MONTH THIRTEEN:

"Yes, your Grace?"

"Please come with me.  I have something to discuss with you."

Peter followed him rather sheepishly.  He really didn’t want to discuss what he knew the topic was likely to be but he followed
him into his office.

"There is a position available that we believe would be a good move for you.  You do an excellent job here, but this doesn’t
exactly seem to be your cup of tea, shall we say?""

"I’m not sure what you mean."  Peter lied.

"I think you would rather be with a congregation again.  Am I right?"  When Peter made no comment, the Bishop continued,
"You had excellent references when you worked in a church in Manchester.  The same followed you from your position as
curate in Ballykissangel.  And, while no one can fault the work you are doing here, I think you might be happier back in a
church setting instead of an administrative one.  Do you think you’re ready to go back?"

Peter looked off in the distance.  "I’m not sure, your Grace."

"It is a larger church than Ballykissangel.  Almost as big as the one you were at in Manchester.  It is in a medium sized town.
You would be curate and would have two assistant priests working with you.  And it is still in England.  Are you interested?"

"I dunno."

"You can’t keep hiding behind reports, Father.  You need to get on with your life.  Your calling is not staff work."

"I know. I just wish…" He went silent.

"Father, it is time to move on.  You have had time to heal.  You need to be back with a congregation again.  It is your calling,
or at least it was once.  I think it still is.  What are you afraid of?"

"Nothing."  He lied again.

"Oh?"

"Well, I just don’t know if I’m ready to deal with a congregation again on a full time basis.  I don’t know if I have the strength
to deal with their needs."  That was the truth this time.

"There is only one way to find out, Father."

Peter had to acknowledge the logic in that statement. "So, ah, where is this church, exactly?"

"A town NW of Manchester."

"And you think I’m ready?"

"That is your call, Father, but yes I think you are."

Peter hesitated before asking, "What if it happens again?"

"What if what happens again?  You have doubts about your faith?  You get tempted?  You fall in love?  You get bit by a dog?"

"Well, yeah, all of that," he laughed.

"Then it happens or it doesn’t, Father.  You will have to deal with those issues sooner or later whether you stayed here or not
and I think you know that."

"Yes."

"I just think you’d be happier back in a church with a congregation."

"I wish I had your confidence in that."

"It is time.  You need people, Father.  Whether you realize it or not, you need people.  You need interaction even if such
interaction can carry, shall we say, risks.  You will destroy yourself as a person, let alone as a priest, if you remain in this shell."

Peter had to acknowledge the truth of that. "Yes, you’re probably right.  When should I leave?"

That night he forced himself to honestly evaluate his life and beliefs.  The past year had thrown them all in turmoil but he was
starting to make some sense out of it all.  He still thought of her daily and occasionally daydreamed about what their life would
have been like had she lived.  Oddly, that brought him comfort.  There was healing happening here.

But what of his vocation?  That was still uncertain.  He just kept going on with what he had been doing without even thinking of
theology.  As a substitute, it wasn’t really expected that he give sermons or teach, so he did neither.  Hearing confessions
required mostly just listening to people and help them sort out their problems.  He could still do that. Performing the rituals also
posed no dilemma to him.  Now, though, actually having a Church of his own, a congregation of his own, made him realize that
he couldn’t continue this way.  Time to get off the fence again.  It was a far different sort of fence, to be sure, but a fence
nonetheless.  Time for him to make a commitment one way or the other.  Well, at the very least it was time to see if there was
anything of the old Father Clifford worth salvaging.
 

MONTH TWENTY ONE:

The town itself held 50,000 people of whom about 5,000 were Catholic.  One of the local Anglican priests had started a habit
of entertaining members of other denominations so, naturally, Peter was invited to join.  From the very first gathering, Peter felt
welcome by the group.

Things were settling down.  Peter even felt his barriers dissolving as he plunged deeper and deeper into the life of this new
community.  Once again, he was accepted warmly by his new congregation.  They took to him easily and he began to realize
that he could serve them very well as priest.  In fact, he wanted to serve them well.  The peace that had for so long eluded him
had returned.  He was finding his stride again.  Occasionally, he found himself even enjoying life again, appreciating the things
life has to offer.  The wound was healing. His faith had been renewed.  He still believed in God and in much of Catholicism. But
there were limits to what he could support.  Those parts he no longer accepted, well, he just kept to himself.  The assistant
curate had always had the duty of teaching catechism and Peter saw no sense in changing that.

There were two local pubs that Peter favored each with a unique assortment of regulars.  It was at one of them that he met an
old friend, Jenny Clarke.  He didn’t see her come in.  He didn’t see her until she sat down next to him.

"Hi, Peter," she said.

"Jenny, it is good to see you.  What brings you to these parts?"  Peter managed to say the words although his heart was sinking
fast.

"I had heard of this new priest at Holy Spirit who had a familiar name and I just had to check it out, but, don’t worry, I am not
following you.  If you want me to go, I will.  I just wanted to see how you were, that is all."

"I’m fine."

"How long did you stay in Ireland?"

"Almost four years."

"It was a beautiful village.  Why did you leave?"

"I was transferred."

"Really?"  She looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Well, it was time to go.  When Mom died I wanted to be nearer to what was left of my family."

"I’m sorry about your Mom."

"Thanks.  What about you?"

"I’m still living in Manchester.  Same old place, but I’m now working as a teacher."

"A teacher? Good for you."

"Well, I wanted to help people like you do, but I’m not eligible.  I thought this would be a good alternative."

"Where are you working?"

"In town.  Can the teacher buy the priest a drink?"

