An Unholy Mission (12 page)

“It sounds wonderful,” said Luther. He suddenly looked brighter and more energetic than he had all afternoon.

When they arrived, Olympia found a table in a corner away from the others and draped her jacket and scarf over the back of the chair before taking her seat. Once they’d ordered their coffees and a single cannoli with two forks and two plates, Luther leaned forward and took the initiative in a totally opposite direction from what Olympia had in mind. Maybe it was the casual café atmosphere or simply the fact that they were off duty, but even his color looked better than it had when they were standing in the hospital foyer. On the other hand, maybe it was the lighting. He smiled and then reached across the table and took her hand in his. His fingers were cool to the touch.

“I know you have something you want to talk to me about, Olympia, but before you say anything, let me just say that I feel like a teenager on a first date. I’m all nervous. Remember my saying that I hoped I’d get to know you better. Well, here we are. All I can say is thank you. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Olympia gently disengaged her hand as the waiter came and set down their coffees and the pastry. He made a great show of arranging the two forks to the side of their plates and asking if there was anything else they needed.

Olympia’s shoulders sagged under cover of the distraction. Damn, damn, damn, what the hell do I say now? she thought.

Luther picked up his coffee cup and smiled expectantly at Olympia.

“Luther, I’m afraid this isn’t a date or anything like it. I have something I want to talk about. I clearly remember telling you that I have a significant other. He’s waiting for me to come home this very evening, and I’m very happy with the arrangement. What I have to say to you is much more serious.”

Luther looked crestfallen. “I can still dream, can’t I? But go ahead, and when you finish, I have something I need to ask you.”

What is it with this man? thought Olympia. He acts like he’s from another planet. “Luther, I was visiting with Nancy Farwell this morning. She’s not doing well.”

“I know. I went in to see her myself, but she was sleeping. I don’t think she has much longer, do you?”

“Well, she wasn’t sleeping when I was with her. She made a point of telling me that when you come in and pray with her, you put your hand on her heart. Do you actually do that, or was she hallucinating?”

“She wasn’t hallucinating, Olympia, I do it all the time.”

Olympia almost spit out her coffee.

“Luther, are you out of your mind? Don’t you remember what Patrick said about boundaries and making physical contact with patients? You could get thrown out if anyone saw you doing that, not to mention it’s just not good ministry.”

Luther looked around and made a shushing motion with his hand.

“Olympia, the woman is dying. If I can touch her heart with God’s love and ease her passage, where is the harm in it? I know that I’m doing what God has called me to do. Why don’t people understand that?”

This is freaking unreal, thought Olympia.

“Luther,” Don’t you see how that could play hell with her emotions? She’s in a very fragile place.”

 “I know it’s the right thing. She’s dying, and I am surrounding her with love. I’ve been called to this work just like you have. But unlike you, I know things medical people can’t possibly know, inside myself. It’s like I just feel things, and then I’m guided to act. I appreciate your telling me this, Olympia. I’ll make it a point to be sure nobody sees me. I’ve given up trying to make them understand.”

My God, he really is serious.

“I’ll tell you something else. I know that you care about me, even if you have someone at home. You care about what happens to me. That’s why I agreed to come here with you. I wanted to tell you before I say anything to the others. I got the results of the biopsy.”

 “What did they tell you?”

Luther took a deep breath. “The cancer has metastasized to my liver. He told me I need a few more tests, and then they want me to get started on the chemo as soon as possible.”

“Oh, Luther, I’m so sorry. Does that mean you’ll have to drop out of the program? Surely you can’t manage the two. Chemotherapy can be very debilitating. You’ll need all your strength to fight the disease.”

“I’m not going to have chemotherapy, Olympia. God isn’t going to let me die until my work is complete. I’m confident of that. I’m often tired, and my appetite isn’t what it used to be, but I know that drugs and radiation aren’t the answer. I’ll get through this. God has tested me before.”

