Julie | Fanfic | Ballykissangel

Spiritual Advice
(Follow-up to Better than a Shrink)
by Julie Barrett

Thursday

Will called today. “I think we should talk. I’ve just had a call from Cilldargan.” This was not unexpected.

“Helen and Tommy are going to see a movie tonight. How about if you drop by for dinner? I do a mean beans on toast.”

Will chuckled. “Yeah, and my stomach hasn’t recovered from the last time you cooked.”

“Fish and chips, then? I’ll pick some up.” “And I’ll bring the beer. You’re probably still drinking that black stuff from Ireland.”

“Actually, I never could get the hang of it. But I’ll still let you bring the beer.” Will rung off and I checked the contents of my wallet. Helen has been good about keeping me in cash (all from the estate, she says), but I hate to have to ask.

Ever since I had that dream in which Assumpta told me that everything was okay, I’ve had more of a sense of peace. To be honest, I’ve had more sleep in the past week than I’ve had in the last month. I’ve even started to take morning runs, and have found myself on friendly nodding terms with the cop who tried to arrest me the day of the Liverpool match. Oddly enough, I haven’t even given a lot of thought to what I’m going to do next. Perhaps this call is God’s way of trying to tell me something.

Then it crossed my mind that I should check with Helen to make sure their plans were still on for tonight. She assured me that they were, and I assured her that we wouldn’t make a mess tonight. And just how much of a mess can two priests make, she asked. She doesn’t want to know.

I returned with the fish and chips just as Will came up the walk toting a plastic bag. Perfect timing. He’d ditched his cassock and collar in favor of more comfortable casual clothing. That suited me just fine, even though I knew this visit was as much official as personal. As it was still warm, we decided to eat in the back garden.

“Thanks for bringing the beer,” I said as we clinked bottles.

“Thank you for not cooking.” Will surveyed the small, but well-landscaped garden. “This is nice.”

“It’s Mark’s domain. Helen just keeps it in shape while he’s gone. I think he could hold his own with Alan Titschmarsh” We passed dinner with mostly small talk – which parishioners had married, or died, and which children passed their A levels. I cleared away the mess while Will opened two more beers. We sat back, propped our feet on the table (Helen would kill us), and got down to the reason he was here.

“I told you that we had a call from Cilldargan.”

“I’m not surprised. I did call to let Father Mac know that I was okay.”

“They need some sort of decision, Peter.” I took a sip of my beer and pursed my lips.

“Yes,” I finally said. “I realize that I can’t leave them hanging…”

Will shifted around in his chair. I could tell that he was not comfortable with passing along the next bit of news. “They’re arranging for another curate.” That was expected, and in fact, it might make my own decision a lot easier. And I told him just that. “Well,” he said, visibly relaxing “there’s also your things.”

“My things?” Oh, yes. I’d not taken all of my worldly possessions with me when I left Ballykissangel. “That’s right. I’ll arrange to have them shipped over.” We sat for a while, watching the orange hues from the setting sun play in the garden. I got up and switched on the outdoor heater. It put out just enough warmth to keep the creeping evening chill off.

“Peter?” Will asked after we’d watched the last of the light fade off.

“Nice out here, isn’t it?”

He ignored my attempt to change the subject. “Want to talk?”

“About what?”

Will let out a breath. “Okay, I’ll spell it out.” He dropped his feet from the table and turned to face me. “I know you’re going through a bad patch, but you’re also not exactly Top of the Pops right now. They’re pushing for a decision: Are you in or out?”

He was blunt, and I probably needed that. Still, I didn’t have an answer. “Well, then.” He looked at his beer bottle and peeled a bit of the label off. “Look, Peter…”

“I’m not ready to be pushed.”

“And I don’t want to push you. I’ve played the messenger boy. Now I’m just your friend. Let’s talk.”

“Want to take my confession?”

“Give it to the crickets.”

“Willy, I’ll talk to you, but I don’t want this to get back to anyone.”

He looked genuinely wounded, though that didn’t stop him from cringing slightly at my use of his nickname. “I thought I was your best mate.”

“Well, yeah…”

“Have you got some reason to be paranoid?” He had me there.

“Let’s just say that the events of the last few weeks have driven me to the point where I’m not too sure of a lot of things.”

Will considered my statement. “Fair enough. If anyone pushes me for information, I’ll say that we spoke in confession.” Will took a sip of his beer and eyed me warily. I’m sure he thought that I’d either gone completely around the twist or was on my way there.

I considered his statement. “Remember that night we snuck out of the seminary?”

“We were both dying for a pint. Sister Mary Mark - the infirmary nurse, remember - spotted us at the pub.”

“As I recall, she wasn’t too keen on letting anyone know she’d gone out for a drink.” We had a laugh.

“I wonder who told them we snuck out.”

Will nearly spit out his beer. “You never knew?”

“It wasn’t her?”

“No! Remember Arnold?”

“That slimy kid who was in the class behind us?”

“Got it in one. He spotted us.”

“How did you find that out? I thought that information was confidential, to protect the informant, or some such.”

“It was,” he winked. “They shouldn’t have assigned me to do filing in the administration building as part of my punishment.”

Now it was my turn to spit. “So that explains why his pants ended up atop the flagpole on Coronation Day!”

“I’d thought about doing it on Maundy Monday, but decided that was a bit much.” After the laughter subsided he said, “No more changing the subject. Do you want to talk, or what?”

I suppose so. “It’s a long story.”

“How long have we got before your sister comes back?”

Oh, that. I looked at my watch. “Maybe an hour and a half, but they’ll leave us alone. If not, we can find a cozy at the local.”

“Next best thing to a confessional box,” he said with a sly grin.

“Remember what I told you about the publican? Well, that’s not the whole story…” Will listened noncommittally until I got to the part where I’d made my decision to marry Assumpta.

“She sounds like a remarkable woman. But do you really think this was different?”

I nodded. “I was ready to leave the priesthood, and had told her about my decision, but I hadn’t told anyone else, yet. And then…” I finished recounting the events of that night, then told about how I’d stayed behind to do Kieran’s christening before practically sneaking out of the village.

Will sat silently and considered all I’d told him. “So, I take it that you can’t decide if you want to stay in the priesthood – much less if you want to go back to Ireland.”

“Got it in one;"

“Well, Peter, I can’t tell you what to do. I’ll be glad to talk this through with you tonight, or any time you want. No matter how long it takes.”

“I appreciate that. Right now, I know that my calling is to help others, but I just don’t know if being a priest is the right path.”

“It should come as no great surprise that you’re not the only priest in this situation.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Will grew somber. “Father Laurence has prostate cancer.”

He could have knocked me over with a feather. “What, old ‘Iron Horse’ Lambert?”

“That’s a turn up for the books, isn’t it? He’s the last person we though would come down with the flu, much less this. The good news is that they may have caught it early. The bad news is he has to go back to London for surgery and a long course of treatment.”

“Why London?” I thought he had been down there for a meeting, not to see a doctor. And why, when they’ve got perfectly good doctors and hospitals in Manchester?

“Oh, didn’t you know? One of his brothers is a doctor in London, and he stayed a couple of extra days for a consultation. Oncology’s not his brother’s specialty, but he has connections at some of the best hospitals. Not to mention that he and his wife will look after Laurence. It’s a blessing that he’ll get such good care. And in case you’re wondering, he didn’t tell me about it until the other day, after he returned from his trip.”

I reminded myself to say a prayer for him tonight. This isn’t something I’d wish on my worst enemy. “So, are they going to leave you in charge, then?”

“As a matter of fact, yes. And the thing is I really can’t go it alone. There’s too much for one person to do. I could handle a week or two, but six or longer…”

I’m sure the diocese will send you someone.”

“Actually, Peter, I was hoping you’d come help.” This was not the way I’d expected tonight’s conversation would run. Tears: yes. Recriminations: most certainly. But a job offer? Not in a million years.

“I don’t think I’m ready for this, Will…”

“Peter, you’re a good priest.” Where have I heard this before? “And before you ask,” he added, “no one put me up to this. It just came to mind while we were talking.” As I was digesting that bit of information, the door slid open and Helen waved.

“Hi there! How are you, Father William?”

“Great. Just trying to talk a little sense into your brother.” I don’t think Will noticed the look I gave him.

“You and the rest of us,” she laughed.

“Join us for a beer?” I asked.

“No thanks. Gotta get Tommy off to bed.”

“How was the movie?”<

She rolled her eyes. “Why do they make television cartoons into movies? At least he enjoyed it.”

Will stood up. “I’ve got to be getting back to the presbytery, anyway.” He turned to me. “Think about it, that’s all I ask.”

I cleaned up the beer bottles and put the chairs back around the table while Helen got Tommy off to bed. She met me in the kitchen. “We ate outside. I hope that was okay.”

“Fish and chips, and you brought the wrappers back inside,” she said, opening the window. Then she handed me a white plastic drawstring bag. “To the dustbin with you. And take that bag as well.”

When I returned, I found she’d put the kettle on. “That theatre was freezing. Want a cup?" In answer I grabbed two mugs from the cupboard. “So, what’s up with Father William?”

“Oh, just bringing me up-to-date on the parish. And he got a message from Cilldargan. They’re bringing in a new curate and asked if they could ship my things over.

She frowned. “Have we got room, with all of Mum’s things?”

“Oh, it’s just some clothes, a few books, that sort of thing. You could fit it all in the boot of a car.”

“No furniture?”

“Came with the house. It’ll go to the next curate.”

How was the movie?

She rolled her eyes. Why do they make television cartoons into movies? At least he enjoyed it. angel, not as the curate at least.”

“As bishop, then?”

“Yeah, right.” She gave me an inquisitive look. “No, I haven’t made a decision - though that was another reason that Will was here. They’re pushing for one.

“I’m here if you want to talk.”

“Oh, it gets better – or worse, depending on how you look at things. Father Laurence has prostate cancer – it looks like they’ve caught it early, but he’s going to be off in London for surgery and treatment for several weeks. Will’s asked if I’d come and help.”

