them had known each other since seminary, and had landed together in the same parish in Manchester. Giving Will a ring had seemed like a good idea. There was, of course, always the possibility that his friend had been sent to retrieve him...

His thoughts were cut short by a pair of arms around his waist.

"Getting in practice for your job at the pub?"

Peter dried his hands and kissed Assumpta on the forehead. "Oh, so you really just want someone to do the dishes, is that right?"

"Erm, yeah, but we can negotiate." Assumpta moved away and sat on the edge of Brendan's table, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Go on and finish. I want to watch your technique."

"Isn't that sexual harassment?" In answer she slapped him on the posterior with the wet dishtowel. "Hey, I'm calling Labour Relations."

"Go ahead. I haven't hired you yet."

Peter turned to say something cheeky in return, but stopped as he glanced at the doorway. Assumpta turned to see Brendan standing in the doorway with a tall, thin man dressed in blue jeans and a worn rugby shirt. He gave Assumpta a noncommittal look and then stared at Peter, who gaped wide-eyed in return. "Didn't you get my message?" His accent was English, possibly from the west. Assumpta wondered if he might be some friend of Peter's.

"Yeah, about half an hour ago." The other man raised an eyebrow. "I was catching up on my beauty sleep."

"As if it'll help that face." Brendan and Assumpta looked at each other and shrugged. Peter relaxed visibly. "So when does the pub open?"

"4.00," Assumpta answered. "I'm afraid we're still a little backward in Ireland."

Peter realized that he was still holding a dishrag and tossed it over the side of the sink. "I suppose some introductions are in order. Assumpta, Brendan, this is my friend, Father William Russell from Manchester." Brendan shook the priest's hand as Assumpta gave him the once over.

"You've not come to drag him back, have you?" Brendan and Peter looked at each other, realizing she'd just laid out some prime bait.

Peter spoke before William could bite. "He's the priest I called last night. And he's just come down here to talk." He looked at his friend significantly, as if to tell him to go along with it.

"We really do need to talk," William said carefully. Peter nodded to Assumpta, hoping she would back down.

"Well, I have pub to open. Drop by for that pint, okay?" Peter excused himself and saw Assumpta outside. "He has come to take you back, hasn't he?" It was all she could do to stay calm indoors, and now she was starting to lose it.

Peter glanced back at Brendan's house. He hoped that the teacher was keeping Will busy inside the kitchen. He started to put his arms around her waist, but then noticed a couple of children playing down the street. He nodded in their direction and he and Assumpta stepped a couple of paces apart. "Give him a chance, Assumpta. I was very surprised to see him, but I believe he's on my side." He reached into his pocket and handed over a folded piece of paper. "He returned my call this morning while I was still asleep and left this message."

She eyed the paper. "Sorry, but I don't speak Latin."

He translated the phrase. "I don't think he'd say that if he was coming to take me back to Manchester." I hope, he said to himself. She handed the paper back with a hint of a smile. "Thanks for asking him to drop in for a drink."

"I figured you'd bring him anyway." They stood for a long moment, simply taking in each other and wishing they could at least touch hands. "I'll be so glad when we can act as we please out in the open."

"I'll be glad when we can act as we please, period." Another awkward glance passed between them. "I really do have a pub to open. I've got to pay for this divorce somehow."

I love you, he mouthed. She held up two fingers, palm facing forward. He looked at the gesture. Two. Ah. Too. They waved goodbye and he stared wistfully after her as she vanished down the road.

Peter walked back inside to find Brendan showing William the view out the back window. The teacher cleared his throat. "I'm sure you two have a lot to talk about."

"I'm not going to kick you out of your own house, Brendan. I think we'll go outside and work up a thirst." He turned to the other priest. "You've come all this way. At least see some of the town."

Father William looked at Peter and then at Brendan. "Sorry about the Latin in the phone message. The housekeeper was listening in."

Brendan smiled. "Actually, that's my family motto."

"What? 'The housekeeper was listening in?'"

