The Priest's Tale - 2. Chapter 2

The next day, Peter called the Diocesan Office and requested an appointment with the bishop.

“His Excellency rarely meets one-on-one with his priests. Have you spoken with Monsignor Henderson?”

Magda Wyczniewski, Bishop Murray’s secretary, was his all-powerful gate-keeper. She wasn’t about to let a mere priest, and a young one to boot, slip past her without a compelling reason to do so.

Peter hesitated for a moment before resigning himself to the necessity of telling a little white lie. “Well, actually it kind of concerns Buck, so I can’t go to him about it.”

“Did you discuss this with Monsignor Dugan?” She was fully aware nobody would ever do such a thing, but she was trying everything she could think of to put him off.

“He said ‘talk to the bishop.’”

Exasperated, she fiddled with some papers on her desk. “Well, the earliest His Excellency has an opening is Thursday at five PM. You can have ten minutes with him.”

Realizing this was the best he was going to get out of her, he agreed and hung up.

Magda Wyczniewski guarded the door to the Bishop’s Office with the fierce determination of a junkyard dog. She finally had to admit Peter after keeping him waiting for 20 minutes, simply because he sat with his eyes locked on her, which he knew made her uncomfortable.

“His Excellency will receive you now, but only for a minute or two. He’s running very late.”

Without another word, she ushered him into the inner sanctum as though approaching the presence of God himself.

His Excellency, The Most Reverend Carlton Murray OSB sat at his desk, examining some document.

Peter stood uncomfortably, waiting for his superior to say something.

Without looking up, Murray growled, “Well, are you going to sit down, or do you intend to tower over me throughout this whole conversation?”

Peter was at least a foot taller than the older man, and easily fifty pounds lighter. He quickly took the chair facing the bishop across the forbidding desk.

“I understand this is about Monsignor Henderson.”

Bishop Murray’s body language and tone of voice fairly screamed, “I don’t want to hear a word of what you’re about to say.”

Clearing his throat, Peter began. “Uh, no, Your Excellency. I guess Ms Wyczniewski may’ve gotten it wrong.”

The bishop raised an eyebrow and spoke with icy disdain. “Magda never gets anything wrong.” He went back to examining the paper in front of him.

“Well, perhaps I wasn’t as clear as I should have been.”

“Whatever. Get on with it. I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, Bishop. So... I came here to say... I would like to be dispensed.”

Bishop Murray’s head shot up. This was exactly the type of problem he didn’t want to ever deal with.

“Dispensed! Dispensed from what? Your parish? Your vows? Your ordination? Speak up, man. I haven’t a damned clue what you’re talking about.”

Clearing his throat, Peter said, “Something’s been bothering me for quite a while, and I feel like now is finally the time to do something about it.”

His superior spoke slowly, hurling his words like daggers into the young priest. “Am I to understand... others... are involved?” His eyes tried to pierce into Peter’s soul.

“Others? I don’t...”

“Others! — such as altar boys or choirboys, or God forbid, another priest?”

It dawned on Peter what Murray was asking him. His face flamed red, but he responded with wary restraint.

“No, Bishop. No one else is ‘involved,’ as you put it. I am dealing with a problem entirely of my own, and you need not worry about scandal or anything such thing.”

Murray slammed his hand on the desk and raised his voice. “Then why the hell are you here, man? I don’t have time to molly-coddle every priest whose life hasn’t turned out to be a bed of roses. What’s wrong with you?”

Shocked, Peter sat up straight and stared into the bishop’s eye. “In that case, I won’t waste any more of your time, Your Excellency.”

He placed both hands on the desk and leaned in to emphasize his message. “I’m here to inform you I am resigning my position at St Clare’s and will be leaving the diocese in the next few days.”

It was Bishop Murray’s turn to be shocked. His bluster was generally enough to cower any visitor into submission. He found himself unsure what to do in this situation.

“Now, hold on a minute... uh... Peter, isn’t it?”

“How kind of you to remember.” He didn’t try to conceal his sarcasm.

Suppressing another burst of rage, the old man chose his words with care. “Let me be sure I understand you. This isn’t a question of misbehavior, sexual or otherwise, and you are not in any trouble with the law?”

