The Consequence of Secrets - Part Four: A Priest Romance (2 page)

The sun shines down on us all, bathing our dark clothing in a bright cheery light that seems at odds with sorrow we experience collectively while standing beside the open grave. Father Matthew stands in his formal vestments, holding a worn leather bound copy of the bible in front of him as he performs the rights of committal.

“…Let us express in prayer our common faith in the resurrection. As Jesus Christ was raised from the dead, we too are called to follow him through death to the glory where God will be all in all…”

With my head bowed, I stand by the open grave, listening. My eyes burn and my chest aches. This should never have happened. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. We’d done everything we were supposed to – everything asked of us, and still…

Mourners surround the shiny coffin, suspended above its eternal resting place and covered with colorful flowers – too cheery. I look over at Jules, her sobs cause her shoulders to bounce as she leans against Victor who supports her weight. I feel like this is my fault. I feel as though I pushed too hard and let my desire cloud my judgment.

I feel like I should have stopped it.

I should have seen it coming.

How was this part of God’s plan?

I close my eyes. Father Matthew’s words flow on, and I know them all by heart, having said them all myself in the past. Although when the loss is personal, those words mean so much more. My breath stutters in my chest, and it takes a great effort to push it out then inhale again. The hand I’m secretly holding tightens, and I want nothing more than to pull her into my arms and comfort her as she farewells her father. My love for Emma is an unwavering emotion that governs my every thought. I want to openly be hers. I want her to openly be mine. But we can’t – not yet.

Back in Newport, things are different.

Once again we’re hiding.

“…May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace.”

“Amen,” I whisper through my tears, watching as my father is lowered into the ground. I want to scream and shout that this isn’t fair. He died because of me, and there is nothing I can do about it. Nothing I can say to make this right.
I’m so sorry, daddy.

Braden stands by my side, his own sorrow and regret radiating off him. So much has happened. So much has changed. He came to free me from Gabe, and I wanted to be free. I wanted that so much that it blinded me to the cost – the cost was my father’s life, and possibly my freedom as a person. You see, I shot him that day in the clearing – I’m the one who reached the gun first, and now I have to stand trial for his death. Everything I’ve ever done is being called into question.

On my other side is the corrections officer who will be escorting me back to the women’s prison where I’m awaiting trial. They think I’m a flight risk because we went into hiding at the commune. They didn’t grant me bail. I feel a great sense of injustice. Gabe almost killed me and was set free. He attacks me, holds a gun to my throat, and when I shoot him in self-defense, I’m remanded in custody and treated as a murderer. Around my ankle is a tracking device so I can’t run, and the moment the service is over, I have to return to the small cell I share with a woman who does nothing but snarl at me. I wonder if it was all worth it, but then Braden squeezes my hand, and I know that he was worth it – loving him was definitely worth it. Being with him and being loved by him were the happiest moments of my life. But still, if I could go back in time, I’d do things differently so my father didn’t have to die – perhaps if I could go back far enough, I wouldn’t marry Gabe at all…

The crowd begins to disperse, meaning that our cover is gone and Braden needs to let go of my hand. I hold on till the very last second, my tears increasing as the loss of him also washes over me. I miss him so much. I hate my life. I hate what it’s become.

Once again, we need to hide our love. If I’m to stand a chance in court, no one can know that Braden and I were together – no one can know that I’m the reason he broke his vows. It would look terrible for a woman to admit that she was in the middle of sex with a priest when her estranged husband pulled a gun on her. So the story needs to be told a little differently. Secrets must be kept, façades must be erected, and we have to do whatever it takes to get past this. I don’t want to spend the next fifteen years in prison. Not when I’m finally free of the monster I was married to.

This is why I struggle to believe in God. The world is just too unfair, and if he was as powerful as they say, he would have fixed it, but he doesn’t. It just keeps getting worse.

“Excommunication isn't something we want, Father Daniels. Many a man has entered the church and had a crisis of faith such as yours. After all, God did make Eve from Adam's rib, and the female of our species is most definitely our greatest temptation.” Bishop Riley pauses and sits back as a tray of tea is placed on the table between us. I feel like I'm in a situation on repeat – a lecture over tea, a threat of losing my job, instructions to show contrition – it’s the same problem on a different day.

