The Mill River Recluse by Darcie Chan

often he pulled the curtains at the front window aside and looked out.
    “Now, son, Father O’Brien is new to the area. Give the man a little leeway, won’t you? He might have had some trouble with the directions,” Stephen said as Patrick again passed through the room.
    “It’s a simple drive from Mill River to Rutland,” Patrick snapped. “I still can’t believe Bishop Ross will be in Rome on my wedding day. He should have postponed the trip.”
    “I’m sure he would have liked to, but to be invited to a conference at the Vatican, well, I doubt he could postpone that. And we can’t reset the date, not with the invitations having gone out. Besides,” Elise McAllister said, smiling at Mary, “it’s Mary’s wedding day, too, and Mill River is her hometown. I don’t think it’s such a bad thing to have the wedding there, and to have the priest from Mill River marry you.”
    Patrick crossed his arms and frowned. “No, I suppose not.”
    Through all this, Mary sat quietly on the couch and said nothing. She had previously met Bishop Ross, the head of the Diocese of Burlington and a longtime friend of the McAllister family. Now, though, she and the others were waiting to meet Father O’Brien, the new priest in Mill River. She felt a slight fluttering in her stomach.
    Over the past several months, she had grown accustomed to Patrick’s immediate family. She was still reserved, but she no longer experienced paralyzing anxiety when she spent time with them. Meeting strangers was another matter. Patrick had seen to it that, during that time, Mary had been introduced to more people than she could count, certainly more than she ever met during the several years before Patrick arrived at the farm. With each new introduction, she struggled to maintain her composure. To her credit, she had become better at maintaining a serene appearance. Patrick expected as much of her, but even her desire to please him never completely diminished the anxiety she felt. She never knew for sure what might trigger her inner turmoil, or when it might surface and overwhelm her.
    Patrick began to walk in slow circles around the room, stopping only when he heard the low rumble of a car pulling into the driveway. “Finally,” he muttered, when the doorbell rang. The butler showed a tall man with a white collar into the parlor.
    “Father O’Brien,” Stephen said, rising and extending his hand. “It’s a pleasure. Please, come in. I’d like to introduce my wife, Elise, and my son Patrick and his fiancée, Mary Hayes.”
    The young priest had a boyish face and a build so slight that the thin arms protruding from the sleeves of his black suit jacket looked almost unnatural. A prominent Adam’s apple hovered above his white collar. Still, his fine auburn hair had already begun to recede, and a calm maturity radiated from his eyes. He shook Stephen’s hand and smiled warmly at the group.
    “I’m very happy to meet all of you.” Father O’Brien shifted his gaze to Patrick and Mary. “I’ve been in Mill River only a few months, as I’m sure Bishop Ross has told you, but it would be an honor to perform your wedding Mass.” He waited for some sort of acknowledgment, but Patrick only clinched his jaw and glared. Mary trembled silently from her place on the couch. Finally, Patrick’s mother swooped into the awkward silence.
    “Why don’t we all sit down for a cup of tea? We can discuss the details of the ceremony,” she said, motioning to one of the house staff and casting a stern look at Patrick.
    Patrick took his mother’s cue. “Yes, Father, do sit down.”
    “You’re very gracious, thank you,” Father O’Brien said. Mary couldn’t help noticing that the chair in which he sat was so wide that his thinness seemed a mere stripe down the center of its cushions.
    “So tell us, Father O’Brien, did the Bishop tell you that he married Elise and me when he was a priest here in Rutland?” Stephen asked.
    “He did, Mr.