“Oh, my.”

“That’s just about exactly what I thought. I don’t have to make a decision now,” I added, anticipating her next question, “but I’ll have to make one fairly soon.”

Friday

I volunteered to clean the kitchen for Helen today, since she had to work. Not that it was a mess, but she had mentioned that she thought it needed a good scrubbing. I was up to my elbows in hot water when the telephone rang.

“Peter? It’s Brendan.” How in the world did he find me? I asked him just that. There had been no room for a return address on the post card I’d mailed him. “Just a little simple detective work, my dear Watson. Do you want your things, or what?”

“I need to arrange to get them over here, don’t I?”

“How does an hour sound to you?”

“An hour?”

“Well, I booked one of those last-minute £10 air fares. I’m at the Manchester airport.”

True to his word, he was here within the hour, with two large suitcases and a box. “Don’t worry, I’m not moving in. I think this is everything.”

“Brendan, I don’t know what to say…”

“Thank you would be nice. Or better yet, how about a drink?” We walked a few blocks down the road to the local. He groused over the way the Guinness was pulled, but I noticed it didn’t stop him from drinking.

“You didn’t have to come all the way over here.”

“To tell the truth, I wasn’t planning to. It’s a school holiday, and so I volunteered drop all this off in Cilldargan and have them pack and ship it. Niamh went through and got all of your belongings together. Yesterday, I heard about these last-minute fares, and booked one. I couldn’t ship all these things for that. Besides, we’re all worried about you.”

“Didn’t you get my postcard?”

“Just as I was walking out the door. I think the Post Office sends the mail to Ballykissangel on an arthritic mule.” Brendan finished of his Guinness. “As far as anyone in town knows, I’m off to take care of some personal business and will be gone until tonight.”

“How’s Siobhan?”

“Very pregnant. And more aggravating than usual. Other than that, mother and baby-to-be are fine.”

“I hear they’re sending a new curate.”

“We’d much rather have you, Peter. But I understand. Not everyone does – especially Father Mac.”

“Well, he’s the last one I’d expect to understand. Other than Kathleen Hendley, perhaps.”

“I am under the impression that he had one supreme fit after he got your letter."

“I shouldn't be surprised.” We left the pub and walked back to Helen’s. The afternoon was unusually warm and the beer had been good. I took him back by a bit of a roundabout route so that he could see that there was more to Manchester than the airport and the M60.

“If you don’t mind my asking, do you know what you’re going to do next?”

Actually, I did mind him asking, but he had a right to know the truth. “I don’t know.”

“Peter…”

“I honestly don't know, Brendan." We continued in silence for a few minutes. "My sister has been absolutely wonderful, but her husband's due for leave soon. I can't be underfoot. Don't get me wrong; he'd welcome me with open arms, but the man deserves some time with his family." People talk about the Irish gift of gab, but someone with the true gift knows when to shut their mouth and listen. Brendan is abundantly blessed. I could talk to him for hours, and God knows I have. "Let's just say that I am exploring all of my options. I don't want to make a decision is haste if I can help it."

“Whatever you do decide, please know that you’ll always be welcome in Ballykissangel.”

As we walked, Brendan caught me up with what was going on in the village. Fitzgerald’s is going up for auction. I guess that’s no surprise. Assumpta had no living relatives that I know of. Except perhaps, for Leo, and I don’t know if he qualifies. I’ll leave that question up to the lawyers. To think, I could have been helping Assumpta out in the pub right now…

“Peter? Are you okay?” I blinked back a tear.

“Yeah.” We walked the last block in silence.

On our return to Helen’s, Brendan helped me lug the things upstairs, and we pulled the clothing and other items out of the suitcases. “Niamh packed this really well,” I remarked. “Thank her for me, will you?” Brendan placed the smaller suitcase inside of the empty one, and zipped them both up. Then he opened the box. The bottom half was books. Another box with a note taped to the lid took up the top half of its volume. I recognized the handwriting on the outside of the envelope.

“That’s for later,” Brendan said. “And so is this.” He pulled another envelope out of his coat pocket and placed it on the table beside my bed. We called a cab and waited downstairs. It arrived quickly, and I saw him outside.

“Brendan, I don’t know how to thank you for all this.”

We shook hands, and then embraced. “Be well, Peter. And don’t forget to write, okay?”

I went upstairs to see about the mysterious box and envelopes. I decided to look at Brendan’s envelope first. Inside was a card – purchased at Kathleen’s, no doubt, signed by just about everyone in town. It was one of those blank cards where you write your own greeting, but whoever purchased the card just let everyone write their own little note. I wiped away a few tears then saw to the box.

The box contained my suits – freshly dry cleaned. The handwriting on the envelope was Fr. MacAnally’s. It might has well have been the writing on the wall, I thought, as I opened the envelope. The letter was dated yesterday.

Father Clifford:

I am most displeased over the way you left your post with no notice. I suppose I should have seen it coming. Still, I’m going to tell you again what I told you a few weeks ago: You’re a good priest.

I’ve talked your situation over with the bishop, and we have come to the decision that we should have a new curate in Ballykissangel. I think you would agree that it’s for the best under the circumstances. You are to report back in two weeks from the date on this letter.

Before we send you to a new post, we would like you to go back on retreat. I know that these last few weeks have been very trying for you. You’ve lost two people close to you in a very short period of time, and that’s hard on anyone. We probably should have given you more time after your mother passed away. What is it they say about hindsight being 20/20? I hope that by going on retreat you can once again center yourself on your calling. You are a good priest, Peter, and I’d hate to lose you.

Well. I closed the box and sat down on the one corner of my bed that wasn’t covered with my belongings. Staying in Manchester had its attractions. I’ve got family and friends here. Some of my friends in Ballykissangel felt like family, but I won’t be going back there anytime soon. Another retreat might not be a bad idea, but I’m not sure if I want to discuss my problems with strangers. I’ve a feeling that will be one of the conditions. As for what would happen afterwards, I must admit that there is some attraction to going somewhere and starting over. That’s how I ended up in Ballykissangel in the first place.

And look at what happened there.

And what do I do if I leave the priesthood? I can’t stay here forever. And I certainly don’t want to be hanging around when Mark comes home.

I stretched out on the floor and stared at the ceiling, picking out patterns in the textured plaster. What am I going to do?

Saturday

I dreamt of Assumpta again last night. “You’re going go back to the men in dresses, aren’t you?” She exclaimed, “I should have expected as much.”

“Assumpta,” I pleaded, “I didn’t ask to go back to my old parish.”

“You didn’t say no.”

“I tried to. He asked me to think about it. It’s not as though I’ve told him I’d do it.” She crossed her arms and just stared at me. “And now Father Mac wants me to go on retreat.”

“I thought you were going to toss all that.”

“I could leave the priesthood to spend the rest of my life with you. Now…I’m not so sure.”

“You just can’t live in the real world, can you?”

“I am in the real world. You died in the real world. Wherever I go, whatever I do, I have to deal with that. I could go cloister myself up somewhere with a bunch of ‘men in dresses’ or go run a pub or a million other things and it’s not going to change anything. It’s not going to change what we had.

“Don’t we still have something?” She always had the instinct to find the spot where it hurt most.

“Assumpta, I’ll always love you. I’ll take that love to my grave. Wherever you are …”

“It’s not Hell, I assure you. Won’t Father MacAnally be surprised?”

“You know what I mean.” I let that sink in for a second. “You’ve left a huge, gaping hole in my life, and right now it seems that the only way I can even begin to close it is through helping others. Maybe if I can help other people through their pain…”

“So now you’re a martyr?”

“No, and if you’ll stop twisting my words around long enough to listen, I’m telling you that I’m trying to work through the pain in my own way. And if it means hanging around with a bunch of men in dresses, I’ll do so. Maybe I’ll just chuck the whole priest thing and move to Scotland.” She was silent for a moment. “They wear kilts. I don’t think you’ve got the knees for it.” She finally smiled. God, I could never forget that smile. “Peter, I just don’t want to see you rushing into something that’s not right – whatever you do.”

“Taking up with the Virgin Mary on the rebound, you mean?”

“Something like that. Just don’t ever forget that I love you, Peter.” How could I ever forget that? She put her arms around me and we began to kiss. “D’you want to go play football?”

“Mmm,” was all I could manage to say. Then I felt the earth move.

“Uncle Peter! Wake up! You promised!” It took me a minute or two to come out of my fog. Tommy was shaking the bed.

“What time is it?” I asked, groping for my wristwatch.

“8:30. It’s supposed to rain later on.”

“I didn’t mean to sleep in this late,” I yawned. “Let me get ready. I’ll be down in ten minutes.” While changing my clothes, I replayed the dream in my head. Just when I was starting to think that perhaps I could get on with my life, it seemed that Assumpta wouldn’t let me. Why? I slammed the wardrobe door closed and kicked it for good measure. Get a grip, Peter, I muttered under my breath as I shoved my shoes on my feet. It’s only a dream…right?

We played in the park until the rain moved in, and then made it to the house just before the skies opened up. Tommy went upstairs to read, and I helped Helen make lunch.

“I’ve got some extra boxes if you need them.”

Boxes?”

“For your things. And you’ll want to hang your suits before they wrinkle too badly.” Had she been going through my belongings? She noticed the look on my face and added, “They didn’t come with you a couple of weeks ago. I just assumed…” urdays. She put me through to Will, and he readily agreed to meet with me, but only if I could wait until later in the evening after the youth group meeting had wrapped up.

I spent the rest of the afternoon going through my few worldly possessions, and boxing up the items I wouldn’t be using immediately. Helen offered to iron my suits. They’d been well-packed, but had managed to pick up a few wrinkles. She was doing ironing anyway, she told me, and so it would be no bother. She wouldn’t take no for an answer. As I sorted through my clothing, I felt something solid. Whatever it was had been wrapped in one of my shirts. I carefully opened it and found the silver cup from the Asian Food Festival. I’d forgotten all about that, and naturally, it brought back another wave of regret and tears.

