LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION
(Now available in electronic format at AMAZON.COM)
(Previously published as BITTERSWEET PARKWAY: THE VIADUCT)
(Previously published as BITTERSWEET PARKWAY: THE VIADUCT)
LEAD US NOT INTO TEMPTATION is a work of fiction and is entirely the product of the author’s imagination. Any similarity to persons, living or dead is pure and unintended coincidence.
Samantha is the go-to person among her friends. She is the one they share their inner most secrets with. As the narrator, she becomes engrossed in telling their story, and less conscious of telling her own. Within the framework, she will refer to information she has heard from the other characters, in order to try to deliver a larger point of view.
Samantha is the go-to person among her friends. She is the one they share their inner most secrets with. As the narrator, she becomes engrossed in telling their story, and less conscious of telling her own. Within the framework, she will refer to information she has heard from the other characters, in order to try to deliver a larger point of view.
CHAPTER ONE
The Howard Miller Chiming wall clock, with a picture of the Nativity visible behind the glass, announced the hour. Darcy Horton, Archbishop Newman’s secretary, was anxious to get on the road this stormy Friday afternoon before the weather worsened. She’d already stayed four hours beyond her planned noon departure, wanting to get a jump-start on the long weekend, but the monthly reports, which were due on Tuesday, loomed. She was almost out the door when the intercom buzzed.
“Yes, John,” she replied wearily to the shepherd for the Archdiocese of Washington. She’d found it difficult to use his first name―at his request―even outside of work, but today she was preoccupied.
“I know you’re anxious to leave, but I wonder if you’d spare me a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right there,” she sighed, hoping her exasperation wasn’t too evident.
Entering the office, she immediately sensed the tension. Everything looks normal, but there’s something―
“Would you have a seat, please?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “This will only take a few minutes and then you can be on your way. I didn’t want you to come in Tuesday morning to any surprises. I’ve asked for, and been granted, an indefinite leave of absence, effective at 5:00 today.”
Darcy groped for the nearest chair and collapsed into it.
“I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want a fuss. A replacement hasn’t been assigned as yet, and until that happens, Monsignor Mancuso will be taking over. I hope you’ll continue to be the support to him that you’ve been to me,” he said, pausing to give her a chance to respond.
Nothing!
“Darcy, are you OK?”
“This is about Sylvia, isn’t it?” she finally asked.
“To be more precise, it’s about my future as a priest. I’m not sure I can continue in that capacity.”
“John, it’s been almost two years since she left. I thought you were reconciled to the fact that―”
“No, Darcy,” he interrupted, “it’s all been just a charade that I will no longer live with. I hope you can understand and at least try to forgive me.” He ran a hand absently through his salt and pepper hair.
“Where will you go?”
“Initially I’m heading for a secluded location in the mountains where, hopefully, I’ll be able to sort things out. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you that I do plan to search for Sylvia eventually. I’m aware that she keeps in touch with you, but I’d never ask you to betray a confidence.” He watched intently as she nodded, then stood, signaling the meeting was over. “So I guess this is it for now.”
“I sincerely hope it is only for now,” she said, and hugged him. “I realize we didn’t start off on the best of terms but I want you to know the time I’ve worked for you has been two of the best years of my life. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. I don’t suppose you’d consider having dinner with Jacob and me before you leave?”
“It’s me who needs to thank you for your friendship as well as your business acumen. You’ve taught me many life lessons, and I’m a better man because of that. My flight departs at 6:30 tonight. Could I take a rain check on dinner?”
For the first time she brightened. “Absolutely! That makes it sound like we’ll see you again. I’ll look forward to that. Good luck, John, and … kiss Sylvia for me when you find her. Because I know you will find her. God bless,” she said and left the office hastily, her head held high as she tried to inconspicuously swipe at escaping tears.
Well, that went better than I anticipated, he thought. Hopefully it’s a sign.
“Daddee, you home,” 3 year old R.P. yelled gleefully as he raced toward his father, hurling himself against his legs. “We missed you, didn’t we mommy?”
“Yes, we certainly did,” Shannon Simpson replied, waddling toward her husband who was desperately trying to stay vertical.
He grinned at his very pregnant wife, trying to kiss her in spite of R.P.’s position between them. “You look radiant, not like the last time. At least you’ve gained a substantial amount of …” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing her glare.