Brendan laughed. This priest may have been sent down here to do some dirty work, but at least he had a sense of humor. "Noli nothis permittere te terere." He nudged Peter. "Words to live by. Don't let 'em get you down, okay?"

Peter made Brendan promise to meet them for dinner at Fitzgerald's, and then took the other priest out for a walk. They stopped at the top of the hill overlooking Ballykissangel. William sat down and Peter joined him. "Beautiful place. Doesn't all this fresh air get to you after a while?"

"It did seem that I had to learn to breathe all over again."

"I think I offended your publican."

Peter laughed. "Don't worry. She treats all priests that way."

"Not you." Peter stared down at the village below, unable to answer. "Want to talk about

"She's right, isn't she? You're here to drag me back to Manchester."

William took a deep breath. "I offered to come and try to talk some sense into you. If you're wondering whether or not I brought along a second plane ticket, the answer is no. Still, it might not be a bad idea..."

Peter looked up at the sky, then back at his friend. His eyes were ringed with red. "What did they tell you?"

"That's the odd thing. We got a call Friday afternoon telling us to expect you back by tonight. No explanation. I rang your house, and tried Father MacAnally. No answer. When we tried back at the diocese in Wicklow, we were told that the bishop had already left town. I had your message when I got in last night, but our housekeeper took the number down wrong. Whoever I rang up wasn't too pleased. At least I think he wasn't. He was kind of unintelligible."

Peter wondered if he hadn't connected with what the locals called a mountainy man and told him so. "Then how did you find me?"

"Ve haf our vays," William smiled. "Have you ever been on the Internet? I went down to the school after Mass and borrowed a computer. I found directory listings for Ballykissangel. Then I remembered that you'd mentioned the name Brendan in a couple of your letters, and he seemed like someone you really respect. It was a long shot, but I found you."

"The Russell Detective Agency, eh?"

William shrugged. "I'm not giving up my day job."

"I've given up mine."

The other priest stared incredulously at Peter. "That's a joke, right?"

"You really haven't heard?" William shook his head. He and Peter had briefly talked when he was in Manchester for his mother's funeral, and he did have the impression that something was amiss, but chalked it up to his friend's recent loss. "I'm going to tell you everything, and then I'm going to buy you that beer. You'll need it."

"Damn." William rarely swore, but this tale was certainly one for the books. "I think I can see why you didn't want to come back to Manchester." He looked down the hill at Fitzgerald's. A few of the regulars were filing through the doors. "But why did you come back here? Isn't that just asking for trouble?"

"I got tired of running away from my problems."

"I'll give you points for that, Peter, but what are you going to do?"

After talking it through with William, Peter had his next moves all planned. "I thought I'd post a letter to the diocese tomorrow, making my resignation immediate and requesting a release from my vows as soon as possible. Then I'm going to try to find a job and a flat in either Cilldargan or Wicklow. It wouldn't be appropriate to stay here. That is, unless you really have come to take me back."

William stared down the hill at the town. "Any chance I can see the church?"

"I no longer have the keys, but we can go down if you want." Peter was fully aware that William had dodged the question, but he knew his friend well enough to understand that he needed time to think. William Russell wasn't one to make snap decisions, which was one reason Peter had called him. There was always the chance that his plan would fly back in his face, but Peter felt that the risk was one worth taking. They walked down the hill and up the deserted street in silence. As Peter approached the church he remembered that he had planned to break the news to his congregation today. Instead he had been forced to leave town in a hurry. The local gossips must be having a field day.

Tacked on the sign in front of the church was a handwritten notice: Sunday Mass at 6 PM. Presumably Father Mac would be officiating. Peter took William down past the wall inset with memorial tablets and to the church door. "I'm sure it's locked." To his surprise the door swung open at his touch. A glance at his watch showed Peter that it was a little after five. Perhaps Kathleen was putting out fresh flowers and linens. Peter stepped back, allowing the door to close.

"I don't think it would be a good idea..."

William grasped the handle. "Mind if I go in?" Peter stood out of the view of anyone who might be inside and allowed his friend to enter.