Tommy stuck his head in the door. “Are you okay, Uncle Peter?” He looked down at the cup in my hands. “Did you win a prize?”

“Remember I told you that one of our parishioners had died?”

“The lady who ran the pub?”

“That’s her. Just before she died, she held a cooking contest for charity, and I won.” Tommy gave me an incredulous look. My cooking is legendary, what can I say? “Everyone but me hired a professional chef to cook their dishes. That was against the rules, so I won by default.” Tommy took the cup and looked it over. “They sent it over with my things. And yes, I suppose I’m still just a little sad that she died.” More than a little sad, actually, but I couldn’t tell him that.

“I’m still sad that grandmother died,” he said, sitting down beside me. “Are you?”

“I miss her every day,” I gave him a hug, and we both cried.

I met Will in front of the church, and he took me down to the bar at a small Italian restaurant. “The pubs in the area have all ganged up to have Karaoke night on Saturdays,” he explained. “We wouldn’t be able to hear ourselves think, much less talk.” I didn’t remember an Italian restaurant in this location. As I recall it used to be a couple of empty shops. All the better for the neighborhood, I’m sure. We picked up a couple of glasses of wine at the bar and sat down at a small table.

“How’s Father Laurence?” I asked.

“As mean as ever,” he quipped. “Seriously, he’s taking it all pretty well. He’s getting packed and wrapping up a few loose ends before he goes back to London on Monday.” That explains why Mrs. Becker was there. She wouldn’t dream of letting a priest pack for even an overnight trip - much less for an excursion of this magnitude – all by himself. I think she’d see it as an affront on her housekeeping skills if one of her priests went out with so much as a wrinkle in his shirt.

“Be sure to tell him I’m praying for him.”

“Do you want to drop by and tell him yourself?” I hesitated. “He’s not going to bite, you know. But,” he said, switching subjects, “that’s not why you’re here.” I nodded, and we both sipped at our wine. “So, have you given it any thought?”

“Some.”

“No decision yet?”

“I got a letter from Father MacAnally yesterday. He’s ordered me to come back. They want to send me on another retreat – to ‘center myself on my calling’ - and then post me somewhere.”

Will considered the news. “Can they do that?”

“I haven’t permanently tossed the collar yet. I suppose they can do whatever they want.” Resignation was starting to look like a good option.

“The offer to help out here is still open.”

“I know. But I’m not sure this is what I want.”

“Damn it, Peter, you can’t sit on the fence forever.” I could tell his patience was starting to run just a bit thin, and who could blame him?

“I know.”

“Look. If you want to serve here, I think Father Laurence could pull some strings and make it happen. But he’s leaving on Monday.”

Damn.

“How about if you drop by tomorrow for lunch?”

I supposed I could do that, but one more thought crept into my mind. “Will?”

It was obvious that he could detect the note of hesitation in my voice, and he sighed to show his displeasure “Yes?”

“What about Jenny Clarke? I can’t very well hide from her. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

Will leaned forward. “Peter?”

“Yes?”

“We’ve known each other a long time…” He looked down at his hands, and then he let out another sigh. “You’ve told me a lot lately."

“And you’ve been a good listener.”

“Now it’s your turn to listen.”

I swallowed, feeling rather uncomfortably like a schoolchild about to get a good dressing down by the head nun. I glanced at his face and noticed that he didn’t look too comfortable, either.

“I don’t know how to sugar coat this, Peter, so here goes: It’s time you stopped running away from your problems and faced them.” I took a sip of wine. It tasted bitter, but I got it down and looked down into my glass. It wasn’t as if I was expecting to see the Virgin Mary or anything, but I just couldn’t look at Will right now.

“Running away?” How could he say that? “Running away?” I stood up to leave, and Willy stared back, stone-faced. Tearfully, I sank back down in the chair.

Sunday

Last night I ended up seeking forgiveness all around - first from Will, and then from God. He took me back to Francis of Assisi for a proper confession. I went back this morning for Mass, and then to face the formidable Father Laurence Lambert over lunch. That man has always terrified me. He makes Father MacAnally look positively liberal. Of course, he berated me for not dressing appropriately. I made some lame remarks about still being on leave, and left it at that. Will looked at me disapprovingly. I guess he thought I was going to back out. Well, that made two of us.

It turned out that he hadn’t broached the topic of my coming to help out to Father Laurence at all yet. I can’t say that I blame him for that. Will explained the bare bones of the situation: That while I was supposed to be on leave, I would be willing to come back to Manchester, just for the time being. Even so, I could help out for the next week and a half or so before I had to report back to Ireland, and that would give them time to find someone here to fill in for the rest of his absence. I’ve no doubt that Father Laurence will eventually get in touch with Father Mac and all will come out, but that’s something to deal with down the road.

Father Laurence muttered something about wolves looking after the sheep, and then said that he’d have to discuss it with the bishop and he’d let me know before he left town. I thanked him, wished him well in London, and assured him that he was in my prayers.

Will walked me to the bus stop. Of course, the one hitch in his plan was getting approval all around. “You know what this means, don’t you?” he asked as the bus rounded the corner and pulled to a stop. “If you want this, you’re going to have to make the next move.” He left me no time to argue. I sat in the back of the bus and prayed.

When I got back to Helen’s, I asked her permission to use the telephone in her room. Not that she would have minded, but I wanted to be assured of privacy. I went upstairs, closed the door, and stared at the telephone. As much as part of me hates to admit it, Will had a point: If I do this, and it doesn’t work out, I can back right out again once Father Laurence returns. But first, I had to turn around and face one more piece of my recent past.

I was about to hang up on the sixth ring, when I heard an out-of-breath voice answer. “Father MacAnally? It’s Peter Clifford.”

“Peter Clifford.” he echoed. I could tell by his voice that he was not entirely pleased that I didn’t use my title. “You have my letter already?”

“It sort of came by express carrier pigeon.” I decided I’d best not tell him about Brendan’s visit. “So, how are you doing?”

“This isn’t just a social call, is it?” Touché. “Nevertheless, I’m doing quite well, even though I’m run off my feet. The new curate will be here shortly,” he added curtly. “I hope you’re calling with good news.”

“Ah, well, it may not be quite what you’re hoping to hear…” I explained the situation and he listened with unusual patience.

“What you’re proposing is certainly irregular.” He paused for some time, and I could hear his breathing slow as he pondered my request. “You’re good friends with the curate at the parish, aren’t you?”

“Yes, we’ve known each other since seminary. He’s been quite helpful, actually. He listened without judgment, and then gave me a good swift kick in the spiritual rear end, so to speak. I needed it.” He considered my statement.

“Does this mean you’re going to stick with it now?”

I sighed. “I can’t promise anything, Father. But perhaps there’s a reason that this opportunity was presented to me.”

He stayed silent for a very long time, and then said reluctantly, “Well, Father Clifford, I’ll give you my support.” I thanked him. “We’ve not always seen eye-to-eye on things, but you are a good priest, and if this path has been laid before you, and it gives you the opportunity to re-energize your calling, I’m not going to stand in your way. There is just one thing, though.”

“What’s that?”

“Just don’t forget about your previous congregation here, Peter. You may not realize it, there’s still a lot of love for you in Ballykissangel. And I’ll be keeping my eye on you.”

Monday

I was up early this morning, so I decided to take a run around the neighborhood. I smiled and nodded at the constable who tried to arrest me on the day of the Liverpool match. He nodded back, still wondering, no doubt, whether or not I had a criminal record. Helen was up and cooking breakfast when I got back. After a quick shower, I returned to my room to dress.

I just stood there for a moment, looking intently at the clothing hanging in the wardrobe. Well, I decided, it was now or never. I took a deep breath and reached for a suit. The fabric felt at once familiar and strange; it was almost as if I was about to wear it for the first time. That feeling reinforced itself when I checked myself in the mirror. I hope I’m doing the right thing. Please understand, Assumpta.

Helen called up that breakfast was ready, so I walked downstairs and found her dishing eggs out onto plates. “Peter!” She nearly dropped the skillet.

Tommy turned the corner to the kitchen and stopped. He looked me up and down. “Suits you, sir!” I glanced at Helen, and she shrugged. Kids pick up a lot of strange stuff these days. “Are you going back to Ireland?”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I answered. Helen gave me a significant look. We hadn’t told the boy a whole lot about my situation. “I’ll know this afternoon.” Tommy frowned. “But I won’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

I walked with him part of the way to his school, and then took off to make morning Mass. I didn’t want to go to St. Francis, mainly because I didn’t want to appear to be waiting for an answer. I was sure Father Spencer would welcome me.

After the service, I waited for the crowd to thin out, and then went up front to say a prayer of my own. Father Spencer walked down the aisle just after I finished, and we exchanged pleasantries. I asked after the boy who had been involved in the bicycle accident, and he told me that the child had spent a couple of days in the hospital, and had just returned to school. I asked him to send the child and his family my best wishes, and headed back to Helen’s. She must have been watching for me, as she opened the door before I reached the top of the steps.

“You could at least give your landlady some notice before you move out.”

“What?” I tried to play the innocent, but it never washed with my sister.

“Father William called, and said that your old room is waiting for you. Does this mean what I think it means?”

“I guess so. Looks like I’ll be in Manchester for a while.”

She gave me a hug. “Peter, I do believe you’re doing the right thing.” I certainly hope so. “You sure gave Tommy a start this morning. You could have broken the news to him just a little better, I think.”

“Sorry about that. He should be pleased that I’ll be in Manchester for a bit, though.”

“I think he’s enjoyed having you about the house.”

“Um, did Father Russell say when I was to report?”

“Straight away, actually.”

“Well,” I said with a smile and a wink, “no time to pack is there? I’ll have to come back for my things later today.” I thanked Helen for everything she’d done, gave her a hug, then took off to St. Francis.

