by Evelyn James
He had considered joining the army when he was old enough, but his health and fitness excluded him. It was by chance he learned of the priesthood. He had been caught in the rain while walking home from school one day. His mother always insisted he avoid getting wet as she feared it would ruin his already poor health. Knowing this, when the heavens opened he had dived for cover in the nearest place he could find. It happened to be a Roman Catholic Church.
“That was the turning point, my eyes were opened,” Dobson explained.
He was taken under the wing of a kindly old priest, who taught the boy what he could about God and religion. Dobson became fascinated, but was at first reluctant to pursue his new passion as it was not practical or capable of putting food on the family table. To encourage the boy, the old priest explained to Dobson that he could become a Father too one day. He would have a job and money to send to his family, without having to perform the manual labour he struggled with.
“And that was that,” Dobson smiled. “My father was unhappy at first, my mother thought I was going to be snatched away. But my mentor came to see them and explained everything in detail. I never looked back. I live a frugal life and all my spare money I send back to my parents. It feels good knowing I can help them at last.”
Dobson opened the door to the summerhouse and Clara stepped inside. It was several degrees warmer in the building, the large windows having channelled and contained the sunshine outside. It was very pleasant. There were several wicker chairs in the building and Dobson motioned for her to take one. He sat nearby.
“I sympathised with Christian when he arrived. His father had not understood his calling either, but whereas my father was prepared to accept my decision, Christian’s nearly disowned him,” Dobson leaned back in his chair. “Christian wanted to achieve so much. He was driven, determined, but I feared his passion would get the better of him.”
“How so?” Clara asked.
“I feared he would exhaust his enthusiasm,” Dobson said, frowning as he endeavoured to compose his thoughts. “Sometimes people think they have a calling and go for that calling with such passion that they burn themselves out through their endeavours. I don’t know, I felt that Christian could become disillusioned, perhaps even turn his back on religion. He was too over-zealous.
“The other tutors here did not seem to see it. They loved his enthusiasm. Any task, challenge or outside course they came up with Christian instantly volunteered for it. He would take on anything as if that was the only way he could prove himself good enough for the clergy. I soon saw a great cloak of weariness overcoming him. He was so tired, so worn out that he struggled to remember why he was studying in the first place. That is a dangerous thing. He was in peril of growing to resent the very calling that had brought him here in the first place.”
“However, he did become an ordained priest,” Clara said.
Dobson nodded.
“There were a couple of occasions when I thought he was going to give up. I had words with him, said he needed to be less intense about his training. He did not have to volunteer for everything to prove himself worthy.”
“He felt unworthy of becoming a priest?” Clara asked.
“Yes. Another of Christian’s failings was his own self-doubt. He questioned himself constantly, believed that he was somehow more flawed than anyone else. He thought that none of the others ever had doubts or sinful thoughts. He was trying to hold himself to an impossible standard and I had my concerns that one day this would overwhelm him.”
Clara felt this was a good time to reveal her true reasons for being there.
“There were rumours, after Father Lound vanished in Belgium, that he had committed some form of treachery against his country,” she said carefully. “His sister does not believe this and has asked me to get to the bottom of the accusations. Part of the reason I came here was to discover if Christian Lound had the potential to be a traitor. You said he was an idealist, does that mean he might have done something which could have been perceived as betraying his own people, for an idealistic reason?”
Dobson had seemed surprised by her statement, but he shook this off rapidly and considered her question.
“Christian was a man of principle. I don’t think he would have betrayed his country, at least, not for financial gain. And he never struck me as a man who was anything less than patriotic.”
“But what if a situation occurred that placed him in a difficult position, torn between his principles and his patriotism?”
“What sort of situation?” Dobson asked.
Clara could only shake her head.
“That I don’t know.”
“Christian was different, but different does not mean wrong or bad. He just saw things in ways that others did not,” Dobson mused. “He judged people by their actions, not their nationality or their gender, or even their job. If he thought a priest was a bad man he would not be afraid to say as much. Even to their face.”
“Did people like him at the seminary?” Clara asked.
“He had many friends,” Dobson agreed. “I could give you some names, if it would help? Unfortunately, he also had enemies. When he saw hypocrisy or simply behaviour that was inappropriate for a would-be priest, he called it out. People don’t like that sort of thing.”
“Would these enemies be prepared to slander his name and reputation?” Clara asked.
Dobson did not answer at once, his gaze drifted out the window to the sunny gardens. He pursed his lips.
“Maybe,” he said at last. “He never cared about that, of course. He was a good man. But then, everyone always says that about the people they like. His sister would not have asked you to look for him if she thought any differently.”
“Do you think he could have betrayed his country?” Clara decided to be more direct. Dobson, like everyone else, was hedging.
Dobson’s frown deepened, he seemed to have trouble conjuring up the right words, when he spoke it was with hesitation.