William stepped into the sanctuary and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the low light. At first glance it looked like any of a hundred other small Catholic churches he had visited over the years. The smell of candles mingled with incense was pretty much the same as anywhere else. Still, something intangible hung in the air. It was a feeling of welcome, even for a visitor from the seemingly godless metropolis across the Irish Sea. He understood at once why Peter was happy to serve here.

Peter stood impatiently outside of the door, hoping no one would spot him. On the other hand, his presence would certainly steal the thunder out from Father Mac's sermon. He smiled to himself at the thought. William opened the door. "The place is empty. Come on in." Peter shook his head. A long rugby shirt-clad arm dragged him inside before he could protest further.

Peter skidded to a stop just inside the door. He hadn't expected to set foot back inside for a long time - if ever. William gave Peter a little shove. Reluctantly he walked to the front, knelt, and crossed himself. He stayed in that position for a moment, his gaze lingering upon the figure of Christ suffering on the cross. William moved forward and joined his friend. At least it seemed to him that even if Peter had lost his vocation that his faith had remained intact. That was a relief.

"Why, Father Clifford!"

The voice came from the Sacristy, in which direction both priests looked in unison. Peter got to his feet and motioned for William to do the same. At once the priest from Manchester recognized a perfect specimen of the Flower Lady, Church Organist and Local Gossip all rolled into a single middle-aged spinsterish package. This was the one person next to a Mother Superior who could put the fear of God into a young man with but a single glance. Peter thought he heard the other priest gulp. "Kathleen, what are you doing here?" Peter felt himself wince at his stupid question.

The woman didn't miss a beat. "Why, getting ready for this evening's service, of course." She cast an accusing glare in Peter's direction, making sure to include his companion.

Peter did his best to land on both feet. He pointed at the other man. "This is Father William Russell, from my old parish in Manchester." She directed a critical glance at Father Clifford's companion, obviously disapproving of his dress.

"I was just helping Father MacAnally," she declared as the parish priest appeared in the doorway.

He cast a wary eye on both men. "From Manchester, eh?" He pressed forward and extended a hand, all the while noting the priest's lack of regulation dress.

William recovered quickly. "Sorry, I haven't had the opportunity to change. I don't normally wear the collar when I travel if I can help it. I hate it when people make a fuss over me because I happen to be a priest. "

"Indeed," Father Mac responded dryly.

"And if certain people see a priest away from church on a Sunday - well, it's just easier this way." He was about to go on about the well-meaning ladies who thought it terrible that a priest should have to travel on a Sunday, but with one of the sort standing in the room, he decided to stay quiet on the subject.

Father MacAnally nodded in comprehension. "Would you excuse us, Kathleen?" The woman bristled briefly, but acquiesced. Clearly she would like to have stayed. Once the door closed behind the shopkeeper, Father MacAnally indicated a pew. "Please sit down."

"It's a lovely church, William observed.

"I'm sorry you couldn't have been here to see Father Clifford celebrate Mass."

"Me, too. I've had an open invitation, but it was hard to get away."

Now that he had dispensed with the basic pleasantries, Father Mac looked Peter in the eye. He began to speak, then glanced at William, unsure how to proceed.

"It's okay," Peter said.

"I volunteered to come," William added. "Peter and I go back to the seminary." Father Mac nodded. "I didn't come to pass judgment or anything like that. I came because he needed a friend."

Peter wondered if the non-committal attitude was for the benefit of the parish priest or if his friend truly was still weighing Peter's story. Nevertheless it gave him hope.

Father Mac shifted in his seat. "I just wanted you to know that I was as surprised at the Bishop's decision as you."

Peter nodded. "I'd heard that you had nothing to do it."

"It's probably is for the best though, isn't it?"

"The best?" Peter couldn't believe what he was hearing. "For whom? For a church so afraid of scandal that they refuse to listen to the truth? To a priest who has already been so beaten down that one more blow would hardly matter? For a community that will be asking all kinds of questions in another hour? Tell me, who is best served?"