“Correct on both counts.”

“So why...”

“I suppose I owe you an explanation, Bishop, even though you’ve treated me like crap ever since I walked through your door.”

Murray leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “I am not accustomed to clergy using such language when speaking to me.”

“Sorry, Your Excellency.” You use plenty of it yourself, though, don’t you?

“Nevertheless, when someone does, I have sense enough to stop and hear them out. So let’s start over... What’s on your mind, Peter?”

The young priest sat down, his back straight and his eyes focused on Murray.

He took a long, slow breath.

“Bishop, I can’t go on pretending I agree with what the Church is doing to gay and lesbian people.”

“What, specifically, are we ‘doing’ to them?”

“Telling them God loves them, but they must go through life without human love and intimacy. That message is destroying them — and losing them for the Church, I might add.”

“Peter, I don’t make the rules. I guess you could say the Pope does, but he would be sure to tell you they come from God. How can you argue with what God has made clear?”

“I don’t believe it’s clear at all.”

“No? How so?” Bishop Murray leaned forward, suddenly attentive.

I'm being lured into some kind of trap, but I'm surprised to realize it is precisely where I wanted this conversation to end up.

“In my own faith, Bishop, God doesn’t create people with a need for intimacy and later surprise them by saying they can never, ever fulfill that need.”

“Are you perhaps... speaking for yourself?” The older man seemed to think he was being crafty.

Peter nodded thoughtfully.

“I might be — I don’t really know. But I don’t want to limit my thinking in any way. I’m speaking for everyone the Church is telling to give up on love and a life with a person who loves them back.”

“But didn’t you do precisely that when you took your vow of celibacy? Does it make any difference whether you’re being celibate with regard to women or men? Isn’t the outcome the same either way?”

Peter pondered for a moment before he smiled. “Yes, Bishop, I suppose it is. Thank you. Our little talk has cleared things up for me.”

He stood up.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Murray sputtered.

“Your Excellency, your time is precious, so I won’t take up any more of it. I realize now what I need to do, and I accept this is the right thing for me. As I said, I’m resigning, and I’ll be out of your hair in a day or two.”

“Wait! Where will you go? What will you do?”

“Since you ask, I’m going to San Francisco. With my degrees in psychology and social work, it was easy to find a teaching job. I’m grateful for your concern for my welfare, but I’ve got it under control.”

Peter turned to leave. As he opened the door, Murray called after him, “Well, you’ll regret this, and don’t come crawling back to me when it all falls apart on you.”

Turning his head back toward the bishop, Peter said with a cruel grin, “Never crossed my mind.”

As the cornfields of Iowa sped past the windows with endless sameness, the Amtrak California Zephyr from Chicago to the Bay Area was doing a steady 70 miles per hour, rocking gently from side to side on the almost perfectly straight-line track across the Midwest.

The train had departed in mid-afternoon, which had been perfect for Peter, since he had driven away from the rectory at 7 AM and it had taken five hours to reach Chi-town.

He dropped his car off at the used-car dealer where he had arranged a quick cash sale by phone the day before and hopped into a taxi to the train station.

As he exited the cab at Chicago’s Amtrak terminal, Peter’s eye was drawn to someone getting out of a long black limousine.

The man was so attractive that something unfamiliar stirred in his body.

The stranger looked up and caught sight of him. He smiled, gave a friendly wave, and followed the red-cap through the doors.

Peter had reserved a “roomette” on the Zephyr, which consisted of two bench seats, one of which the Porter turned into a bed at night. The room also had a tiny enclosed toilet and a wash basin in one corner. Shower rooms were located in the center of each long double-decked car.

He had made himself comfortable, stashing his suitcase in a small closet and transferring a few items to the drawer under the sink.

This isn’t much to show for ten years as a priest, but I am starting over in life, so at least I’m not overburdened with possessions.

He thought back over the past couple of days.

The evening after he had spoken with Bishop Murray, he had received a raging inferno of a phone call from Buck Henderson.

“What the hell were you thinking, Ruxton? Don’t you dare think for one second this is going to do your career any good, or get you moved to a better parish. You’ll be lucky if you’re not made chaplain at the insane asylum!”