"Certainly.  You know me."

She smiled at him. "Haven’t changed, have you?"

"A lot…and very little."

She went to fetch the drinks.  Peter was still uncertain about her presence, but felt that he could keep the situation well under
control. When she returned, he decided to push the issue.  "Any ‘significant others’ in your life, Jenny?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact . We are engaged and plan to get married next summer.  It sort of is the real reason I wanted to see
you, to see if you would marry us, I mean."

Peter felt a load disappearing from him.  "Marry you?  Sure, why not?  Who’s the lucky man?"

"I think you know him, Neville Hopkins."

"The new organist?"

"Well, he’s been there almost six years now, Peter."

"Oh, yeah, right.  Sure.  Here or in Manchester?"

They went on to discuss details.  Several hours passed by in what was the most enjoyable discussion Peter had had in a long
time.  When Peter walked back to his house, he realized that the guilt he had felt over Jenny was now gone.  One wound had
been healed.  What about the other?
 

MONTH TWENTY-TWO:

"Can I help you?"

"Ah, I am Constable Douglas."  He showed the priest his badge.  "Are you Father Clifford?"

"No. I am not."

"Is this where Father Clifford lives?"

"Yes."

"Is he in?"

"Yes."

"May I see him?"

"May I tell him what this is about?"

The constable was beginning to get a little annoyed with this priest. "No."

"Very well.  Please wait there."  The priest shut the door and walked away.

After a few minutes, the door reopened.  It was the same priest. "Father Clifford has stepped outside but will be back shortly.
Please come in."  The constable was led into a sitting room.  He idly looked about as was his nature.  The room was
comfortably furnished but there was no personality to it.  Must be due to the vow of poverty and use of hand-me-downs from
garage sales.  Lack of female influence probably.  The priest waited with him.

A door shut.  Steps were heard outside of the door.  In walked Father Clifford carrying some books.  He didn’t realize he was
not alone at first.  He sensed someone behind him and turned quickly around. "Ah, you gave me a fright, Ian."  He looked
questioningly at the constable.  "And you are?"

"Constable Douglas, Father."  He showed Peter his badge.  "You are Father Peter Clifford?"

"Yes.  What can I do for you?"

"Well, it’s not what you can do for me, exactly.  I am here to serve you with papers."  He brought out an official looking
document from his jacket pocket and handed it to Peter.

Peter took it, but did not open it, did not even look at it.  "And just what are these papers?"

"It is a summons."

"For what?"

"To appear as a witness in a court case."

"Why all the official mumbo-jumbo?"

"Because the court case is in Ireland."

Peter froze.  He stared at the document not wanting to open it.  Finally, he asked, "Where in Ireland?"

"In County Wicklow."

Peter felt all wind escaping from him.  "Am I required to go there in person?"

"I believe so, Father.  It is a summons.  Please, read the document."

But he couldn’t bring himself to do that.  Not yet, at least.  "What is the court case concerning?"

"I believe it is about a criminal trial involving theft of Church property and two murders."

"What?"  That got Peter to open up the document and peruse it.  They needed him to testify concerning the aborted robbery
attempt at St. Joseph’s that cost Ambrose a concussion.  "They don’t need me for this.  Surely, the gard Ambrose Egan got a
much better look at them than I did.  He can testify."

"I’m sorry, Father.  I’ve told you all I know.  Good night."

Father Simon came in bringing tea at the same time that the constable excused himself and left.  Ian poured some tea for Peter
and set it beside him.  After he fixed his own cup, he sat down and asked, "Father, what is the matter?  You look like you have
just seen a ghost."

"You could say that." Peter read the papers and then got up to walk about the room.

"Can I help?"

"I don’t know.  I haven’t told you much about my time in Ireland, have I?"

"Nothing at all would be more accurate, Father."

Peter smiled.  "Well, let’s just say that I left there because I could no longer bear to be there.  I’m not sure I’m ready to return.
In fact, I’m not sure I will ever be ready to go back there."

"Why not?"

"Because..."  He couldn’t continue.  When will it be over?  Assumpta came to his eyes…not a living Assumpta, either.  To go
back there, to go back to where she died…he wasn’t sure he could do it.  I thought this was over.  He sat down heavily on
the chair contemplating the teacup.

Father Simon just watched. "Are you all right, Peter?"

"Yeah."  Yeah, right.

"And you don’t want to talk about it."

"I thought all that was behind me, resolved, finished. Now this stupid summons…"

"You still have friends there?"

He nodded still staring at his tea. "I don’t know… Yeah, I suppose."

"I sense there is still something unresolved, Peter. Can I help?"

With that, Peter rose and said, "No.  This is my own demon.  I suppose I thought I had dealt with it, but I guess it was just
dormant.  Good night, Ian."  He left the room and went upstairs to lay down on his bed.  Could he fight this summons?
Probably.  A large part of his reluctance was not so much what had happened there but how he had behaved afterwards.  In
truth, he was embarrassed by his actions.

Once again, inaction was his activity of choice.  The court appearance was six weeks away. He would deal with it later.
 

MONTH TWENTY-FOUR:

They were enjoying tea together when Father Randall got down to business.

"Well, I’ve got the rough draft of your evaluation finished.  I wanted to talk to you about it before finalizing it."

Peter thought that a bit odd but let him continue.

"As usual, there have been no complaints with your performance from anyone.  You are doing well keeping attendance figures
climbing.  The accounts are all in order.  You are developing the priests working for you quite well.  In short, there are no
issues about what you are doing from the people you work most closely with.  But I have a major concern about you."