“I want to say no, I want to say that Christian’s patriotism was unquestionable. But the truth is, I am not sure. Patriotism is not a real thing, it’s not a person. It is a concept and it is hard to be loyal to a concept. It is just as hard to be loyal to a country, which again is a concept. You could argue that your ‘country’ is its people, or it might be considered the king and what he stands for, or it could be some artificial notion of place and being. Whichever way you look at it, it is vague.
“Place next to that notion a person – a living, breathing person – and you have to ask yourself, would I do something for this person at the expense of my country? Of course, it depends on your relationship with that person, but there is a good chance that the answer, if you cared enough about that individual and believed in them, would be yes. Supposing you had a choice of helping someone in desperate danger at the expense of your country? Where does patriotism stand in such an equation? As a priest, I am afraid the needs of a person must come before any concept of loyalty to a place, a king or even the conventional politics of war.”
Clara considered this.
“What you are saying is that Father Lound may have betrayed his country, but not for the reasons we might imagine traitors consider, rather, for Christian principles?”
Father Dobson shrugged his shoulders.
“If he betrayed his country. And I might be wrong. Christian, however, struck me as a man who was always trying to do what was right, and what is right is not always what you are supposed to do.”
Clara sat back in her chair, taking in this information. It was not the sort of thing Emily would want to hear. She believed her brother incapable of betrayal, whatever she said to the contrary, Clara saw in her eyes and manner that she was convinced Christian was innocent. It was going to hurt her a lot to be wrong.
“Do you know anything about Albion Hope, the organisation Christian worked for in Belgium?”
“I do,” Father Dobson nodded. “I visited it once. Father Creek was very angry abou
t my insistence on going abroad during a time of war, but I needed to see for myself what war did to men. I had to see the blood, the bullet wounds, the dead, all for myself. I have always been something of a pacifist. My experiences in Belgium only confirmed my belief that war is evil.”
“We had to stop the Germans,” Clara pointed out. “Should we have just stood by and let them overrun Belgium?”
Father Dobson frowned.
“I like to think there was another way, a peaceful way.”
“If a man is determined to attack you, kill you even, then peaceful words rarely change that. Sometimes you have to fight back in self-defence. I don’t like it, but when a nation draws arms on innocents, we have to act,” Clara sighed sadly. “I hope we never experience such a war again.”
“Man is a destructive creature,” Dobson mused. “I saw that in Belgium. But I was given hope by the sight of a house dedicated to restoring some peace to the men serving. If only such a thing could have been multiplied a hundred times over, all along the Front.”
“Did you see Father Lound there?”
“He invited me,” Father Dobson smiled. “We exchanged letters quite often.”
“You have letters from Father Lound?” Clara said, feeling a sudden pang of excitement. “From his time at the Front?”
“Yes, a few,” Dobson said. “Up until early 1917, I believe, then we stopped communicating.”
“Why?”
Dobson blushed and dropped his head, looking embarrassed.
“I had a crisis of faith,” he admitted unhappily. “At that time I was helping a lot in the local villages, assisting them to fund raise for the troops and put together care packages. We raised enough to buy a tank, you know.”
“Impressive, especially for a pacifist,” Clara said, though her words were not sarcastic.
Father Dobson tilted his head.
“Fair point. I did not always abide by the principles I held, not in that instance, at least. I also had other things on my mind, which swayed my judgement,” Dobson groaned to himself. “You must not repeat any of this, I am only telling you this in case it has any bearing on the situation with Father Lound. Perhaps the fact I cut off our friendship contributed to his later disappearance, I do not know. I have always felt bad that I behaved so churlishly, but by the time I was suitably contrite, the war had ended, and I did not know where Christian was to write to him and apologise. Besides, the longer things went on without me apologising, the harder it felt to compose a letter. Maybe Father Lound needed me later on and I was not there.”
“You cannot really know that,” Clara gently reassured him.
Father Dobson just sighed.
“You are kind, but the truth is I know that Christian felt alone and isolated. He had the other priests at Albion Hope, yes, but they were much older than him and he saw them as superiors rather than friends,” Dobson’s mouth drooped sadly. “It all came down to my own silliness. I became infatuated with the woman in charge of the fund raising. I began to think I was in love and, of course, that was completely against my oath to God. I was confused and worried. I wrote to Christian about it, he was the only one I dared reveal myself to. It helped that he was abroad and I did not have to look him in the face to confess. However, his reply shocked me.”
“Why was that?” Clara asked.
“Christian told me that God would not deny me love, that he had placed this woman in my path for the very reason of giving me the chance to be happy. He said I should consider ignoring my spiritual promises and abandon the priesthood to go with this woman if I truly loved her!”
Father Dobson looked appalled and amazed by the suggestion, as if it had only just been made to him. Clearly it had shocked him senseless.
“Quite a remarkable thing to say,” Clara noted.
