Chapter 17

“Hide,” Father MacClenny whispered, shoving Novas down the hall.

“Hide? Father, I’m going back into my room. You hide.”

He grabbed her as she opened her door. “Where? Help me.”

“In the rest room. Pick up an empty bucket. Pretend you are hauling up the water.”

He started away, but sprung back, grabbing her arm again. “Where do I get the water?”

“From the pump in the kitchen.” She sprung her arm free and disappeared behind her door.

Father MacClenny had an incredible urge to follow her, but lost his nerve and slipped into the rest room instead. He fumbled around until the fading light from the window was sufficient to see, and then found the buckets and picked up two of them. Although empty, they were heavy; the thick metal-banded wood weighed more than he thought it should. Not that he was going to carry them with water.

He turned just in time to get a lantern in his face. A grizzled man, almost as old as he, faced him. He balanced a rifle across his arm, but looked ready to shoot at a second’s notice.

“What are you doing up here?” The words cracked into Father MacClenny.

“Water,” he gasped. “For the sisters. I carry up their water each night. Too heavy for them.”

He lied. The sin of such a thing came pouring into him. He, a Father, a representative of Christ in this world, had just lied to cover himself, to save himself. He was Peter again, denying his Lord, just to save himself.

He expected to be either struck down or at least ordered to leave, but instead the grizzled man slipped the rifle over one shoulder and picked up the remaining two empty buckets with one had.

“Go,” he commanded, waving the lantern.

Carrying the buckets down the stairs was difficult, but they balanced and the Father managed the trip all the way to the kitchen. He set them down in the center, trying to catch his breath, and looked around. What did a pump look like? He had only been in the kitchen once or twice, as it was the domain of the sisters, so he had decided.

He studied the main sink, but only saw more buckets. The sink had no faucets. He could feel the sweat running down his neck as the old man waited and watched him. Over in a corner, almost out of the lantern light, he spotted it, or what he hoped was it. He picked up a bucket and moved in that direction.

The old man was suddenly in front of him. “I’ll pump; you hold.”

Hold? Hold the bucket as it filled with water? Father MacClenny could barely hold the bucket empty. He prayed for strength, but at the same time felt hopeless. He was about to be found out, if not already

“Stop!” The sound recoiled off his ears. He spun around, wondering whose voice it was. Sister Mary Sarah stood in the doorway, a long wooden stick in her hand. Was she going to hit someone with it?

“Father, you know you can’t carry water anymore. You are too old. And two buckets without the yoke, shame on you.” She took his bucket and set it in the basin under the pump. “Pump, please.”

The old man almost smiled as he expertly filled the bucket, then the second when the Sister replaced it. “You have carried water,” he said, pointing at the Sister. “He has not.”

Father MacClenny braced himself. This was it. His lie was now in the open. He readied himself for the consequences. Liars deserved punishment, and he would accept his.

Instead, the old man helped Sister Mary Sarah balance the yoke across her shoulders and slipped the buckets into place when she bent down. “Thank you,” she said, easily stood with the two full buckets, and left.

Father MacClenny gasped, watching her easily carry them away.

“You carry no water,” the grizzled man observed. “You sightseeing up there?”

“I was looking for…” Father MacClenny was not going to lie, but the truth was not an option either.

“Don’t worry, dear Father. You’re secret is safe with me.” The old man waved him out of the kitchen. “Living with six young women. No one believes you keep your pecker celebrate, or that they don’t care for all your needs.”

Outrage. Never had he been spoken to as such. Nothing in his life had ever prepared him for such a situation. He had lied, and the sin was far greater punished then he could have imagined. He had not received physical wounds, as he had expected. No, the wounds were much worse, clear down into his soul. He had betrayed his calling and the consequences were more than he could bear. He retreated to his room at the other end of the mission, beyond the scores of men watching him run through the chapel. Once in his room, he fell on his bed and wept bitterly.