“Of what?” she asked, green eyes sparking.
“Uh … beauty,” he tried, lamely.
“You mean weight, don’t you? I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you if I don’t lose every pound. And I’m barely 8 months!”
The pale green Capri shorts and green and white checkered maternity top gave her the appearance of a very stylish mother-to-be, despite her size.
“I was so concerned when you didn’t gain much weight the last time, but I guess that should have told us it wasn’t meant to be.”
“That’s what Samantha always says―everything happens for a reason.”
“Samantha has as many prophetic sayings as Moshe Rubenstein has blessings. However, mother-to-be of my unborn child, for someone who was told she’d never get pregnant after the abortion years ago, you seem to have proven the medical profession wrong twice so far.”
“Ummm, do you suppose maybe it has more to do with you than me?” she asked, grinning flirtatiously. “Remember how devastated I was―we were―with the miscarriage. If it hadn’t been for Sam nagging at me, I probably wouldn’t be pregnant now.”
“I thought you just hinted I was the reason for that,” he teased, pulling her as close as possible and nuzzling her neck. “Think we can put R.P. to bed early tonight?” he whispered.
“Negative. Did you forget? Father and the Harmony’s are coming to dinner. I hope they get here soon or my meal will be ruined.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now. So, that’s why this house smells so good! I thought you’d planned a special evening for just the two of us. What happened to the Horton’s and the Eckland’s?”
“They had to cancel. Darcy said there was some kind of a situation and they needed to spend some time sorting it all out. It sounded pretty mysterious to me.”
When the bell rang once and then three times in quick succession, Marty barely had time to open the door before Karen flew past, high-fiving him in the process, just as R.P. hurled himself at her. She scooped him up and headed for the playroom.
“Hi, Marty. No time for chit-chat. Exciting second quarter. Is your TV still in the den?” the pastor asked, as he brushed past.
“No, we moved it to the playroom,” he called to his departing back, which abruptly veered to the left.
Judy stretched on tiptoe to buss Marty’s cheek while Brian reached for his hand.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Judy said. “Hope you don’t regret it now that you’ve moved your TV. Somehow I don’t think the children’s chatter will be a welcome accompaniment to an exciting Redskins game unless Father can convince R.P. football is more fun than toys.”
And so it begins. A nice, anything-but-quiet-evening, no matter where we all get together, Marty mused as he reflected on the events that had just unfolded in his front hall. He looked forward to the quality time, like so many others, that would blend old friends and new in comfortable camaraderie.
Before he could take any further action, Shannon beckoned from the dining room. He ushered the Harmony’s toward it and went to round up the stragglers. Karen and R.P. came dutifully when called. The pastor followed reluctantly, fuming―he didn’t know why dinner couldn’t wait until half time. Once he caught a glimpse of the table laden with one of Shannon’s famous gourmet meals―beef Wellington, green beans almandine, and garlic roasted potatoes, plus a wilted spinach salad with bacon and hardboiled eggs that looked like a meal in itself―all thoughts of football were temporarily forgotten. His eyes zeroed in on the homemade cheesecake loaded with strawberries that perched atop the sideboard buffet. He was headed toward it until Judy cautioned him about his cholesterol levels.
Everyone oh’d and ah’d appreciatively, as they focused on the meal, missing the pained expression on their hostess’s face.
“My God, woman, what’s the matter with you?” I asked, grasping Darcy by the shoulders while I peered into her eyes. “You look terrible. Have you been crying? Jacob,” I bellowed as I released her and marched through their house in search of him, “what’s going on here?”
“Samantha, please. It’s not Jacob. It’s John,” Darcy replied hastily, dabbing at her eyes.
“John? John who? You mean, the archbishop?” I asked turning, my pace slowing.
“Hi, Bob―Sam. What’s all the commotion? For a minute, I thought the pastor was joining us. Where are the girls?” Jacob asked looking around for our 2 year old twins.
“We left them home with Mildred and Everett,” Bobby replied. “Sam said Darcy sounded pretty serious.”
“I think serious is an understatement. John is leaving the priesthood. This should really throw the archdiocese into a tailspin. Let’s go in and sit down.”
As the four of us settled into the Horton's very comfortable early American family room, listening to Darcy's explanation of the afternoon's events, the rain pelted the windows and the lights flickered, as if the heavens felt the impending doom we were all beginning to feel.