Peter looked at him in surprise, "But you just said there were no complaints."

"True.  But when I compare your performance this past year to what I know you to be capable of, I have a serious issue to
discuss with you.  When you were first ordained, you had the drive and conviction.  OK, some of that’s youthful exuberance
but I don’t think it all was.  I kept an eye on you in Ireland and was very pleased that you were still continuing on that path in
spite of the difficulties you were encountering.  Now though, it’s gone.  Instead of the excellent priest you once were, you have
become merely competent and complacent it seems.  Why?"

Peter wasn’t expecting this turn of discussion so it took him some time to answer.  When he did, he felt he had to defend
himself.   "I haven’t noticed a difference, Father."

"Oh, really?  You are not the same person that went to Ireland five years ago."

"Of course not.  People do change, Father."

"Quite right.  Especially after traumatic incidents.”  He was a bit reluctant to continue.  “What I am really wondering about is
your commitment to your vocation."

Peter looked at him in astonishment. "I am still committed to this path."

He looked at Peter intently before finally saying, "Maybe you shouldn’t be."

Stunned silence.  "Why not?"  Peter finally managed to reply.

"Father, it is not worth being a priest if you only pay lip service to the position.  There are many other choices out there that
may suit you better."

"Are you questioning my faith?"

"Not at all.  Just your commitment."

"But you said it yourself that I was doing a good job."

"Peter, I am not thinking of the Church.  I am thinking of you.  Are you still going to be satisfied with your current performance
ten, twenty years down the line?  I don’t think so. You had promise to go far in the church.  Now, given your drive, I’m not
even sure parish priest would be in the cards for you.  Do you understand what I’m getting at?"

And he did.  "I think so," he sadly replied.  "I guess I still am functioning on autopilot.  But I have felt my vocation return.  My
faith is still there.  What do you suggest I should do?"

"Understand, Father, I’m not trying to turn you out of the Church.  You just need to make a commitment that will allow you to
bring your formidable talents to bear.  You are too good a man to sit idling any longer.  Please think about this while you are
away in Ireland."

When he arrived in Wicklow, he kept pretty much to his hotel room venturing out only for the court case or for food.  Thank
God there was no one attending the trial that he recognized from Ballyk.  He knew that Ambrose would be appearing sooner
or later and was not looking forward to seeing him again.  When he was finally called to the stand, he was surprised that he was
only asked five questions.  When it was over, he asked the prosecutor about why this was necessary.

"We needed an eye witness to the crime."

"Well, I wasn’t the only witness.  What about Gard Egan?  He was there, too, but I don’t see him here."

The prosecutor looked at him curiously.  "You mean you don’t know?"

"Know what?"

"Gard Egan is dead six months."

Peter managed to ask, "What? How?"

"Some sort of boating accident.  He drowned trying to save two people off of the coast."

Peter sat down stunned.

The attorney continued.  "I’m sorry.  I thought you knew."  The prosecutor was called away. Peter left to go back to the hotel.

He started packing his bag but stopped to stare at the phone in his room.  After several minutes, he decided to give Michael
Ryan a ring and talk this through.  Michael answered on the third ring.

"Hullo?"

"Michael?"

"Yes."

"This is Peter Clifford.  How are you?"

"Peter, this is a great surprise.  I’m fine. You?"

"Healing."

"Glad to hear it.  How have you been?"

"In flux.  You know it’s been difficult, but things are finally settling down with me.  I seem to have reached a truce with my life.
But I also think I need to bring some closure to certain things and I was wondering…"

"You want to come visit?"

"Yeah."

"Sure.  You can stay here, if you wish."

"That would be grand, Michael.  Ah, how do you think people would react?"

"I think, for the most part, they would welcome your visit.  When are you thinking of coming here?"

"Well, actually, I’ve just finished with this court case up in Wicklow and I just found out about Ambrose.  I would like to see
Niamh so would tomorrow be too soon?"

"Not at all."

"You’re a good man, Michael.  See you."  Since it was too late to take the bus to Ballyk that night, he set his bag aside and
decided to venture out that evening.
 

THE RETURN

As luck would have it, Kathleen Hendley was waiting at the bus stop along with Mrs. Egan. Peter became absorbed in his
paper.  The two women sat down together two seats in front of him.  The last person to get on the bus was seated and the bus
took off.  Peter couldn’t keep his attention on the paper.  He could hear the two women yakking away but ignored it as best he
could.  Instead, he was once again struck by the countryside.  He smiled to himself.  Perhaps this is just what I needed, after
all.  He did keep a wary eye out for falling confessionals.  An unbidden memory came to him:

"I’d do the same for you."

"Give me last rites?"

"I wasn’t being facetious."

"You were being bloody hopeful."

"I don’t want an argument…"

"You’d come anyway, wouldn’t you?  Knowing you weren’t wanted."

"I may not know that."

"I just told you."

"Things change.  You may be unable to speak."

"I’m speechless already."

He thought of that ride into town, his first meeting with Assumpta.  He felt a lump in his throat, but no tears.  He had finally
admitted to himself that he did do the right thing in giving her last rites.  It was what he believed in.  How could he not do it?

Ballykissangel came up very quickly.  He hid his face by fussing with his backpack as the two women went by him.  Glancing
around outside, he noticed Brendan down by Fitzgerald’s.  He shouldered his knapsack and went off in the opposite direction
to Doc Ryan’s.  He did allow himself a glance at his old house and church.  Unfortunately, Father Mac’s car was parked
there.   Peter looked away out towards the river as he quickened his pace.

