Father Briar and The Angel

by Rita Saladano

  “I needed you to stand up for me!”

  “What if Gosha or your mother found out about the affair? I can’t have any of this. It would be a scandal. I would be ruined!”

  “I felt ruined.”

  Cedric thought for a while with his eye still on Julianna, who frowned back at him.

  “I need to talk with the Lord,” Cedric said, in a somewhat sheepish tone as he retired to the parish house.

  Minutes later, amidst the bickering, Julianna snuck back to see him.

  “Cedric,” Julianna looked at Cedric who appeared to be deep in meditation. He opened his eyes and looked at Julianna.

  “I can’t continue to live like this,” she told him, trying to sound calm and matter of fact, although she was anything but.

  “Like what?” Cedric pretended not to understand what Julianna, who by now was rapidly losing her patience, was talking about.

  “I can’t continue living in a lie, Cedric, wandering and sneaking around, skulking in the shadows like some silly school girl. I won’t be Ramona Herbertson.” Julianna paused as Cedric looked on in silence.

  “What matters to you more Cedric? Me, or the church?”

  “Julianna, you present this to me as if it is an either or. Do you not realize that I, no, we can have both?

  Cedric left a frustrated Julianna in the confines of his little home.

  “I need time and space from you, Cedric.”

  Cedric looked ashamed, sheepish, and sad.

  Julianna laid down the law and then left, winning the fight and squashing any potential for a rematch.

  Chapter Twenty Three: Ralphie Roggenbucker Goes Repairing.

  “The wind tore at the fabric of reality.”

  Ralphie had a lot of time to himself, time to think. He was on the road a lot and he was off the road a lot; the quickest and most efficient route for telephone wires didn’t ever follow the roads. So he spent a lot of time trudging through fields and forests, without even a dog for companionship, thinking up sentences like that one and testing out their roadworthiness.

  That Irish blowhard down at the Weather Service had phoned Ma Earnestine and told her that “a whopper of a storm was a’ brewing and she ought to let Brannaska know; he’d just gotten off the phone with WCCO for the fourteenth time that day.

  So he was out shoring up poles and wires he worried might be a little less stable and sturdy. His work was solid, to be sure, but he liked to make sure his customers had service at all times, so he was out looking for “leaners,” poles that might have drifted this way or that due to the previous high winds and blowing snow.

  If this blizzard truly was a “once in a generation event, to be sure, laddy,” he wanted every line and pole secure and stronger than the coffee at Bjorn’s, where the farmers had to drink it out of steel mugs, lest it eat a hole through the inferior ceramic ones preferred at other restaurants.

  He also knew that this storm was strong enough to bring his death. Ralphie certainly wasn’t planning on that, no, he had a family to survive for. But if it came to that, he was prepared.

  Ralphie had arranged to be buried in one of the booths at Bjorn’s. Not in the restaurant, no, he was considerate and practical enough to let them remove the booth. Those booths were where he’d felt the most safe, the most at home, and he wanted to spend eternity in one.

  So he’d secretly conspired with Bjorn (he knew the cook would never go for such foolishness) to have on of the booths removed (to be replaced at Ralphie’s own expense, of course) and have his perfectly powdered and preserved corpse to be laid in it, as though he’d fallen asleep after a big smorgasbord. The whole mise en scene would then be sealed in a large pine box of Ralphie’s own construction and then put into the ground, the grave being dug by the biggest backhoe in seven counties.

  Bjorn thought it was the most succinct and perfect expression of religious faith he’d ever heard.

  There was a pig hauler attached to the back of his re-purposed Coca Cola pickup truck and he had his poles all stacked up. If a pole had rotted or broken or needed to be newly installed, first he would unhitch the chain that bound them together. The top pole would roll down and settle into the snow with a soft and misty thud. Then he would role it into place, right over the post-hole and attach another chain. Then he would use the pickup to pull them vertical, driving slow and with a firm hand.

