DAY TWO - SATURDAY

"Well, I have to.  Kieran doesn’t understand.  Besides, you can’t help but smile with him.  He’s so cheerful."  He was making
silly faces at the infant.

"You wouldn’t say that if you had to feed him in the middle of the night."

"Well, ok, I guess I wouldn’t smile then."

"How are you?"

"Numb. You?"

"Good description. I just can’t believe she’s gone."

"I know."

"Father, I want to ask you…"  But she didn’t know how to phrase the question.  Peter did.

"Was I in love with her?"

"Well, yeah."

"Yes. We were trying to decide what to do and how to do it.  We were going to talk the next morning before she opened up
the pub."

"I’m sorry, Father."

"Yeah."

"Was she in love with you when she married Leo?"

Peter looked off into the distance.  Until that moment, Leo had not even remotely entered his thoughts.  He didn’t really want to
acknowledge the truth, but he had to.  "Yes.  She told me she married him to get me out of her head.  She did not think I would
ever be anything but a priest."

"And now, Father?"

"Niamh, I don’t know.  Father Mac is asking me the same question.  I can’t answer it now…without her."  He looked at
Kieran who was settling into his shoulder.

"Will you stay here in Ballyk?"

"No, I just can’t.  I’m going home to see my brothers.  I need to think about what I want for my life.  I need to revisit my
commitment to my vocation.  I need to figure out what I believe in, if anything.  Do you understand?"

"I think so.  I feel a little the same way.  I mean, when someone dies that you were close to, it does make you reevaluate your
life and your goals."

A small bit of concern for others came to Peter.  "How are you doing, Niamh?"

"Well, it’s hard.  It was very hard to walk into Fitzgerald’s.  It’s hard to never again be able to talk to her.  But, I have Kieran
and Ambrose so it helps a bit."

"You’re fortunate."

"Father…Peter, you can talk to us, you know.  We consider you a friend even more than a priest.  We really don’t want you to
leave."

Peter smiled.  "Thanks."

"If you want, you could stay with us in our spare room."

"Sort of a live-in nanny?" he teased.

"Hadn’t thought of that," she shot right back.

Kieran had fallen asleep on Peter’s shoulder.  "I really hadn’t considered that option as a change of vocation.  Can you afford
it?"

"Ah, well, you will still have to keep that vow of poverty."  They smiled.  He gently handed the little guy back to Niamh.

Peter watched everyone filing out of St. Joseph’s after Kieran’s christening.  He knew they thought he would come to Brian’s
for the party afterward, but he had other plans.

The sound of the massive wood door closing resonated through the Church.  His footsteps echoed as he made his way back to
the altar, still clad in his vestments.

He stopped in front of the altar, lost in a torrent of thoughts:

Where is God now? I baptized that child in His name but was I just acting a part?  Is that all it means to be a Priest? Just
a twentieth century alchemist, chanting incantations whose only value is to ease human minds. There is no point in that.
He looked down at his vestments viewing them as vestiges of an older, more naïve time.  What did he believe in anymore?
That statue incident had identified the fine line of his faith but he still believed in God, in Catholicism.  But now?  Where are You
now that I need You? I shut the door of this Church and it is as if You shut the door on me. …. Was falling in love with a
woman so grievous a sin that You had to take her from me?  Aren’t You a God of love?…..  Why have You left me alone?
…. What is the purpose of all this?  Is there a purpose?  Or was all this just a delusion and now I see the truth?

He really did not want to pursue that line of thought.  It was his last handhold on some semblance of reality for, if he no longer
believed, what was the point of continued existence?  He had nothing at all left to live for.  Who would in fact care?  Oh, sure,
my brothers would, but they all had their own families, their own children.  No one would care and it would end his pain.

But there was still a very small vestige of faith left in him.  As he stood there in the nave of St. Joseph’s contemplating just how
he would bring about his demise, that faith did speak to him. Whether it was faith in God or just his innate optimism speaking is
open to debate.  In any event, he realized where his thoughts were leading him and became quite chilled.  No, where there is
life, there is hope.

He set himself to the task of tidying up the Church and pushed the baptismal fount back to its resting place.  Looking once
more up at the altar, he decided that there was one more thing he needed to do before leaving.  Why exactly he felt the need,
he didn’t know.  Surely, she would not approve, but he realized that, even if it all was ‘mumbo-jumbo’, he needed to perform
one last rite.  If it also ended up being the coda to my performance as priest, then so be it.

He made sure the Church was all locked up.  Then, he prepared himself to say Mass, one last time.  A Mass for Assumpta.
He did smile when thinking of what her reaction would be but he also knew she would understand why he did it.  It was the
only way he could say goodbye.

There was surprisingly some comfort in the ritual, not much but some.  He performed the rite and, yes, it was a performance.
He said the words but it was Assumpta he was thinking of. Unlike when he did the baptism less than an hour before, he did not
feel like a fraud in this because he knew he was saying goodbye to God and his vocation as well.

When finished, he carefully put away the missal, paten and challis.  He carefully took off the vestments for the last time and hung
them in the closet.  Next, he took off his suit and shirt and folded it up neatly alongside of the other set already on the counter.
He changed into his civvies - jeans, shirt, and windbreaker.  On top of the suits was a note he had written to Father Mac. He
locked up the sacristy and, grabbing his backpack, walked out again into the church, this time for the last.  Walking slowly to
the side door, he paused and turned back to the altar.  Then, he left, locking the place behind him.

Of course, Father Mac was at the party and was wondering whether or not his curate would appear.  Brian approached him.

"You look awfully thoughtful for one at a party, Father."

"My curate has that effect on me."

"Is he staying?"

"What do you think?"

"Dunno, but I think he’ll go back to England soon.  Without his mouthy one, what is left for him here?"

"The people here do like him, though."

"Will they still?"

"Time will tell, Brian.  He is still young although he has been forced to grow a lot over the past few days."

"Tragedy does that, Father, if I do remember."

"Yes. Besides, a new curate is on his way."

Brian was rather amazed at the news.  "Does Father Clifford know?"

"Yes.  He has known that for some time."

Brian shook his head.  "So you leave him with nothing.  What makes you think a new curate will be any better?"

"Oh, come on, he’s Irish."  They laughed and separated.

Peter started down to his house to gather his belongings and pack up his car.  He had hardly locked the door to the Church
when a voice shook him to the core.

"What a role model you are, Father.  My wife upset you, dying and all?"

Peter faced Leo. "I don’t want your company."  He started to walk away.

"I wouldn’t choose yours, either."  But Leo got in his way.

"What do you want?"

"A simple answer to a simple question.  Did you lay a hand on my wife?"

Peter shook his head in disbelief that he would be asked that now and turned away from Leo.

Leo had other ideas.  He grabbed him by the sleeves and turned him back around throwing him up against the wall of the
Church.  The backpack slipped off his shoulders.  "I am asking you a question."

"Leo, just leave it."

He dropped his hands and asked mockingly, "Or you’ll do what?  Father?"

"Leo, go home.  Go home and mourn Assumpta."  Once again, Peter started to walk away carrying backpack in hand.

"Were you in love with my wife?"

Peter stopped in his tracks.  Not able to bring himself to look at the bereaved husband, he quietly replied, "Yes."  He sunk
back against the Church.

Leo closed his eyes, shaking his head. "And did she love you?"

"I believe she did when she died.  But, Leo, we never…"

Leo went over to face Peter.  "And when she married me?"

Peter knew what the answer was but could not bring himself to say it.  He evaded it instead. "It’s the best I can do.  She never
said."

Leo turned away.  "It always was you, wouldn’t you say?"

"Leo, I am sorry."  Peter finally looked at him, not without some compassion.

"You should be."  He turned back to Peter with anger.  "I saw you at the Christening.  How can you stand up there at the altar
after what you have done?  You are a lying hypocrite, you know that?  Standing up there as a role model while having an affair
with my wife on the side.  How do you explain that one to God, Father?"

"We didn’t do anything, Leo."

"Oh, no?  You drove her away from me."

"No I did not."  But he knew Leo was right.

"Oh, come on, Father!  You think I never saw any of your late night meetings here with her?"

That accusation confused him.  "Leo, I don’t know what you are talking about."

"You are a lying son of a bitch, aren’t you?"  He hit Peter hard on the jaw causing some bleeding.  "I thought adultery was a
mortal sin, Father.  Or do priests give themselves absolution?"

Peter then remembered her one visit to the Church.  Leo must have seen them and immediately thought the worst.  "She did see
me one evening, Leo.  But I did not want to talk to her.  I sent her away."

"You expect me to believe that?"

"I don’t care whether you believe it or not.  It is the truth."

