Where To From Here?

by Ursula Paul

  “We can keep an eye on her a school.”

  Two days later Joe returned to the Huntly’s home. Once again knocks on the front door proved fruitless. Once again Joe practised his climbing and vaulting skills. The house was still but the back door was open.

  “It’s Father Joe, Mary,” he called out as he knocked loudly.

  She soon shuffled out. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.

  Joe looked at this frail little lady. “Mary, please think of Jody if you won’t think of yourself. You don’t have to take this. A government agency would take care of you both. You don’t have to take this!”

  “No!” she whispered. “Thanks Father. Please go.”

  Dejectedly, Joe returned home.

  “What can we do?” he questioned Steven.

  “There is nothing more you can do. The school will keep an eye on the little girl. They will watch her for psychological or physical abuse. As for her mother, we will call now and then, but…”

  Joe felt compelled to take the advice of his elder. Years later he heard news of mother and daughter. Jody had left home as soon as she was old enough. Mary had remained with her abusive husband.

  The next month Bruce returned and Joe was saying farewell to his new-found friends in parish and school. He knew he would miss them all – in particular Steven, who had been friend and mentor.

  Chapter Five

  From his first day in Bathurst, Joe realized that life in a city – even a country one – was different from that in a country town. The pace was faster. Yet the highs and lows of life were similar. Also, Joe realized that his life here would be fairly ordered. He was the youngest of the parish staff of four priests and the Bishop, who, quite often was away in different parts of the diocese.

  Joe soon learned where he fitted into parish life and where he would be given special time out for his role as chaplain to the new CYMS club. He was grateful that rosters were so well organized, without which chaos could have reigned. He would celebrate his week day Mass in town. But at weekends there were always times both in and out of town in the country districts. Because of time needed in the new venture of CYMS, he was not expected at any of the many parish meetings.

  During his first week in Bathurst, Bishop Neil advised him of the progress in the formation of the new Club.

  “We’ve begun to advertise it,” the bishop began. “I’ve noted some who could be leaders. But see what you think. I suppose you have looked over constitutions of like clubs – that is if you found them in your office.”

  “Yes, thanks Bishop. I’ve just skimmed through them. They seem similar. Gives us an idea on how to frame ours.”

  “Now for an initial meeting – to introduce it – perhaps even get it started. Naturally, I want to be there. I think we need a few weeks of getting all the ideas together before any meeting. How about the middle of next month? That gives us time to have a few planning meetings before then.”

  “Sure!” Joe agreed.

  Joe soon discovered that the beginning of this club was not set on any evolving course.

  Although he regarded himself as being rather easy going, he soon found organizing skills of which he was previously unaware. With the help of Tim, a friend from school days , and some of Tim’s friends, the group soon had preliminary steps in place.

  “We’re almost ready!” he conveyed with a smile to the bishop on the day prior to the opening meeting.

  Chapter Six

  The meeting had been not only well organized but also well advertised. Tim was elected president and committee positions filled by other helpers. A good omen for a smooth start, thought Joe. It was clear from the number of young men attending and their obvious enthusiasm that the Bathurst branch of CYMS was off to a fine start.

  “We’re not letting any grass grow under our feet,” Tim related to Joe the next week.

  “Just want to run this by you first – was going to advertise formation of sports teams. I thought we’d start with league with winter coming up. And cricket later in the year. Perhaps other sports later. And now with the girls getting together with the new NCGM starting here, we could organize dances together.”

  “Your thinking cap has worked overtime,” Joe laughed. “Great ideas. And with the enthusiasm of the committee, I’d reckon we could have at least a couple of teams in the local league comp. this year. Now – my request – one Sunday a month a special Mass to bring Club members together.”

  “Sure, Joe.”

  Strong enthusiasm and innate skills found in members brought their hopes and plans into reality. The new Club was ready to field a team in three grades of the city’s League competition, with no dearth of trainers, managers or helpers for any of the teams. Joe’s expertise as a footballer was noticed as he helped with the early training. Submitting to pressure from players and trainers, he agreed to play in the initial A Grade team – only until they became established he insisted. (Little was he or anyone else to know at that time, they forged so well as a team that he was pressured to remain right to the end of the season when they were hosted as Premier runners-up.)

  Joe was apprehensive on the eve of the first of the monthly liturgies for the Club. It was obvious the social side of the Club was well on the growth path. But his call was as a spiritual leader, not a sports leader. Some of the mothers had decided that a banner was needed and, after a few sewing days, had produced one similar to those of like clubs. There it stood, indicating the section for members to congregate. What if no one or only one or two come, Joe thought.

  Prior to the opening prayers of the Mass, he happily admitted to himself that he had worried for nothing. Thank You, was the prayer from his heart. The section cordoned off for the group was hopelessly inadequate as more and more green-blazered young men filed into the church. Joe knew from that moment his ministry as a chaplain had begun.

  How full his days became as more and more the ministry of parish curate and club chaplain overlapped. At first life seemed to be a bowl of cherries – all sweet and tasty. As the weeks slipped by he became more immersed in the lives of those to whom he was to minister. Yet, more and more, he knew he was part of their world, not apart from it. He was more than the Club’s chaplain; he was friend and sharer of their joys and problems.