Doc Ryan was out on call, but he had left a note for Peter to come in and make himself at home.  He did just that.  He made
himself some tea and just sat outside on the patio, away from the dispensary, just in case.  Michael came back within the hour
and greeted Peter.

"What are you doing these days?"

"I was wondering when you were going to ask me.  Well, I’m still a priest.  I didn’t know what else to do.  But I don’t delude
myself any longer into thinking that this is forever.  I just take what is given to me."

"Sounds like a workable solution."

"Yeah, workable if not ideal."

The conversation continued that way for several minutes.  Michael gave Peter some of the details of the changes in town and
elaborated on what had happened to Ambrose.

Peter sat back and finished his tea.  "It does feel good to return, Michael.  Thanks for letting me stay here."

"My pleasure.  Ready to head out?"

"Yeah.  Sure, why not?"  He didn’t sound convincing.

They gathered up the dishes and headed down towards the town.  Blast, thought Peter, Father Mac’s car is still here.  Brian
Quigley drove by and waved to Michael…he didn’t appear to recognize Peter probably because he was not wearing the
uniform.  They walked past Fitzgerald’s and over the bridge.

"Do you know, I think this was my favorite spot here in Ballyk," said Peter.  "I loved just watching the river."  After a few
minutes, he turned to Michael and said, "Well, I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.  Shall we?"  And so they walked into Fitzgerald’s.

Orla was at the bar.  It was a bit early for the regular crowd so the place was quiet.  Peter followed Michael up to the bar.  He
noticed Assumpta’s picture hanging there but could not bring himself to look at it further.

"Ah, doc, who’s your friend?"

"This is Peter."

"Hiya."

"English?"

"The accent tends to give me away."

"Hi, I’m Orla."

"Nice meeting you."  He was impressed by her looks.

"I know you only want orange juice, doc."

"No, I think we’ll both have a pint, right?" he said turning to Peter who agreed.

"Just visiting?"

"Yeah."

"How long are you here for?"  As she served the drinks, she none too subtly checked Peter for a wedding ring.  She smiled
when she saw none.

"Um, a few days."

"That’s great.  We could use with some new blood in here, especially when it’s wrapped in such a handsome package."

"Don’t mind her, Peter, it’s just her way."

Peter felt a little embarrassed but before he could respond, a little boy came running in followed by his mother.  "Kieran, slow
down," the voice preceded her entrance.  Niamh came in carrying diaper bag and a kid’s backpack.  She plopped them down
on one of the tables by the door.  "How are things, Orla?"

"We got a visitor from England," she said motioning to Peter.  Peter took a deep breath and turned around and said, "Hi,
Niamh."

Niamh at first didn’t recognize him, but there was something about that voice.  "No…don’t tell me…I don’t believe it!"

Peter nodded.

Niamh stood there for a moment transfixed, then rushed over to him and threw her arms around him. He returned the gesture,
smiling.

"I never thought I’d see you again, Father…It is still ‘Father’?"  She pulled away slightly to look at his face.  He nodded.

"Ah, Niamh, I just heard about Ambrose.  I am so sorry."

"Thank you."  She broke the embrace.

He sensed that she wanted to change the subject.  "You look well."

"So do you. I like you with longer hair."

"I like you with shorter hair."

She turned towards the bar still.  "Orla, do you know who this is?"

"Yeah, Michael’s friend from England.  Why?"

Niamh smiled at Peter, "Is that all you’re going by here?"  Kieran came over and started pulling at his mother. "Peter, here’s
Kieran."  She bent down to lift him up.

"Hi, Kieran, remember Uncle Peter?"

Kieran just melted into his mother’s shoulder, staring at this stranger.

"Well, you were just a baby, then."

"Say, Brendan, would you look who’s just come off the bus," said Niamh to Brendan who was just entering bearing a child of
his own.

Brendan looked at Peter and then came over to give him a hug.  "Peter, it’s good to see you. How’ve you been?"

"Fine…fine. Is this your child?"

"Ah, yes. Peter meet Aisling."  Peter smiled and took Aisling’s hand.  She smiled back.

"How long are you here for?"

"Just a few days," Peter said and put his arms out for Aisling.  She settled in gladly.

"How’s fatherhood, Brendan?"

"I might ask you the same thing, Peter."  Peter laughed but didn’t get a chance to say anything because Siobhan walked in.  The
same scene was repeated as more and more of the locals came in.  Soon everyone was sitting around Peter firing off questions
at him left and right.  He felt right at home.  Orla was still at the bar serving drinks and still confused as to who this person was.
Her brother Aidan entered with Father Mac.  Peter’s back was to the door so he did not see the entrance.

The two priests were aware of the commotion going on in the corner.  Aidan asked Orla, "What’s the party?"

"A friend of Michael’s is visiting from England.  He seems to know everyone here."

Father Mac then heard the visitor’s voice and nearly choked on his whiskey.  This wasn’t lost on Father Aidan.  "Father, are
you all right?"

"Yes.  I just thought I heard a voice from the past.  Excuse me."  He set his drink down and went over to stand behind Peter.
"Well, I’d recognize that voice anywhere."

Peter froze mid-sentence and set his drink down.  The place fell silent.  Peter turned and got up to face Father Mac.  "Father
Mac, it is good to see you," he said offering his hand.

Father Mac shook it.  "Welcome back….Father?"

"Yeah, still ‘Father’, Father."

Father Aidan hovered in the background.

"Would you like to meet your successor?"

"Sure," Peter answered as Father Mac motioned Father Aidan over.  Introductions were made and pleasantries exchanged.

