XI
The Price
of Adultery
“Bless me, Father,” Brendan began once the pair sealed themselves off
from the rest of the world, “I’ve committed sins.”
A moment passed and Patrick felt forced to press on. “What is it,
Brendan, that you’re finding so difficult to say?”
“What? That I can’t stand being separated from m’wife because of m’own
stupidity?”
Another moment passed. The small cubicles and the screen separating the pair suddenly seemed too
confining, too tight, and airless. “Ya did it again, didn’t ya?”
“I.. I..didn’t..”
“Ya bloody did it again,“ Patrick cried, coming to his feet. “Tell me it
wasn’t one of the lasses from Naughtonby.” He struggled with the curtain
separating him from the rest of the Church, and then struggled with the one
protecting Brendan’s privacy. “Tell me ya didn’t seduce one of those lasses
while I was visiting with their mams.”
Brendan rose from where he knelt on the limestone. He would not look
Patrick in the eye. “Before that.”
“Before Molly O’Sullivan took off?’
“Since then.”
“Someone living in Killelea?”
“Nay.”
With his mind working as quickly as Timothy Darcy riding his bicycle,
Patrick searched his memory for a face or a name. “The Lady.” Brendan flinched.
“You committed adultery with Major Talbot’s Lady?”
Brendan squared his shoulders and faced Patrick head on. “All right. I
committed adultery with Lady Talbot. Please grant me Absolution.”
“Absolution? Ya brought one child into this world without the benefit of
a father. You’re never going to know if you’ve made another bairne or not.
Who’ll father your child this time, Brendan?”
He sent his closest friend away without Absolution, and damned himself
for doing it. After all, wasn’t it Himself who would pass final judgment?
Didn’t He say that a man without sin may cast the first stone? Patrick knelt,
giving himself over to prayers, and maybe, just maybe, ready to concede his
error in sending Brendan away.
Then Enid arrived, seeking Patrick’s benediction. She moved up the center
aisle, lowered herself onto one knee, and crossed herself. Once on her feet
again, she approached Patrick at the altar rail. He crossed himself and rose.
Then he lost his temper. “Don’t consider the topic,” he began slowly, closing
his eyes. “I threw your husband out of here with his adulterous ways, and I’ll
toss you out with your silliness. Give the man what he needs, Enid, and he’ll
not be seeking it in another woman’s bed.” She started to say something. The
martyred expression, the pout curling her upper lip and her determined eyebrows
made him know the course of her arguments. “Your duty is to your husband,” he
growled, leaning down to her level. “If I could read His mind, I’d be telling
you that you helped to damn a good man’s soul with your pigheadedness.”
She sealed her lips. She was humiliated, and whether bright sunlight or
the poorly lit church of St. John the Baptist, Patrick read it in her eyes.
After a moment, she turned about and made her way towards the back of the
Church. She paused at the back to dip her fingers in holy water. Turning again
in Patrick’s direction, she crossed herself.
It was hard keeping his mind on his duties, and harder yet to put the
anger he felt towards either aside. He returned to the Parochial House, hoping
maybe for a respite, and a bit of conversation with the Canon. Instead he found
the old man sitting at the table, cradling his head in his hands. Patrick
needed this less than he needed the frustration caused by insipid Enid and her
unforgiving, adulterous husband. Patrick hurried from the cottage, about the
Church and into the alcove. He returned a moment later, hoping that Mrs.
Clohessy’s blasphemies would prove out again.
He brusquely ordered the old man to sit up and face him. When Canon
complied, Patrick opened the jar and dipped his fingers in the salve. Instantly
the smell of burning bicycle tires saturated the room. He loaded the white gel
onto his fingertips and applied it to Canon Hanrahan’s brow. The old man looked
stunned. Insulted. But then as the horse realized instant relief, the creases
in the old man’s head slackened.
Patrick lost a good bit of sleep that night to tossing and turning, and
rehashing both incidents. Enid, dull witted and boring. How does one make her
see through the haze of the silliness she created? Brendan, the unforgiving.
The pigheaded. The adulterer.
It rained early, but then cleared up. The sun peeked through a hole in
the clouds, smiling brightly and heating up the air. It was muggy. Worse yet
thunderheads were moving in again. Hopefully Himself would grant them the
greater portion of the day to celebrate.
Patrick crossed the Channel early. Carrying the remains of his breakfast,
he approached the outer fence where his closest and oldest friend stacked
rocks. “Have ya eaten, Brendan?" Patrick asked holding out his basket. Brendan,
the unforgiving, didn’t react. “I asked ya if you’ve eaten.” He wasn’t
surprised when Brendan Kelly didn’t respond again. Patrick set his basket on the
fence. “Mass will be said here on Innisfen today.” It was hard to look at
Brendan as the redhead weeded about his flax plants. "Connor Corrigan and
Deirdre Darcy will be exchanging their vows. I’m expecting you there. And when
we’re done with Mass, I’ll be expecting you at Confession.” Brendan continued
to work, this time, coming to his feet to carry rocks from the plot to his hand cart. He
paused, his shoulders giving into Patrick’s near apology. “We’ll try again.”
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