  If the poles needed straightening, he used a similar procedure, often digging out the foundation of the post and re-packing it with new dirt, all the while using his eyes and experience as a level, gauging whether or not the pole was straight. When he was satisfied, he’d pack up his tools and drive to the next site. It was grueling, exacting, and exhausting.

  It was also peaceful and meditative. He was probably the most spiritual fellow in town; Cedric’s clerical collar and Jesuit rigor were easily matched by Ralphie’s deep reading and time for reflection.

  Since he spent so much time outside, he was also well attuned to the region’s natural rhythms.

  “That’s odd,” he noted, something in those tunes seeming out of pitch, “that Timber Wolf is moving fast. Rare to see them so clearly, and in such daylight.”

  And then the wolf was upon him. For the sensitive souls out there; I’m sure Ralphie’s death was swift and as merciful as the capricious hand of Nature could make it.

  Chapter Twenty Four: Ralphie is Laid to Rest.

  There was a knock on Julianna’s door. She still had her pine and poinsettia Christmas wreath on the door and she was momentarily embarrassed and worried whoever this was wouldn’t judge her for still having it up.

  Julianna pulled the curtains in a discrete and conspiratorial manner to see who was knocking. Cedric was already looking at her, for he knew that she always peeped out of the window next to the door. Irritated, Julianna scowled at Cedric and pulled the curtains back. She wasn’t ready to see him just yet; she’d needed her space and time to think and reflect.

  “I’m human, Jewels.”

  “Unlike many in the congregation, I never thought you were divine,” she said, acid on her tongue.

  Wounded, he ignored her and plowed on. “I make mistakes, I know. I just want the best for us.”

  “Us?”

  She still hadn’t let him in, so Cedric stood in silence in the snowy road. The only noise was the gentle hum of the nearby generator substation.

  The door opened, but just a crack. She peered through, somehow managing to look hostile with just one eye. Her hair was in curlers and she was wearing nothing but a slip.

  “What do you want?” disgruntled and grouchy, Julianna looked like she was in no mood to play games.

  “My dearest, I want you, and I want us to be open to the world about our love. Is it really that much to ask? But you know that can’t be the case. You know we can’t share our hearts with the world,” pleaded Cedric, standing in the featureless snow.

  “You are a conflicted man Cedric.” the harshness of her words hit Cedric hard.

  “Are you Cedric or are you Father Briar?” Julianna continued

  “I’m tired of playing these games Cedric?”

  “Games? Julianna, I would go to the ends of the Earth for you. You must realize that this is a deep spiritual conflict in my soul. It is about the very foundation of who I am as a person. This is my church, my livelihood, my life.”

  “Well go and take your conflict and your soul elsewhere I am not your play thing.” Julianna attempted to shut the door but Cedric had his hand placed on it with all his body weight.

  “This is no way for a man of god to behave you would be wise to get your hands off this door before I alert the authorities.”

  “Julianna” Cedric’s piercing gaze stopped Julianna right in her tracks.

  “We need to get to the icehouse.” Cedric and Julianna remained locked in a stare.

  “You had better let me get changed then,” she said as she ran upstairs. Cedric closed the door to prevent any further heat from escaping. Minutes l
ater Julianna appeared, dressed in a Parka and looking beautiful they drove off along the snowy road.

  A hundred miles north the Alberta Clipper was growing in intensity. News on the local radio fills the airways. A warning goes throughout Brannaska - several villages have lost contact with the town but only those cooped up within the comfort of their homes receive any warning.

  Gosha entered the parish house. She had hoped to inform Cedric of the dire weather. She looked at the notes that were sprawled out on his desk and the ashes on his hearth that had long since cooled.

  “He has driven out, driven out into the path of this oncoming storm. Has no one told him? This is madness. May God provide him with safe passage.” Gosha said her rosaries and left the empty church.

  The timber wolf made its way across the iced over lake in a speedy yet elegant fashion. It moved with a hypnotic rhythm. Its cadence was measured; every step looked like it had been planned out well in advance for its paws landed on the icy ground in an exquisite, balanced manner.