Leo’s anger was only increasing.  "You were the reason she stayed in Ballyk then."

Not wanting to add any more fuel to Leo’s fire, he replied. "All her friends are here.  Why would she leave?"

Leo paced around a bit before bringing himself back into Peter’s face. "You know I knew it all along.  God what an idiot I
was!  When I came to cover that damned election, I knew it then.  I just knew it."

"Knew what?"  Peter stayed motionless with his back to the wall.

"Don’t be stupid.  It was obvious.  Damn it, it was obvious."  He paused before asking, "Were you in love with her before she
married me?"

Peter knew he had to come clean.  "Yes."

"Did she know?"

"She probably thought I would never leave the priesthood."

"So she married me as her second choice."

"Leo, she never said that.  We never talked about it."

"She didn’t have to.  You ruined my life because you couldn’t make up your mind about yours. She would not have died if you
hadn’t been toying with her feelings for so long.  It’s all your fault."  Leo lunged into Peter and hit him on the face and body
several times finally throwing his target to the ground.  Although Leo was smaller in stature and not as strong, Peter offered no
resistance since he also was thinking those same thoughts.

Leo stopped to watch Peter hit the ground.  He spat at Peter as he lay there.  "Damn you, you don’t know what love is.  You
don’t have a clue what it means to be in love with a woman."  He squatted beside him and roared on.  "It’s about making
sacrifices for the one you love, Father.  I gave up my job in London and was perfectly happy to be here knowing that we
would be together.  It didn’t matter to me what I did for a living as long as she was my wife.  That’s all that mattered to me.
You though, God.  What a selfish bastard."

Leo stood up.  Peter sat up but only looked at the ground.  Leo continued, "You only wanted her on your terms.  You
wouldn’t give up anything for her.  No, you are a priest.  She was a mere mortal, not good enough for you.  You just wanted
her for yourself giving nothing of yourself. … What a piece of work you are."

Peter started to get up, but Leo took that opportunity to deliver a swift kick in the groin.  He laughed as he watched him writhe
in pain back down on the ground.  "I hope you get just what you deserve."  He gave him one more kick in the back and then he
drove off.

Peter lay there for a time thinking about Leo’s accusations.

He’s right. I don’t know what love is. I have lived my life in a fantasyland just pretending.

I am tired of doing things for others, of worrying about what others expect of me.  Look where that has gotten me.  Damn
it, I tried to do the right thing but it all turned out wrong.

The pain finally subsided and Peter got up. He walked gingerly back to his house knowing that was not the last he would see of
Leo.

Grabbing his backpack and duffel bag, he started loading up his few material goods.  In a short time, he had packed his car.
Before he shut the trunk, he looked at all he had to show for his life.  What a waste!  What a bloody waste of time!  He
slammed the trunk down in disgust and went back inside to write a brief note to Father Mac.

There was a knock at the door.  This time, he went to open it.  Brendan.  He stood in the doorway as Brendan regarded him.

"We missed you at the party."

No response.  Brendan got a good look at his face.  "What happened to you?"

"Walked into a door."

"What are you doing?"

"Leaving."

"Do you know where you’re going?"

"Kinda."

"Will you be back?"

Peter shrugged his shoulders.  "Never say never."  But in his mind the answer was a clear, resounding, "No."

"It doesn’t have to end like this."

"Oh, no? How should it end?"

"However you want it to end."

"Brendan, goodbye."

"What do you want me to say to the others?"

Peter looked off into the distance, saying nothing.

"I’ll miss you, Peter. Take care."  Brendan shook hands.  "Have a baby’s head to wet."

He left under the watchful gaze of Peter.
 

DAY THREE - SUNDAY

"Dear Friends,

"I am sorry to leave you this way.  This last year has been extremely difficult for me for many reasons ---the most difficult being
the death of two people very close to me.  I no longer have the strength to remain here.  For that I am very sorry.

"I will never forget how you welcomed me, an outsider.  I will treasure the love you gave me forever.  You all are beautiful
people who live in a wonderful place.  Take care of one another.  I love you and will miss all of you.

"With love,

            Peter Clifford."

Weatherwise at least, it was a fine day.  He got out at several places to just take in the scenery of the place he would never,
ever return to (and to soothe his aching bottom, thanks to Leo).  It was a difficult drive in more ways than one, but it was good
for him, too.  The events of the past week still were foremost in his thoughts.  He longed to be able to just shut them up inside,
finally, just like he did everything else.  Careful, Peter, you’re sounding like a shrink!

Father Mac read Peter’s posted letter with sadness.  He left it there and went into the sacristy. He noticed that Peter had left
his suit on the hanger.  There was a note in the pocket:

"Dear Father Mac,

"I think you know why I can’t stay here anymore.  I have no comfort to give anyone and have no desire to comfort anyone.  I
did come for more than just the suit. I just did not realize what the price of it would be.

"Goodbye.

"Peter Clifford"

Father Mac folded the letter and put it into his pocket.  He was surprised to find himself regretting his contentious curate’s
departure.  He felt that he had let Peter down in some way. Perhaps if I had forced him to make a decision instead of going
on retreat, then this wouldn’t have happened.  I just thought he could handle it himself since his faith was obviously quite
strong.  That is one thing I did admire about him.  Ah, well, time to prepare for mass.

That afternoon, as he was driving home, he thought back to when Peter had called him to talk about what it meant to be a
Priest.  When was that?  Six months ago?

Peter had been having trouble sleeping, concentrating, eating, living ever since his nighttime conversation with Assumpta
two days ago.  Too many thoughts eat away at him.  He felt lost.  He tried to immerse himself in village life and needs but
seemed to be rebuffed or ignored at every step.  Finally, he found himself seated in St. Joseph’s in front of the Blessed
Virgin statue.  He was numb and just sat there.

Father Mac interrupted his trance. "You wanted to talk to me?"

Peter did not get up but instead motioned for him to sit down beside him.  "Yes, Father, I need some advice."

"Advice from me? I will sit down."  Father Mac was trying his best to restrain his sarcastic self sensing that his curate
really did need to talk to him and really was asking for help.

Peter struggled with how to begin the conversation.  Father Mac interrupted, "What do you want to talk about?  Or
should I guess?"

"No.  I guess I’m wondering what it means to be a priest."

"Ah, Father, you surprise me.  A crisis of faith?  Not what I was expecting."

Peter looked up at him sharply and asked, "What did you expect?"

Father Mac settled back in the pew and answered, "You tell me."  He knew full well what the problem was and wondered
if he was to hear Peter’s confession at last.

Peter stared up at the altar and then at his hand resting on the pew before he finally continued.  "It’s not a question of
faith.  I have no doubt in my faith.  It’s just… What am I doing as a Priest?  What does it mean to be a Priest?"

"To serve God."

"I can serve God without being a Priest."

"To serve your community and congregation."

"And if they don’t need me?" he pleaded.

"They always need you."

"Do they?  I say mass.  I hear confession.  I officiate at weddings, baptisms and funerals, then what?"

"Good works."

"Feeding the poor.  Visiting the sick.  Preaching about rich men, camels with humps and needles with eyes."  Peter went
back to stare at his hand.

"What have you been reading?"

"The New Testament."

Father Mac shook his head wryly.  "Oh, very clever, Father.  But you don’t fool me.  Shall I tell you what the problem
is?"

Peter looked up. "Sorry?"

"Assumpta Fitzgerald."

"What?"  He didn’t know exactly how to react.  He was in shock that Father Mac knew exactly what the problem was.

"We live in a small community, Father," he reminded Peter.

Peter was still in some shock but managed to say, "I hope you don’t think…Nothing has happened, Father."

"Is something likely to happen?"

"No."  Peter looked Father Mac in the eye.

"Can you stand up there at the altar before God and tell Him that nothing is likely to happen?"  Peter stared at the altar,
but he did not need to say anything.  The answer to that question was written clearly on his face.  "You see, Father, that is
the problem." Peter finally looked back at Father Mac and sadly nodded his head in agreement.

Father Mac used his softest voice and said, "I understand the temptation, the pain, the anguish you are going through.
But most priests, most serious priests use these temptations as a means to temper their mettle…  You have to ask yourself if
you have the mettle to be a real priest."

"I hope, I pray that I’m a real priest.  At least I used to."

"Used to?  Well, if you still want the priesthood, then your decision is simple.  Either scrub this woman from your mind or
leave the parish."

"I don’t want to leave the parish," Peter replied softly.  "But, how can I put her out of my head?  How can I stop thinking
about her?’

"Then you need help."

"How do I know what is the right path anymore?"

"You have to answer that for yourself, Father.  No one else can do it for you."