“Does Pete know?” Bobby asked.
“I’m not sure but I don’t think so,” Darcy answered. “However, I’d imagine a special meeting will be called of all the priests in the archdiocese to announce his decision. Jacob could probably explain it better.”
“I agree with my wife,” he began, “but because of John’s position, I doubt very much will be said. Since he initiated the leave, chances are he won't be returning to the brotherhood. But if he does, he'll have to decide whether to remain in Washington, or ask to be reassigned elsewhere.” Jacob, once a priest and the pastor's assistant at Saint Thomas, was still connected with clergy in the archdiocese, and because of that, was privy to info others weren't.
“He told me he’s been discontent ever since Sylvia left, which caused him to come to this decision,” Darcy continued. “He’s such a decent human being. I hope somehow he can find some peace while working through this. I applaud him for the courage to face his demons. I just wish I’d been able to be more supportive. He took me so by surprise―” she said. Her voice trailed off as she stood and walked to the window, staring out. She’d been raised in a devout Catholic home and went through quite a bit of soul searching when Jacob requested laicization a couple of years ago in order to marry her. It took some time before she could finally embrace the fact that it was God’s will that they marry. She could only imagine the turmoil John was facing.
“Darcy,” Bobby said, coming up behind her, “would it be alright with you if we told Pete? I think we owe him that much―with your permission, of course. I know he’s at the Simpson’s and I really hate to intrude on their evening but the question is―if you agree―do we want to reach him tonight or wait until tomorrow.”
“Knowing how the clergy grape-vine works,” Jacob interjected, “I think we should tell him as soon as possible.”
Darcy nodded and headed for the phone.
“Miz Kirby? Is zat you? Why you be here at this time of night? Ain’t you got a man pacing the floor, wondering when you’ll be coming home?” he asked from the open doorway.
“Jasper! For goodness sake, you scared me half to death! What time is it anyway?” she asked the kindly old African American custodian who was the self-appointed grandfather to all the staff.
“Purt’ near 10:30, ma’am. All them papers will still be here tomorrow.” He limped into the office pulling the vacuum behind him.
Sylvia laughed in spite of her weariness. “You’re so right, and tomorrow will be here soon enough,” she replied, closing her notebook and reaching for her purse.
“You come ‘long now and I’ll walk ya to your car. It’s not good for a purty young thing to be wandering the streets alone at this hour.”
Gathering up her Tuscany handbag and matching tan leather briefcase, a farewell gift from her staff at Georgetown hospital, she pushed her chair back and followed him to the service elevator. Once on the ground floor, and at his insistence, she allowed him to escort her to the reserved spot in the well-lit hospital parking lot. So far, crime was at a minimum but that was no reason to tempt fate.
“You drive real careful now, ya hear, and keep them doors locked,” he ordered, waving as she pulled out onto US31 north toward her cottage in Oden.
She waited until she’d passed through Petoskey before she lowered the convertible top to admire the cloudless sky, heavily laden with stars. She tuned the dial to WIAA 88.7 FM, one of four stations associated with Interlochen Public Radio, and let her mind ramble.
It had been 2 years since she’d left her envied position at Georgetown University Hospital for the Michigan tundra. Not a day went by that she didn’t wonder if it had been a mistake.
She thought back to her early years at the orphanage, the same one where the current archbishop had resided once upon a time. It was her deep, but impossible, love for him that caused her hasty departure. Despite everything, she still felt she’d made the right decision.
Being the new kid on the block at the northern Michigan hospital had been a bit distressing in the beginning, due to the unwanted male attention but that had finally settled down. Her colleagues treated her with admiration―the men observed a hands-off demeanor. Most of the time John was far enough back in her memory to allow for productive work days. It was just the nights that were hard to get through sometimes.
Where are you, John? Are you OK? What are you doing? I feel your presence tonight more than I ever have since I left. I know I’m being selfish, God, but … if only … just one more time―
“OK, OK, what’s all the mystery? Damn rude of you to insist I leave the Simpson’s just when Karen and I were winning at monopoly,” the pastor bellowed, entering the family room and trailed by Jacob. He was clearly enjoying the attention until he saw our somber looks. “Whatever you’re getting ready to blame me for,” he continued, defensively, “I didn’t do it!” He paused for breath, and it reinforced what we’d suspected―that he didn’t know about John’s departure.