William was surprised at the outburst, but held his tongue. After all, he didn't know much about the relationship between Peter and his now former superior, and knew well that anything he would say might make matters worse.

"That's a bit harsh, isn't it?" Father Mac never let his gaze waver from his target.

Peter returned the look. "Father MacAnally, I know that you don't approve of my actions, and I can accept that. What I cannot accept is the Church trying to sweep me under the rug like yesterday's dirt."

The elder priest let out a slow breath. As much as he hated to admit it, Peter Clifford had a point. Although his former curate did try to do what was right initially, his actions were now bordering on insubordination. "You may find this difficult to believe, but I can see your side of the story. I do, however, ask you to think of Ballykissangel. I know you love this place, and I ask you to think about its welfare. On a more practical note, they are looking to have a new curate in as soon as possible, and I would like him to have the opportunity to take charge without the presence of the former priest."

"I won't interfere, if that's what you mean. Besides, I'm moving out of town in the morning. It's just as I told you on Friday. I don't intend to spend all of my waking hours hanging about Ballykissangel." Peter looked down at the floor. "I told you that I intend to keep my vows."

"I believe you took a vow of obedience."

Peter looked back at Father MacAnally. The fire had returned to his eyes. William put an arm on his friend's shoulder, and Peter shrugged it off. "We've already had this conversation."

Father MacAnally stood. "I must get ready to serve the community." The interview was at an end.

Peter barely stopped to genuflect before storming out of St. Joseph's. William followed. "Welcome to rural Ireland." He practically spat out the words. "Come on, we'd better go into hiding lest the members of the community see us."

William followed silently. It was his experience that Peter would come out of it soon enough. They walked through the church car park, past a small shrine to the Virgin Mary, and down to the river. Peter picked up a handful of stones and began to toss them into the water. "I really do like it here," he finally stated.

"I really do believe that." William skipped a stone across the river.

"You're going back to Manchester tonight?"

"No way am I driving those roads after dark. I swear, those grassy verges just leap out and attack cars."

"You should try driving those roads on a motorbike. I nearly ruined a jacket my first year here. Between the grass and the manure..."

William wrinkled his nose. "I don't need that part of the grand tour, thanks all the same."

"Don't worry; it isn't on the itinerary." He looked at his wristwatch. "But dinner is. Right now we can have our pick of tables at Fitzgerald's."

Peter led the way along the river, then up a small, well-worn path that let out alongside the roadway. Fitzgerald's stood ahead of them. Peter stuck his head inside the door, and then opened it all the way for William to pass. The place was empty save Brendan, who was propping up the bar in his usual spot.

"Come on in," he called out, "the beer's fine."

"I'm definitely ready for a pint." William surveyed the taps. "What's good here?" Brendan held up his glass. "Besides that black stuff."

"You're missing out on a little piece of Heaven."

Assumpta Fitzgerald emerged from the kitchen. Brendan and William were forgotten for a moment as the pair locked eyes. Assumpta finally shook herself free. "Ah, what'll it be, Father?

"Will, please."

"Two lagers," Peter requested.

She placed two full glasses on the bar. "Dinner's nearly ready. I hope you don't mind Guinness stew, Father."

"Only if you'll call me Will," he called as she vanished into the kitchen.

"Don't worry; she treats all the clergy that way, certain present company excepted," Brendan explained with a nod to Peter. "How about if we get a table?" The men took their

Assumpta returned bearing a tray with three bowls of stew. Brendan passed the bowls around the table. Assumpta stood with the tray, waiting for them to try their food. William took a tentative taste. He swallowed, and then smiled. "That's delicious." He took another spoonful. "Thank you."

"Didn't your mother tell you not to talk with your mouth full?" Much to Peter's relief Assumpta seemed to be beginning to relax around the other priest. "Eat up."

Once the bowls were empty Peter gathered them up and started to the kitchen. William gave him a warning look, but Brendan nodded to let Peter go. After the door swung shut, Brendan reached into his coat pocket and produced a rumpled piece of paper. "I found this on the floor in the spare room. It must have fallen from his clothing or his bag. I know I shouldn't have looked, but you should see this."