"But how?  How do I know what is God’s will?  Why does it seem so confusing?  It wasn’t this way when I decided to
accept His calling.  It wasn’t this way ever before in my life.  Is it confused because God is telling me to accept her love
and I’m trying to cling onto some purpose He no longer wants me for?  Or is she just a ‘temptation’, as you put it, and I
no longer have the strength to withstand it?  Perhaps the purpose of His calling was to get us together.  I just don’t
know.  I’m feeling so torn apart."  He sunk his head into his hands.

Father Mac surprised himself by reaching out to put his hand on Peter’s shoulder.  The gentleness in his voice also
surprised him.  "Father, you need to take some time to think these things through.  You need a rest, a change in scene.  I
would suggest going on retreat."

He looked up.  "Why?"

"It will help you get in touch with your vocation again.  It will give you the opportunity to put some distance between
yourself and Assumpta to see if it is indeed God’s will that you leave the priesthood.  At the very least, it will give you a
break.  You are running yourself ragged."

"I don’t know, Father.  I don’t think I have what it takes any more."

"Retreat would refresh you."

"I don’t think there is anything left, Father.  I just feel lost."

"Father, every priest I’ve ever met has gone through these same doubts.  Every priest has found his own answer.  Take
the time to find what is right for you."

Peter glanced up at him and smiled before turning his attention back to the statue of the Blessed Virgin.  He looked
beaten.  Finally, he told Father Mac, "I’ll think about what you have said.  I just don’t know if it would do any good."

"You are ready to leave the priesthood for Assumpta?"

He shrugged his shoulders.  "I’m not sure."

"You better be absolutely sure that is what you want to do before you do anything to, shall we say, compromise your
status as priest?"

"Don’t worry.  As long as I am a priest, as long as I can stand at that altar and celebrate Mass, I shall remain celibate.
OK?"

"Make sure it stays that way, Father.  That’s all I am requiring of you now."

Peter nodded in agreement and went back to his contemplation of the statue.

Father Mac looked back at his curate and saw parts of himself he had long forgotten about…what it was like to be in
love with a woman and want it both ways.  He understood exactly the torment that Peter was going through.

He of course had known for some time that they were friends, in fact more than just friends but he could not prove
anything no matter how hard he tried.  And he had tried very hard, too.  He knew that they often were seen together but
no one had reported any inappropriate behavior on his curate’s part.  There were rumors of late night departures but the
pub doors had always been open up until that time.  People had gone in, but all they ever saw was him helping out with
cleaning or, occasionally, sharing a drink with her.  There was never any cover up attempt.  There were never any guilty
looks reported. Even when he had grilled Peter about his relationship with Assumpta just now, there was no evasion on
Peter’s part.

He had never liked Peter and he knew that Peter knew it as well.  He could just push him away from the church and be
done with him.  But, he had to help Peter reach whatever decision he needed to make.  In this, at least, he did remind him
of his younger self and his own ‘temptation’.  Like him or not, he was one of the brethren.  Peter was well liked in the
community and was an asset to the parish and the Church as a whole.  That reflected well on Father Mac.  For the good
of the community, he would try to help Peter somehow.

Father Mac pulled up in front of his house once again wondering if he had done the right thing in suggesting to Peter that he go
on retreat.  In truth, he never had understood his curate.  He did not realize that there was a lot of emotional turmoil living inside
that suit.  He could understand why someone would be attracted to Assumpta but he thought Peter had more self-control.
Even when he had finally admitted to loving her, Father Mac still believed that he would get over it as he himself had twenty or
so years ago.  Even after she died, he thought Peter would still stay.  Now, he is gone, too, and I am weeks away from getting
a replacement.  Still, he couldn’t really be mad at his curate.  After his behavior when she died, he could not be allowed to
continue there.  I should have stayed with him to make sure he came to the party.  He should not be alone at a time like
this.  He needs someone there for him.  He is not thinking clearly… I suppose I am mad at him because he left before I
could transfer him. I wonder what will become of him?

Peter had driven for a while and the morning had turned into a beautiful afternoon.  In fact, the day was much like it was when
he first came to Ballyk almost four years ago.  He stopped along a roadside shrine and stood by his car, lost in thought.  He did
not even hear a car drive up.

"It’s a fine day to be out, wouldn’t you say?" a distinguished looking gentleman asked.

"Yeah," replied Peter without even looking at the person or the car.

"Where are you off to, Father?"

With that, Peter looked at the speaker and realized it was Bishop Costello.  He hesitated for a moment and then answered,
"I’m going back home, your Grace…Did Father Mac…?"

"No.  But he did inform me of what happened.  He also told me a bit about what you had relayed to him and I thought that I
needed to talk to you.  I’m glad I caught up with you."

Peter watched the road for a while and then asked, "What do you want me to say?"

"Nothing you don’t want to.  But I would like to invite you to stay with me for a few days before going to England, or wherever
you were headed."

"Well, thanks, but…"

"Please, we want to help.  You are very important to us and we know you have been hurt tremendously by the events of the
past year.  Let us help."  He caught a good look at Peter’s face and asked, "What happened to you?"

"Nothing.  Walked into a door."

The two men got into their respective cars.  Peter followed the Bishop to Wicklow albeit reluctantly.  At the Bishop’s
residence, he was shown a room and lay down on the bed.  After about five minutes, Peter was sound asleep.  Good, thought
the Bishop when he checked in on him, let him rest.  God knows he needs it.

That evening, the wandering curate awoke.  He was invited downstairs and given some supper. As he was finishing, the Bishop
joined him. "Feeling better?"

"Thanks for the lift and your hospitality, your Grace, but I think I should be going on," Peter replied finishing his tea.

"I invited you to stay for a few days, or at least spend the night here.  No need for a hotel room. I think you could use some
company."

"With respect…"

"I insist.  Call it the price of the meal.  Would you like a brandy?"

Nodding his head, Peter followed the Bishop out to the sitting room.  They sat down, brandies in hand.  Peter just stared into
the fire slowing swirling his drink.  The Bishop, upon learning of Assumpta and Peter, had called up his friend and Peter’s old
Bishop to discuss the matter with him.  He next talked to Father Mac who told him further details about Peter’s crisis.  He was
very surprised to hear the Parish Priest recommend trying to talk to Peter since he was worth saving.  The Bishop smiled to
himself, thinking about Father Mac’s description of Peter.

Peter saw his expression and asked, "What?"

"I was just thinking of something that Father Mac said about you."

"Lovely."

"No, it was just that he called you a good priest but not his kind of priest.  For him to even admit that is high praise."

"He had told me that, too.  I was surprised, but…I was surprised he’d even say that.  He always seemed to prefer my leaving."

"Don’t judge yourself based on Father Mac’s opinion.  He’s a crusty old sort and doesn’t like change…at least not the change
he thinks you represent.  But that’s beside the point…  I believe your old Bishop did you a disservice by recommending your
transfer here and I also am guilty of that by accepting you, but you see, we were so desperate for a priest for Ballykissangel.
They had been without a permanent one for so long that perhaps we just grabbed whomever we could.  I’m sorry it was you."

Peter sat there speechless.  "I don’t understand.  What was the problem?  I accepted the position, too, remember?"

"Ah, well, that’s just it.  You’re a city boy, right?"

"You knew that."

"You come from a large family…four other brothers, I believe?"

"So?"

"So.  Here you are from the city.  You get sent to a small town in another country."

"Another country…same religion."

"OK.  OK.  You did have to adjust to life in a small town."

‘I believe I did…I did quite well, too."

"You were accepted by the community quite rapidly as I recall.  Father Mac tried to get rid of you after ten weeks.  Ah, you
knew that, didn’t you?"

"Yes.  I couldn’t believe it, though.  He said I was needed back in England, but, when I called there, I was told it was because
I wasn’t working out here.  Assumpta told me I needed to watch my back, as far as Father Mac was concerned."

"Ah, yes, we’ll get to Assumpta later."

Peter glared at the Bishop, but then softened his look and took a sip of his brandy.  "The townspeople all signed a petition
asking me to stay.  I was very touched by that."

"Yes.  It was unexpected, to say the least.  But no one was more astonished than Father Mac, let me tell you," the Bishop
laughed.

"Yeah, I would have loved to have seen the look on his face," laughed Peter.

"It was priceless.  But, it didn’t win you any points with him, you know."

"I know.  I just don’t understand what his probl…."

Bishop Costello quickly interrupted him. "As I said, he doesn’t like change.  I should perhaps have transferred you to another
parish, but, how could I when the village wanted you."

"Transferred me away from Father Mac?"