None of us said a word, waiting for Darcy to take the lead.
“Father,” she began hesitantly, as she led him to the sofa, “something has happened that we think you should be aware of before it becomes common knowledge. There’s no easy way to say it. John has taken an indefinite leave of absence, effective today.”
He stared at her, then at all of us. “You mean, the archbishop?” he whispered, and for the third time Darcy relayed the events of the afternoon.
“And you all think Sylvia is behind this, right?”
“I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that,” I answered. “That makes it sound like Sylvia is to blame for John questioning his vocation. She may be the reason, but if you want to blame someone, blame John. He’s the one responsible for his actions.”
“Damn it, Samantha, don’t go all righteous on me!” he began, his emotions getting the best of him. “I’m not your son, you know. You think, just because―”
“Watch it, Pete, that’s my wife you’re picking on, the one-time love of your life,” Bobby interrupted, trying to make light of a tense situation but it didn’t work.
Father Peter’s emotions were rapidly surfacing as he turned his hostility toward my husband, who simply grabbed him and hugged him until he got a grip.
“I’m sorry, Samantha―” he began, but I waved him off.
“This is going to be a blow to the archdiocese, to say the least,” Bobby continued. “I think we owe it to John to present a united front where his situation is concerned. Because of his closeness with us, Saint Thomas and the Georgetown community, we can make a difference here. You know the gossip mill will run rampant but we can squelch the rumors before they start, and it can begin with you, Pete. You might want to down play it with your peers. You’ve gained newfound respect since the gay rights incident. Lead by example.”
“You know, you’re sounding more like your wife every day with these constant lectures,” he muttered grudgingly. “Don’t you think I have a brain?” he asked, looking at each of us.
No one said a word.
“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I do need a little help” he admitted, sheepishly.
Again, no one said a word.
“OK, OK, I guess I could give it a shot. I just wish I’d had a chance to talk to him before he left. That’s not like him. Guess he really was hurting.”
“For a long time, from what I could gather,” Darcy said. “I don’t know how I could have been so blind. One can only imagine how alone he must have felt. Maybe we should try and find him. Jacob, surely you could―”
“No, sweetheart,” he interrupted, “at least for the first month or so he needs to be left alone. I realize this is a jolt to all of you but I believe John knows exactly what he’s doing. He comes from tough stock, having spent all those years in the orphanage and on the streets before entering the priesthood and I, more than anyone, can attest to the power of love. We haven’t seen the last of him, or Sylvia either.”
The Howard Miller Chiming wall clock, with a picture of the Nativity visible behind the glass, announced the hour. Darcy Horton, Archbishop Newman’s secretary, was anxious to get on the road this stormy Friday afternoon before the weather worsened. She’d already stayed four hours beyond her planned noon departure, wanting to get a jump-start on the long weekend, but the monthly reports, which were due on Tuesday, loomed. She was almost out the door when the intercom buzzed.
“Yes, John,” she replied wearily to the shepherd for the Archdiocese of Washington. She’d found it difficult to use his first name―at his request―even outside of work, but today she was preoccupied.
“I know you’re anxious to leave, but I wonder if you’d spare me a few minutes.”
“I’ll be right there,” she sighed, hoping her exasperation wasn’t too evident.
Entering the office, she immediately sensed the tension. Everything looks normal, but there’s something―
“Would you have a seat, please?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts. “This will only take a few minutes and then you can be on your way. I didn’t want you to come in Tuesday morning to any surprises. I’ve asked for, and been granted, an indefinite leave of absence, effective at 5:00 today.”
Darcy groped for the nearest chair and collapsed into it.
“I didn’t tell you sooner because I didn’t want a fuss. A replacement hasn’t been assigned as yet, and until that happens, Monsignor Mancuso will be taking over. I hope you’ll continue to be the support to him that you’ve been to me,” he said, pausing to give her a chance to respond.
Nothing!
“Darcy, are you OK?”
“This is about Sylvia, isn’t it?” she finally asked.
“To be more precise, it’s about my future as a priest. I’m not sure I can continue in that capacity.”
“John, it’s been almost two years since she left. I thought you were reconciled to the fact that―”
“No, Darcy,” he interrupted, “it’s all been just a charade that I will no longer live with. I hope you can understand and at least try to forgive me.” He ran a hand absently through his salt and pepper hair.