“I’m glad you made it,” Will said as I arrived at the presbytery. “The thing is, I’ve got to get Father Laurence to the train station, and confession is in an hour. He’d planned to leave this morning, but there was a breakdown somewhere along the line and the train was cancelled. We should be able to get him on the next one. British Rail apologizes for the inconvenience.”

Nothing like pushing me right into it. “Well, I suppose I could handle it.” I hoped I could.

“Usually just a few regulars on Mondays. I’m sure you remember. Once in a while, you’ll get some student with regrets over a wild weekend. Nothing unusual, I’m sure.”

Father Lambert and I exchanged good-byes. I thanked him for his help, and told him I’d be praying for him. “Father MacAnally tells me you’ve blossomed into a very good priest. It just goes to show you, doesn’t it?” I looked at him quizzically. “I’ll be saying a prayer for humility tonight. Now, don’t you boys be getting into any trouble,” he added with a wink. I didn't recall Father Laurence ever being this jolly. Will looked over at me and shrugged his shoulders ever so slightly. It's a terrible thing, but I had to wonder if his mood was enhanced by a little medication? I certainly wasn't going to ask. “I’m sure Mrs. Becker will see that you keep on the straight and narrow, won’t you?”

She uncrossed her arms and grasped Father Laurence’s hand. “Be sure to unpack as soon as you get there, so your clothes don’t get too wrinkled. And tell your brother to call when you’re out of surgery. Oh, and don’t forget your fiber supplement every morning.”

He grimaced and squeezed her hand. “I’m sure they’ll be taking very good care of me. You take care of these fellows.”

He and Will bundled into the car and took off. “And now for you, Father Peter, lunch will be on the table in five minutes. There’s a clean surplice for you in the Sacristy, and your bed is made.” She looked at me, then at the front door. “Didn’t you bring your clothes?”

“I was told to come straight away. I’ll go back to my sister’s to pick them up this evening. I don’t have much.” Why does she always make me feel as though I’m a small, misbehaving child? It must be due her winning personality.

She rolled her eyes. “Everything you need is in the Sacristy.” She walked off, shaking her head. I called Helen and let her know of my plans to drop by after confession, and told her not to hold dinner for me. I had no idea what Will might have had in mind for the rest of the day, but I absolutely did not want to break my promise to Tommy and not see him today.

Mrs. Becker laid out lunch as soon as I’d completed the call, and I finished in plenty of time to make a leisurely walk to the church. I went in through the back door, and made my way to the sacristy. Another wave of doubt swept over me as I donned my vestments. I know Will wouldn’t have intentionally put me in this situation, and I’m certain he apologizes for the inconvenience. I took a deep breath and entered the sanctuary. Several pairs of eyes registered surprise, and I simply smiled as if this were the everyday routine. But I felt – and probably looked – very much like a deer caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

After a little initial nervousness, I finally settled into the task at hand. I could tell by the tone of some parishioners that they were none to happy to have me here, though I tried not to take it personally. Some people prefer to speak with their “regular” priest. I’m sure a few individuals left the building when they saw who was handling confession today. Others passed along a few words of welcome, but most just stuck to the routine. It was comfortable for them, and I had no problem with it.

After about an hour, the steady stream of people began to slow. It may have been longer – or shorter – I had trouble seeing my watch. Finally, it seemed as if I had reached the end. I waited a few minutes, and then rose to stick my head out the door. Just then, I heard the door to my right close.

“Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been…uh…about a month since my last confession.”

“Go on,”

“Father, I don’t know what to do. I’m pregnant.”

She sounded young, but even so, I couldn’t make the assumption that she was unmarried. I put the question to her as delicately as I could.

“I snuck out of the house and went to a car park with my boyfriend. We just wanted a little privacy. We started kissing. No funny stuff. But suddenly…” More sniffles. “I told him no, but he said that he knew I wanted it…” She broke down in tears.

I let her sob for a moment. This was not going to be easy – on several levels. Asking these kinds of questions always has made me uncomfortable, but it had to be done. “I’m sorry, but I have to ask you this: Did you resist?”

More sobs. “No…I…its okay. I did. I tried to fight him off, but it just made him…”

“Then it was a crime.”

“If I hadn’t gone to the car park, none of this would have happened.”

“How do you know that? He could have found another opportunity to take advantage of you. The fact is that a crime was committed against you. When that sort of thing is done to you against your will, you did not commit a sin.” There was the matter of sneaking out in defiance of her parents, but one thing at a time.

“That doesn’t change the fact that I’m pregnant.”

“Have you been to a doctor?”

“Not yet,” she sniffed.

“Then…”

“I took a test from the chemist.”

Judging from her voice, she might have been sixteen, but it was difficult to tell. “Is there someone you can talk to, your parents, perhaps?”

More sobs, followed by silence. “They’d kill me.”

“Would you consent to some counseling and medical help, if I arranged it?”

Another long pause, and then a sigh. “You’re not supposed to talk about this outside of the box.”

“If I have your permission, I will seek out resources and bring you some literature. No one has to know that I am inquiring on your behalf. Then you can take the next step.”

“You’d better make it fast. I’m going straight to the clinic.”

If she was underage, they shouldn’t be able to do much of anything beyond give her an exam. But I was afraid that if I said that to her, I’d be putting even worse ideas into her head. “Can you do me a favor?”

“What?”

“Get a doctor to examine you. I can give you the name of a Catholic hospital that will do it for free. Only a doctor can tell you for sure this early on.” I took her silence as disbelief. “A couple in my last parish was desperate to get pregnant, and I learned more than I thought I ever thought I would about the topic.”

“Will they tell my parents?”

“To be honest, I’ve been away from England for a few years, and couldn’t tell you what they’d do. You could go or call anonymously and ask.”

I waited patiently while she thought it over. “Okay. Give me the name of the hospital.” We talked for a few more minutes, and when she left, I had hopes that she would take my advice.

Will was waiting for me when I returned to the presbytery. I didn’t realize until I flopped down in a chair that I was completely exhausted. Mrs. Becker had already delivered a cup of tea and some biscuits, which I devoured.

“Thanks for taking over. You look knackered.”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t quite as ‘routine’ as you were expecting.” I prayed that girl took my advice and went to the hospital.

“Anything happen outside of the box, then?”

“It would be safe to say that the reaction to my sudden reappearance was mixed.” I heard the clock in the hallway strike five. Where had the afternoon gone? Will offered to run me back to Helen’s, as he wanted to go to the hospital visit a couple who had just had a baby. I’d planned to just bring a few things over tonight, and then call back later on for the rest.

Tommy was happy to hear that I was going to be staying in Manchester, and asked me to stay with them. That wasn’t possible, I explained, but we could still see each other from time to time, and he could always telephone.

I packed my rucksack after dinner and caught the bus back to the church. The presbytery was dark, and I found a message from Will stating that he had to go back out and give the Sacrament to a nursing home patient. I was still having mixed feelings over having given the Sacrament to Assumpta, and I had to admit that it was difficult when I had to do it for that boy last week. I’ve a feeling that next time won’t be easy, either. Now that I’ve decided to stop running, I just hope that not everything catches up to me at the same time.

The doorbell rang, and a quick glance at my watch showed that it was after nearly ten. I dropped my rucksack and answered the door.

“Peter, why didn’t you tell me you were back?”

For a large parish, word sure gets around fast. “Jenny.” Her hair was a little longer, but other than that she looked much the same as she had three years ago.

“Aren’t you going to ask me in?” I couldn’t help but get the impression that she still felt something for me. I can’t explain why; it just a feeling. I didn’t feel a thing in return except exasperation.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“It’s not like I’m going to bite you…” she pushed her way inside and seemed to make it a point to brush very close to me “…yet.” She smiled. “Just a joke.”

“Jenny, I’ve had a long day...”

She turned around to face me. “You didn’t answer my question.” She looked down at my rucksack. “Leaving already?”

“No, I just got here.” But if I could leave… I walked through the open door. “Let’s go outside.” She didn’t move. “I’ll be out here if you want to talk.” I sat on the bench in front of the church. I was cold, but determined not to go indoors. I heard the door close and looked back in the direction of the presbytery: No sign of Jenny. I supposed that meant she was staying inside. As I had no intention of being alone indoors with her, I made myself as comfortable as I could. I considered going inside the church, but I was afraid she’d follow.

Will eventually pulled up. He looked haggard as he got out of the car. “Don’t tell me I forgot to give you a key.”

I shook my head. “Jenny’s here.”

“What did I tell you about running away from your problems?”

Will sat down on the bench, and I told him about Jenny’s visit to Ballykissangel and her behavior tonight. Considering all that has happened, I didn’t think it would be appropriate for me to be alone with her. He agreed.

“Why didn’t you say something about this the other night?”

“Would it have made a difference in your offer?

He didn’t miss a beat. “No.”

I was glad to hear that. “Will you go in with me, then?” He assented and we walked to the house. He turned the knob. The door was locked and the lights were out. Will unlocked the door, and we eased it open and listened. No sound. I switched on the light in the entryway. My rucksack was gone. We searched the ground floor and found nothing, so we continued upstairs. We found no sign of Jenny, but all of my clothing was neatly put away. The empty rucksack lay on my bed. Will and I looked around the room, then back to each other.

“Maybe she was just trying to help?” he offered.

“By sorting my pants and socks into neat little piles?” I answered as I began to look through the dresser. This was becoming just a little too disturbing for my taste.

Tuesday

I didn’t sleep well at all last night. Perhaps I’d read too much in Jenny’s actions. Will seemed to have slept just fine; I found him devouring breakfast as though he hadn’t eaten in days.

“So how was the new baby?” I’d forgotten to ask last night.

His face reddened. Mother and child are fine. “I’ve got a story for you, but don’t let it go past here.”

“Okay…”

“This lady had been through a tough labor, and they finally had to deliver the baby by Caesarian. She was on morphine – one of those push-button delivery systems. They brought the baby in for feeding and had her push the button before they raised the bed. She looked at both of us and grinned, then just started to drop the top of her gown. I managed to look away just in time, and then I heard the nurse pull the curtain around.”

