The Consequence of Secrets - Part One (6 page)

“Entertaining sermon today, Father,” Brent Williams comments as he exits the church with his family that Sunday. “Not too out there, but just enough of a modern spin that I thought the young ones took something more from it. I think you have a bright future. What do you think, Father Matthew?”

“Most enjoyable,” he agrees. “Bishop Riley was right to have sent him here. His youth is a breath of fresh air in our parish.”

I try to hide my response to Father Matthew’s comments, as this isn’t what he said earlier. Earlier he told me that I was ‘spitting on the tradition of the church and making a mockery of the scriptures’.

“Absolutely,” Brent Williams agrees, patting me on the shoulder like we’re old friends. “Jules here tells me that the youth center is going to be quite something.”

“Yes, Mr. Williams…ah…I mean, Brent. Please feel free to come down at any time to take a look at our progress,” I offer, as I look around at all the members of the family, only catching the eye of Emma briefly before she lowers them again. “All of you are welcome, of course,” I add with a smile, taking the opportunity to look over Emma’s husband, Gabe McIntyre. He’s around my height but he’s a heavier build, kind of like a boxer or a wrestler. He’s blond with a military style haircut, and brown, stern looking eyes. His jaw ticks as if he’s clenching his teeth in annoyance, and I see that his large hands have a firm grip around Emma’s waist as if he feels the need to be sure the world knows she’s his.

She seems dwarfed by him, not just in size, but in personality as well. Again, that nagging worry tugs at my mind, as I feel the urge to pull her from his grip and hide her behind me.

“What do you think, Father Braden?” Jules asks, snapping me from my thoughts. And I blink, wondering what I just missed.

I frown and shake my head slightly. “I’m sorry, think of what?” I ask, just as Father Matthew shakes Brent Williams’s hand and claps him on the shoulder.

“Of course that’s a wonderful suggestion. I’m sure your daughters will do a wonderful job with the decorating ideas at youth center,” he says, and I’m grateful for the paraphrased explanation.

“Just so long as it doesn’t stop Emma from getting her work done at home, I don’t mind her helping the church. But, she still needs time to pray and run errands,” Gabe chips in, adding to my urge to remove his wife from his grip. My gaze shifts back to Emma, who looks slightly overwhelmed.

“I’ll see to it that she has all she needs,” I respond, my eyes locked on hers. “They can both start Monday week.”

“Are you sure this decorating thing is a good Idea?” I ask Gabe on the way home in the car. He hasn’t said anything about it since he voiced his conditional permission at the church earlier. Even though he said it was fine, I know that he only agreed because of my father – just like he only pointed out that I need to pray every day because my father was there. He has no real belief in prayer at all, but in front of my father, he’ll be the most pious man you’ve ever met, and he takes pride in talking to my dad about how much he supports and shares in my beliefs. If only they knew what my beliefs really were. You see, in the years I’ve been married to Gabe, I’ve changed a lot. And mostly, I’ve become a liar – a schemer. No one really knows me at all anymore, not even Jules. I’m not even sure that I know me…

Gabe glances at me then shrugs. “What? Helping the church? Why not? Your father seems to think it’s a good thing.”

I smile. Of course he’ll agree to it because of my father. He’ll do anything to keep my father happy because he wants my family’s money. He wants to inherit the company when my father dies. That’s his whole goal, and I know in my heart that it’s why he targeted me. Why else would man who turns the head of every woman he walks by, choose a woman like me? I was a fool to believe it then. But, I’m not a fool now. I learned a hard lesson not long after the rings were exchanged. I know he doesn’t love me. In fact, I’m sure he doesn’t even like me. But right now, I serve a purpose, and he won’t let me go – even when I tried to remove myself, he still wouldn’t let me go.

God help me when my purpose is through and he has everything he wants. I can’t imagine he’ll want me around for long when that happens.

Forcing a sweet smile in my lips, I gaze at him adoringly. “My concern is what
you
think,” I say sweetly, reaching out to slide my hand over his thigh. “My job is taking care of you, and if you’re worried I won’t be able to do that properly, I can talk to daddy and tell him…”

“I’m sure you’ll work it out,” he says flatly, cutting me off and removing my hand from his leg.

“Of course,” I respond, wondering why I bothered saying anything at all. The decision was already made for me. I was never going to get a say in this even though it means that my life just got a hundred times harder.