“Where will you go?”
“Initially I’m heading for a secluded location in the mountains where, hopefully, I’ll be able to sort things out. But I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t tell you that I do plan to search for Sylvia eventually. I’m aware that she keeps in touch with you, but I’d never ask you to betray a confidence.” He watched intently as she nodded, then stood, signaling the meeting was over. “So I guess this is it for now.”
“I sincerely hope it is only for now,” she said, and hugged him. “I realize we didn’t start off on the best of terms but I want you to know the time I’ve worked for you has been two of the best years of my life. Thank you for giving me the opportunity. I don’t suppose you’d consider having dinner with Jacob and me before you leave?”
“It’s me who needs to thank you for your friendship as well as your business acumen. You’ve taught me many life lessons, and I’m a better man because of that. My flight departs at 6:30 tonight. Could I take a rain check on dinner?”
For the first time she brightened. “Absolutely! That makes it sound like we’ll see you again. I’ll look forward to that. Good luck, John, and … kiss Sylvia for me when you find her. Because I know you will find her. God bless,” she said and left the office hastily, her head held high as she tried to inconspicuously swipe at escaping tears.
Well, that went better than I anticipated, he thought. Hopefully it’s a sign.
“Daddee, you home,” 3 year old R.P. yelled gleefully as he raced toward his father, hurling himself against his legs. “We missed you, didn’t we mommy?”
“Yes, we certainly did,” Shannon Simpson replied, waddling toward her husband who was desperately trying to stay vertical.
He grinned at his very pregnant wife, trying to kiss her in spite of R.P.’s position between them. “You look radiant, not like the last time. At least you’ve gained a substantial amount of …” He stopped mid-sentence, noticing her glare.
“Of what?” she asked, green eyes sparking.
“Uh … beauty,” he tried, lamely.
“You mean weight, don’t you? I don’t think I’ll ever forgive you if I don’t lose every pound. And I’m barely 8 months!”
The pale green Capri shorts and green and white checkered maternity top gave her the appearance of a very stylish mother-to-be, despite her size.
“I was so concerned when you didn’t gain much weight the last time, but I guess that should have told us it wasn’t meant to be.”
“That’s what Samantha always says―everything happens for a reason.”
“Samantha has as many prophetic sayings as Moshe Rubenstein has blessings. However, mother-to-be of my unborn child, for someone who was told she’d never get pregnant after the abortion years ago, you seem to have proven the medical profession wrong twice so far.”
“Ummm, do you suppose maybe it has more to do with you than me?” she asked, grinning flirtatiously. “Remember how devastated I was―we were―with the miscarriage. If it hadn’t been for Sam nagging at me, I probably wouldn’t be pregnant now.”
“I thought you just hinted I was the reason for that,” he teased, pulling her as close as possible and nuzzling her neck. “Think we can put R.P. to bed early tonight?” he whispered.
“Negative. Did you forget? Father and the Harmony’s are coming to dinner. I hope they get here soon or my meal will be ruined.”
“Oh, yeah, I remember now. So, that’s why this house smells so good! I thought you’d planned a special evening for just the two of us. What happened to the Horton’s and the Eckland’s?”
“They had to cancel. Darcy said there was some kind of a situation and they needed to spend some time sorting it all out. It sounded pretty mysterious to me.”
When the bell rang once and then three times in quick succession, Marty barely had time to open the door before Karen flew past, high-fiving him in the process, just as R.P. hurled himself at her. She scooped him up and headed for the playroom.
“Hi, Marty. No time for chit-chat. Exciting second quarter. Is your TV still in the den?” the pastor asked, as he brushed past.
“No, we moved it to the playroom,” he called to his departing back, which abruptly veered to the left.
Judy stretched on tiptoe to buss Marty’s cheek while Brian reached for his hand.
“Thanks for inviting us,” Judy said. “Hope you don’t regret it now that you’ve moved your TV. Somehow I don’t think the children’s chatter will be a welcome accompaniment to an exciting Redskins game unless Father can convince R.P. football is more fun than toys.”
And so it begins. A nice, anything-but-quiet-evening, no matter where we all get together, Marty mused as he reflected on the events that had just unfolded in his front hall. He looked forward to the quality time, like so many others, that would blend old friends and new in comfortable camaraderie.