“Don’t worry about it. It was the drugs. My sister had one of those as well. She didn’t do that, but she said all sorts of strange things. I suppose that stuff kind of does away with one’s inhibitions. And about three days later, she remembered everything she said, and was mortified.”

Will then turned as read as a beet. “She’s probably going to remember having done that, then…”

“And her husband will remember that you behaved like a proper gentleman – and tell her just that. Don’t worry about it.”

He gathered his composure and changed the subject. “Speaking of general mortification, I think you acted properly last night.”

“You don’t suppose I overreacted, do you? I mean, perhaps I just thought she was trying to come on to me.”

“Peter, you’re a priest. You have a license to play the prude.”

He had a point there. “Still, I don’t think it’s a good idea to be alone with her. I know,” I said, holding up a hand to his protest, “I’ve got to face up to her. But I owe it to you and to the parish to play it safe. Besides, if she is trying to come on to me…”

“It won’t be the first time a young girl fell for an authority figure.”

“And followed him all the way to Ireland? Believe me; if she has some ‘thing’ about me, the feeling is not mutual. Besides,” I added, “you’ve read about the recent lawsuits against clergy just as I have. I’m not going to knowingly set myself up for one.”

“Peter…”

“I wouldn’t put it past her. I wouldn’t put it past anybody these days. Have you checked the screen in the confessional box lately? I’d hate to be able to put my hand through and touch someone.”

“Now that’s just plain daft.”

Yes, I suppose it was, but I was trying to make a point. I counted to ten to get myself calmed down. “Let me ask you this: Were there a lot of tongues wagging over the reason I left Manchester?”

“A few. But there just as many people who that that she had driven you away as thought you’d left with your tail tucked between your legs. Still, I think that most of the people around here didn’t notice one way or the other.” It was time for morning Mass, so we dashed through the drizzle to the church. Will made mention of my return, but didn’t make a big deal out of it. That suited me just fine.

The rest of the day passed in a fairly routine manner. We made plans to drop by Helen’s and pick up the rest of my belongings tomorrow. I helped out with evening Mass, and then we had the rest of the night free. We had just settled down to talk when the phone rang. Will answered and apparently, it was a wrong number, which is not unusual by any means. When telephone sales people find they have reached the clergy, they tend not to hang around on the line. After two such calls, I told Will to stay put and let me answer.

“Peter?” It was Jenny. “Did I do okay with your clothes?”

“I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

“It was no bother at all.”

“Why didn’t you come outside and talk?” The line went dead. I replaced the receiver and related the conversation to Will. “I thought you said she had a boyfriend.”

“Well, yes. At least I thought he was her boyfriend. You should have seen them around back of the chip shop a couple of weeks ago. On second thought, maybe not.” And what was he doing behind a chip shop? He must have read my mind. “Believe it or not, we were raiding the dustbins.”

“Excuse me?” This was a new low – especially for a priest.

“Actually, I was with a couple of youth group members. They were scouting out things that they could build into props for a play. We had permission. Jenny and her beau scampered when they spotted us."

I decided to go to bed with a mug of chocolate and a Bible commentary. Perhaps they would get my mind onto something more positive. Instead, I kept going over the events of the last time I was in this parish. Yes, I did tell Jenny that she was “special.” Did I send the wrong signals to her? I didn’t think so at the time, but perhaps I did. Jenny is a very attractive, vibrant person. Maybe, if I hadn’t been a priest, I might have asked her out. To be quite honest, though, I don’t think the relationship would have gone very far. And now, I really don’t have those kinds of feelings for her - if I ever did in the first place.

The Bible commentary lay open on my lap, unread. I set it aside and drifted off to sleep with thoughts of the one person with whom I could have spent the rest of my life.

Wednesday

I’m lying to myself, and that’s nearly as bad as lying to God. Well, if it is as I suggested to Brendan once, and writing in a journal is like talking to God, well, then I’ve lied to Him as well. Of course, I had feelings for Jenny. They were not the same feelings I had – still have – for Assumpta. With Jenny, I knew early on that it wasn’t right. That’s why I left Manchester: It wasn’t right for either of us.

When she left Ballykissangel, she told I’d know next time we met. Well, I do. But does she?

We went to pick up the rest of my things after morning Mass, and I unpacked while Will went to the church to take confession. Mrs. Becker had gone to do her shopping, and I had the place to myself. It didn’t seem like too long after she’d left when I heard the front door open and close. A quick glance at my watch confirmed that Will should still be at the church, and Mrs. Becker had only been away for a quarter of an hour. It was too soon for her to come back unless she had forgotten something. I stepped to the door of my room and called downstairs.

“Mrs. Becker?” No answer. “Will?” Silence. “Can I help you? I’ll be right down.” I grabbed my coat from the chair next to my writing table and put it on as I walked down the stairs. There was no one in the entryway, so I tried the sitting room.

“You weren’t at confession,” said a voice from behind, “so I thought I’d try you here.”

“Now look,” I started. I spun around and found a teenaged girl staring at me. Her blonde hair could have used a little attention from a brush, and her eyes were red from crying.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” She wasn’t the person I thought I’d find, but her voice was certainly familiar.

“No, no. It’s just that I was upstairs, and I didn’t hear you knock.” I gestured to a chair. “Did you want to see Father Randall?” I asked hopefully.

“You are the priest I talked to at confession on Monday, aren’t you? You sound like him.” She nervously fiddled with her purse as she took the chair I offered.

Relax, Peter, I told myself. Then I remembered where I’d heard that voice. “Are you doing all right?”

She looked down at the purse in her lap, then up into my eyes. I sat down in the chair across from her, so we could be at the same level. I thought it might help put her at ease. “I went to the hospital, just like you said.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“I just wanted to thank you.” She rushed over to my chair and put her arms around me. “I’m not pregnant.”

“That’s wonderful news,” I replied as I moved her arms down from around my neck. Not only was she holding on just a little tight, but I wasn’t especially comfortable with the action, though she probably meant no harm.

She sat back down and gave me a very shaky smile. Her eyes were tearing up, and I offered her a tissue. “They called it a false positive. This is such a relief.” She wiped away a tear. “My name is Tess.”

I held out my hand and introduced myself formally. “Tess, you’ve been through a very traumatic experience. Would you consider counseling?”

“With you?” I couldn’t tell whether the thought scared her or thrilled her.

“I’d like you to see someone who is more qualified than I am to help you deal with this.” She appeared to be giving the offer some serious thought. “If you’ll drop by tomorrow, I can have some information for you.”

“I can come by after school – at about this time.” We stood, and she gave me another hug. “Thank you, Father Clifford.” I let her hold on to me for a second or two, and then gently pried myself away.

“That’s what I’m here for. I’m just happy that you’re not…in the condition that you thought you were.” We walked to the door and I opened it for her to find Will on the doorstep. Tess’ face began to flush. She thanked me again and dashed off past the other priest, her long blond hair waving behind her.

“What was that all about?”

“She just needed some advice. Don’t we keep literature somewhere on counseling services?”

“What do you need,” he asked as he looked inside of a drawer, “Alcohol and drugs, teen pregnancy, death of a loved one…” He looked up at me. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to dredge anything up, there.”

“No, that’s okay.” I dredge that up every chance I get. Sometimes it dredges itself up when I least expect it. “How about if I just look through them and see what I can find that’s appropriate?” Will nodded and closed the drawer.

Will left for the hospital after evening Mass, and I stayed behind to leaf through the various pamphlets in the drawer. I’d thought I might make a few telephone calls in the morning and get a little more information. It might be easier for her if I’d already scoped out some of the options. Personally, I hope she considers filing charges. But I’d rather that a trained counselor broaches that topic – if she goes through with it. A noise at the window caught my attention. A quick peek around the curtain showed me the cause: The wind had kicked up something fierce. A storm was moving in, and quickly. I threw on a jacket, grabbed the keys to the church, and went to make sure that it was secure. Even though we have to lock up in the evenings in this neighborhood, it seemed a good idea to make sure the front door was indeed secure, as the wind was blowing in that direction, and getting stronger.

Just as I reached the back door, a branch snapped off an oak tree, the wind driving the broken end into the ground just a few feet from where I stood. I dashed inside and checked the doors and windows. As I locked up, the rain began to fall. The large drops had intensified to a downpour in the short time it took me to get back to the house. I hoped that Will was safe inside the hospital.

After removing my shoes (you’re welcome, Mrs. Becker) I went straight on to the kitchen to make some tea. As I filled the kettle, I looked out of the window and saw a bolt of lightning split a tree. Instinctively, I dropped down, afraid that the tree might crash through the window. It must have hit a power line instead, for the house went dark and I heard the loud pop of the electric cable as it broke free from the pole. Slowly, I rose and looked outside. Flashes of lightning illuminated the garden. The falling tree had indeed brought down the power line. The glowing burner on the gas cooker provided me with enough light to find the candles. I lit one from the blue flame, placed it in the holder, and then extinguished the burner. As nice as a hot cup of tea would have been, I wasn’t going to fumble around in the dark getting it made. Besides, I should call the electricity company and let them know about the downed line.

I half-felt my way into the sitting room by the tiny light of the candle. I remembered that Father Laurence had kept a booklet near the telephone with emergency numbers. Hopefully it was still there. The thought did cross my mind to open the curtain in the sitting room for extra light, but while closed it provided some protection in case the window broke. I went for what seemed to be the safe option, and held the candle in front of me as I made my way to the telephone. Another bolt of lightning hit somewhere nearby and I jumped. My stocking foot came down directly in contact with the corner of the bookcase and I heard another crack – I must have broken a toe. I hopped to the telephone and picked up the receiver, only to find that the line was dead. All that for a dead line.