I swallow hard, the backs of my eyes burning as I suppress my emotions. I’m going to be stuck here forever…

Jules is a flake. A little over a week later, we started helping out at the youth center, and two days she lasted.
Two days
.  And now, here I am, trying to make excuses for her with the project manager, Carol Salisbury, who is Deacon Salisbury’s wife, and the rectory housekeeper. She has tightly coiled red hair, and pale freckled skin to match. She’s in her early fifties but could easily pass for late thirties because of her youthful appearance – think Molly Weasley in the Harry Potter films, she has that kind of feel about her and is a lovely woman – if a little abrasive at times.

I’m told she and Deacon Salisbury married in secret when they were still in high school because Deacon was going through a rebellious faze and didn’t want to become a priest as his parents wanted – something about it being tradition in their family for the oldest son of every generation to serve. Little did he know at the time, but if you’re married beforehand, you can still become a deacon, and he seems quite happy with that as it means he got the girl, and he can still serve his family name whilst holding a very active role within the church community.

“I thought this was her idea?” Carol asks, pausing her paint stirring to peer up at me when I tell her Jules can’t make it.

“It was her idea,” I respond, feeling bad that Carol was roped into this with us. “I guess she just forgot that she had an appointment this week.”

Carol lets out a humph and shakes her head. “You sure it isn’t more to do with the fact a certain young priest isn’t giving her the attention she’s looking for?”

Reaching out, I pick up a set of painting overalls and pull them on over the top of my old jeans and sweater to avoid making eye contact with her. “She wouldn’t try something like that, Carol. She knows he’s off limits.”

She dips her brush in the tin and begins working on the edge of a doorframe. “You’d be surprised how many women still try,” she says, focusing on her work.

Even though she isn’t looking at me, I nod then move over to the paint and select a roller before getting to work quietly.

I suppose Jules thought we’d be spending all our time with Father Daniels, and while we have seen him, it’s just only for a very short amount of time each day. And that obviously isn't enough for her liking when her entire reason for getting our father to suggest that we help with the youth center was to spend her time doing exactly what Carol was suggesting – trying to coerce him into breaking his vows.
“He’s just too beautiful to be removed from the dating market. I’m doing the women of the world a huge favor here,”
she’d said to me to justify her actions. But, I could tell by the look on his face when she tried to engage him in some flirtatious banter that he wasn’t going to fall for her temptation. I’m afraid my sister will have to admire the young Father from afar like the rest of us have to. Although, she is right about one thing, he certainly is beautiful.

“How are we today, ladies?” Father Daniels asks, as he enters the hall and finds us whitewashing the back wall that some of the Catholic school kids are going to paint with a giant mural. I glance back at him and smile. He always looks so well put together in his black clerics and collar. His hair is always neat but fashionably messy, and he always looks freshly shaven. It’s like he’s this male anomaly that crosses the line from handsome to beautiful without looking feminine.

“We’re missing a set of hands,” Carol responds, while I’m still busy admiring his broad shoulders, which is something I need to stop doing before Carol starts thinking I’m trying to lure the priest away as well – Carol isn’t exactly known for her discretion.

“I can see that. Jules isn’t sick is she?”

“I think someone thought this would be more exciting than it is,” Carol suggests.

“Jules has an appointment,” I say in her defense.

“No problem,” he says with a smile, reaching out to pick up a set of overalls where they’re draped over the rung on the aluminum ladder. “I’ll work in her place today. Where would you like me to start?”

I half watch him as he steps into the protective gear and zips up the front as he looks over the large wall, finding it strange to see him in something other than his uniform.

“This whole wall needs to be whitewashed,” Carol says, spreading her arm out to demonstrate its size. “So pick a roller and some bricks and paint away.” Then she stands and announces that she’s going to the hardware store to meet the deacon to pick up some more supplies.

Father Daniels nods and does as she says, selecting an extendable roller like mine and dipping it into the paint.

“So do we know what kind of mural is going on here?” he asks when he begins to paint beside me.

“We’re getting the kids from the Catholic school to paint something for each grade. So we’ll start off with the kindergarteners down that end and increase in age as we go along.”

“What will they paint?”

“They’ve been asked to paint their favorite things. So this could get quite interesting,” I smile.

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I can just imagine a wall covered with iPads, Xbox consoles and cellphones.”

Biting my lip, I suppress a laugh as I nod. “You’re probably right.”