  Although elegant, it knew that it was being chased. Was it another beast? No, this was no mere Grizzly with a sizeable attitude and an even more sizeable appetite this was a quite literal force of nature. The clipper was drifting south. Alberta was notorious for whipping up such ferocious weather systems, this year had reached a whole new level of carnage. It seemed that the hand of God was working against the people of Brannaska.

  The hand of God lay gently upon the shoulder of Ernestine Roggenbucker. There had been little talk of her husband’s death; all of the farmers, Protestant and Catholic, dealt with grief in the same way: silence.

  The telephone family were Lutherans, so Cedric had no clerical responsibility in the funeral. The Church would’ve never sanctioned such strange and quite frankly sacrilegious burial arrangements, anyway, no matter how happy they’d made Bjorn. Father Briar had fought with Julianna about attending. He thought it necessary, she did not.

  In the end, he’d ceded control. This was new enough to be refreshing and reaffirming. She thanked God for small miracles.

  The smallest miracles are sometimes the most necessary. This was true for the funeral, too; of all the days that winter, the afternoon of the burial was the nicest. The sun shone and the wind stilled, if only for a moment, and Ralphie slept the sleep of the just.

  His choice of caskets would prove to be remarkably full of foresight. The Naughahyde that made up the faux leather of the booth and the hardwoods and solid steels beneath it persevered his wolf-mauled remains for two thousand years, until his wounds had healed (time heals all things) and he looked like the strongest mummy ever discovered.

  It is hard to argue with two thousand years of peace.

  Chapter Twenty Five: Forgiveness Often Comes at the Price of Travel.

  Cedric and Julianna looked at one another across her living room.

  He’d come over, driven his own car, even, as a small show of acquiescence. Julianna, although irritated with him, still managed to give him a little smile.

  Pausing to assess the gravity of his words Cedric looked out of the side of his car window as they traversed the frozen Minnesotan landscape.

  “I’d be the disgrace of the Catholic Church this side of the states, no this side of the Atlantic.” He’d been thinking about the consequences of their relationship for miles. Both of them were worried he wasn’t concentrating on the road.

  “Cedric, you are a decent man” Julianna put her hand on Cedric’s lap and squeezed lightly. Fighting the urge to go further, Cedric moved Julianna’s hand from off his lap.

  “Jewels. Has nothing I said sunk in?” Cedric said in annoyance.

  “I’m trying to comfort you.” Julianna, defensive and a little rejected. He was usually so amorous, and this was an exciting weekend away, a weekend of makeup sex and sweet talk.

  Silence filled the car. The atmosphere was bearable, as the long drives in the light and frothy snow had a way of tempering all but the most fraught of situations.

  The forest spread out around them like a woolen blanket for a king sized bed. They walked in the happy silence unique to lovers. On the morning’s drive up here, they’d spent a long time talking about the ethics of their affair and the remnants of the conversation lingered.

  “I think it is immoral that they make you remain celibate. I think it’s damaging to not let you have normal human relationships. And, when I say you, I don’t necessarily mean you Father Briar, I mean you as in priests as a group.”

  “I love it when you speak so forthrightly. My calling is so filled with jargon and obfuscation that it is refreshing when people speak their mind with intelligence and honesty.”

  She knew she was being flattered, but she did not mind. Few people do…

  “I knew well the restrictions and responsibilities placed upon me when I joined the Order.”

  “Did they deter you?”

  “No, far from it. They attracted me. The rules drew me to it. They gave me a sense of clarity and they seemed not only logical, but natural and just.”

  “Wow, cool.”

  “Cool?” he asked, an eyebrow raised.

  “Yes, I heard it from some of the boys on the hockey team. It means something is interesting or entertaining. I think.”

  “Rules are cool?”

  “No. I don’t think so. I’m not very clear on the concept yet,” she said with a laugh.