So this is Father Clifford, mused Father Aidan.  He had heard a little bit about him.  He knew that he had been well liked, but
no one really said what had made him leave so abruptly.  Father Mac had said something about a crisis but didn’t offer any
further information so Father Aidan dropped it.  He hoped to get an opportunity to talk to him.

Peter was, to say the least, unimpressed with his successor.  He seemed way too quiet a type for his tastes.  Probably gets
along just fine with Father Mac, he mused.

Orla came to serve more drinks. Turning to Peter, she said, "You are a priest?"

"Yes."

"Damn.  The best looking man to walk in here in a long time and you’re unavailable."

"Such are the disappointments of life, Orla," said Father Mac.  Her brother just rolled his eyes and sighed.

"You haven’t changed much, Father," observed Peter.

"No, too old I expect.  Can we talk later?" he asked Peter.

"Sure."  Peter watched Father Mac walk away, a questioning curate at his side.  The talking went on and on.  At one point,
Peter did get a chance to talk with Niamh alone when he went to help her with Keiran.  Niamh was very vague, which was
understandable.  She did say that she was surprised that he was still a priest.

"It’s what I know how to do."

"How much do you still believe in?"

"Most of it.  The parts I don’t, well, I don’t discuss.  Not a great solution, but the best I could do."

"Do you think about leaving?"

"Constantly."

"No other temptations?"

"No.  I felt I had to come back here, to finally put the demons to rest, so to speak.  I’m sorry.  I just heard about Ambrose.
How have you been?"

"Ok."

"Really?"

"I’m fine."  But she really wasn’t and he knew it.

"You can still talk to me, if you want."

"I think I’d like that, Father.  Can we talk tomorrow?"

"Sure."  Peter was amazed at how good it felt to be with Niamh.  They were the two people closest to Assumpta so perhaps he
should not have been surprised that they would have a lot to say to each other.

Finally, the pub closed down.  Peter left with Michael.  Orla was busy tidying up the place when her brother walked in.

"Need help?" he asked.

"What do you think?"

"Need a lot of help."

"So, little brother, what do you think of your predecessor?"

"Well, we hardly talked but he doesn’t seem to be the wild one that Father Mac described. He seems rather down to earth."

"Did Father Mac tell you anything more about him?"

"You mean today?"

"Yeah."

"Only that he didn’t think he’d ever show his face in town again."

"Whatever he must have done, the people don’t seem to have minded it."

"Perhaps he only angered Father Mac."

"You know that’s not hard to do."

"I do know Father Mac dislikes the English."

"I rather like this Englishman."

"Orla, he’s a Priest!"

"So?"

"He’s a Catholic Priest!"

"So?"

Father Aidan just looked at her in shock.

"I’m teasing, Aidan, for God’s sake."

"I hope so."

"Oh, go wash the dishes."  She threw a tea towel at him.  But she couldn’t resist one more remark. "He is rather too gorgeous
to be a priest."

She ducked as the towel came flying back to her. "Hands off, big sister. Hands off."

"Em, maybe…"
 

Peter rose early the next morning and went for a walk.  Afterwards, he paused for a time on the bridge that used to be his
favorite spot.  He walked from one end of town to the other. Almost everyone came up to greet him.  Of course, Kathleen was
one of those who did not.

He went into her shop to get some coffee.  She would have nothing to do with him.  He greeted her, but received no response.
Finally, he asked, "How are you, Kathleen?  How much is this cup?"

She told him.  He paid her.  She took his money.  He went to the door. Finally, she called out, "I never expected you to set
foot in this town again after your affair.  How dare you still be a priest!"

Peter turned to her and said, "Kathleen, believe it or not, I am still true to my vows. Assumpta and I never did anything to
violate my vow of celibacy.  I was leaving the priesthood for her, that much is true.  But she died.  I have my life to live.  I still
am a priest, perhaps not as cocksure of myself as I was when I first came to this village, but a priest, nonetheless.  I’m human,
too.  You shouldn’t judge me too harshly, Kathleen."

"Does Father Mac know you’re here?"

"Of course."  Peter walked back to her.  "Em, how has his health been?"

"A lot better since she died and you left."

He just threw up his hands.  "Kathleen, I don’t know how we ever started off on the wrong foot. I wish I knew."

"You’re young and English."

"Mostly English, I think."

"Well, at least you’re not staying."

"Oh, I don’t know.  Maybe I’ll talk Father Mac into giving me my old job back." He left leaving her in shock.  She went to the
phone.

Peter laughed to himself, some things never change.  He crossed the street to the pub where he was going to see Niamh.  She
gathered up Kieran to leave with Orla and motioned to Peter to follow her upstairs into their living room.  They sat down and
Niamh started talking.

"What’s been happening, Niamh?"

She started telling him of all that had happened between herself and Ambrose.  Her life with Ambrose was dull. "I just saw
myself stagnating."

"Stagnating? How?"

"It just seemed that life was passing me by."

"You don’t like running the pub?"

"I don’t think it’s that, really."

"Being a mother?"

"It’s not that."

"Ambrose?"

"He just doesn’t seem to have changed at all from when we were first married.  We were having problems."

"How did you want him to change?"

"I’m not sure."

"Let’s try another approach.  If you did not have Kieran or Ambrose, what do you see yourself doing?"

"Running a business."

"Like a pub?"

"Maybe."

This wasn’t making sense to him, unless… "Niamh, what do you want?  Was there another man?"

She reluctantly answered,  "Yes."

"Were you in love with him?"

"Yes."

