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Fiona O'Reilly gave her orderly kitchen a last appraisal. She smoothed her graying hair against her head in a self-conscious gesture and reached behind to untie her apron. Looking toward the staircase to the second floor, she frowned. Mary had grown worse these past two weeks, and she feared her dear sister's time was fast approaching. With that thought, Fiona's nagging guilt’s intensified, and, unable to bear their weight a moment longer, she folded her apron, placed it on a nearby chair, and snatched up her shawl.
It was early afternoon, and Meghan would not be home for another hour or so. Neither would Tim and Sean, and, last she had looked, Mary was asleep. Fiona left the house and started down the street, her pace slowing only as the simple wooden Church of The Blessed Virgin Mary came into view. Fiona again ran a nervous hand against her hair. It was difficult to enter God's house when ashamed.
Pulling her shawl over her head, Fiona climbed the few steps to the door. Inside, she crossed herself and slipped into a pew at the rear of the church. She was kneeling in prayer when she noticed that she was not alone. A few rows in front of her, his slight form concealed in the shadows, was Father Matthew. Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed one away as it slipped down her cheek.
Embarrassed by her weakness, Fiona did not see Father Matthew rise to his feet and walk toward her. Her head snapped up in surprise at his voice beside her.
"Are you ill, Fiona?"
The young priest's concern increased her shame, but courtesy forced her response. "Nay, Father. I'm well."
Pausing, Father Matthew silently observed the pain in her eyes before continuing in a softer tone. "If a problem of the spirit is troubling you, I'm here to help, Fiona."
Fiona shook her head, unwilling to risk her voice. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with regrets.
"Aye, Father, 'tis a problem of the spirit which causes me pain. You see, I'm findin' it hard to understand some things."
"What things are they?"
"'Tis a matter of the new burden that's been added to me household at the death of Dennis O'Connor and his boys." Father Matthew stiffened at her words, and Fiona hastened to deny his accusing glance. "No, 'tis not a burden in the way you think, Father. Finances have always been the concern of me husband, Tim, and I've little time for them. But me sister, Mary, is lyin' ill
abed the full day now, and well…" Fiona's eyes brimmed once more. "Aye, there's the rub."
"You resent the work you must do in caring for her?"
"Nay, Father. I love the woman dearly." Fiona's throat filled again, and she swallowed against the emotion which threatened to overwhelm her. "The truth is, I'm findin' it hard to understand why God has put her there instead of me."
Obviously startled by her statement, Father Matthew hesitated in response, allowing Fiona the opportunity to proceed with her halting words.
"You see, I've been of little true use as a woman most of me life, Father. I've been married for over thirty years to the same man, and I've failed him."
"You're too harsh on yourself, Fiona."
"Nay, I've not given me husband what he wanted most. Not a single child of the six I bore him lived past the first week, and he's a hard and bitter man because of it."
"You take unnecessary blame on your shoulders, my dear."
"Nay, 'tis true. The whole of his life me Tim's been jealous of those who have children of their own, and jealous of Dennis O'Connor and Mary most of all. Yer well aware that Tim had no true wish to take Mary and the children into our home. He sees the children he could've had, and he's found a way to relieve his feelin's by takin' things out on them. He feels little sympathy for the plight of Mary and the children 'cause there's no lessening
Fiona O'Reilly gave her orderly kitchen a last appraisal. She smoothed her graying hair against her head in a self-conscious gesture and reached behind to untie her apron. Looking toward the staircase to the second floor, she frowned. Mary had grown worse these past two weeks, and she feared her dear sister's time was fast approaching. With that thought, Fiona's nagging guilt’s intensified, and, unable to bear their weight a moment longer, she folded her apron, placed it on a nearby chair, and snatched up her shawl.
It was early afternoon, and Meghan would not be home for another hour or so. Neither would Tim and Sean, and, last she had looked, Mary was asleep. Fiona left the house and started down the street, her pace slowing only as the simple wooden Church of The Blessed Virgin Mary came into view. Fiona again ran a nervous hand against her hair. It was difficult to enter God's house when ashamed.
Pulling her shawl over her head, Fiona climbed the few steps to the door. Inside, she crossed herself and slipped into a pew at the rear of the church. She was kneeling in prayer when she noticed that she was not alone. A few rows in front of her, his slight form concealed in the shadows, was Father Matthew. Tears welled in her eyes, and she brushed one away as it slipped down her cheek.
Embarrassed by her weakness, Fiona did not see Father Matthew rise to his feet and walk toward her. Her head snapped up in surprise at his voice beside her.
"Are you ill, Fiona?"
The young priest's concern increased her shame, but courtesy forced her response. "Nay, Father. I'm well."
Pausing, Father Matthew silently observed the pain in her eyes before continuing in a softer tone. "If a problem of the spirit is troubling you, I'm here to help, Fiona."
Fiona shook her head, unwilling to risk her voice. When she finally spoke, her voice was laced with regrets.
"Aye, Father, 'tis a problem of the spirit which causes me pain. You see, I'm findin' it hard to understand some things."
"What things are they?"
"'Tis a matter of the new burden that's been added to me household at the death of Dennis O'Connor and his boys." Father Matthew stiffened at her words, and Fiona hastened to deny his accusing glance. "No, 'tis not a burden in the way you think, Father. Finances have always been the concern of me husband, Tim, and I've little time for them. But me sister, Mary, is lyin' ill
abed the full day now, and well…" Fiona's eyes brimmed once more. "Aye, there's the rub."
"You resent the work you must do in caring for her?"
"Nay, Father. I love the woman dearly." Fiona's throat filled again, and she swallowed against the emotion which threatened to overwhelm her. "The truth is, I'm findin' it hard to understand why God has put her there instead of me."
Obviously startled by her statement, Father Matthew hesitated in response, allowing Fiona the opportunity to proceed with her halting words.
"You see, I've been of little true use as a woman most of me life, Father. I've been married for over thirty years to the same man, and I've failed him."
"You're too harsh on yourself, Fiona."
"Nay, I've not given me husband what he wanted most. Not a single child of the six I bore him lived past the first week, and he's a hard and bitter man because of it."
"You take unnecessary blame on your shoulders, my dear."
"Nay, 'tis true. The whole of his life me Tim's been jealous of those who have children of their own, and jealous of Dennis O'Connor and Mary most of all. Yer well aware that Tim had no true wish to take Mary and the children into our home. He sees the children he could've had, and he's found a way to relieve his feelin's by takin' things out on them. He feels little sympathy for the plight of Mary and the children 'cause there's no lessening
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