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St. Mark's, the oldest and smallest parish in Bingham. Most of the more affluent faithful had moved on to Holy Family in Idle Glen or Most Pure Heart in Penticton, and those remaining were either elderly, financially challenged or both. The church reflected its members as a whole, a reality not lost on its pastor, Father Thomas Patrick Flannery. Father Tom paralleled his parish in many ways, but held tightly to his faith in the face of an increasingly cynical and unkind world. Thomas praised God every day for his vocation, for it tended to insulate him from a world he honestly felt was slowly but steadily going mad. While Satan smiled sweetly, the pathway to Hell was being steadily and inexorably excavated.
Since the parish school was no longer being used for that purpose, Father rented the gymnasium to the city as one venue for their inter-mural basketball leagues. The income was sorely needed just to keep the lights on and the floor buffed. The rest of the facility had been shut down for ten years, despite the promises from the Bishop that funds would be forthcoming to restore it to a functional state. Tom knew even if this were true, they wouldn't be able to find enough sisters to staff it. St. Mark's would become just another state-mandated factory, even if they were allowed to keep their one small concession to discipline, their uniforms. Catholic education couldn't restore the values of the past. Parents no longer insisted that their children behave, either at home or in public.
Tom walked into the rectory, and as he hung his jacket on the coat-tree beside the door, he heard sobbing from the small altar area used for his daily meditation and devotion. As he entered the small room, he discerned the kneeling form of Esther Overstreet, prayer shawl on her head and rosary beads in her hand. She looked up at him to acknowledge his presence.
"I'm sorry I disturbed you, Esther, please continue."
Father Tom turned to exit and Esther's voice cracked, "No… wait, Father! Please stay. I need to talk to you."
Tom Flannery knew the woman was distraught. She'd worked for him for nearly ten years, and he'd never seen her this troubled. "Are you okay?"
She shook her head in the negative and clutched her rosary beads tightly. Tom saw the tears staining her cheeks, and put his finger under her chin.
Their eyes met briefly as she turned her head.
"Is it Sidney? Is he all right?" Tom’s eyes searched for meaning in her tears.
"Tom, last night he asked me if we were sleeping together." Her voice trailed off, and she looked away from him as the words left her mouth. Esther's eyes filled with tears, and a sob escaped.
Father Flannery took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, attempting to erase the scene. He closed his eyes, sighed, and steeled himself to respond. Words came difficult.
"What did you tell him?"
"I didn't know what to say, Tom. I shook him, and it was all I could do to keep from slapping his face. I'll never forget the look in his eyes. He looked into my soul and saw the lie I've been living his whole life."
Again, she looked away, as though the sight of the priest was repugnant to her. She wore her guilt for the world to see.
"Do you think he knows?" Tom didn't know where the words came from. He was barely able to utter them, as though their weight was too great to bear.
Esther turned and faced Tom. "I'm not sure, but one thing is certain, he isn't afraid of finding out. What are we going to do, Tom, that boy doesn't deserve this! I've always told him that I don't know where his father is, or if he's even alive. How do I look him in the eye and tell him his father is his priest?"
Father Tom wasn't looking at Esther, now. He stared at the Crucifix before him. After a pause, he slowly and softly grazed his fingers over hers, and spoke without looking at her.
" I don't know. Do we risk telling him, or do nothing?"
"Do nothing? Tom, that's what we've been doing for sixteen years! It's an open sore that won't heal and it's spreading. You and I both have it, and now Sidney has it, too."
Her eyes were now blazing as she confronted the man. "He's your son, for God's sake, Tom, don't you think he has the right to know that?"
"Of course he has the RIGHT, Esther, but is the proper time now? Do you think he's emotionally equipped to handle it? He's sixteen, not twenty-six. Don't we run the risk of inflicting some pretty heavy psychological damage?"
Tom looked down at the petite woman and remembered the first time he met her. Esther was as beautiful now as then, and he loved her the same way he had the night Sidney was conceived, their last night together before he left for seminary. Tom hadn't known about Sidney until he returned to St. Mark's eleven years ago. It hurt him to see her like this, and he didn't know whether it was out of selfishness or cowardice that he wanted to keep the secret.
"I honestly don't know, Tom. I think he may already know, but I don't understand how. I've never spoken of you in any way except as our parish priest and a good friend. I think he just read between the lines. Maybe he's seen the looks that we share from time to time, I don't know."
Her voice once again trailed off, and the defiance was gone. Just her luck to sleep with the man one time and get pregnant… why had God punished them this way? Hadn’t she raised her son and kept his father in his life, even if he didn’t know it? Hadn’t she lived her life in obeisance to God, forsaking all contact with men? There were more questions than answers.
"We've been so stupid. "
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