"I think it would have been the correct thing to do, but, I don’t really see everything I should as Bishop.  And, at the time, I was
extremely busy with other matters.  I’m sorry."

Peter was feeling totally lost in this conversation.  "For what?  I don’t understand."

"As I said, you came highly recommended but you were always surrounded by people in your life.  I fear it was a disservice to
you to toss you, how shall I put it, out into the wilderness of County Wicklow."

"Your Grace, I thought it would be a welcome change.  And it was.  At least for the first two years." Peter fell silent, gazing into
the fire.

"What changed, Father?"

"Me."

"How?"

"I…"  Peter faltered, searching for words to express feelings he hadn’t shared with anyone, not his brothers, his brethren, his
Mother…not even Assumpta.  He hadn’t really discussed the whole issue with anyone.  He wasn’t even sure what, exactly, the
whole issue was.  He ended up just shrugging his shoulders in what seemed to become his signature gesture.

The Bishop tried another approach.  "Tell me about Ballykissangel, Father.  What did you first think of the place?"

"When I arrived at St. Joseph’s, I was struck by how warm the place looked and that it had obviously been well cared for.  I
met Father Mac for the first time and I could tell he wasn’t keen on a priest from England, especially one that didn’t know how
to drive.  But the people seemed to welcome me.  The attendance had been very low, probably since there hadn’t been a
permanent priest there for some time.  I wanted to try some new things to bring in more of the faithful.  I think I succeeded."

"Yes, you did.  That irritated Father Mac, you know?"

‘I don’t know why it should have.  I was just doing my job, wasn’t I?"

"I think he was amazed at how well a priest from England could blend into the village.  He does have his prejudices especially
with England." The Bishop sat back in his chair.

"Your Grace, why are you telling me all this?"

"Ah…I’m interrupting your story.  Tell me more about your experience in Ballyk."

Peter set his brandy down.  "What else would you have me say?  Do you want me to relate all of the disagreements I had with
Father Mac?  Shall I admit that I fell in love with a woman? What?"

"Calm down, Father.  I’m on your side.  You’re with a friend…More brandy?"  The Bishop fetched the bottle and refilled
Peter’s glass.  "Please, go on."

Peter relaxed a bit and then continued.  "I really loved the place and the people.  I thought it was just the thing I needed after
Manchester."

"Why did you leave there?"

"Because this is where I was sent."  Peter repeated his party line, but, seeing the Bishop’s look, acknowledged, "Ok.  I left
because I felt I was becoming attracted to a woman.  I left because I wanted to remain a priest, remain celibate.  I left because
I didn’t want to hurt her.  Satisfied?"

"She followed you to Ballyk, though, didn’t she?"

Peter looked at him in amazement, "How did you know?  Yes, she did.  She didn’t understand why I left without saying
goodbye.  The truth was I was too scared to face her.  Perhaps I didn’t feel I could trust myself, I don’t know.  I did tell her
then, though.  It was hard.  It was hard to see the hurt on her face, but, I really didn’t want to accept any responsibility for my
part in it…I mean, looking back, I guess my actions could have been misinterpreted.  Anyway, I learned from that episode to
really guard my feelings…I learned THAT lesson very well, indeed."

Peter sipped more brandy.  "Perhaps I learned it too well."  The Bishop got up to put more wood on the fire.  Peter got up and
started to pace around the room.

"Your Grace, I really thought I there would be no problem in that area.  I thought it was over.  I thought I would stay true to my
promises.  As things turned out, I did."

"How old are you, Father?"

"32"

"So you were, what, 28 when you first came to Ballyk?"

"Yes."

"You were very young and inexperienced to be thrown out there on your own, don’t you think? Also, you are a very attractive
man, one certain to attract, how shall we say, female interest?"

"So?"

"I am only saying this so that you will stop blaming yourself for your perceived shortcoming?"

"Perceived?"

"Perceived.  Let me say something from my point of view.  We put a young priest in a totally new environment, away from his
friends and family.  Fine, that is oftentimes part of the job. Usually when we do that, the priest can expect support from his
parish priest.  You did not receive that support from Father Mac. Is that true?"

"Well…"

"Father, am I right that you did not receive the support you should have expected?" he reiterated.

"Well..."

"Yes.  I blame myself for that oversight.  Like I said, I should have paid closer attention."

"But, your Grace, I don’t see how that would have changed anything.  Certainly, it wasn’t Father Mac’s fault that I fell in love."

"No, quite right.  But he alienated you in some manner from the Church which could have made you more susceptible to such
temptation."  They both sat down again contemplating their drinks. "Would you tell me about her?"

"Sorry?"  Peter was silent for a while.  "What do you want to know?  We were friends.  I had made friends with many of the
locals, including Assumpta.  I enjoyed her company.  She was independent, strong willed, spoke her mind with intelligence.  I
found myself enjoying her company as a friend, nothing more. "

Peter resumed his pacing by the fire.  "We were friends.  Occasionally, when I was out late visiting a parishioner or whatever, I
would stop by Fitzgerald’s for a beer.  If she were closed, I’d offer to help clean the place up.  This happened many times.
We would just talk.  I could talk to her without pretext and she could do the same with me.  It was only friendship.  It truly was
innocent and I still believe it to have been.  That friendship was the most important thing to me in Ballyk maybe, as you
suggested, because I was so alone, but…I’d like to think that we would have been friends anywhere.

"Things between us stayed this way for many months.  Then, she started dating someone.  I felt jealous which surprised me."
He stopped for a moment.  "I think it was then I first realized that it could become just like Manchester all over again.  I thought
about asking for a transfer, but I really liked it there for more reasons than just Assumpta.  I thought I could handle it; that all I
would have to do would just be more careful."

Peter sat back down.  "When she broke up with him, I was, to be honest, very happy.  Our friendship resumed.  About two
weeks later, I was walking back from Sean Riley’s and saw that the light was still on at Fitzgerald’s.  I went in to find her
staring at a large mess, drinking a glass of wine.  I started to help her clean up and we started our usual bantering."  With that,
his voice caught and he was silent for a bit.  "Sorry…I could see that something was troubling her so I asked.  She said
something about being accused of wanting something she couldn’t have.  That nothing else was good enough for her, according
to her friend.  Then, she asks me if I ever wanted something I couldn’t have.  When I said yes, she asked what stopped me.
When I told her it was me who stopped me, she asked me what I was afraid of.  I knew where this subject was heading so I
tried to wave it off with some trite remark I don’t even remember.  I was ushered out of there pretty quickly after that!"  He
smiled a bit.

"I didn’t think any more about what I had said, naively assuming that I had misinterpreted.  When I went over to Fitzgerald’s
after Mass the next day, I got a very icy response.  She told me that she expected the regulars to let her down, but that she
expected better from me.  I was floored by it and tried to explain but was told in no uncertain terms that until I got my priorities
straight I was no longer welcome in her establishment!

"I left then and tried to figure out what I did wrong.  I didn’t have to think very hard, though.  It was, in retrospect, probably the
same thing that I had done to Jenny."

"She was the one in Manchester?"

Peter nodded and continued, "I again thought about leaving Ballyk…but I couldn’t.  I knew I should leave, but I couldn’t.
Whether I wanted to or not, I couldn’t leave her.  I didn’t acknowledge that to myself, though, for a long long time.  Instead, I
couched my reasons for staying in the good I perceived I was doing there…in how beautiful and peaceful the place was…and
besides, I didn’t feel that I could have an honest talk with Father Mac about what I was feeling."

"You could have gone over his head."

"I did.  I prayed long and hard about it."

The Bishop laughed.  "I meant, you could have come to me."

Peter smiled but shook his head. "Your Grace, I really didn’t feel that it was that pressing a problem.  I really didn’t.  I thought I
could handle this myself."

"So you talked with no one in the clergy.  Did you talk with your family?"

"No.  My brothers would have just started ragging me about it."

"Your mother?"

"She was sick.  I didn’t want to burden her."

"You kept all this inside, then?"

"Yes."

"Father, you are a martyr."

He threw his hands up.  "I didn’t think it was a that critical a problem."

"Ah, well, there are problems with the system, I know.  Still, it does bother me that you had no one you felt you could turn to.
What about someone from your home parish?"

Peter was beginning to get worked up. "Your Grace, I suppose I could have talked to someone if I needed to.  I thought I
could handle it.  After all, I handled the last incident, didn’t I?"

"By running away."

That response caused him to pause and regain control of his temper.  "Yes.  Well, that’s why I didn’t want to do it again.  I
don’t know, I guess I thought of it as being a test from God…one that I was going to pass…I was sure of that."

"Assumpta forgave you?"