Before he could take any further action, Shannon beckoned from the dining room. He ushered the Harmony’s toward it and went to round up the stragglers. Karen and R.P. came dutifully when called. The pastor followed reluctantly, fuming―he didn’t know why dinner couldn’t wait until half time. Once he caught a glimpse of the table laden with one of Shannon’s famous gourmet meals―beef Wellington, green beans almandine, and garlic roasted potatoes, plus a wilted spinach salad with bacon and hardboiled eggs that looked like a meal in itself―all thoughts of football were temporarily forgotten. His eyes zeroed in on the homemade cheesecake loaded with strawberries that perched atop the sideboard buffet. He was headed toward it until Judy cautioned him about his cholesterol levels.
Everyone oh’d and ah’d appreciatively, as they focused on the meal, missing the pained expression on their hostess’s face.
“My God, woman, what’s the matter with you?” I asked, grasping Darcy by the shoulders while I peered into her eyes. “You look terrible. Have you been crying? Jacob,” I bellowed as I released her and marched through their house in search of him, “what’s going on here?”
“Samantha, please. It’s not Jacob. It’s John,” Darcy replied hastily, dabbing at her eyes.
“John? John who? You mean, the archbishop?” I asked turning, my pace slowing.
“Hi, Bob―Sam. What’s all the commotion? For a minute, I thought the pastor was joining us. Where are the girls?” Jacob asked looking around for our 2 year old twins.
“We left them home with Mildred and Everett,” Bobby replied. “Sam said Darcy sounded pretty serious.”
“I think serious is an understatement. John is leaving the priesthood. This should really throw the archdiocese into a tailspin. Let’s go in and sit down.”
As the four of us settled into the Horton's very comfortable early American family room, listening to Darcy's explanation of the afternoon's events, the rain pelted the windows and the lights flickered, as if the heavens felt the impending doom we were all beginning to feel.
“Does Pete know?” Bobby asked.
“I’m not sure but I don’t think so,” Darcy answered. “However, I’d imagine a special meeting will be called of all the priests in the archdiocese to announce his decision. Jacob could probably explain it better.”
“I agree with my wife,” he began, “but because of John’s position, I doubt very much will be said. Since he initiated the leave, chances are he won't be returning to the brotherhood. But if he does, he'll have to decide whether to remain in Washington, or ask to be reassigned elsewhere.” Jacob, once a priest and the pastor's assistant at Saint Thomas, was still connected with clergy in the archdiocese, and because of that, was privy to info others weren't.
“He told me he’s been discontent ever since Sylvia left, which caused him to come to this decision,” Darcy continued. “He’s such a decent human being. I hope somehow he can find some peace while working through this. I applaud him for the courage to face his demons. I just wish I’d been able to be more supportive. He took me so by surprise―” she said. Her voice trailed off as she stood and walked to the window, staring out. She’d been raised in a devout Catholic home and went through quite a bit of soul searching when Jacob requested laicization a couple of years ago in order to marry her. It took some time before she could finally embrace the fact that it was God’s will that they marry. She could only imagine the turmoil John was facing.
“Darcy,” Bobby said, coming up behind her, “would it be alright with you if we told Pete? I think we owe him that much―with your permission, of course. I know he’s at the Simpson’s and I really hate to intrude on their evening but the question is―if you agree―do we want to reach him tonight or wait until tomorrow.”
“Knowing how the clergy grape-vine works,” Jacob interjected, “I think we should tell him as soon as possible.”
Darcy nodded and headed for the phone.
“Miz Kirby? Is zat you? Why you be here at this time of night? Ain’t you got a man pacing the floor, wondering when you’ll be coming home?” he asked from the open doorway.
“Jasper! For goodness sake, you scared me half to death! What time is it anyway?” she asked the kindly old African American custodian who was the self-appointed grandfather to all the staff.
“Purt’ near 10:30, ma’am. All them papers will still be here tomorrow.” He limped into the office pulling the vacuum behind him.
Sylvia laughed in spite of her weariness. “You’re so right, and tomorrow will be here soon enough,” she replied, closing her notebook and reaching for her purse.
“You come ‘long now and I’ll walk ya to your car. It’s not good for a purty young thing to be wandering the streets alone at this hour.”