“I was angered by his response. It was suggesting that there were things out there greater than the promise I had given to God, a promise that I had sworn to uphold all my days! I am not the sort of priest to ignore my vows, I know some would…” Father Dobson became solemn. “I did not think Christian was that sort of priest either, but his words shamed me and made me so upset that I became quite petty about it all and never wrote a reply. I suppose Christian guessed, as he only wrote a couple more letters and then desisted. I failed to be forgiving and all these years that fact has haunted me.”
“Could I see the letters you did receive from Christian? They may be of use to me.”
“You can have them,” Father Dobson said. “Now Christian is missing, I cannot ask his forgiveness and they sit and taunt me instead.”
“One last thing,” Clara said. “Did you ever meet a boy named Ramon at Albion Hope?”
Father Dobson frowned.
“I may have done. There were several lads who helped out at the house from time to time. They were paid to do odd jobs and run errands. I never really paid attention to their names, however.”
“No matter,” Clara smiled. “You have been very helpful.”
Father Dobson shrugged.
“Not to Christian,” he said miserably.
Chapter Seven
Annie took a cup of tea to Tommy, who was sitting in the morning room at the back of the house. At one time this had been changed to a bedroom for Tommy. He had come home from the war in a wheelchair and had been unable to go upstairs to use his original bedroom. Four years later, he had regained the use of his legs and the morning room had been returned to its former function.
Tommy’s legs might be fixed, but the demons that had chased him home from the Front still clung to him. Shaking them off might be the work of a lifetime. There was just no telling when they might spring up. Like this moment, right now; talk of Belgium had stirred the monsters within Tommy’s psyche and left him restless and unhappy. Annie did not know how to fix that, so she did what she knew best, she made tea and cooked comforting food, in the hope that this would solve the problem.
Tommy was stood by the tall windows looking out into the garden, which was a fraction overgrown. He glanced up as Annie entered.
“More tea? That is my fifth cup today,” he said, teasing.
“It will do you good,” Annie set the cup on a small occasional table.
“If only tea was the solution to life’s endless battles,” Tommy said gently. “Thank you.”
Annie frowned, annoyed she had been caught out in her efforts.
“I did not mean it harshly,” Tommy apologised. “I appreciate your concern.”
“Tea made me feel a lot better when I was recovering from my operation,” Annie said, still annoyed that her secret efforts had been noticed. “Tea is very good for you.”
“It is Annie, and your tea is certainly the finest,” Tommy came over and gave her a hug, holding her tight.
For a moment Annie was surprised, then she relaxed and put her arms around him. Tommy dipped his head down, resting it on the top of hers and gave a long sigh.
“When did life get so complicated Annie?”
“It isn’t complicated,” Annie answered. “You just take it moment by moment. And if things get upsetting, you have a cup of tea.”
“Oh, if only I could be so sensible!” Tommy squeezed her lightly and then stepped back. “I am afraid my old head is a muddle of thoughts right now. Stuff full of jumbled nonsense, like a messy bundle of string that has been allowed to develop into lots of twists and knots.”
“Then we have to unknot you,” Annie reached up and stroked his cheek.
“If you have any ideas how, just say,” Tommy chuckled, trying to seem easy-going about it all. The chuckle was forced, and it was apparent he was hurting quite deeply inside. “I would gladly get my head fixed.”
“I know where you can start,” Annie said softly.
Tommy hesitated.
“Really?” He said uneasily.
“You know how to start too,” Annie added. “That is why you are in such a pickle. You know the answer, you are just afraid to admit it to yourself, because a
cting on the solution seems scary.”
“You are speaking in riddles,” Tommy pulled away and walked back to the window.
Annie stood with her hands on her hips for a moment, contemplating leaving the room or continuing the discussion. She tapped her foot twice, then decided she was not leaving.
“Thomas Fitzgerald, I can tell you how to unloosen one of those knots in your head, but I would only be repeating to you what you already know.”
“What do I already know?” Tommy grumbled, folding his arms.
“That you have to go to Belgium.”
Tommy flashed a sharp look at her, his eyes blazing for a moment with a mixture of anger and hurt. Annie stood her ground.
“The reason you are in such a dither is because, deep down, you know that going back to Belgium would help you. It would scare off some of those demons that won’t leave you be. It would also make you feel better about yourself.”
“I feel perfectly all right about myself!” Tommy snapped.
“No, you don’t,” Annie softened her tone. “You are angry that you are afraid to go back. That makes you dislike yourself a little, and that is a very bad thing. If you didn’t feel like that, you wouldn’t be spending all this time moping.”
“I’m upset because I don’t want Clara to go to Belgium alone, and no one else seems to appreciate that.”
“Yes, you are upset because you don’t want Clara to go alone, but you also feel unable to go with her,” Annie explained to him patiently. “You need to realise that.”
Tommy turned his back on her and glared out the window. Annie had known this conversation was going to be hard and was not surprised that he was fighting her. She didn’t need him to change his mind at that immediate moment, she just needed him to start thinking about changing his mind.