  The first dance organized by the committees of both CYMS and the girls’ group NCGM was viewed in advance with apprehension by both clubs. Joe felt obliged to attend, but was not looking forward to it. He had loved dancing prior to seminary days. And he had to admit he would still enjoy it. He did not know his Bishop’s thinking, so decided he had better steer clear of the dancing floor!

  The night had been well planned and was very well attended. Joe wandered around the hall, caught up in conversation as he moved. A great success, he thought. We’ll have more of these! I’ll have to find out the bishop’s views on priest’s dancing, he smiled to himself.

  “So you’re above talking to old country friends, are you!”

  He turned quickly to be greeted by a pair of laughing purple eyes. She was beautiful. His memory stirred at the sight of those eyes and her deep auburn hair.

  “Don’t look so worried, Joe,” she laughed. “I don’t expect any of my old friends to recognize me.”

  “Naomi!” he exclaimed. “It is Naomi.”

  “Good on you Joe. You’ve recognized me faster than most. Since last we met I’ve had plastic surgery to remove that terrible scar. So it’s changed me a bit. But, underneath it’s still me!”

  “How good to see you again. You look great. And you sound like the old Naomi!”

  They both laughed. “I am still the same old Naomi!”

  Naomi explained briefly that she was now the REC at one of the primary schools, adding, “I don’t want to hold you up here. We’ll have to catch up later.”

  Joe continued his slow circling of the dance hall, continuously stopping or being pulled up to chat. But his surprise encounter remained foremost in his thoughts. How good to catch up wit
h Naomi again. How pleased he had been to see her. What a beauty she was now.

  “We’ll have to have more of these,” Tim commented as he and the committee locked up at the end of the night.

  “You’ve done a fine job Tim,” Joe answered. “The Club is off to a great start!”

  Chapter Seven

  In Joe’s diary for the next day was scrawled ‘Bishop’s meeting’. Joe smiled as he glanced at it. He was not likely to forget. Six months had flown so quickly. His bishop knew about most of the Club’s activities. Now he wanted a full report from the committee and a separate one from Joe.

  The bishop greeted him warmly. “Well, Joe, it seems the Club is off the ground and progressing well. Tim has given me a fairly comprehensive report. I’d like you to go over it with me sometime. But, first, let’s go in to lunch.”

  The meal was delicious and Joe was grateful that the Bishop had invited the other priests to join. This was always a chance for a group idea or a problem to be presented to the bishop. But, this day nothing surfaced.

  “No problems!” Bishop commented at the end of the meal. “Well, unfortunately, I have a potential one. Mind you, for now this must be completely between us here. The primary school principal and some of the teachers are worried about one of the pupils – Chelsea – quite a bright young lady. But recently her marks have significantly dropped. And the girl herself, once a happy out-going personality, has withdrawn – quite noticeably. The principal is quite worried – seems no explanation. She has tried to talk to the girl, who seems to belong to a normal, happy family. The parents, too, are worried and have taken her to a counsellor – no answers there. I’m mentioning this to you all now so you are aware of what could be a problem of the future.”

  Joe could feel his ‘bowl of cherries’ view of life fading as he quickly commented, “Surely not the future, Bishop. This is a problem for the present – right now! We need to discover what is troubling Chelsea. And how we can help!”

  “Nicely put,” Bishop replied stiffly. “But there’s nothing we can do until we know if there is a problem and, if so, what it is. It’s really not our problem if it turns out to be family business.”

  “Oh yes it is!”

  “We have a responsibility!”

  “Suffer the little children!”

  Comments, thick and fast, were bursting from all present.

  “All right,” conceded the bishop. “We’ll do what we can. But – most importantly – no word to outsiders. Think of what the press could make of it!”

  “Perhaps help solve the problem,” whispered one of the young priests.

  Joe’s meeting with the bishop after the others had left seemed like an anti-climax.

  Joe had prepared a comprehensive report, clearly showing all the bishop wished to know.

  It was with a heavy heart that Joe left the meeting. Suddenly the thought struck him – Chelsea attended the school at which Naomi was the REC. In her position she must know of the problem. The call to the school was answered – yes, she was still there; yes, the call would be put through. He felt a touch of relief to hear a soft, “Yes?”

  “Naomi, it’s Joe. How about coffee?”

  Taken aback, “What! Now!”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Okay. Give me fifteen minutes – say at the café in High Street.”

  “Fine – see you then.”

  Joe was waiting when she arrived and greeted him, “Glad to see you again.”

  “Me too,” Joe mumbled, noticing her tenseness.

  Coffee ordered, Joe immediately broached the subject. “Naomi, I intended calling you soon – more socially to talk of old times. But the reason for this rushed call is the result of lunch with the bishop today and what was discussed.”

  She listened without interruption while he recounted in full the bishop’s report to the group of priests and their responses. He concluded, “He has instructed us not to mention this to anyone. But I knew you would already be aware of the whole story.”