Holding the candle close to my foot, I could see through the sock that my little toe was starting to swell. Slowly, I limped back to the kitchen and found the first aid kit. I quickly grabbed a handful of ice, placed it in a plastic bag, and then wrapped the bag inside of a tea towel. I placed the lot on my foot and grimaced. I knew I had better tape up the toe, but it would have to wait until the ice took care of some of the swelling. I found a bottle of Panadol in the bottom of the kit and swallowed two pills. They tasted awful going down dry, but I wasn’t about to move around any more than I had to if I could help it. I sat at the table, put my foot up in one of the other chairs, and leaned back. Between the ice and the medicine, I should be to the point where I could tape it up soon. A glance out of the window showed that the wind had let up, but the rain was still pummeling down.

Just as I closed my eyes to focus on something other than the pain, I heard another bang - this time at the door. “Coming!” I yelled out as I eased up to my feet. Taking the candle in one hand, I steadied my body along the furniture and walls as I limped to the door. Another loud knock, “I’m on my way!” I supposed that whoever it was might not have heard me the first time around. They must be desperate for help to come out in this weather. I opened the door to find a woman dressed in a yellow rain slicker and matching hard hat standing just off the landing. She shined a torch on me.

“I’m from the electricity company.” I looked past her and saw a truck parked at the curb. “We had a report of a power line down.”

“It’s in the back. You may have to climb over a fallen tree to get to it.”

“That’s no problem.” She looked at my candle. “Don’t you have a torch?”

“I’m sure there’s one somewhere. I’ve only just moved in.”

“Right…Is everything all right in there?”

“I think I’ve broken a toe. I did it while trying to get to the phone to call you, in fact. But wouldn’t you know it; the telephone is out as well.” She glanced down at my foot and winced. "It stings a bit," I lied, "but it's not an emergency." In fact, hurt like hell, but there were probably worse injuries than a broken toe on a night like this.

“Both lines probably got knocked down at the same time. We’ll call it in, but I’ll bet BT is on the way. Get off your feet, and we’ll get your power back on.”

“Thanks.” I closed the door and heard her call out for someone named Jerry to get a chainsaw. I went back into the kitchen and began to look for a torch. Mrs. Becker must keep one somewhere. I found a lantern under the kitchen sink. It was one of those “survival” models with a powerful fluorescent bulb and a built-in radio. An attached sticky note told where to find extra batteries. One thing I will say for our housekeeper: What she lacks in the people skills department she more than makes up for in efficiency.

The light flooded the room with a cool glow. I switched on the radio and found the news station. Apparently, power and telephone lines were down all over this end of the city. The hospital had switched to their backup generators as well. I’m sure Will was keeping busy comforting the inevitable influx of new patients. And there’s always at least one woman who goes into labor during a bad thunderstorm. Dr. Ryan once told that it was related to the drop in air pressure.

The chainsaw roared to life somewhere in the back garden. I set the lantern down on the table and removed my sock. The little toe on my right foot was turning a lovely shade of purple. I taped it up as best I could then tried to put on my shoes. There was no way that I was going to squeeze that foot into my normal shoes. Upstairs I had a pair of trainers. Better than nothing, I decided, and limped up to find them. Once I got some shoes on, walking was a bit easier. I slowly maneuvered downstairs and decided that I should go ahead and put that kettle on after all.

Naturally, the lights flickered on just after I’d settled in with a mug of tea. As I switched off the lantern, I heard a knock at the back window. The lady in the hard hat stood outside and gave me the “thumbs up” which I returned. I held my mug and pointed to her and her co-worker to offer them some tea, but she shook her head.

Well, now that we had the electrics back, I decided to move into the sitting room and watch television. I picked up the telephone. Still dead. One of the local channels showed pictures of the storm damage, and reported that a small tornado might have been responsible. One picture showed a tree that had just barely missed a huge stained glass window on a C of E church.

I jumped up a little faster than I should have and steadied myself on the chair. I hadn’t even thought about looking at the church building. I said a prayer asking forgiveness for thinking about myself first as I threw my coat on and opened the front door.

The downpour had slowed to a hard drizzle. Several trees had lost branches, and a particularly large one was blocking the back door to the building. On second glance, I wondered if it might be a small tree. The windows on this side looked okay. I went around to the front, unlocked the door, and switched on the lights. There seemed to be no damage. I knelt down to offer thanks. This church building wasn’t as old as some of the other edifices in town, but it had some lovely stained glass windows of its own, each showing the one of the Stations of the Cross. Behind me, the door to the sanctuary opened. I crossed myself and managed to get up on my feet.

“Father Clifford?” A police officer carrying a large torch stood in the open doorway. He shined it up at his own face, which I then recognized.

“Constable Evans!”

“Sergeant Evans, now. Nice to see you again!” I gave him my congratulations. “We’re just checking around the neighborhood. Telephones are out, but it looks like you’ve got power.”

“They got it back on about 20 minutes ago.” I limped back towards the door.

“Have you hurt yourself?” I explained about my mishap, and told not to worry about me. He offered to see me back to the house – I turned him down - and admonished me to call a doctor. We parted after I locked the doors, and I limped back to the presbytery and eased back down in a chair. Even though I wiped my feet thoroughly, I’m sure Mrs. Becker will still see traces of mud in the morning and let me know about it. I didn’t care. Someone knocked at the door. I let out a sigh, eased myself back out of my chair, and limped over to answer the knock. It was Jenny.

“I saw the tree down, and thought I’d see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine, thank you. You shouldn’t be out in this. Go on home to ...” I had no idea if she still lived with her parents.

“I left home a couple of years ago. I’ve got a flat near the university that I share with another student.” So far, she seemed to be behaving herself. Maybe I did read a little much into her behavior the other night. She saw me shifting my weight around and asked, “Peter, are you okay?” I shrugged it off as nothing, then hopped right back into the umbrella stand and went flat on my rear end. Then, as if things couldn’t get worse, the lights flickered off, then back on, and finally, back off. This was all I needed.

“You’d better get home,” I repeated, this time more sternly. I did not want the two of us to be alone. There I was: the picture of authority, sprawled out the floor like a complete prat.

“Nonsense.” Jenny pushed the door open and helped me to my feet. “Let’s get you into the sitting room,” she ordered, as she kicked the door closed with her foot.

I protested, and she held on more firmly. “There’s a killer bookcase in the sitting room,” I finally said. “Let’s go into the kitchen. I can make it on my own.” She finally let go and followed me. I found the lantern and switched it on. I leaned against the counter, trying to look as nonchalant as possible. I had this image in my mind of Mr. Bean, trying to hide something but calling attention to it instead with his goofy actions. I felt just about as graceful has him at the moment.

“We need to talk, Peter,” she declared. That was an understatement.

“I don’t think this is the time…”

She grabbed my arm and guided me to a chair. “Let me look at your foot.” I kept it planted firmly on the floor. “Did I tell you I was in nursing school?” I looked at her incredulously. It’s true. She reached into her coat, pulled out a small purse, and produced a student identification card. While I looked that over, she began to loosen the laces on my shoe - slowly.

“Jenny…”

“About the other night: I um, kind of lost it. My boyfriend dumped me.” Making her available. How convenient. She removed my shoe and I yelped. Carefully, she removed the sock and lifted my foot onto an empty chair. “I see you’ve taped it up. Not a bad job.”

“I’ll get this seen to later,” I said. I just wanted her out of there. Instead, she grabbed the scissors from the first aid kit still open on the table and began to cut at the tape. I winced as she cut through the layers.

“I know it hurts.” She poked at the toe, and I nearly jumped off the chair. “I’m not a doctor. I’m not even a nurse...yet. But I’d say that it’s broken.” She reached for the roll of tape and began to wrap. She worked slowly and carefully, looking up to smile at me every once in a while. I had to admit that it was much better than my hurried job. When she was finished, she made another ice pack. “Let’s get you into the sitting room, where you’ll be more comfortable.”

“I can get myself there. You’re roommate is probably wondering where you are.”

“No, I called her on my mobile just before I came in.” How convenient. “Peter, come on. You men can be such babies, sometimes.” Okay, fine. I grabbed the lantern and she supported me on my right side against my protests. Just as we got to the front of the house, the door opened. It was Will. We stared at each other, and I shrugged.

“I swear the bookcase just leaped out at me in the dark.” I smiled weakly.

“I’ll call in an exorcist the next time that happens,” he deadpanned, and took Jenny’s place at my side. She took the lantern, led the way into the sitting room and made a spot for me on the sofa. Suddenly, she was all business.

“Now, keep that foot slightly elevated. It’ll help bring down the swelling,” she said as she placed a cushion underneath. “You should have a doctor look at it, just to make sure there isn’t any other damage. But if it’s just a broken toe, there’s not much that they can do other than to just tape it up and send you on your way.” Absolutely lovely, I thought. She handed me the ice pack. This will help with the swelling, too. Have you had anything for the pain?”

“Just a couple of Panadol tablets about an hour ago.”

“Have you got anything with Ibuprofen or aspirin?”

“Perhaps."

“It might be better for you right now. You’re not allergic, are you?” I shook my head. “Try that just before you go to bed.” She started for the door. “I’d better get home. Oh, I left my identification card on the kitchen table. I think I can find my way back.”

She vanished around the corner and I slumped down in the sofa. “She just showed up. I didn’t know she was a nursing student.”

“Florence Nightingale to the rescue.”

Jenny stuck her had back in the room. “I’ll just be off, then. See a doctor tomorrow, Peter,” she admonished. We heard the door close behind her, and I sunk down on the sofa.

Will gave me a significant look. “This is going to be a long story, isn’t it?”

“I think so,” I replied with a nod. And this had started out to be such an uneventful day…

“I suppose the nurse-in-training wouldn’t object to your having a shot of whisky, would she?” He took the lantern to the back of the house and returned with it in one hand, and two glasses with amber liquid in the other. “Here, it’ll take the edge off.” He settled down into a chair and kicked off his shoes. He looked whacked. I suppose I didn’t look terribly wide awake and alert myself.

I told him about the events of this evening, and assured him that the church was fine. The back garden was a mess, but nothing that had to be dealt with immediately. “I take it you stayed at the hospital?”