"Yes, eventually.  We were able to be friends, but it felt a little different, somehow.  I told myself I was imagining it and
continued about my way.  She did seem more sad and lonely than usual, though.  That was around last Christmas.  And, you
know, if that was all of it, perhaps none of the rest of this would have happened."  Peter buried his face between his hands and
sat down heavily on the chair.  "That stupid statue…"

"Yes, I heard.  It was sweating, as I recall," the Bishop offered.

"Two of the local lads had desecrated it with chip fat, but that really wasn’t what bothered me."

"No? What did?"

"Father Mac."

The Bishop just looked at him. "What did he do this time?"

"He would not allow me to remove the statue from its niche.  He told me to move an offertory box so that it would be
‘judiciously positioned’.  He even arranged a celebratory service in my church without my knowledge --- he knew full well I
wouldn’t condone it.  I had given what I thought was a strong homily on the dangers of idolatry, but he wouldn’t let me put my
words into action in my own church.  Instead, he comes in pulling rank trying to tell me that there is a miracle going on here.
That the greater good outweighs the lesser evil. I was furious but held my tongue since it just wouldn’t do to have it out in front
of the congregation.  I just left the building and went to my house.  I couldn’t even meet the eyes of the people filing in for the
service.

"That statue and the way Father Mac took advantage of the faithful was something I really couldn’t condone.  Every time I
thought of it, it made me angrier and angrier and that is no way for a priest to be.  I buried myself in the Bible and in other
books, trying to find some comfort again, but it wasn’t working.  I couldn’t reconcile what I strongly believe in with what was
happening in my own church.  I couldn’t resolve this issue. In fact, I am still angry about it.

"Understand, your Grace, during all of this, I still felt a strong attachment to the Church.  Even if she were alive, that attachment
would still be there."  With that, he broke down.  The Bishop came over to comfort him.

"I understand a little of what you are going through, my son," he consoled him as he held him. Peter finally let the tears flow.
After several minutes, he pulled away.  "So, it was after that when you accepted the fact that you were in love with Assumpta?"

Peter relayed the story of Cillnashee Woods and being alone with Assumpta. "That’s when I crossed the line…I sat there with
her in silence thinking again about that statue…how undisciplined it was of the Church to prey on the ignorance of some of the
faithful while at the same time insisting that I maintain the discipline of celibacy in order to serve the Church.  We talked a little
and then she laughed and asked me what I would do if Father Mac showed up and shone his torch into the car window.  I
would tell him to mind his own business, I told her.  That surprised her and she commented on how I continually surprised her.
With that, I asked if she were cold.  Yes, no, no, she finally decided.  I took her hand and told her that she felt cold.  She didn’t
say anything.  I sat there, stroking her hand.  I wanted to tell her what my feelings were for her, but I couldn’t find any words.
The words that did come out were misinterpreted.  Before I could say anything else, our friends had returned and she drove
off."  Tears once again appeared in his eyes.

"I knew then there was a problem.  I knew that the time was coming to decide one way or the other.  I knew that she would be
mine if that was indeed what I wanted . I didn’t have the courage, then."

"The statue…?"

"That wasn’t only it.  I still wanted it both ways.  I still hoped I could have it both ways.  I was still stupid.  I guess part of me
wanted her to be celibate, too.  That I wanted her for myself but only on my terms.  I was selfish, blind, stubborn, and stupid.
And scared.  Could I, should I give up my vocation for her?  What if it didn’t work out?  What would I do for a living?  That’s
when Father Mac sent me on retreat."

"Did it help?"

"Yeah, temporarily, at least.  It helped that it clarified what I did believe and what I didn’t and what I could condone and what I
couldn’t.  I did feel reenergized.  I was looking forward to returning home to Ballyk.

"But, I couldn’t believe what had happened while I was gone.  Several of the people in town weren’t speaking to each other,
my car was not choosing to run reliably and Brian Quigley had let my house out to tourists from America! Assumpta was gone
to London."  Peter bit his lips, trying to hold back both his anger and his tears.

"I felt so alone at that point.  That everything had gone to hell.  I tried to put on a brave face and hide my feelings.  Father Mac
got ill and so I had to take over from him which mercifully kept me very busy.  I was acting the part of the good priest.  But,
inwardly, I was being worn ragged."

"I didn’t know that Father Mac was ill until later.  He finally admitted it, but after he was back on duty."

"Well, I really didn’t mind it since it meant I could avoid seeing Assumpta with Leo."

"Excuse me, who’s Leo?"

"An old boyfriend from college.  She met him in London and married him.  I was devastated with that news, but to be honest
part of me was also relieved. I buried myself in my duties and responsibilities.  I kept my visits to the pub at a minimum.  I told
myself that I would just have to put her out of my mind.  She had chosen Leo and I could not interfere with that.  But, in truth, I
felt betrayed by her.  I felt very hurt.  I felt that I had totally misread her.  So, I resolved that I would just put all of that behind
me and maintain control and get on with my life.  Who was I fooling?

"Their marriage was in trouble and I knew full well why.  Leo wanted to talk to me about it but I waved him off.  I couldn’t talk
to him at all.  I prayed for some other way out of the mess I found myself in but there really was only one choice.  I couldn’t
come between them.  I couldn’t stay.  So, I made an appointment with Father Mac for the next day to ask to be transferred.  I
knew it was time to leave.  But, before the appointment, my brother Andrew called me with news that Mom had taken a turn
for the worst and that I should return home.  So I did."

He sipped his brandy and stared off into space for a time.  "That was so hard, seeing Mom like that.  I tried to give her
comfort.  All my brothers and their families arrived at one point, making it feel like old home week.  She was very happy to see
all of us.  It made things easier for her…and us.

"After she died, I was the trustee so I stayed on for a few weeks, settling things.  I called Doc Ryan in Ballyk the day after she
died to let them know my plans and asked him to pass the word on to Father Mac.  Michael told me that Leo and Assumpta
had separated, that their marriage didn’t work out.  I asked him if he would give my number to her in case she needed a friend.
I was hoping she would call because I needed to talk to her.  She was the only friend left, it seemed to me.

"They sent flowers…the regulars at Fitzgerald’s, I mean.  Assumpta called, too.  We talked. She told me a little about Leo.  I
told her a lot about my Mother and family.  It was just good to hear her voice.  It made me finally acknowledge that my days as
a priest were over."

"You were leaving for Assumpta?"

"Yes.  I guess I really started wanting a family of my own…I didn’t just want to be someone’s uncle, I wanted to have children
of my own.  I wanted a wife.  I wanted a companion at my side. When I heard that they were separated, I couldn’t even bring
myself to think about what must have happened.  I didn’t want to think that she might have married him to put me out of her
head.  She told me that it was the reason, later.

"When I returned to Ballyk, I was so happy to see her again.  I really needed to talk.  When we finally did, I guess I came on
too strong for her.  I was crushed and thought I had lost her for good.  But she just wanted to make sure of how I felt and what
I wanted.  I finally worked up the courage to tell her that I loved her, that I’d do whatever she wanted, whatever she asked,
that I wanted her forever in my life and that I would leave the Church for her.  We were planning our wedding."  Peter could
say no more.  Tears again flowed.

The Bishop was silent considering what to say.  He knew well that, of all the obligations a man takes on before becoming a
Priest, celibacy was often the hardest yoke to bear.  He thought of his own temptation and the difficulty of turning away from
such love for an abstract one.  "Did it occur to you that you gave Assumpta the best gift you could?"

"You mean acknowledging that I loved her?"

"Yes."

"Yeah, so?"

"Well, it did make her final days very happy, did it not?"

"So?"

"Well, that was a precious gift.  You gave her everything you could give and at least, for that, you should have no regrets."

"My only regret is that it took me so long. If I had been honest with myself, this would have happened two years ago.  We may
not have stayed in Ballyk.  We might have had enough money to fix the fuse box properly and she would still be alive."

"Ah, be careful of guilt.  You don’t know what might have been.  You both could have been killed in a traffic accident.  You
could have won the lottery.  You have nothing to feel guilty about, Father.  You did the best that you possibly could."

"I don’t feel guilty about her death.  I just regret all the time I wasted."

The Bishop thought about that and nodded his head.  "What now, Father?  What are your plans?"

"Go home to England."

The voice was gentle even if the words were not.  "You are abandoning your congregation and your responsibilities.  They need
you especially after what has happened."

"Oh, spare me the soliloquies.  I don’t care who else is hurting.  Haven’t you been listening to me?  I don’t care what others are
feeling.  I no longer have the strength.  I don’t care about people and their pain.  Who the hell cares about mine?  The one
person that did is gone so don’t tell me that I should be concerned about others.  I’m not.  Let Father Mac deal with it."  With
that, Peter got up and stormed over to the window.  It was now dark outside.