"And were your feelings reciprocated?"

"Yes."

"And did you two act on those feelings?"

"Yes."

"I take it this happened before Ambrose died."

"Yes."

Niamh started telling him about all the things that had happened in her life since Assumpta. She talked of her anxiety over
Ambrose’s undercover work, but she did not want to hold him back.  Kieran had had a rough first two years, but now seemed
to be settling in. Ambrose’s mother had moved to the village but did not live with them.  Running the pub was a pleasure at
first.  Now, though, it seemed like a yoke.  She talked of Sean Dillon.  He was not in Ambrose’s league.  Her Dad was a little
upset that she was thinking of leaving her husband, but was otherwise supportive.  She had finally told Ambrose she wanted a
divorce.  It was the last time she saw him alive.

Peter listened to all this.  At one point, Orla came up to bring them sandwiches.  The discussion continued on the rest of the
day.  He just let Niamh talk about her life and whatever else she wanted.  After a while, she turned the tables. "I am a quite
surprised you are still a Priest."

"In truth, so am I."

"You wouldn’t be if she were alive."

"But she died, Niamh."

"But you know what it was like to want something you couldn’t have, shouldn’t have.  You reached for it anyway.  How did
you make that ‘OK’?"

"It was not ‘OK’, Niamh.  It was a decision I made.  I knew it was wrong.  I knew I would not be forgiven.  But I was in love.
I let myself fall in love in spite of being a priest.  I should have left Ballyk when I first realized it.  That love was wrong.  And
look at the outcome.  It hurt Leo terribly."

"Leo isn’t your fault."

"No?  If I had been honest with myself and with her, she never would have left for London. Maybe she’d still be alive…"

"You don’t know that."

"True enough.  But look at all the people who were injured by my selfishness.  Assumpta, Leo, you...I should have just left
Ballyk.  I was playing with fire but I was convinced that I, Peter the Priest, would have no problems in handling it.  I was a
fool.  Funny, I once told Assumpta that she just didn’t think how she affected people.  She could have told me the same thing.
… But I don’t see what this has to do with you."

"Only that I think you of all people should understand what it is like to feel trapped by vows and promises you have made in the
past."

"I wasn’t trapped…"

"Isn’t it how you felt then?"

"No.  I wanted it both ways.  I wanted a wife and family and the priesthood and because of that two people paid the price."

"I want my son and I wanted Sean Dillon more than I came to want Ambrose.  Now he’s dead knowing that I no longer loved
him.  How do I resolve that guilt?"

"You will.  You just need to give it time."

"I don’t want to give it time.  Look what happened to you."

"Niamh, that was completely different."

"Really?  Do you understand anything about what I’ve gone through and had to go through and there was no one here to talk to
because the only person that would have understood turned tail and ran away from dealing with all of it?  Now, you come back
and you think you can heal everything just by saying a few words and everything will be better?"

Peter had expected to hear that and so he tried to explain.  "When I left I wasn’t thinking about anyone but myself.  How could
I comfort anyone when I had nothing to give? Everything was going to hell in my life and, just when things were finally starting to
look like there was a future, she died… I’m only human, Niamh, flesh and blood like everyone else.  I had nothing left for
anyone including myself… It took me many, many months to come to some kind of peace."

That made Niamh change her approach somewhat. "Father…"

"Peter."

"OK, Peter, you just left us alone."

He sighed.  "I know.  Everyone was telling me to stay, but I couldn’t.  I just wanted to keep running. Who knows?  If I didn’t
have my brothers I’d probably still be running to this day.  You had Ambrose and Kieran.  I had no one here.  I desperately
needed someone that really knew me and needed nothing from me.  That’s why I went to Andrew’s.  That’s why I went back
to England.  I had to."

"I really missed you."

"I’m sorry.  But I had to go somewhere where no one was needing me."

"Well, I am glad you came back. I need you now."  He went over to hug her.  She continued telling him of her life and feelings
for Sean Dillon.  They talked more about that through the afternoon.  Finally, she walked Peter down to the pub.

"Orla, whatever he wants, it’s on the house."

"Thanks."

Orla looked at him.

"Ah, pint of lager, please, Orla."

"Ah, Father Clifford, you have to come out from under that vow of poverty once in a while."

"Why?"

"For a change.  Besides, she’s buying."

"Well, maybe I’ll save it for a brandy later, if you’ll join me."

"A date with a priest?"

"Why not?"  Peter could tease back just as well.  He actually was enjoying the banter.

"Fine."  She went to pour his lager.

Brendan had arrived and overheard their conversation.  Coming over to him, he said quietly, "Just what is it with you and
barmaids?"

Peter replied, "A natural attraction."

As usual, Peter was up early the following morning. He wanted to walk up to the hillock where he had held Assumpta’s wake.
Along the way, he thought about the past two days and realized how much he did miss this village.  Even with her gone, it still
feels like my home.  He walked past the Madonna sanctuary but did not stop.

Arriving at the hillock, he found it exactly as he had remembered it.  He sat there for hours, lost in memories.  His conversation
with Niamh had given voice to a feeling of guilt that he had not previously understood.

"Mind if I join you?"

Peter leaped to his feet and turned around to see who had spoken.

"I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t mean to startle you."

"No, that’s all right. I didn’t hear you walk up."

"I’ll leave you alone then, shall I?"

"No, please, join me if you wish, Father."

"Aidan."

"Aidan."

Both men sat down overlooking the lake.

"How do you find Ballyk, Aidan?"

"Wonderful town, Father."

"Peter."

"Peter."