William opened the sheet and read its contents.

"I have an idea..." The two mean leaned together and began speak in hushed tones.

For his part, Peter was simply glad to have a moment alone with Assumpta. He placed the bowls in the sink and grabbed her waist. "I've been waiting to do this all day."

"What about Brendan and your friend?"

"They can take care of themselves." He bent down to kiss her lips.

"Sure they can." She flung her arms around his shoulders and their lips met. Seemingly an instant later the front door opened and closed. "Duty calls," she said as she pulled away. Peter stared after her. He wished there was a way he could stay in Ballykissangel for the time being, just to be close to her, but he simply couldn't trust himself not to go beyond the "close" stage. He leaned back against the table as the door opened again. "They're gone."

"Really?" Peter rushed to the door and scanned the bar. The place was empty save for three empty glasses on the table they had occupied. Now they were truly alone, a situation that Peter had come to dread on one level.

Assumpta noted his discomfort and looked at the clock over the range. "Mass is letting out."

"I didn't think you cared."

"It means that people have to eat. I'd better be ready."

Peter looked around the kitchen. "Can I do anything to help?"

She pointed at the sink. "The washing up."

"Oh, thanks."

"Call it payment for your meal."

"Yes, ma'am." Peter took to his task with the hope that she would trust him with other duties once he was present full time.

He finished the dishes, dried them, and put them away where Assumpta indicated. They looked back at the clock. Thirty minutes had passed and Assumpta began to grow worried. She went to the door and looked out over the bar. "Father Mac must have had a long sermon," Peter guessed.

Assumpta looked to the ceiling in desperation. "At least the stew will keep, but...At last!" She exited the kitchen as she heard the front door open. In an instant she was back. "It's your friend."

Peter found William in the bar. "I've got us some accommodations."

"I can drive us out," Peter offered. Unless someone had offered to put them up for the night, the only rooms available would be in Cilldargan or Wicklow.

"No need. I accosted Father MacAnally after the service and asked him if he could recommend a place where I could stay the night. Some bloke in a tweedy hat handed over this key and told me we were both welcome to the presbytery house. Father MacAnally made it plain that it was to be for the one night only." He held up a key, which Peter recognized as belonging to his former residence.

"I suppose I can at least pack properly tonight." He looked back at Assumpta, who was torn between letting Peter leave and begging him to stay. She knew which it had to be for the time being.

The door to the bar opened, and Niamh and Ambrose entered with Kieran in her arms. Niamh handed the child to her husband and threw her arms around Peter. "I'm glad you came back." She stepped away. "I'm still not over the christening, however."

Peter made introductions, and William properly fawned over the baby. Before he left, Peter promised to call Assumpta later. He felt better about leaving knowing that she wouldn't be by herself. The two men got their things from Brendan's and went to Peter's old house. "I never thought I'd set foot in this place again." Peter turned on the light and let William inside.

Compared to the rectory in Manchester, this house looked like a cracker box to William. "Cozy."

"Isn't it?" Peter looked around the small ground floor. It may have been tiny, but it was home - once. "Bedroom's upstairs. You take that. I'll sleep on the couch." Before William could protest, Peter insisted. "Hey, I slept down here for several weeks while Brian Quigley - that guy in the tweedy hat - slept upstairs. He'd lost his place temporarily. If you hadn't guessed, he owns the house. Anyhow, I know just how to position myself in that thing in order to get a good night's sleep."

Peter opened the cupboard under the stairs. Brian had left a few boxes behind in his haste to get back to his own house. He didn't think he would need more than a couple for his things. All of the furniture belonged with the house. He possessed a smattering of books and trinkets, and what few articles of clothing wouldn't fit in his rucksack. Most people he knew would think it sad that all he had to show for thirty some odd years of life was a couple of boxes and a rucksack, but that suited Peter just fine. Mere things had never mattered a lot to him, even before he had made the decision to become a priest.