“Yeah.” He took a rather large swallow of his drink. “I had to give the Sacrament to two teenagers. They’d been in a car accident and weren’t wearing their safety belts. Such a waste. Their parents were distraught.” He gulped down the last bit of his drink and rose. “Can you get upstairs?” “I did once.” I explained about the trainers. He retrieved them from the kitchen, and then walked around to make sure that all of the light switches on the ground floor were off. I held the lantern while climbed the stairs to our rooms. While he stood at the door to my room, I rummaged around in my rucksack and found a torch. Thankfully, the batteries were still working, at least enough so I could get myself ready for bed. Will disappeared with the other torch, and then called out that he had found an old wind-up alarm clock on Father Laurence’s nightstand. At least we wouldn’t have to worry about oversleeping Mass. Not that Mrs. Becker would let us.

The sharp pain as I tried to remove my sock reminded me that I should take some more medicine. It had only been a couple of hours since I’d taken the Panadol, so I decided to just deal with the pain for the time being rather than to bang around in the dark trying to find a bottle of pills.

I’m going to have to bring this issue with Jenny to some resolution soon. We do need to talk, but I can’t give her what she wants. But do I know what she wants? Does she know?

Thursday

The electricity had switched on sometime during the night. My bedside clock was blinking when Will woke me up.

And yes, the toe is indeed broken, and I have the X-Rays to prove it. And just as Jenny said, there’s nothing they can do but tape it up. Actually, the doctor said that I was lucky that I hadn’t done any other damage to my foot. I spent part of the rest of the day on the telephone, finding counseling options for Tess. She showed up as promised, and I gave her some names and materials. She gave me another hug (again, lingering a bit longer than she should have) and went on her way. I was relieved that she didn’t seem interested in having me counsel her. Before I knew it, I’d be telling her that she’s special, and look where that got me. Can’t you tell a girl she’s special without her taking it the wrong way?

That’s unfair. When I told Jenny she was special, I felt something for her. I don’t have any of those feelings for Tess. Even so, I’ve made up my mind to be very careful around women. Given my past here, I don’t want to give the gossips any fodder.

Which brings me to wonder: Had I ever told Assumpta that she was special? Not in so many words, perhaps. Its funny how, when you meet that one really special woman, you are at a total loss for words. Yet, when you’re in love, a look can say so much more than mere words can ever express. Now I’m sounding like one of those sappy greeting cards. And you know what? I’m sure that’s just what she would have said.

Will made a start on the tree branches, but some of them were just too large for him to handle by himself. Some parishioners stayed behind after Mass to help, and the work was finished in no time. I felt like a fool sitting on a chair and supervising.

No Jenny sightings today, which was fine with me. So, was I imagining things, or did she really change her tone when Will arrived? She did say that we needed to talk. I think that there was more to it than just the tale that her boyfriend had dumped her.

I hobbled through afternoon Mass, in spite of the doctor’s suggestion to stay off of the foot for just a couple of days. I’m sure my trainers got a few stares, but they’re all I have that will fit on my feet between the swelling and the layers of tape.

Helen called this evening with good news: Mark should be home in two weeks. I offered to take Tommy off their hands one Saturday afternoon should they want a little time alone. She told me that Mark would have at least a week of leave once he got back, so that wouldn’t be necessary. Still, I wouldn’t mind taking Tommy for an afternoon. He’s a good kid.

The doctor had given me a few pain pills, and I decided to take one before bed. Normally, I’m not too keen on the things, but that little toe hurt more than I could believe. He told me it was the lowest dose available; just enough to turn the throb to a dull ache. I’ve broken bones before – you don’t play competitive football without getting hurt – but none of my injuries had ever hurt like this before. Will joked that I was just growing old. He may have something there. I feel like I’ve aged quite a bit in the last few weeks.

I sat at the writing table in my room and stared out into the back garden, going over the events of the last few days. Slipping back into the old routines of priesthood was easier than I had imagined. Almost too easy, considering how close I came to leaving the vocation altogether. Still, I had some lingering doubts, especially when it came to a certain parishioner…

Friday

These dreams are getting strange. I suppose I could blame this last one on the medication. I was at the Ballykissangel charity slave auction, on the block. I stood up sheepishly and the bidding started. It was fast and furious, but I couldn’t see who was bidding for they were somewhere inside of the crowd. The figure kept rising. Who wanted an English priest so badly, I wondered? Finally, the women bidding for me moved into view. Assumpta and Jenny pushed forward. Behind them were Tess and the woman from the electric company – complete with hard hat. The bidding intensified, and they began to push each other, and then jostle me.

I awoke with a start, and I was sweating. The perfectly rational, logical side of me says that these dreams are just my subconscious sorting things out for me. The other, more religious side says that God is trying to tell me something. And then, there’s this nagging doubt about my dreams of Assumpta. Is she trying to tell me something? No, she’s the last person I’d expect to come back and haunt someone. Most of my dreams about Assumpta have been comforting. I’m sure some psychiatrist better versed in these things might tell me that those dreams represent what I want to hear. And he or she would undoubtedly be right. I want Assumpta to be okay with the choices I’ve made. And you know what? I know that if the roles were to be reversed, I’d want her to get on with her life as well. Knowing her, she’d do so without nearly as much of the angst I’ve gone through. So, does this mean that God is telling me to get on with my life?

And what of last night’s dream, with all those women after me? Was that the pain pills talking, or some other fear coming to the surface? Perhaps these weighty issues are best contemplated when one is more awake. I hobbled downstairs for breakfast. Mrs. Becker slapped a plate down in front of me and scowled. “Looks like you were out of doors last night.”

“I had to check on the church building.”

“Take off your muddy shoes when you come inside next time,” she scolded as she slid eggs and sausage onto the plate. “I’ll be hours cleaning up that mess.” Having been duly scolded, I nodded my assent. Will hid his face behind the Guardian. No doubt he was having a good laugh over the whole thing.

“And put the first aid kit away next time, too. I’m not getting any younger, you know.”

“Yes, Mrs. Becker.” If I believed in past lives, I’d swear she had once been a teaching nun. All she needed was a ruler. No, she had her mop, and that was scary enough.

“So,” Will asked between bites of sausage, “how long are you going to be incapacitated?”

“I am not incapacitated; I’m just - moving more slowly than usual.”

“Can you handle confession this afternoon? I’ve got to go to the diocese for a meeting about sexual harassment.” He rolled his eyes. “I think Father Laurence got sick just so he could miss out.”

“Sexual harassment?” I repeated.

“I think it’s a response to all the lawsuits. It’s not just the Catholic Church, you know.” I nodded. It seemed that our society was growing more and more litigious, though we didn’t hold a candle to the United States. “Father Laurence said a few weeks ago that he was starting to feel more like a business executive than a priest, what with all these meetings.”

It’s too bad it has to be this way. Between the mass of publicity surrounding the problems we do have, that and the increasing exceedingly politically correct climate, it’s getting to be a risky proposition simply to do one’s job. It’s enough to make anyone think twice about a religious vocation – in any faith. Am I being overly sanctimonious in my thoughts? I’m no saint myself. And yet, my own problems aside, I can certainly understand why someone would want to think twice about becoming a member of the clergy.

“I don’t see why I can’t take over for the afternoon. If I can assist at Mass, confession would be trivial.” Will finished off his breakfast and put his plate in the sink. I grabbed the paper to look at the morning headlines.

“Don’t touch those dishes,” Mrs. Becker scolded, barely breaking her rhythm of scrubbing the stove. “I’ll get those.” And some of the ladies are coming to help clean after Mass. You both can straighten up that Sacristy. I don’t want you underfoot here.”

“Yes, Mrs. Becker.” It was my turn to hide behind the Guardian and suppress a giggle.

Mass was, to say the least, a disaster. I tripped three times. My face probably radiated enough warmth to heat the presbytery for a month. And since neither of us was too keen on incurring the wrath of the housekeeper, we did straighten up a few things in the Sacristy, and when the ladies came over to the church to clean we left them at it. Just as we walked in the door, Father Laurence’s family called to say that he was out of surgery and doing fine. We conveyed our best wishes and promised to telephone soon.

We parted ways after lunch and I hobbled over to the church with a Panadol bottle rattling in my pocket. I was serious about not taking any more of those pain pills.

I thought confession time at Ballykissangel was slow, but this one took the biscuit. I think I may have seen three people in the first hour. The thought did cross my mind that it might be a school holiday, and if so, families were no doubt escaping the city in droves. Making matters worse was the cramped quarters of the box. Normally, I don’t mind. But with this toe, I have move around once in a while to either dull the pain or keep the rest of my foot from tingling. Finally, I heard a door open and close and the shuffle of someone settling in on the other side of the wall. I slid the grill door open.

“Peter, we have to talk.” It was Jenny.

I took a swallow and told myself that it would be best to be all business with her. “Would you like to give your confession?”

“Would you stop running from me long enough to listen?”

Running. There’s that word again. “It seems that I don’t have much choice.”

“To run or to listen?”

“We’ll talk outside,” I sighed. I took her silence as assent and tried to exit the box. “Tried” was most certainly the operative word here, as my foot had fallen asleep again. With much effort, I finally extricated myself and we sat down on a pew. “Okay, I’m listening.”

She stood up and leaned against the pew across the aisle. “So, what brings you back to Manchester?”

“This is probably a temporary position,” I explained. “I was home on leave, and they needed someone, so here I am.” That was all she needed to know.

Her face darkened. “Oh, yes. I heard about your mother. I’m sorry. I wanted to attend the funeral, but I had an exam and couldn’t postpone it.”

“I understand.” I’m glad she didn’t show up. But I didn’t think she was here for casual conversation, and she didn’t disappoint me.

“Remember when I told you there would be a next time, Peter?” I nodded. How could I forget that? “At the time, I didn’t think we’d be meeting like this."

“Jenny, I can’t give you want you want.”