  Her tenseness eased as she replied, “I’m so glad you decided to call me. At school we are also sworn to secrecy – but all so worried about Chelsea. There is something seriously wrong. She was always such a bright, happy girl. Now…” Her eyes filled with tears as she continued, “It’s so pathetic. It’s as though all life has been drained from her. The counsellor whom the family engaged discovered nothing but contends she has been abused in some way. She is adamant she will not be physically examined. It’s a massive worry.”

  “What about the family?” Joe asked. “Any likelihood of abuse there?”

  “Of course that’s the first question we’ve asked ourselves. Her mother and father seem a pleasant, caring couple – of course that could be a cover – but I believe they are what they appear – a loving couple who really care for their children. Chelsea is the eldest, with a younger sister and baby brother. They are a well respected family – I feel rather angry that suspicion is falling their way.”

  “What about her teachers?” Joe asked.

  Naomi showed her surprise as she answered, “I would hope there is no problem there. You have met Mrs. Brady, the principal and you know me. Apart from us there’s Brother John, the deputy, Brother Roger, Brother William and four lay teachers, Brad Reynolds, Dennis Hoply, Sandra Wright and Kath Williams.”

  “Okay. From another angle, when did Chelsea change so dramatically?”

  “That’s something we’ve been thinking about. It’s hard to pinpoint it. But it seems about three months ago. It wasn’t long after the Year Six excursion.”

  “Could something have happened during that excursion?”

  “We don’t know. No one seems to know anything! The sad thing is that the family, who are suffering the most, are the ones under suspicion.”

  As they parted Joe spoke softly, “Thanks Naomi. Call me any time this gets you down.”

  Chapter Eight

  Joe was returning to the presbytery after celebrating an early Mass at the Cathedral, when one of his young priest friends called out. Joe turned and waited until his friend caught up.

  “Oh Joe, have you heard?” He was visibly distressed.

  “Brian, what is it?”

  “It’s young Chelsea. She’s dead!”

  “What!”

  “She jumped in front of a train last night. Killed on impact! That poor, lovely kid!”

  “Yes,” whispered Joe. His thoughts were tumbling. That poor kid! What horror drove her? Could any of us have saved her? Her family! What hell they must be going through!

  Fifteen minutes later he was ringing the front door-bell of the Browns’ home. He did not know the family but had immediately felt drawn to come. The door was opened by a middle-aged lady he presumed to be a neighbour or close friend.

  “I’m Joe Frazer, one of the priests here,” he introduced himself.

  “I’m Aileen, Chelsea’s grandmother; just arrived from Sydney!”

  His immediate reaction was to gently hug her. “I’m so sorry!” he whispered.

  She brushed her tears aside and invited him inside.

  The hush of the room knocked him as he entered. Rose Brown rose to greet him. “Thanks for coming,” she whispered as Joe took both her hands in his and squeezed them for lack of appropriate words.

  “Sit down, Father,” from Aileen. “Friends have taken the young two.”

  “And Leo is resting,” Rose added.

  “I think it’s time for truth!” Aileen spoke strongly. “Perhaps you are not aware of it Father. But since Chelsea’s personality changed so dramatically, apparently Leo has been put in the frame as the culprit, even as a molester!”

  “No, Mum. Please! No more.”

  “Yes!” Aileen was adamant. “My son is no molester. He’s been a great husband and father. He’s not only lost a daughter he so dearly loved, but is now being accused – not openly, but still accused – of her changed personality and, ultimately, her death.”

  Rose began to sob. Joe leaned ove
r and gently patted her hand.

  “He is a wonderful husband and father!” Rose’s sobs continued.

  “I’m sure he is.”

  As he spoke Joe heard the door open and Leo Brown entered. Joe had witnessed men in grief before. This man was obviously overcome in his.

  “Thanks for coming,” he whispered as he took Joe’s hand. “Please pray for our Chelsea.”

  “Of course!” Joe squeezed tightly the hand he held, as intuition whispered loudly, this man did not harm his daughter.

  Before leaving Joe prayed softly with them and for them.

  As he drove away, Joe knew he must see the bishop.

  Chapter Nine

  The Requiem Mass a few days later was one Joe would never forget – for the utter grief that pervaded the whole packed Cathedral. As one of the concelebrants, he witnessed almost devastation in the faces of Chelsea’s parents, bewilderment in those of her siblings and deep sadness in the faces of relatives and friends. The Bishop, as main celebrant, spoke of the tragedy of the circumstances but hope in a hopeless situation. The Principal broke down when reminding all present of the happy young girl she had had the privilege to know and teach. A family friend traced her young life in all its successes and happiness until the recent tragedy. Joe knew that all these people facing him from the body of the Cathedral felt sadness to some extent – sadness for the life of such a beautiful young person cut short so tragically.

  But he could not even imagine the extent of the grief Chelsea’s parents were experiencing.

  Mechanically he joined in the liturgy but his mind kept returning to the horror, the utter despair and pain of this young girl to drive her to this.

  At the conclusion of the liturgy, the coffin was carried from the Church, flanked by rows of students, and Chelsea taken to her final resting place.

  Yes, Chelsea is at peace now, thought Joe. But even when the truth comes out – and the truth will come out, he assured himself – there will always be a hole in the lives of her parents.