I shake my head when I'm offered tea, holding up my hand to accentuate my position. I'm not thirsty. I don't want pleasantries. I just want this over with. I'm not contrite, and I'm entering into this meeting with every intention of continuing my current behavior.

Everything has changed. A few weeks ago, in my mind I had left the church, and I felt sure in my decision to run away with Emma. If Smitty’s contact had done their job successfully, we would have been free, and I really don't think I would feel that stain on my conscience. I felt sure it's what I should have done from the beginning, and perhaps if I hadn’t waited it would have worked. But it didn't. Gabe found us, and now Emma is standing trial for his death.

Every time I think about that day, I wish I could go back and do it differently. If I hadn't pushed a little harder on his neck, his death would be on my hands. Instead, I tried to wrestle the gun away, causing everything to get out of hand, causing her to feel she had no choice but to pull the trigger.

I need to sit in that witness box and tell them she had absolutely no choice. And I can't do that as her lover. To protect her, I need to be seen as a priest. I need to be seen as a member of the clergy who was only trying to save a woman from the monster she was married to.

I need to keep my job. And to do that, I need to lie to the Bishop in front of me – the man who is supposed to have more of the direct line to God than I do. I need to guarantee him that I'll do the Lord's bidding – that I'll be a shepherd to our flock.

“However, you have to understand the situation you’ve put us in here. Father Matthew is concerned about the amount of talk surrounding your disappearance and the problems with the William’s family. There is no way we can keep you serving at Holy Spirit in the interim. I understand that you are once again a witness in Ms Williams’s trial, and you need to stay in Newport for that. What I’m suggesting is that you take that time to reflect upon your path – decide whether your work with God is more important than your feelings for this woman. Ms. Williams is very likely to spend time behind bars – it’s an unfortunate fact, but one you need to take into consideration during your time of reflection. We all have our moments when a normal life seems more appealing than a life of service. God isn’t vengeful. He is the epitome of forgiveness. But, you have to want His forgiveness. You have to want to continue your work in His name. Can you be a shepherd to your people, Father Daniels?”

I don't feel like a shepherd. So much has happened. So much is changed. I’ve become a liar – a self-serving keeper of secrets. I am not a shepherd. Instead, I’m a wolf.

“Absolutely,” I lie. “I want to continue to be a priest.”

The Bishop nods. “Then your previous orders will stand; when the trial is over, you’ll be sent out to Denver. Go to Father Matthew, confess, show contrition, do whatever it is he asks of you and spend the last few weeks you have in Newport looking inside your heart. I want to meet with you again, and if Father Matthew is happy with your service, we can put this whole incident behind us.”

I nod, thanking him as I rise to leave and head back to the Rectory. The whole time there, I can’t help thinking about what I’m doing and how much my heart has changed in the last few months. I’m willing to do and say whatever it takes to save Emma. She can’t go to prison. That’s not how this story ends. It can’t be.

Lying on the bunk in my cell, I look up at the hard surface of the bunk above me. My cell mate is up there, doing God only knows what. She doesn’t speak to me; doesn’t even look at me. Although, I hear from the others that she hates ‘privileged bitches’. Lucky me.

I try to focus on my book. It’s old and smells of dust and damp, and the storyline isn’t very interesting. I got it from the trolley they bring around every couple of days. The TV is on. Some soap opera where they speak Spanish. I understand it a little, but my Spanish is only rudimentary, and I find my focus shifting between the page and the screen, never focusing on either one for very long as the clock ticks slowly through the day.

In a way, being in here makes me wish I was still out there, still married to Gabe. Maybe the abuse wasn’t so bad. It was better than being in here. But then I met Braden. And Braden is everything…Braden made me want so much more.

Lying here, I think over every decision I ever made; every lie I ever told; every secret I ever kept. One moment. One moment that started out so perfectly turned into the moment when everything changed. Now I have a death on my soul. Now I’m being made to pay.