Olympia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. More terrifying than that, it was clear from the way he was looking at her that the man believed every word he said. She was grateful when the waiter came to refill their water glasses. For the moment, at least, she was spared the opportunity to respond. By then, she knew there was absolutely no point in saying any more on the subject. So after an hour or so of general shop talk about the hospital, thoughts about Sister Patrick and fanciful theories about the history of the underground tunnels, they divided the bill and thanked each other for the company. Olympia once again offered to drive him to the nearest bus stop.

Before he got out of the van, he thanked Olympia and told her he understood that she meant well, but he hoped one day she’d come to see him in a different light, and he didn’t mind waiting.

If the image of a snowball in hell resting on a bed of quicksand came to mind, Olympia tactfully kept the thought to herself, saying only, “Take care of yourself, Luther. See you tomorrow.”

Later that same evening, back home in Brookfield, Olympia and Frederick were each ensconced in their favorite chairs, and Frederick was sputtering. “Bloody cheek! Olympia, I’m going to go in there and have a little one-fisted conversation with that misguided idiot.”

“No, you’re not. The man is not all there, Frederick. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the cancer hasn’t already traveled to the brain. I think he’s becoming delusional.”

“I think he’s becoming dangerous,” said Frederick. What does Jim think?”

“I haven’t told him yet. I didn’t have time. I’ll call him over the weekend. I can’t take in one more thing tonight, and nothing’s going to happen between today and tomorrow. My brain is flat-lining. The one thing I do know is that as much as I don’t want to, I have to talk to Sister Patrick ASAP.”

“How are you going to arrange that?”

“I don’t know, Frederick. The hospital is such a public place, and I don’t want to raise any eyebrows. Even being seen going into in her office might arouse curiosity. I might just try calling her at home.”

“Do you know where she lives?”

“Not yet,” said Olympia, “but I know how to find people when I want to. I need time to think it through. The man has cancer, and he says he’s going to forego any treatment because he’s convinced God won’t let him die until his work is done.  Well, if that’s the case, what I need to know is exactly what it is that he thinks he’s got to do before then.” 

“I don’t like the sound of it, Olympia.”

“Neither do I, Frederick, but I don’t see that I have any choice.”

November 29, 1861

The weather is truly vile and rapidly getting worse. We are in the midst of a storm that began as driving rain but soon gave over to blinding snow. It is already up to my knees and still coming down at a furious pace. I am grateful that my dear Aunt Louisa arrived ahead of it—not only for her own safety but for my own. I feel better with another adult in the house when there is a storm raging, especially now with a child to keep safe. I secretly hope she will stay on for the winter. We do get on well, and having no children of her own, she is besotted with her great nephew and spends hours playing and talking with him while I steal off to my study and write. The arrangement suits us both and may do for some time to come. The thought of a house in the country and a house in the city offers numerous possibilities to this fledgling writer. But I must not let my thoughts stray too far into the future. When the time seems most propitious, I shall broach the subject with Aunt Louisa.

Our little Sammy-cat, not so little any more, refuses to set one paw beyond the kitchen door. Seeing the desperation in his golden eyes, I made a little privy of scraps of paper and the dusty remains of a potted plant for him to use. Now I just have to keep my curious son from playing in it and pray that we have enough dry wood inside to keep us warm until the storm abates. 

More anon, LFW

Twelve

When the chaplains gathered for the afternoon meeting, Alice Whitethorn was seated in a despondent heap at the table next to Sister Patrick. After the opening prayer the nun turned and invited her to speak. Alice raised her head, clasped her two hands together on the table in front of her and told them she was withdrawing from the program.

“I want you all to know how much I appreciate all of your help and support, but I realize there is too much of my own work I still need to do.” Then she shrugged her thin shoulders and added, “I guess that’s worth something, isn’t it?” 

 Sister Patrick went on to say that after a long and prayerful discussion, she had accepted Alice’s request to withdraw, and it was appropriate at this time for them to say a few words to her before she left.