  Her laugh was full of rich tones and complex chords. He wished he were funnier, like W.C Fields or Bing Crosby. Heck, even Ed Sullivan got off a good zinger now and then. He wanted to be funny so he could hear that melodious laugh of hers more often.

  It wasn’t as though Father Briar was humorless, far from it. He very much enjoyed others people’s jokes and when he made them himself, they were dry and clever and with an erudition and wit rare in the cornball era.

  But while lightness came easy to him, and he was acquainted with joy and even religious ecstasy, he was unable to muster the acerbic insight and momentary meanness required for most humor. Cedric was simply too empathetic and kind to tease someone, if only for a passing moment.

  Julianna, on the other hand, was a constant tease. She took great delight in poking at people’s foibles. It was her way of making them feel included and part of the gang. She was never ever looking to hurt anybody’s feelings, but if it happened for a second in search of a big laugh, so be it. It was only jokes!

  In this and so many other ways they complimented each other.

  “It is just too bad that the restrictions of your church don’t allow us to show how good we are together in public,” she mused.

  “We could try to spend more time together at church functions,” he offered.

  “No,” she countered, “I think we both would be too worried about being too obvious in our affections. I think we would end up acting, and putting on a show, a contrivance, a performance. And that would be a lie. And lies are sinful.”

  “That is an excellent rationale,” he agreed, and they drove in silence for a few miles, the birch trees whirring alongside the road like a slide show in fast-forward. Life was a blur and she wanted it to slow down. She and Cedric had so few moments together that she wanted to pause every one of them and savor it, like a photograph or a painting.

  “Do you think priests will ever be allowed to marry?”

  “I sure hope so. I hope Pope Pius overturns the millennia-old rule next week. If he does, I’ll marry you and officiate the ceremony myself, if they let me.”

  She was tickled, but still, it was a non-answer. So she grinned and let him drive in silence again for a while.

  He was so mature, so grown, so manly, that she wanted to climb into the back seat and curl up and fall asleep. Julianna had done this as a kid while her father drove and the same sense of patrimonial safety and warmth washed over her. The car rocked with an easy, hypnotic beauty and her thoughts drifted, drifted to the comfort and safety of that sturdy wooden shack, of the solitude they’d enjoy together there, a
nd the sex.

  Oh, yes, she was anticipating the sex as she fell asleep. She may have even dreamt of it, but what man can tell of a woman’s dreams?

  Chapter Twenty Six: The Calm Before the Storm.

  All was quiet on the western front.

  It was the northern front that the trouble was coming from. Gosha peeped out of her window. The sky was a steely blue everywhere she looked, everywhere, that is, except the north. An imposing dark cloud was amassing in the distance. It looked like an anvil; black and heavy and immobile and indestructible, but the storm was moving at a great and terrible speed. The Alberta Clipper was tearing its way southward, towards Brannaska, towards her.”

  “Good heavens. In all my days, even in the Old Country, I have never seen anything as big as that!” she gasped as she continued to look at the approaching storm. “The radio said it wouldn’t be here this quickly. Those fools never know a damn thing.”

  Gosha looked down at her window side table. It was a cluttered mash of newspaper clippings and religious paraphernalia.

  “May God help this small town. This will be one to remember for the ages.”

  Gosha fortified her windows and doors, she’d already storm-proofed her windows but she wasn’t willing to take any chances. She sealed them with plastic weather stripping, just to be safe.

  She went outside to get wood from her shed. In the short time that she spent filling the wheelbarrow with logs, the temperature dropped a few degrees and the wind had picked up a few miles an hour.

  It was still a ground blizzard; the winds were picking up snow from the ground, of which there was plenty, and whirling it into the air. The snow hadn’t started falling from the sky yet. When it did, their troubles would be compounded exponentially.

  “Come on, Gosha,” she said to herself as she heaved and strained under the weight of the wheelbarrow. She’d shoveled a path and kept it clear every day but some of the blowing and drifting had already taken its toll.