The Bishop could definitely empathize with that reaction.  After the death of a child, spouse, parent or close friend, the
survivors are numb and do not react logically.  Duties, jobs, responsibilities are unimportant.  The person grieving needs
company whether wanted or not.  They need someone to listen.  They need support.  Peter was right in that he probably had
neither the strength nor the desire to give comfort to anyone since he was in such dire need of it himself.  "Father, please, let me
help."

"You can’t."

"You underestimate me.  I’ll just offer a few things to think about, ok?  Like I said, you pay for the meal by listening. "  He got
up and walked over to where Peter was standing and leaned against the bookcase, his back to the window.  "You are an
excellent priest…"  Peter sneered. "I mean it.  You have compassion, you care.  Don’t lose that.  It will return.  You have been
dealt a serious blow, but it is not crippling unless you let it be."

The Bishop continued, "I put it to you that there are other factors to consider in whether or not to leave the priesthood.  You
were sent to Ballyk where you received little, if any, support.  It was perfectly natural to feel lonely.  You weren’t raised in the
country.  You have been a priest long enough perhaps to lose sight of why you became one in the first place."  He paused.
"Why did you become a man of the cloth?"

"Right now, I’m not sure why."  When the bishop did not say anything, Peter continued,  "It used to be because the Church had
always been a large part of my life.  Because I felt a strong serenity there.  Because I wanted to serve God.  Because I wanted
Him to work through me so that I could help others.  I never really imagined doing anything else.  I don’t know exactly, it just
seemed right to me to become a priest."  Peter softly said.

‘What has changed?"

"Me.  I just feel numb."

"Well, that’s understandable given recent events."

"No, your Grace, you don’t understand.  I’ve been feeling this way for months.  I fell in love with a woman when I’m not
supposed to do that if I want to serve the Church.  I’m supposed to find my solace in God and put aside the ways of the
world.  But I didn’t.  I enjoyed her company, her friendship.  I put her ahead of my congregation.  And even then, I knew it
was wrong to do that but I didn’t care.  Now that she’s gone, I don’t know what I want again.  I want to go back to when I
knew what I wanted out of life.  I hate the way I feel now.  Lost.  Numb."

"There is still plenty for the Church to offer you.  Don’t turn your back on it, at least not now."

"I have already."

"No, you haven’t," said the Bishop.  "It is not my policy to accept resignations from priests who are under duress."

"I am not under duress."

"Oh, really?"

"I mean I was going to leave before."

"That is precisely my point, Father.  While she was alive, your decision was to leave.  Fine.  Now that she is dead, your
decision can be revisited.  It should be revisited.  You have invested much in your vocation.  Please, I ask you, don’t make any
decisions yet."

The Bishop continued, "This has been an unusually challenging year for you.  Life is full of surprises that force us to constantly
evaluate our faith.  It is what helps make us stronger, better priests.  You are also at an age where biological considerations
come to the forefront.  You’re human.  It’s natural.  Your friends and brothers all have their own families.  You may feel as if
you are missing out. But, you knew going into this what you were giving up.  You knew the price.  And I also think you know
the rewards…am I right?"

"I used to.  Yes."

"However, your mother is gone.  Your friend is gone.  You yearn for a companion in the flesh. The heavenly one seems to have
lost the ability to provide you with comfort. "

"Your Grace, Assumpta was more than just a replacement, for God’s sake."

"True.  I don’t mean to suggest that leaving the priesthood for her was the wrong decision.  But, you have to fact the facts,
Father.  Assumpta is dead. "

"And what if this happens again?  It seems unavoidable given my past.  I’m no use as a priest. What if I fall in love again?  I’ll
never find another Assumpta.  Although I can’t envision it now, it could happen again.  Then what?  Why should I remain a
priest?"

"Father, by that reasoning you shouldn’t remain a priest because you could become a Muslim.  It could happen.  You can’t
predict the future."

"Maybe I’m not cut out for this vocation after all."

"Maybe not.  But you need time to mourn, to heal, to think.  All I’m asking is that you take your time."

Peter finished his brandy while mulling over this conversation.

"So, Father, what do you do now?  I’ll give you what I would do, if I may be so presumptuous. Go home to Manchester for a
few weeks.  Do nothing.  Decide nothing.  Then, go on retreat. After that, do something different, away from parish work for a
while.  After six months or so, when the heartache is lessened, then decide.  If it is to leave, so be it.  Just give yourself the
chance to heal first. Please?"

Peter turned to face him.  "Ok.  I suppose it is easier to take the well-worn trail than to start a new one at this point."

"Good. You must be very, very tired."
 

DAY FOUR - MONDAY

"So, are you going back to Ballykissangel, Father?"

"No."

"It’s your duty, your responsibility.  Your congregation needs you."

"With all due respect, your Grace, they don’t need me, not now, not how I feel right now."

He considered that for a moment.  "How do you feel right now?"

"One good guess.  How can I face them after all that has happened?"

"How can you not face them?  They need you and you need them."

"With respect, I really doubt that."

"That’s understandable but you are not seeing clearly, Father."

"OK.  So let’s suppose I do go back.  What do I do?  What do I say?"

"Continue on with your duties and tell the truth.  People will understand."

"That isn’t the whole issue, your Grace."

"Well, enlighten me then."

Peter straightened up and said, "You want me to go back and stand up at the altar leading the congregation in praise to God?
Asking God for His mercy?  Begging forgiveness?  Giving a sermon about the grace and goodness of God?  About how we
should love one another?  That God is a just God?  I can’t say those words.  I’m no actor saying lines, your Grace.  I can’t say
the words of the Mass.  Not now.  I can’t stand up there in front of them after how I have behaved... They deserve so much
better than I can give them."

"But that is where you will find healing."

"I’m sorry but I don’t think so.  Besides, Father Mac has a new curate coming anyway so what would be the point of being
there a few days more?"

"Because that is your duty and responsibility.  You did once care about that, Father.  In fact, your compassion for others is
what has made you an excellent priest.  That is what they need now."

That got Peter furious.  "They need compassion?  They need it?  What about what I need?  Who cares about my needs?  They
need me.  Too bad.  I have nothing to give anyone.  Does anyone care about the man inside the suit?  I’ve told you all I’ve
been through and you expect me to just go back there as if nothing has happened and comfort people?  Who comforts me?
Huh? Who?  The one person who could have is dead."

"You do belong back there."

"In your opinion."

"You will go back one day."

"With all due respect, I will not.  I can not."

"For you to fully accept her death, you will return."

Peter looked at him in amazement and anger.  "What do you mean?  I accept her death. I saw her dead body.  I gave her last
rites.  I signed the death certificate.  She is dead."

The Bishop looked at him for a while and then asked, "So you are off home, then?"

Peter calmed down and answered, "Yes.  Thank you for the room and talk."

"Father, you will heal.  I know you can’t see that happening but it will.  You will never forget Assumpta but, in time, you will
learn to treasure what you shared together.  You will find peace again whether in the priesthood or outside of it.  Give it time,
Father."

"Thank you."

"I hope I do see you again.  You are an excellent priest.  You need time to heal, but you will."

Peter left.  The Bishop watched him go.  He was concerned about him.  At least he did open up last night.  That was good
for him. I got him angry this morning and that is also good for him.  I think I will call Bishop Smythe in England and tell
him about this.
 

DAY FIVE - TUESDAY

He was still uncertain whether he wanted to remain a Priest.  All he knew for sure was that he wanted to get the hell out of
Ireland.  He knew the village wouldn’t understand why he left like he did and that some people would be very angry with him,
but it didn’t matter any more.  He would do what he wanted, not what others expected of him.  No more St. Peter, the
spineless twit.

His thoughts just wandered as he stood at the bow:

Peter stood in the kitchen hearing the front door slam shut.  Here we go again. I just can’t talk with her about my feelings.
The one person I am or have ever truly been in love with and I can’t just go and tell her that!  What a spineless sap!  He
wanted to go after her, but there was Kieran.  He sat down at the table with a glass of the wine she had brought.  He
knew the ‘moment of truth’ was fast approaching.  Was he up to it?

Assumpta shut the door behind her.  She let the tears fall.  Angry tears, not sad.  She was becoming more and more
furious at Peter for starting to play this game of baiting her.  She was frustrated that he still seemed to want both worlds
and she was determined that, even though she did have to admit to herself that she loved Peter, there was no way she was
going to be the mistress of a priest.  No matter who that priest was!  The more she thought about it, the angrier she
became.  The infamous Fitzgerald temper was on the rise.  Beware he who feels its wrath!  Finally, she went to speak her
mind.

