Chapter 9
Father Caley MacClenny stumbled along the dusty street, held up on each side by one of the seven sisters sharing the mission and his life in Africa. He was not able to ascertain which of the sisters were tending to him. Nor could he quite remember their names. Except the one he knew wasn’t tending. Sister Mary Sarah, otherwise known as Novas Fairchild.
He pondered her life and why it was entwined in his. She certainly wasn’t going to be any easier to manage after this incident. She had sent him on an errand to assist in saving a man’s life and he had utterly failed her.
She had sent him…
He cringed at the realization of what it meant. She was in charge. He wasn’t.
None of his demands and criticisms had changed that fact. The entire operation of his mission, so steeped in catholic propagation, had diminished to the simple task of her dentistry and the rest supporting it, except when they didn’t support it, which was most of the time. And he was the chief of non-support, with nothing else to offer.
And now, their most valuable contributor to this country’s need for assistance, Sister Mary Sarah, was alone in the vehicle of the head warlord and terrorist of this region, traveling though a shanty town of a single street, surrounded by over 30,000 refugees, which seemed to be made up of mostly young, hungry, male adults, while he was escorted back to the only haven within 100 miles in any direction, except perhaps the hospital, and a haven not because of the religious influence, but because of a single female dentist.
Nothing more sent this revelation home than the appearance of the almost dead man, dumped inside their gate, not because he needed spiritual or even moral assistance, but, because he also could perform dentistry, and as such would overcome their single break in the local custom of considering women as things. By treating him and helping him heal, sufficiently enough to him to care for some real or imagined ache in the son of the warlord, she was sealing her own fate.
And she had to know it.
At best, she could continue serving the women and maybe some children, should any be allowed. Or, perhaps she could be relegated to the same roles the rest played, support to the only valuable work performed at the mission. At worst, she would be sacrificed in order to allow the rest of them to continue.
He had seen the way the warlord looked at her. He knew she was a beautiful woman underneath the robes and crusty attitude. He knew she had been sent, not only because of her participation in some indecent incident, but also because of the potential for more such incidents. She would be worth many times over the value she provided as a dentist, were she in another occupation, which he could imagine might just be in store for her.
Men wanted her. He wanted her. Something he had not felt in the 25 years of his priesthood. Not since the day his Angie had looked back from the carriage she rode in with her new husband. A look, without a wave, that said goodbye as firmly as her rejection of his request that she marry him, and not someone else.
He had dedicated his life to God, not because of sufficient belief, but because the only woman of his life had chosen another. He was a sinner far more than a saint. And she?
Sister Mary Sarah had dedicated her life to God, not because she cared a frick about Him, but because she hated men. And she hated what men wanted to do to her. What his second cousin twice removed on his mother’s side had tried to do to her in Boston. He was in Africa; his cousin was in America, and it still wasn’t far apart enough to be unconnected. No, they were severely connected by this woman. And the almost daily letters written by his crippled cousin reminded him, if nothing else did.
The forbidden fruit was what tasted the most delicious. But, he would never taste that fruit. He was better than that, better than Adam, who couldn’t resist Eve and the fruit. He could, and would, while his heart lay broken and his loins ached.
They were approaching the gate, the walk seemingly taking forever. A few more steps and the ordeal would be over. He could go back to pretending to run the mission, just as before. No one would notice…
“She’s back! She made it. Thank you, blessed Mary, mother of God. Thank you.”
The sound came from of the sisters trailing behind him. The cry was echoed by the rest, not for him, as he walked now alone through the gate, but for her.
He turned and watched as the pickup came to a halt. Tehpoe, still holding the shotgun, banged on the roof and the door opened. She stepped down, her white robe covering all but her face and a few strands of red hair. She was a vision, an angel, and he gasped in spite of himself.
Tehpoe waved the shotgun for attention and locked eyes with Father MacClenny. With the shotgun, Tehpoe pointed at Sister Mary Sarah, now walking away from the truck. With his other hand, he pointed at himself and held up three fingers. The meaning was not mistakable.
He pondered her life and why it was entwined in his. She certainly wasn’t going to be any easier to manage after this incident. She had sent him on an errand to assist in saving a man’s life and he had utterly failed her.
She had sent him…
He cringed at the realization of what it meant. She was in charge. He wasn’t.
None of his demands and criticisms had changed that fact. The entire operation of his mission, so steeped in catholic propagation, had diminished to the simple task of her dentistry and the rest supporting it, except when they didn’t support it, which was most of the time. And he was the chief of non-support, with nothing else to offer.
And now, their most valuable contributor to this country’s need for assistance, Sister Mary Sarah, was alone in the vehicle of the head warlord and terrorist of this region, traveling though a shanty town of a single street, surrounded by over 30,000 refugees, which seemed to be made up of mostly young, hungry, male adults, while he was escorted back to the only haven within 100 miles in any direction, except perhaps the hospital, and a haven not because of the religious influence, but because of a single female dentist.
Nothing more sent this revelation home than the appearance of the almost dead man, dumped inside their gate, not because he needed spiritual or even moral assistance, but, because he also could perform dentistry, and as such would overcome their single break in the local custom of considering women as things. By treating him and helping him heal, sufficiently enough to him to care for some real or imagined ache in the son of the warlord, she was sealing her own fate.
And she had to know it.
At best, she could continue serving the women and maybe some children, should any be allowed. Or, perhaps she could be relegated to the same roles the rest played, support to the only valuable work performed at the mission. At worst, she would be sacrificed in order to allow the rest of them to continue.
He had seen the way the warlord looked at her. He knew she was a beautiful woman underneath the robes and crusty attitude. He knew she had been sent, not only because of her participation in some indecent incident, but also because of the potential for more such incidents. She would be worth many times over the value she provided as a dentist, were she in another occupation, which he could imagine might just be in store for her.
Men wanted her. He wanted her. Something he had not felt in the 25 years of his priesthood. Not since the day his Angie had looked back from the carriage she rode in with her new husband. A look, without a wave, that said goodbye as firmly as her rejection of his request that she marry him, and not someone else.
He had dedicated his life to God, not because of sufficient belief, but because the only woman of his life had chosen another. He was a sinner far more than a saint. And she?
Sister Mary Sarah had dedicated her life to God, not because she cared a frick about Him, but because she hated men. And she hated what men wanted to do to her. What his second cousin twice removed on his mother’s side had tried to do to her in Boston. He was in Africa; his cousin was in America, and it still wasn’t far apart enough to be unconnected. No, they were severely connected by this woman. And the almost daily letters written by his crippled cousin reminded him, if nothing else did.
The forbidden fruit was what tasted the most delicious. But, he would never taste that fruit. He was better than that, better than Adam, who couldn’t resist Eve and the fruit. He could, and would, while his heart lay broken and his loins ached.
They were approaching the gate, the walk seemingly taking forever. A few more steps and the ordeal would be over. He could go back to pretending to run the mission, just as before. No one would notice…
“She’s back! She made it. Thank you, blessed Mary, mother of God. Thank you.”
The sound came from of the sisters trailing behind him. The cry was echoed by the rest, not for him, as he walked now alone through the gate, but for her.
He turned and watched as the pickup came to a halt. Tehpoe, still holding the shotgun, banged on the roof and the door opened. She stepped down, her white robe covering all but her face and a few strands of red hair. She was a vision, an angel, and he gasped in spite of himself.
Tehpoe waved the shotgun for attention and locked eyes with Father MacClenny. With the shotgun, Tehpoe pointed at Sister Mary Sarah, now walking away from the truck. With his other hand, he pointed at himself and held up three fingers. The meaning was not mistakable.
posted by John | 11:43 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home