Peter began to box up his few possessions while William checked out the rest of the house. Someone knocked at the door, and Peter let out a sigh in response. Everyone had to know by now that he was in town. He thought about letting William answer, but decided he'd better face the inevitable. "Michael!" he opened the door wide and let the doctor inside. Peter smiled and held out a hand. Michael Ryan grasped it, and then put his other arm around Peter's shoulder in a hug.

"I'd hoped you'd be back." His gaze shifted to the staircase where Father William stood. "Have you got a few minutes, Peter? There's something I want you to see. And bring your friend." The three of them piled into Dr. Ryan's car and wound their way up the deserted high street and out of town. Peter allowed himself a lingering look at Fitzgerald's. He hoped that Assumpta had some customers tonight.

The car pulled to a stop in the hills, not far from the spot where Peter and Michael had watched the sun rise a few weeks before. That seemed so long ago to Peter. Several other cars were parked along the road, including Siobhan's and Brian's. Michael led them along to the top of a hill where Peter found Brendan, Siobhan, Brian, Padraig, Liam and Donal, and even Eamon. They stood and one by one, hugged Peter. "You didn't think we'd let you get away without saying goodbye, did you," Siobhan asked.

Peter was touched. "I don't know what to say."

"A priest at a loss for words," Brian quipped. "And they said the age of miracles had passed." Everyone shared a laugh.

Peter introduced William to those who hadn't yet made his acquaintance. Brian pointed in the direction of the road. "There's my grandson!" Niamh and Ambrose came up the hill, holding the baby carrier between them. Assumpta followed behind carrying a hamper.

"Hardly anyone's left in town. I might as well come join you." Everyone found a spot to sit while Assumpta opened her basket and pulled out a couple of bottles of wine and some plastic cups. Brian and Siobhan each placed a bottle of wine they had brought alongside the others.

"Great minds," Siobhan said when she noticed that the label on her bottle matched one of Assumpta's.

William drew Peter aside and pressed a piece of paper in his hand. "Brendan found this. We thought it would be appropriate if you were to share it as you'd intended." Peter opened it and saw that it was the draft he had made for what was to have been this morning's sermon.

"I don't know. I mean, the moment has kind of passed, hasn't it?"

"If you don't, you'll be on that plane to Manchester tomorrow. I'll be taking you with me on the grounds that you need psychological counseling."

"You wouldn't. Would you?"

He gave Peter serious look. "You don't want to find out."

Peter knew this was one time he should simply give in. He and William walked back to the assembly, and Brendan handed them each a full glass. Peter sat on the slope of the hill, slightly above some of the group, and below the others. "I appreciate this more than you know." He glanced at his notes. "This morning was to have been my last Mass as a priest. As you all know, that didn't quite work out." He looked at Niamh and Ambrose. "And I am terribly sorry that I was unable to do the christening."

"You'll be glad to know that Father Mac was the only one spilling water," Niamh said.

Peter laughed, remembering their conversation from two days before. "See, Kieran's obeying his elders already." He took a drink from his glass and put it on the ground, being careful to find a level spot. "Well, this isn't completely finished, so you'll pardon me if I hesitate to find the right words." He squinted, trying to make out his handwriting in the fading light. "When I came to Ballykissangel, I had no idea what I was in for. We English city dwellers have our own preconceived notions about rural Ireland, and I'm sure you had some ideas of your own about an upstart priest from Manchester." He couldn't help but look at Assumpta at that point. "I was soon taken in by the sheer beauty of the countryside and the warmth of the people. You have all made me feel a part of this community. I could do with a bit less rain, but then, that's how God makes the hills these marvelous shades of green. Who am I to argue with the creator of all things?" He paused and looked at his notes, then back to those assembled on the hillside. He took a deep breath.

"As you all know, these last few months have been a very difficult time for me. My mother passed on after a long illness, and a series of events happened here in Ballykissangel that made me question my vocation." He looked pointedly at Liam and Donal. "Suffice it to say that I have reluctantly come to the conclusion that I can no longer carry on as a Catholic priest. Believe me, this decision was not easy. But I want you to know that while I may have lost my vocation, my faith in God is as strong as ever. Some of you may wonder how I can reconcile the notion that I can no longer serve God in this capacity with the idea that my faith is still strong. Believe me when I tell you that this decision came about after a long period of prayer and contemplation. I have made my peace with God."