She knocked.  She could hear him in there.  Was he deliberately ignoring her?  Well, if the door were unlocked, she
would go in.  It was.  She did, ready to read Peter the riot act. The sight of him shirtless and barefoot in the bathroom
caused her to stop short.  For a moment, she did admire the sight of him shirtless…nice muscles, surprisingly toned, well
he does still play soccer with the lads.  He splashed more water on his face and then stood there staring at the sink.  She
regained her resolved and blurted out, "What are you playing at?  What are you trying to do to me?"

Peter about leaped out of his skin upon hearing her.  "Why didn’t you knock?"  He grabbed a towel off the rack to dry
his face.

"I did.  You didn’t answer… Well?"

"Well, what?  What do you want me to say?"

"What do you want?"

Peter, for once, began to try to explain himself.  "It’s not that simple."  He toweled his face dry.

"It is that simple."

"Not from where I’m standing."

"For God’s sake, Peter, we have moved on."

"I’m a Catholic priest."  He put the towel back on the rack and walked out into the kitchen.  Why do I keep saying that?

"It goes with the territory."

"Cheap shot," he muttered, almost to himself.  He went for his T-shirt.

"It’s the truth.  For you and me, it’s the truth."  She started to turn and leave.

"Assumpta."

"What?"

Words again failed him.  He was so good with words to help other people, just not himself.  He tried to say something but
the best he could do was shrug his shoulders.

Assumpta looked at him with a look of disappointment and disgust.  "You know what you’re going to do now?  You’re
going to discuss this in a wooden box with a man wearing a frock and you won’t talk to me."

"I will."

"When?"

"All right, Assumpta.  You’re right.  We do need to talk".

They both went into his living room.  He put on his T-shirt.  She sat on the sofa, he on the chair.  She waited for him to
start.

After a bit, Peter hesitatingly began, "Where did it all get wrong?"

"Well, it hasn’t yet."

"But it will, though, won’t it."

"I don’t know, Peter.  I still don’t know what you want."

"I want some sleep," he muttered and then, more firmly added, "I want to do the right thing."

"By who?"

"By you…and the church."

"Well, you know that’s not possible."

"I know.  I’m just trying to tell you what I want."

"Well, that’s ridiculous.  I mean, you can’t love us both."  Peter just sighed and closed his eyes, shaking his head.
Assumpta saw Peter’s reaction and realized that she had struck a nerve.  "I’m sorry.  That was stupid."

"No, it wasn’t.  It really wasn’t."  Peter sighed.  "You must know how I feel about you."

"Now how would I know that?"

"Assumpta, are you serious?  I think about you every moment of every day.  It’s like I’m on autopilot.  I take a wedding, a
funeral, I hear confession, I say Mass…I say the words, but it’s you that I’m thinking of.  I can’t sleep at night because
you keep me awake.  Am I getting through to you?"  Seeing that he obviously was, he couldn’t resist making a small
attempt at lightening the mood.  "Apart from that, you mean nothing to me."

"I had no idea you felt that way."

Peter looked at her skeptically and said, "I thought the dogs on the street knew."

"What do you want, Peter?"

"I want some peace.  I want the answer. "

"To what question?"

"Do you want me?  Can I leave the priesthood for you?"

"Peter, I think you know the answer to the first question."

"No, I don’t.  Tell me."

"You’re the kindest, handsomest man that has ever been part of my life.  Yes, I want you more than anything…Now it is
your turn to answer your second question."

Peter hesitated but for a moment.  He closed his eyes and sighed.  Opening them again, a tear came down his cheek.  He
went over to her and took her hand.  "I love you.  I want you in my life.  I’ll do whatever it takes.  Whatever you want.
Just don’t run away from me, Assumpta."

He caressed her hair and kissed the top of her head.  She held him close to her, enjoying the feel of his body and his
caresses.  She then turned her head up to him and met his lips. He pulled her onto his lap and continued kissing her.

After a bit, she broke away to ask, "What do we do now, Peter?"

"We do what needs to be done."

"And that is?"

He looked away across the room almost sadly.  She started to kiss him again, but he stopped her and said, "Assumpta, I
don’t think we should continue this tonight."

"Why not?"

"I don’t want us to go any further just yet."

"What do you mean?" she persisted, knowing exactly what he was referring to.  She just wanted to hear him acknowledge
it.

"If we don’t back off now, I’ll make love to you and I won’t be able to stop myself," he very quietly said.

"Then don’t stop yourself, Peter.  I’ve been waiting a long time for you."

"Please, Assumpta," said Peter as he gently removed her from his lap.  "I’m just not ready yet.  Not that I don’t want to.
Just…now isn’t right somehow.  I need to stay a priest for a while longer.  Do you understand?"

"No.  Are you still on the fence?"

"No.  I want to be with you more than I want to remain a priest.  Do you love me?"

"Yes," she replied softly.

"I love you, too.  I’m just asking you to wait.  Please?"

"How long?"

"Well, at least until we sort all this out."

"You continually surprise me, you know that?"

"Life is full of surprises."

She laughed and got up to leave.  "You won’t get rid of me so easily next time, Peter."

"Ok, forewarned, am I?" he laughed.

"Believe it," she said.  They kissed briefly and then parted.

Peter watched her leave and then shut the door behind him.  He leaned back against the door and sighed.  If she knew
how close he was to just taking her with him to bed...well, she probably did.  He was glad, though, that he didn’t follow
through with what his body was screaming for.  He needed time to think.

So, I’ve made the decision.  I’m glad that part is over.  It will make it easier to decide now just what to do and when to do it, I
hope.  With that thought, he went upstairs but sleep was still scarce but now for different reasons.

More time wasted. I am so good at that, Peter thought as he gazed off at the water.

Now that he had made his decision, he felt a wonderful sense of relief.  It didn’t last for too long, though.  One doubt
kept creeping up no matter how much he tried to ignore it. Finally, he acknowledged to himself that they needed to talk
about this.  He went down to her place.  "I do have some doubts that we need to talk about before going on with making
plans and all."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Probably the same things you are.  We are both very good at keeping those we love at arm’s length.  I am giving up my
vocation for you.  What if it doesn’t work out, then what?  Can you share your life with me?"

"I think it would work out with us.  I think I could easily share my life with you."

"Another thing, what about Catholicism?"

"As in what?"

"What do you believe?"

"Peter, I stopped going to Church a long time ago.  You know that."

"Why?"

"Because I was fed up with the hypocrisy of it."

"Do you believe in God?"

"Yes but not the church."

"See.  That is my only uncertainty about you, about marrying you.  You only see one side of me.  You ignore the religious
side.  It will always be part of me, priest or not.  Now that I plan on leaving, my faith is still there.  I just don’t think you
could ever understand or totally accept that.  You probably don’t even believe it is there at all.  You scoff at the Church.
Some of your accusations are true and I am doing my best to change that. Others are not and I don’t think you realize
how much those hurt."

"I’m sorry if I’ve offended you but it is what I believe."

"I know.  I just don’t know if I can accept that from someone I want to have in my life.  I know it probably sounds hollow
to you but my faith is as real to me as you are."

"Do you want me to go back to Church?"

"No.  I know you would probably do it for me if I asked you to.  But, no, you’ll come back or you won’t and I will have
no part of it one way or the other.  You can’t do it for me.  It has to be for you and what you believe in.  Like you, I don’t
care for hypocrites either."

"I think you know I’m no hypocrite."

"True.  But there’s another side to all this.  What do you believe about marriage?  About vows and lifelong commitments?
About having children and raising them in the Church?"

"Yes, I believe in marriage.  No, I don’t believe in abortion at least not for myself.  Yes, I believe that sex is all right
outside of marriage providing the parties involved aren’t married to others.  Is marriage lifelong?  No.  I do believe in
divorce.  Children?  Yes. Raising them in the Church?  I suppose we’ll have to because I know I won’t win that
argument."

"Will you go to Church with the children?  Will you support me willingly on that?"

"Yes.  Anything else?"

"That about sums it up then."

"So do I pass the test?"

"Assumpta, it isn’t a test, for God’s sake.  I just need to know your thoughts about these matters.  They are tremendously
important to me."

"Are you afraid of physical love?"

"No."

"Ever been with a woman?"  When he did not say anything she continued, "Maybe that is also part of your hesitancy.
You know what being a Priest is like.  You have no idea what being a husband or a lover is like."

"Except in theory," he quietly said.

"I’ll grant you that.  What are you going to do?"

"Pray."

"You are leaving the priesthood?"

"I’ll go see Father Mac tomorrow and tell him my decision."