Olympia expected this to be agonizing, but she realized within a few minutes just how good Sister Patrick was at what she did. Each of them, in his or her own way, told Alice what they had learned from knowing her and what they wished for her in the future. Even Luther said that her honesty with herself was a lesson for them all, and he hoped one day she would find her true ministry. When they finished, Alice stood and thanked them all, gathered up her things and left the room, letting the heavy glass door close slowly behind her.

Sister Patrick broke the heavy silence left in her wake. “I like what you said to Alice about honesty with one’s self, Luther.  She’s made the right decision, and you all gave her a lovely tribute. This doesn’t happen often, that someone leaves the program, and we did it well.”

Then she guided them back to the business at hand. She asked Timothea and then Luther to tell them all how they felt were doing in their respective assignments. Luther gestured to Timothea that she should be the first to speak. 

The large woman took a few moments to compose and arrange herself before speaking. “I don’t think you all know this, but I came from a business background before entering seminary. I had a good job that paid well, so I could afford to send my son to a good college. When that was accomplished, I felt it was my turn to go back to school. One of the things I learned in the business world is a sense of timing, when to take charge and when to get out of the way. I’ve discovered that it’s not that much different here. Sometimes I start a conversation with a patient, and sometimes I just stand back and wait and let things unfold.”

Sitting beside her, Olympia was likely the only one who heard the soft “uh huh” Timothea emitted before she continued. When she did go on, she did so in dramatic contrast to how she had been speaking earlier. Timothea began talking in dialect. She let the vowels and the consonants of her words slide together in the musical cadences that blacks will sometimes use among themselves and that whites rarely get to experience. 

“And dey’s sumpin else. If we’re gon be honest, then I’m gon tell you that I’m used to bein’ big, and I’m used to bein’ black, and bein’ in business and all, I kin hol my own with all you white folks, men an wimmin.”

Then she looked at them all and shifted once again. “But I’ve learned that I don’t have to try so hard here, and I want to thank you all for that. I want to thank you for letting me be who I am and also be one of you. God bless you for that.”

“Preach on, Sister,” said Patrick.

Before he took his turn Luther glanced over at Olympia, making her wonder if their conversation of yesterday might influence what he was going to say, but she needn’t have worried. He said only that he liked the hospice work and felt like he was learning a lot, but there was so much more that he hoped to learn, and the time seemed like it was flying by.

When they finished for the afternoon, and only Olympia and Timothea remained at the table, Sister Patrick asked Olympia if she might be interested in going over to Women and Infants on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and serve on the Maternity and Obstetrics Unit.  She could, Patrick continued, stay on the Transitional Unit on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That way, her transitional patients would have a sense of continuity, and Olympia could expand her skills in another and dramatically different hospital setting.

That’s great, she thought. That way I can still go back and visit Nancy … and keep an eye on Luther.

“That would be wonderful, Sister. What I mean is, the women there aren’t really sick, are they?  They have their babies and go home pretty much the next day now, don’t they?” Olympia was remembering the birth of her own two sons, and ten years before that, the birth of her daughter, and staying in the hospital for a minimum of five days with each of them.

“Women also give birth to dead babies or babies that die within hours after birth or babies so hideously damaged and deformed that death is a blessing,” said Patrick. She was looking sorrowfully at Olympia. “Women miscarry, they suffer complications from abortions, and some do still occasionally die in childbirth. I find it to be one of the most demanding and challenging pastoral responsibilities in the whole hospital. That’s why I thought I’d suggest it. You’re a good minister, and you like to be challenged; if ever there was a pastoral challenge, this is it. Do you still want to go?”

Timothea was humming as Olympia looked down at her folded hands and then up at the no-nonsense nun.

 “Sister, it is enough to say to you that as a woman in my fifties, I have not come through my childbearing years, or the years before I birthed my children, for that matter, untouched by tragedy and personal loss. It hasn’t affected my love of new babies and my sense of wonder at the miracle of birth or my reverence for death when it happens. Of course I want to go. Thank you for suggesting it.”