“You don’t know what I want. You won’t stop running from me long enough for me to tell you what I want.” I was starting to feel uncomfortable about having this conversation in the sanctuary. I reached up and started to loosen my collar. “Don’t.” She put her hand on mine to stop me and we looked into each other’s eyes.

“Jenny…” I stood and moved away.

“You’re not making this easy.” Well, what had she made easy? Dropping in on my life just as I was starting to feel good about my move to Ireland was not what I would call making it easy.

“When I stopped by on Monday, I was just as surprised to see you as you were to see me.” She stepped away and looked at the floor. “I’d come to see Father William.” She could have fooled me. Obviously, she noted the look of incredulity on my face, and continued. “It’s true. When I saw you, this rush of feelings just hit me. I was so confused, and suddenly I didn’t want to talk to a priest anymore.” She looked into my eyes as if pleading for understanding.

“I don’t understand…”

“I don’t expect you to,” she sighed. “And don’t give me that look again. I’d finally made up my mind to talk to Father William, and there you were, and…” She looked at the altar, then at me. “I just put your clothes away for something to do. I’d hoped you’d come back inside, but you’re so stubborn sometimes.”

Justifiably, so, I would say. “And when you rang on Tuesday?”

“I lost my nerve again. And I really did just stop by to check up on you the next night. I had a late class, and I drove by and saw the tree down by the church. I’d made up my mind to tell you then, but when Father William showed up I thought he might have the wrong end of the stick.”

“So what are you trying to tell me, Jenny?” I wasn’t sure that I was ready for the answer.

She crossed her arms against her chest and took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Promise me you won’t think I’m crazy.”

Crazy? What else was I supposed to think? At this moment, she wasn’t making a whole lot of sense. I just stared blankly at her.

She leaned back against the pew and looked at the ceiling, as if gathering strength. Then she looked back into my eyes. “Peter, I want to become a nun.”

To say that was the last thing I expected to hear would be a gross understatement. I did my best to gain my composure.

“You think I’m daft, don’t you? This is why I was afraid to tell either of you.”

“No, not at all,” I stammered. “It’s just that this is a big step. You shouldn’t take it lightly.”

“I’ve thought about it for a long time, and you’re one of the reasons.”

I let out an exasperated breath. I just couldn’t help it. “Jenny…”

“Let me finish. I was infatuated with you, I’ll admit, but I finally realized that I am not in love with you. I’m in love with your life…I mean… Well, when my mum was in the hospital having her…waterworks…taken care of I ended up talking to a sister. We talked for a long time, and I realized that this life was what I was really seeking after.”

“I don’t know if I’m exactly the right person to advise you on this, Jenny.” I’m not the right person to advise anyone on that type of thing. “Just make sure you’re doing this for all the right reasons - that’s all I’m saying.”

She sat down in the other pew. “Why is it that the Catholic Church is screaming about the lack of nuns and priests on one hand, and then they try to put you off when you want to commit your life to them?”

“Because you’re not committing your life to the Church; you’re committing it to God through the Church. There’s a subtle distinction.” Jenny looked down at the floor, then to the altar, and then back at me. “It’s sort of like joining the military for the uniform and not for the service aspect of the job - although few people join up with us for the snappy uniform,” I added. The joke was small, and it fell flat. “Look, I’m not trying to dissuade you. I just want you to go into this with your eyes open.”

“I thought you’d be happy for me,” she sniffed.

“I am. It’s a joy when anyone considers this step.”

She wiped her eyes with a tissue, swallowed, then declared: “I’m going to finish nursing school first.”

“That’s an excellent idea. I also think that you should find a sister to sort of mentor you right now. If you’d like, I can help arrange that.”

“Actually, Sister Cecilia – she’s the nun I met at the hospital – is going to help me out there.” She looked at her watch. “I’ve got a lab in half an hour. I’d better get going.”

We stood. “If there’s anything I can do for you…”

“Thanks.”

“I really am happy for you,” I said, as I took hold of her hand. She let go, faced the altar and crossed herself, and rushed out. I sat back in the pew and looked up at the huge cross in the front of the sanctuary for a long time. Then I knelt and prayed that she would get the guidance that she needed.

I stood up, began to cross myself, then knelt back down and prayed that I would get the guidance that I needed.

“Is it too late for confession?” I looked behind me to see Tess, out of breath.

“It’s never too late for that,” I replied as I rose unsteadily and crossed myself.

“How’s your foot?”

“I won’t be playing football for a few weeks.”

“You play football?”

Teenagers have a way of making you feel old sometimes. “Priests have to stay in shape, too, you know.” I listened to her confession. She had just come from her first counseling session. I was surprised that they’d managed to fit her in so quickly, but I was happy to see that she was getting help. After we finished, I extricated myself from the box and saw her to the door. “If you ever need to talk, we’re here.”

She gave me a short hug and stepped back. “I don’t know what I’d have done without you.”

“Give yourself credit for taking the first step. You have more strength than you know. Just…be careful, okay?”

After Mass, I took Will out for a beer. The pub was packed, but we found a quiet table outdoors where we could sit and talk.

“Well, you’re not going to believe what happened at the church today.” I took a sip of my Boddingtons and waited for his response.

“What…”

“Just don’t take a drink of that beer until I tell you. I talked to Jenny Clarke today.”

“Oh, you did?” He put the glass to his lips, ready to take a drink.

“She wants to take the veil.”

He sat the glass down. “This is a joke, right?”

“She seems very serious.” I told him about our conversation.

“Well,” he said after some thought, “I can see why she was scared to tell us - especially after the episode behind the chip shop.”

“You don’t suppose this has anything to do with breaking up with her boyfriend?”

Will furrowed his brow, mulling over the question. “She hasn’t actually started training, or made any sort of commitment, right?”

“Not as far as I’m aware.”

“I happen to know Sister Cecilia. Jenny couldn’t have chosen a better mentor.”

“Oh?” I hadn’t yet made the sister’s acquaintance.

“Beneath her serene exterior lies a shrewd mind. If Jenny isn’t serious, then Sister Cecilia will figure it out – and let her down easy.” We drank in silence as the sun set. I had this uneasy feeling that I hadn’t seen the last of Jenny Clarke. “As long as we’re talking about commitments, Peter…”

Oddly enough, this question didn’t annoy me as much as he thought it might. “I’m here until Father Laurence comes back.”

He looked back with mild surprise. “I’m glad, but I wasn’t going to ask you about that.”

“Oh?”

“If you had it to do all over again…”

“What? Coming back to Manchester?”

“The priest thing.” Was it his turn to have doubts? He must have read my mind, for he answered my question. “I’m happy with my own life. And it’s probably none of my business. But as your friend I’m concerned for you.”

I sat back and contemplated my beer. “Yeah,” I finally said. “I’d do it.” This time I anticipated his next question. “And if I was living my life all over again, and I met Assumpta Fitzgerald, I’d do the same thing again.”

“Seriously?”

“But I don’t have the option to start over, have I?"

He considered my answer. “Fair enough.”

“Just like you told me a week or so ago, I can’t be the only priest in the world in this situation.” I drained my glass. “And I’ll just have to take things as they come, won’t I?”

Will finished his beer, and we stood. “Again, none of my business, I suppose, but am I to take it this means you’re going to continue on as a priest?”

I put my hand on his shoulder as we walked down the street. Well, he walked and I limped. “Whatever God has in store for me.”

Saturday

I dreamt of Assumpta again last night. We were walking by the lake. She stopped and took my hands. “Peter, you have to do what you think that this is right for you.” I looked up into her eyes, and she leaned her forehead against mine. Her hair smelled wonderful. “You would still marry me?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“So you weren’t just after the glamorous lifestyle of running a pub, then?”

“When I was younger, I wanted the glamorous life of a football player, but that doesn’t mean wanted to take up with a goalkeeper.”

“I’ll bet what you’re doing now pays better than running a pub.”

I smiled. “In some ways, but the food is a lot worse. Don’t tell our housekeeper that.”

“Well, then,” She looked into my eyes and gave me a short kiss. “I’d rather have you running around with men in dresses than chasing after girls in skirts.”

“Hmm.” I kissed her forehead. “What about girls in slacks?” I asked, dodging a playful whack.

“Give a man an inch…” She laughed. God, how I loved her laugh. “So, should you be thinking these thoughts under the roof of the parochial house?”

“For the moment, I’m right here with you.”

“Do me a favor, then?=

“Anything,” I promised as I touched her cheek with my hand.

“Just don’t forget about me.”

“Oh, I thought you were going to ask me to do something hard.”

“Peter…”

“You’re always here…” I took her hand and placed it on my chest “…in my heart.”

“Come here, you,” she said, pulling me closer. I let myself get lost in her kiss.

Let the shrinks have fun with that dream.

It crossed my mind later in the day that I should send a letter to Brendan, just to let everyone know where I am, both physically and spiritually:

Thank you again for bringing my things out to Manchester. You don’t know how much I appreciated that card. Please give my thanks and love to everyone. I don’t know if Father MacAnally has told you, but I’m staying on in Manchester for the time being, back at my old parish. The post is temporary; I’m helping out while the parish priest is on leave for illness. The interim parish priest is a good friend, and he and my sister talked me into doing this. I went in reluctantly, but so far, it seems to be working out.

Slowly, I am coming to terms with Assumpta’s death. I believe that she would want me to get on with my own life. All of my friends (especially you and Niamh) have been telling me just that, but I couldn’t see it until now. I hope you’ll forgive my stubbornness.

You may write me at the address on the envelope. The plan is for me to be here another five or six weeks, and I’ll write you before I go – if not sooner. If I’m not here, Father William Russell will see that I get it. I think you would like him, Brendan, even though he doesn’t drink Guinness.

As for where I’ll be next, only God knows at this point. It does appear that I’ll be holding onto my stunning black wardrobe for just a while longer, though. In the end, the choice was between it and a football uniform, but Middlesborough wouldn’t have me.

Thanks again for everything, and please share this letter with anyone else in town who might be interested to know the latest news of their disreputable former curate.

Peter

 
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