They sat there a while longer in silence.  Peter did not really welcome Aidan’s company but, at the same time, was a little
curious about his successor.  The curiosity was mutual.  Aidan finally broke the silence.

"Ah, Peter, can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"You don’t have to answer…"

"What do you want to know?"

"Why you left."

"Father Mac didn’t tell you?"

"No, all he mentioned was that there was some crisis."

"Interesting.  Kathleen didn’t fill you in on the details?"

"Only that you weren’t able to be curate here anymore."

"Nothing else?"

"No."

"Surprisingly civil of her."

"She is a good woman, Peter."

"Yes, she just doesn’t like the English.  No one else told you why?"

"No.  I didn’t ask everyone but it did seem that no one wanted to say anything."

"I thought the dogs in the street knew."

"Well, I tried them, too, but they wouldn’t talk to me either."

Peter had to smile at that.  He was warming to this new curate and so said, "Well, I’ll just give you the short version of the
story, then."  He did.

Aidan reflected for a while on what he had heard.  It was not at all what he had expected. "How do you feel now after coming
back?"

"More at peace, I suppose.  It seems strangely comforting.  Understand, when I left I had no intention of ever returning."

"Why did you?"

"I was summoned to appear as a witness in a trial."

"But the trial was in Wicklow."

"True.  I came here to see Niamh.  I had only just heard at the trial what happened to Ambrose."

"I’m sure she appreciated it."

"It did us both good, I think."

They sat in silence for a while. "So you stayed a priest even though you were ready to leave."

"Yeah," he said ruefully.

"Well, surely your feelings for your vocation had to have changed following what happened to you."

"True, but I was counseled into staying for at least a little while longer.  Don’t make decisions yet, everyone was telling me.
Everyone knew what I should do except me, it seemed.  At any rate, I stayed."

"But it’s different now, I think. Am I right?"

"Yeah."  Peter turned and looked at him intently.  "How do you know?"

"When you told me what had happened to you, what you went through, there was a lot of emotion in your voice when you
spoke of what it meant to you to be a priest.  Now, your tone is much different, much softer, as if the conviction might still be
there but the fire is gone."

He nodded.  "When Niamh asked if I were still going to do Kieran’s christening, I was trying to tell her why I couldn’t but
again, I could not get the words out.  I did the christening feeling like such a fraud standing up there. It really felt that Father
Clifford died with Assumpta."

"You’re still Father Clifford, though."

"It’s not the same.  But this version of him can still do the job, I think."

"Does this version still want to?"

"That is a recurring litany, Aidan.  I don’t have the answer.  I’ve given up searching for it as well.  I guess I’ve really learned
nothing from Assumpta.  Inaction is still what I do best, at least as far as my own life is concerned."

"Everyone needs time to heal.  If you deny that, it only means you need more time.  But eventually, you have to live your life
again."

"I am."

"Living it? Or still just going through the motions?"

Peter again looked at him in amazement.  He laughed and said, "You’re good, you know? How can someone from a monastery
be so perceptive?"  Peter’s talent at steering conversations away from difficult personal topics was still impressive.

"Maybe that’s why I no longer am in a monastery."

"Why did you leave?"

"I was lonely."

"Lonely?  But you were surrounded by people."

"But not by people I could serve.  I realized I was shutting myself off from the world."

"What triggered that?"

"My sister came to visit."

"Orla?"

"Yes.  She told me it was time to come out into the world and do good out there."

"I can just imagine how that conversation went."  Peter smiled.

"Well, you’ve met her.  What she said made a lot of sense, so I asked for a transfer.  I was told of this opening and I took it."

"And do you like it here?"

"Very much. I can’t understand why anyone would want to leave."

"And now can you?"

"No. The people here missed you."

"And I miss them.  I really did enjoy my time here.  I guess I can finally admit that to myself in spite of how it turned out."

"How long are you here for?"

"I’m leaving Friday. Why?"

"I think you should stay through the weekend."

"I know what you’re thinking. No way."

"Why not? It’s no different than what you do every day in your own Church."

"No way."

"Why not?  What are you afraid of?  A ghost?"

Peter smiled. "Maybe."

"It would do you good to say Mass there this Sunday.  I’ll assist you."

"Father Mac wouldn’t approve."

"Father Mac need not know."

"Sometimes that is for the best."

"I would agree with that."

The conversation moved on to others topics.  They exchanged tales about the locals and Father Mac and other goings on.
Then, Aidan asked, "So, you’ll say mass at St. Joseph’s this Sunday?"

"Tell you what.  Before I say yes or no, let me just go in there alone.  OK?"

"It’s always open for you.  Shall we go back?"

That afternoon, Peter stood across the street for a long time just looking at the stone building that had been so much a part of
his life for almost four years.  He was trying hard to understand his reluctance to enter.  Fitzgerald’s hadn’t been that hard
although he had not been back since his initial visits.  He had other things to do: other people to see.

With a deep breath, he crossed the street and went into the courtyard. He paused to look at the announcements and then
resolutely strode into the church itself.  It did look just as he had remembered it.  He walked over to his old spot in front of the
statue of the Blessed Virgin where he spent so much time trying to decide on just what path to take.  This time, instead of
contemplating the statue, he was contemplating the pew where he sat.  He was thinking about that time of turmoil for himself as
well as for Assumpta.  (Leo did not even remotely enter into his thoughts.)  He thought of what might have been now if she
were still alive.  Oddly, here at least he could think of her with sadness but no tears.  What might have been, but wasn’t.  He
found all this oddly comforting.