Peter watched England, his old home, approaching. His thoughts were still fixed on Assumpta. He wondered if he ever would
forgive himself for his waffling.

"Is there anything going on at your place?"

"Well, I suppose I could find you some work.  Porter?  Bottle washer?  Toilet cleaner?"

"Glamorous jobs, those."

"Sorry, none to match the glamour of the priesthood, I suppose."

"Assumpta, please be serious."

"Does it matter what you do as long as we’re together?"

"No and yes, it does.  Another thing, how do you think the locals will react to my permanent presence in the pub?"

"Some will be upset. Most won’t care."

"I’m not so sure about that."

"Peter, we will work it out."

"And another thing, how much say will you give me in running the bar?"

"I guess I…well, I don’t know."

"Would we be equal partners?"

"I suppose so."

"That wouldn’t be your first choice, though, would it?"

"To have you as an equal partner in the pub?  I can accept that."

"Are you ok with that?  With sharing your family’s place with me?"

"Why wouldn’t I be?"

"What if I don’t work in the bar?"

"That would be fine.  What would you do instead?"

"Social worker?  Who knows?  I have another scenario.  What if the town turns against us and one or both of us have to
leave.  Would you leave Ballyk for me?"

"That question I can answer.  Yes, I would go anywhere with you as long as we can be together."

"Even if it meant England?"

"Yes.  I don’t mind England, you know."

"Another question…"

"How many more are there?"

"Didn’t count ‘em.  What if we sold the pub here and moved to England?  You could buy a pub there to run."

"What would you do?"

"Em, become a vicar?"

"Priest and the publican revisited, is that it?"

"Well, something like that.  What do you think?"

"Will that solve your fascination for frocks?"

"Well, it will keep it satisfied, if that’s what you mean," jested Peter.  "As long as it means I can get into yours, too, that
is."

She laughed.  "Peter, this will work.  I do want you in my life."

"You won’t run away from me?"

"No.  You’ve got me for good.  You’ll just have to accept that."

"Believe me, my love, I do.  I won’t let you down."

"Well, you’ll never get to heaven if you break my heart."

He laughed and hugged her before starting to leave.

"See you later then.  Um, you’re leaving the priesthood?"

"Yeah.  I wouldn’t have been curate here for much longer.  Father Mac had already decided that I was to be transferred
back to England and there is a new man coming at the end of the month.  He feels it would not be appropriate to stay."

"You mean, if you did decide to stay a priest, you would have had to leave Ballyk in a few weeks?"

"Yeah, but I do believe that I would rather be your husband than everyone else’s father."

"I would definitely prefer that as well.  Em…Would we have to go to Church?"

"Well, yes, for our wedding."

"I think I can live with that."

"You’ll marry me?"

"Yes, Peter. Even if I have to go to church to do it, I will."

He was so excited that he lifted her up, twirled her around and kissed her full on the lips. She was briefly surprised but
she definitely returned the feeling and the embrace.

The wind did a wonderful job of obscuring his tears.
 

DAY SIX - WEDNESDAY

Leo sat down and just let those thoughts stew.  He almost missed the report on a bombing.  He saw the pictures of the wreck
with bodies strewn about and thought, that’s just what that Priest deserves.

He couldn’t believe that a Priest would lie to him.  After all, he saw them together that night at the Church.  Watching Peter
watch his wife leave, Leo knew there was something going on between those two.  Vow of celibacy did not seem important to
this priest.  And to think I actually asked him for advice about Assumpta.  What a fool I was!

Assumpta and Leo were busy both with the pub and babysitting Kieran.  She had to tend bar so he was left alone with the
infant.  He had never held a baby before and was so afraid he would damage the child or drop it.  Kieran started crying
and crying.  He was at a loss as to what to do.  She asked if anyone in the bar could go help Leo.  The only one who
could was Father Clifford.

"How are you with babies, Father?"

"Ah, as good as the next man," he replied as he took the infant from Leo.  He spoke quietly to the baby, "Hiya, what are
you doing?"

Leo turned away and mumbled, "A bit better than that, I’d say."  He went to the sink and turned around to face the
priest.  He watched him with Kieran.  He heard Assumpta’s voice in the next room.  Looking back at Peter, he asked, "I’m
on a hiding to nothing, would you say, Father?"

Peter had been playing with the infant and only heard Leo call him "Father".  He turned to Leo and asked, "What’s
that?"

"Am I on a hiding to nothing?"

Peter looked confused and asked, "What are we talking about here, Leo?" He held Kieran close as he rocked him back
and forth.

Leo smiled knowingly at him and replied, "Ah, come on now, Father.  I ask you because I think you are the man in the
know."

Peter shook his head.  "I’m sorry . I’m in the dark."

"I don’t think that’s quite true, is it?  I think you know what I’m asking."

"I don’t."  Peter looked intently at him.

Leo repeated the statement more forcefully almost accusatory.  "I think I am on a hiding to nothing unless you say
otherwise…Last chance, Father."

The two men just looked at each other.  Peter’s face was questioning as if not believing what Leo was asking.  Leo
waited.  Peter did not know what to say.  Leo just left the room, disappointed in Peter’s response.  Peter stared after him,
kissing the baby’s forehead.

Leo thought back to Peter and their confrontation at the Church.  Why couldn’t he have been honest with me beforehand?
Why couldn’t she have been?  He should never have met her in London.  He would have been so much better off.  No, he still
wanted her just like at University. Now, no one will ever have her.  Leo’s thoughts gave way to tears.  Goddamn, Priest.  I
hope he pays for his deeds and pays dearly.

Liz opened the door to the flat and called out, "I’m home."

"In here," her husband, Andrew, called.

"What’s new?"

"Nothing much.  I’m fixing some dinner."

"Wonderful.  I’m starved."  She went to change into more comfortable clothes while he set the table.

"It’s good to have dinner together for a change," she said as they sat down to eat.

"The downside of a working couple."

"At least we’ll have peace and quiet."

A knock was heard at the door. "Or not," added Andrew and grinned at her. "I’ll get it."  He could not believe who was at the
door.

"Hiya," said Peter.

"Peter, what on earth are you doing here?  Come in, come in."  Peter did so and set his backpack down in the entryway.
Andrew was alarmed at his brother’s disheveled appearance.

"Do you have a spare room for me?"

"Of course, but what happened to you?  You look bloody awful."

"Thanks, I need to hear that."

"Peter?" called Liz. "Peter!  It’s good to see you.  How are you?"

"Been better.  I was wondering if the Clifford Inn had a room."

"Of course.  Have you eaten?"

"Em, no."

"You’re in luck.  Andy’s just finished cooking dinner.  Join us."

"I’m in luck?  I thought you said he cooked."

"If you’re hungry enough you’ll eat it, brother.  You look hungry enough."

Peter set his pack down in their spare room and went to wash up.  Liz and Andrew were waiting for him at the table curious as
to what had happened.

"So, what brings you back to jolly ole England?" his brother began.

"It’s a long story."

"Got time.  There’s nothing on TV tonight."

"Glad I’m not interrupting your plans," he said dryly.

"Oh, don’t mind him, Peter.  What happened though?  You look like you’ve been through hell."

"I just mucked things up royally."

"You got sacked?"

"I sacked myself."

"Can Priests do that?"

"This one did.  I don’t want to talk about it now, though.  I need somewhere to stay for a week or two.  Can I stay here?"

"Sure," Liz said and Andy nodded in agreement.  "Stay as long as you like, Peter."

The conversation moved on to less controversial subjects.  Peter was much quieter than usual, but did participate a bit.  He
definitely was hungry, though.  It seemed that he hadn’t eaten anything in quite a while.  They were really concerned about him;
he looked terrible.

Peter had not confided in Andrew or his other brothers about Assumpta.  After all, they had teased him mercilessly, as siblings
do, about being celibate and the joys of marriage.  His brothers knew why Peter left Manchester.  Peter had also told Andrew
about the statue incident and how that really shook up his beliefs.  The brothers had always been close, so, what one knew,
they all did.  Even so, they knew he wanted to continue in the priesthood, that it was too much a part of him to ever leave.
Peter’s faith always seemed so grounded.  Andrew wondered what really happened to him in Ireland.

For the next several days, Peter was aloof and withdrawn.  He was a mostly silent presence in their flat.  Andrew thought back
to how he was on the day of their Dad’s funeral.  This was ten times worse.  Peter had been away at seminary when he died.
He came for the funeral but left the next morning.  He had tried to console their Mother but she ended up consoling him a little.
He never talked about their Dad again.  Give him time.  He’ll talk about it eventually.  Whatever happened recently, he will
deal with it sooner or later.