Gathering up her Tuscany handbag and matching tan leather briefcase, a farewell gift from her staff at Georgetown hospital, she pushed her chair back and followed him to the service elevator. Once on the ground floor, and at his insistence, she allowed him to escort her to the reserved spot in the well-lit hospital parking lot. So far, crime was at a minimum but that was no reason to tempt fate.
“You drive real careful now, ya hear, and keep them doors locked,” he ordered, waving as she pulled out onto US31 north toward her cottage in Oden.
She waited until she’d passed through Petoskey before she lowered the convertible top to admire the cloudless sky, heavily laden with stars. She tuned the dial to WIAA 88.7 FM, one of four stations associated with Interlochen Public Radio, and let her mind ramble.
It had been 2 years since she’d left her envied position at Georgetown University Hospital for the Michigan tundra. Not a day went by that she didn’t wonder if it had been a mistake.
She thought back to her early years at the orphanage, the same one where the current archbishop had resided once upon a time. It was her deep, but impossible, love for him that caused her hasty departure. Despite everything, she still felt she’d made the right decision.
Being the new kid on the block at the northern Michigan hospital had been a bit distressing in the beginning, due to the unwanted male attention but that had finally settled down. Her colleagues treated her with admiration―the men observed a hands-off demeanor. Most of the time John was far enough back in her memory to allow for productive work days. It was just the nights that were hard to get through sometimes.
Where are you, John? Are you OK? What are you doing? I feel your presence tonight more than I ever have since I left. I know I’m being selfish, God, but … if only … just one more time―
“OK, OK, what’s all the mystery? Damn rude of you to insist I leave the Simpson’s just when Karen and I were winning at monopoly,” the pastor bellowed, entering the family room and trailed by Jacob. He was clearly enjoying the attention until he saw our somber looks. “Whatever you’re getting ready to blame me for,” he continued, defensively, “I didn’t do it!” He paused for breath, and it reinforced what we’d suspected―that he didn’t know about John’s departure.
None of us said a word, waiting for Darcy to take the lead.
“Father,” she began hesitantly, as she led him to the sofa, “something has happened that we think you should be aware of before it becomes common knowledge. There’s no easy way to say it. John has taken an indefinite leave of absence, effective today.”
He stared at her, then at all of us. “You mean, the archbishop?” he whispered, and for the third time Darcy relayed the events of the afternoon.
“And you all think Sylvia is behind this, right?”
“I’m not sure I’d put it quite like that,” I answered. “That makes it sound like Sylvia is to blame for John questioning his vocation. She may be the reason, but if you want to blame someone, blame John. He’s the one responsible for his actions.”
“Damn it, Samantha, don’t go all righteous on me!” he began, his emotions getting the best of him. “I’m not your son, you know. You think, just because―”
“Watch it, Pete, that’s my wife you’re picking on, the one-time love of your life,” Bobby interrupted, trying to make light of a tense situation but it didn’t work.
Father Peter’s emotions were rapidly surfacing as he turned his hostility toward my husband, who simply grabbed him and hugged him until he got a grip.
“I’m sorry, Samantha―” he began, but I waved him off.
“This is going to be a blow to the archdiocese, to say the least,” Bobby continued. “I think we owe it to John to present a united front where his situation is concerned. Because of his closeness with us, Saint Thomas and the Georgetown community, we can make a difference here. You know the gossip mill will run rampant but we can squelch the rumors before they start, and it can begin with you, Pete. You might want to down play it with your peers. You’ve gained newfound respect since the gay rights incident. Lead by example.”
“You know, you’re sounding more like your wife every day with these constant lectures,” he muttered grudgingly. “Don’t you think I have a brain?” he asked, looking at each of us.
No one said a word.
“Yeah, well, maybe sometimes I do need a little help” he admitted, sheepishly.
Again, no one said a word.
“OK, OK, I guess I could give it a shot. I just wish I’d had a chance to talk to him before he left. That’s not like him. Guess he really was hurting.”
“For a long time, from what I could gather,” Darcy said. “I don’t know how I could have been so blind. One can only imagine how alone he must have felt. Maybe we should try and find him. Jacob, surely you could―”
“No, sweetheart,” he interrupted, “at least for the first month or so he needs to be left alone. I realize this is a jolt to all of you but I believe John knows exactly what he’s doing. He comes from tough stock, having spent all those years in the orphanage and on the streets before entering the priesthood and I, more than anyone, can attest to the power of love. We haven’t seen the last of him, or Sylvia either.”