At least I was happy for a short while….

My self-pitying thoughts are disrupted when footsteps echo along the hall. I turn my head, listening as they approach, wondering where they will stop.

“Williams. You have a visitor.” The guard stands at the cell door, peering through with a scowl upon her swollen face. I think she drinks too much. She has that pallor to her skin that suggests she’s sweating more alcohol than salt. And when I rise, she smells too. Body odor and vodka. It’s an interesting mix.

She opens the small gate, and I put my hands through it as she clamps cuffs on my wrists, securing my hands together in front of me.

“Stand back,” she commands, giving the signal for the cell door to be opened.

It buzzes and clanks, sliding its way open with a slow and painful groan. She gestures for me to step out, and I do as I’m told. I’ll do anything to get out of my cell and away from my cellmate. I glance over my shoulder and see her sitting there, watching me like a growling dog. I look away.

When we reach the meeting room, my heart soars a little on my chest when I see Braden sitting there waiting for me. He stands, smoothing his hand down the front of his dark shirt. He’s in uniform, although he’s removed the collar. I miss him so much.

“How are you?” he asks when I’m seated, his fingers inching across the table toward mine, stopping millimeters away, just beyond the point where we’d touch. We aren’t allowed to touch. I’m filled with longing.

“I’m OK,” I whisper. Another lie. My eyes sting and my head hurts. This is all wrong. It feels like I’m in an alternate universe where victims are punished and abusers are set free. And then I realize I’m simply a woman in an already unjust system – a system that harshly punishes any woman who commits an act of violence, and looks the other way when men do because it’s in a man’s nature to be violent. They fight with their hands all the time. Women are supposed to nurture. For a woman to pull a trigger and take a life, even when that life has been tormenting her for years, it becomes an abhorrent crime.

“My lawyer is suggesting that I don’t use his abuse as a defense. He says it creates a motive for murder. I don’t think I’m getting out of here.”

“Oh Emma,” he breathes. “You can’t think like that. What you did was in self-defense. You were in fear for your life, so surely that won’t go against you.”

I shrug and force a smile on my lips. “You’ve been to see the Bishop?” I ask, indicating his clothing with my eyes.

He nods. “Yes. He’s willing to look the other way if I show contrition. Typical Catholic stuff really.” He smiles. He’s so beautiful, so perfect, my heart feels both sad and grateful for the time I had with him. It was so short – too short. But I’m glad we had it. I’m glad I got to experience real love.

“Are they still planning to send you to Denver?”

He nods. “They are. Although the moment you’re out of here, I’ll tell them I won’t be going. They’ll excommunicate me and then, well, I’ll be a regular guy. Can you still love a regular guy?” he asks, a slight hint of worry in his eyes.

“I didn’t fall in love with your uniform, Braden. I’d love you if you were a vagrant. Can you love me if I’m a convicted felon?”

He reaches out and touches my hand briefly, sliding it back to a safe distance when the guard taps the window to warn him. “Emma, I know you’re scared. I’ve sat right where you are, and I’ve faced the same fears.”

“But you were still a minor, Braden. I’m being tried as an adult. They’re going for manslaughter. That’s fifteen years. We’ll be in our forties when I’m released.”

“He was trying to kill you. He had a gun to your throat. You did what you had to do.”

I shake my head, a tear sliding from my eyes. “I wanted us to have a happy ever after,” I whisper.

“We will,” he whispers in return, his eyes shining with emotion. “This will be all over soon and we’ll be together again. You have to have faith in that.”

“I wish I had faith, Braden. Really I do. But, how can God do this? How can he push us together and tear us apart? I was so close to believing again. In those days out in the Community, I was so close to believing that God really did sent you to me. But then, how could he allow for Gabe to find us? If he loves us, and he wanted us to be together, how could he allow this? I mean, I can’t even touch you. I can’t…I’m in hell. I’m still in hell. What kind of a God does this?”

His brow furrows and he shakes his head. “I don’t know, and honestly, I’m questioning Him too.”