He turned around to face the altar.  He sat down in the first row and gazed on it still lost in thought. Aidan joined him.

"Well, Peter, what have you decided?"

"This place is strangely soothing."

"I know what you mean.  When I first came here, I felt a warmth."

"Yeah, I remember feeling that way myself and that was also when Quigley had put a hole in the roof.  It still felt warm and
welcoming."

"That is why I wondered why anyone would want to leave this place.  That is really why I tried to find out why you did."

"When I arrived, Father Mac told me about my predecessor.  He described him as only having come for the suit. When I left, I
told him I had come for more than just the suit but that I didn’t realize what the price would be."

"I almost envy you, Peter."

"Me? Why?"  Peter looked at him totally puzzled.

"Because you have known what it was like to be in love with someone."

Peter looked at him questioningly.  "But, surely, before you became a priest, wasn’t there someone?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It didn’t seem important."

"No female friends?"

"No girlfriends if that’s what you mean."

"Why not?"

"Just wasn’t interested in dating anyone.  Don’t misunderstand me; I’m not gay.  But there never was any one special in my life.
I have no real understanding of the depth of your love or the depth of your loss."

"I’ve wondered whether it is worth it."

"I think it is."

"Careful of that path, Aidan.  It will make you lose your mind or wish that you had."

"No.  I just am saying that I think it gives you a deeper understanding of people, a deeper compassion.  At least that is what I
sense in you."

Peter said nothing.

Aidan continued, "You see, you have a very rare gift.  You have first hand knowledge of what people go through.  In contrast, I
have lived a very sheltered life.  My sister can vouch for this."

"Yet you seem well regarded here."

"At least I’m Irish."

"Yeah, right."

"Sorry.  We have different styles.  I wish I had your practical experience."

"Practical experience?  It’s not worth the price you pay, let me assure you.  You have a quietness about you, a peace that I
admire."

"Two different versions of the priesthood perhaps?"

He had to agree with that.  "All right.  You were right about inviting me back here."

"I know."

"Conceit is a sin, Father."

"It is not conceit when you know a truth, Father."

They both laughed.

"Peter, mass is still at 10."

"No. It is not my place but thank you."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"OK."

"Goodbye and thanks."  Aidan left.  Peter smiled to himself and looked back at the altar. Maybe this is what I needed after
all.

Of course, the next day he did meet with Father Mac when they had lunch at the Peking Duck.  It wasn’t nearly as long as his
talks with Aidan.

"Father, I just want you to know that I wish you had not left as you did."

"What choice did I have?  Could I look people in the face after what I had done?  How I had behaved?  Should I tell you what
a fraud I felt like doing the christening?"

"What about giving Assumpta last rites?"

"It was wrong."

"I disagree."

"I know."

"How do you feel about it now?"

"She did not want it. She had told me."

"When did you talk about it?"

"We had, Father. She did not want it."

"Then, why did you do it?"

He sighed. "I did it for myself."

"Why?"

"Because it was and still is what I believe in.  I forced my beliefs on her but I couldn’t help it.  I want her in heaven."

"I have often wondered why you did it in the end.  I thought you were having difficulty because you no longer believed yourself
to be a priest."

"Ah, no, I was a priest.  I couldn’t shed that collar to save her life."

"Would it have made a difference?"

"Of course."

"You don’t know that. If everyone knew the future, the world would be much different."

"I know.  I still to this day regret the time I wasted.  The life that could have been mine. Ours."

"So?  You have to deal with the life you have now, not what might have been."

"Father, why do you think I came back?"

"Because of Ambrose."

"No.  He was the catalyst, not the reason.  I came back for closure."

"And?"

"And nothing else.  It was very hard for me to come here, even harder than staying here would have been.  However, I am glad
I did."

That caused Father Mac to change his tone. "You know, in an odd sort of way I’m glad you did, too.  I had thought that you
would not leave for Assumpta.  I realize that I was clouding my thoughts in how her parents were with each other.  Looking
back, you would have made a wonderful couple.  The love between you was apparent even when you both were denying it."

Peter smiled.  "So the dogs in the street did know."

The smile was returned.  "Of course, Father.  There was a joy in both of you when you were together.  I first noticed it after the
slave auction when you were tending bar.  I suspect that it had developed very early on and that neither of you were aware of it
then until much much later."

"Maybe we were aware of it.  We just couldn’t believe it."

"That could be true as well.  Anyway, I know you thought I would rather see your backside than your front.  It may have been
true then but I am sincerely glad you came back for a visit."

"Ah, so you didn’t get a call from Kathleen?" Peter teased.

"Oh, Father, indeed I did. I told her that, if he wanted his old position back I would gladly give it to him."

"You didn’t."

"I did.  But that is no gamble. You seem very content where you are."

"True.  I only want to visit.  I could come back here, but Ballyk doesn’t need me.  Aidan is doing quite well."

"You talked with him?"

"Indeed. I am glad Ballyk is in such good hands. The people here deserve it."

"For once, we are in agreement."

Peter’s eyes went wide open.  "In that case, I had better go before this becomes a habit."

Peter sat back in his seat on the plane staring out the window at the receding sight of Ireland.  He felt almost reborn and free.
Was it just because I wanted to see what had become of my friends and to make sure they understood why I left?  Was it
to see if I could survive being in Assumpta’s town without breaking down?  He thought back on his visit and realized that,
for the first time since her death, he could think back on his entire experience there, both good and bad.  Those years were part
of him again.  Pain had given way to a peace.  There was a new energy inside of him and he thought on what Aidan had said
about him just ‘going through the motions’.  He resolved to change that.