“Why do you do that?” he asks, stopping his painting for a moment to look at me.

“Do what?” I ask, not understanding what he means.

“You don’t let yourself laugh.”

My cheeks heat. “I laugh.”

“No,” he says. “You don’t. You bite your lip or you cover your mouth. You don’t actually laugh, or if you do, it doesn’t happen around me.”

“Maybe you’re just not very funny. Have you ever considered that?” I comment jokingly.

He laughs, a rich sound that automatically puts a smile on my face. “I’ll have you know that I’m very funny. You’re just denying me the pleasure of your laughter.”

I continue painting the wall. “Oh, I’m not doing that. Have you ever considered that maybe I’m protecting you from the sound of my laughter? Maybe it’s been suggested that when I laugh, it sounds like a hyena.”

“A hyena?”

I shrug. “That’s what I’m told.”

He scoffs. “Even if that’s true, it shouldn’t stop you from laughing. My sister snorts when she laughs, and all it serves to do is make the rest of us laugh even harder,” he tells me before pausing and meeting my eyes. “Seems to me that someone doesn’t want you to be happy.”

I pause, thinking about all the times Gabe teased me for sounding like a hyena when I laugh. It made me self-conscious to the point that I try not to laugh at all. Do I really sound like a hyena when I laugh? I used to think I didn’t, but when someone you think loves you keeps telling you something, you tend to believe it’s true…

“Was it your husband?” Father Daniels asks softly, still looking at me intently.

“What was?” I ask, feeling a little trapped in the memories of my early relationship with Gabe, back when I felt like the luckiest girl in the world…

“The person who told you that you sounded like that – was it your husband?”

My eyes prick with emotion, and I blink them rapidly to keep control. Normally I’d never breathe a word about the way Gabe is toward me to anyone. He’s made it so I fear disappointing him more than anything on this earth. But, something about Father Daniels makes me feel safe, and I find myself nodding.

“Yes,” I whisper, before abruptly turning back to my work and fixing paint to the wall much more vigorously than I was before. A sudden worry grips my heart after uttering that word, and inwardly I panic that Gabe is somehow going to find out that I just said something against him.

A warm heat tingles across my cheek as I feel the priest’s fingertips brush against my skin. It’s an overwhelming sensation that causes me to flinch away in surprise. “What was that?” I gasp, not understanding how a simple touch can do that to me.

He holds up his fingers, his deep blue eyes dark when they meet mine, and his voice tinged with a slight huskiness. “There was paint on your face.” He shows me, and when I blink, thick tears start pouring from my eyes and I can’t seem to stop them. I turn my face away quickly to shield my loss of control. How the hell did his touch do
that
?

“I have to go,” I force out, quickly putting down my roller and stepping away.

“Are you all right?” he asks in concern, also putting his roller down and following me, catching me by the elbow. I try to wave him away and tell him I’m fine, but he doesn’t listen, he reaches around and catches my face with his hand, forcing me to turn and look at him. The moment my eyes meet his, a look that I don’t recognize sweeps across his face and he pulls me into his arms then he just holds me.

For a moment, I fight him. I don’t want to let go of my emotions. I don’t want to cry. But, as his strong arms encircle my body and hold me tightly, I give in, and I let him hold me. I let him hold me as I lean into his firm chest and I cry, releasing all the pent up emotion I’ve harboring for so long. And thankfully, he doesn’t ask questions, and he doesn’t say a thing. He simply holds on, and he doesn’t let go.

I don’t know how long it lasts but when I finish, I’m exhausted and feel weak simply exerting the effort it takes to lift my head off his chest. His hands move to my cup my face, and he uses his thumbs to wipe away the salty tears on my cheeks, his worried eyes searching mine.

“I’m sorry,” I hiccup, and sniffle. I must look an absolute wreck.

His thumbs move from side to side as he shakes his head slowly. “Let me help you,” he whispers, and I inhale a shaky breath, pulling away from his grasp.

“You can’t help me, Father, no one can,” I say, before rushing for the door.

When I back my car away from the building, he’s standing in the doorway watching me, and I feel a great desire to run to him, and to the protection of his arms once again – I felt so safe with him holding me. I felt so free and made me hopeful.

As I drive away, I realize that I can’t see him again. The way he makes me feel is dangerous – for him and for me. And really, what can a priest do to help me? My secrets go against too many of his beliefs, and he already knows too much.