Peter cleared his throat. "There's some stuff about how I'm leaving town in order to make a clean break for the new priest, but that I'm not going far away." He scanned the page, looking for a particular spot. "Ah. I know that this comes as a surprise to some of you, but you need a priest who can better devote his time and energies to his flock. Your love and support has meant more to me than you will ever know, and believe me, it made this decision all the more difficult. Thank you once again for everything, and may the grace of God go with you all." Peter lowered his head as if in prayer, and the rest of the group instinctively followed his lead.

After a few minutes of silence he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Well done." Brendan had moved next to him. "But I think you have something else to say, don't you?" Peter looked over at William, who nodded in assent.

Peter walked down the hill and offered his hand to Assumpta, helping her stand. He looked at her questioningly, and she nodded in assent. "You all probably suspect this already, but I think we owe it to you to tell you in person. Assumpta and I would like to get married."

The group remained quiet. They all looked at each other, then back at the couple. It was Brian Quigley who spoke first. "And do you think you have to ask for our permission?"

"No," Assumpta replied, "but I was thinking I'd sell up. Are you interested?"

More than a few jaws dropped at that pronouncement, including Peter's. "Not after what I've put into the Chinese place. Once it gets on its feet, I might want to expand." Niamh glared at her father. "But that may be some time," he hastily added.

"Don't go." Eamon slowly raised himself from the ground. "Your family has been here for as long as I can remember. It wouldn't be right."

"Hear, hear!" Padriag raised his glass. Everyone in the group raised theirs in assent. Several people hugged the couple.

Peter motioned William and Brendan over. "I appreciate what you two did." He looked at Assumpta. "I know I haven't discussed this with you, and if you disagree, that's okay. I know it's a little early to make plans, but I'd like William to officiate."

"I'd be honored."

"And Brendan, I'd like you to be my best man."

Brendan winked at William. "He's only asking because I know how to throw a heck of a stag party." He gave Peter and Assumpta a hug. "Of course."

Assumpta squeezed Peter around his waist. "Hey, do I get a say in this?"

Peter demurred. "I'm sorry. I just got carried away by the moment."

"Did I say I disagreed?"

"Well, no, but..." She planted a kiss on his lips. Several people in the gathering hooted. They all applauded. Peter blushed. "We still have a long way to go," he told Assumpta.

"Well, I guess we just have to take it on faith, won't we?"

"I love you."

She stepped back and looked at his neck. "Just making sure you have the collar off." They shared another kiss.

Brian and Padraig, in the meantime, had refilled everyone's glasses. Peter raised his. "Here's to the best friends a man could have."

"To Peter and Assumpta!" Siobhan raised her glass.

The party continued as the sun dipped low over the hills. Peter whispered something in Assumpta's ear and left to talk to William, who sat watching the sky. "Thanks for everything."

"I don't know what I did."

"You've been a friend."

The two men looked out over the hills as the last tinges of pink began to vanish over the horizon. "You don't see this in Manchester, that's for sure."

"If you think that's something, look to your right."

William followed Peter's gaze and watched in awe as the sky became tinged with pink and green. "Is that an aurora?"

"Yeah, just a bit of one, but it's certainly not something you'll see in the city."

Assumpta joined Peter, and they put their arms around each other's waists. "You'll have to come back sometime when the sky is lit up properly, Father...William." The couple leaned closer to each other, heads touching. Peter loved the smell of her hair, and mingled with the smells of the spring evening, it was just getting to be too much. He found himself grateful that they weren't alone.

William coughed a bit, just enough in order to get his friend's attention. "You don't suppose they've chosen a new curate, do you?"

"All this fresh air is getting to you."

William grinned. "Someone's got to keep an eye on you."

Peter gave Assumpta another squeeze around the waist. "An English priest in a small Irish town? It would never work."

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