“Thank you so much for your... vote of confidence... Monsignor. I don’t have anything to add to what I said to the bishop.”

After the brief phone conversation ended, he turned. Dugan stood smirking at him.

“I knew you didn’t have the balls to do this job. You’re too soft. You belong in a kindergarten somewhere, teaching Bible stories to little shits.”

“And thank you, too, Monsignor. Your leadership and example have been most helpful in my decision process.”

They didn’t speak ten words for the next day, as Peter gave away most of his possessions, packed up a few clothes, and tried to console Maria, who burst into tears every time he came into her presence.

“Now, now, Maria. Don’t cry for me; I am still serving God. But I need to take the time to figure out where He is leading me, and what He expects me to do in my life.”

And I’m sure you would faint if I told you what I think it is.

As he drove away, he silently bid the parish and town farewell, aware he couldn’t and wouldn’t ever return.

One chapter in my life ends; another begins. God help me.

The first night of the three-day train journey, somewhere in Nebraska, Peter arrived for his dinner reservation at 7:15 PM. In the dining car, tables were set for four people, and if you weren’t in a party of sufficient size, you found yourself dining with random other travelers.

He was shown to a table where three people were already seated — a couple in their sixties and a man about his own age.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Peter Ruxton.” He eased into the chair next to the window.

“Hello, yourself, young man.” The woman offered a warm smile and the man grinned and extended his hand. “We’re the Duncans, Harry and Marie.”

As Peter shook Harry’s hand, Marie chimed in, beaming, “We’re from Cincinnati, and this trip is to celebrate our 40th wedding anniversary.”

“Well, congratulations to you both,” Peter smiled back.

Harry had white hair around the sides of his head, but was bald on top. He was around five-ten and was “portly,” to put it politely, but he had a jolly demeanor and a friendly face. Marie was the opposite, several inches shorter than her husband, slim, demure, with long hair colored a sort of pale brunette. They were a perfect match.

Peter turned to the man next to him. To his shock and surprise, it was the same man he had seen getting out of the limousine, the same one who had saluted him with the friendly wave.

The stranger greeted him with a nod of his head. There was a naughty gleam in the man’s eye, which made Peter more than a little uncomfortable.

“And I’m Dan O’Niall,” he said as they shook hands. Dan’s hand was warm, and his grip was firm. The moment they touched, a jolt of electricity shot up his arm.

Dan sensed it and winked at him. “Pleasure to meet you, Peter.”

Peter’s gut tightened as he surveyed the handsome stranger.

He was an inch taller than Peter. He had flaming red hair and green eyes, betraying an Irish ancestry. He was well-built, and it was clear he took care of his body, but his beaming smile made the greatest impression.

Peter felt an unexpected and unwanted physical attraction to the man.

Is this what is meant by a “gay vibe?” If so, he is giving off tons of it.

He found himself strangely drawn to this man, although he was terrified at the prospect.

He sat speechless for a moment, but he regained his manners and addressed the Duncans. “Is this your first trip on the Zephyr?”

“Oh, no, we are train-lovers, or railfans, as we prefer to be called.” Harry supplied. “We’ve made this journey, both ways, four times.”

“We’ve been on at least two cross-country rides every year for the past...” looking at her husband, “oh, ten or twelve years. Right, dear?”

Duncan nodded. “Sounds about right. What about you, Peter?”

“I admit this is my first train-ride ever. I’ve always flown everywhere I needed to go.”

Dan chuckled and joined the conversation. “Well, welcome to your virgin voyage. You picked one of the best for your first time.”

They all laughed.

Virgin? Is that a double-entendre? Better change the subject fast.

Swallowing his concern, Peter turned to Dan. “And how about you?”

“And what about me?” he replied suggestively.

Taken aback, Peter stammered, “Is... is this your first time, too?”

“Oh, no, I’m an old hand... at a lot of things.”

Peter blushed so deeply that the Duncans tittered. “Oh my,” Marie said, “looks like somebody’s been shot by cupid’s arrow.”

“No... I... I...” was all Peter could splutter.

Dan rescued the moment. “But we’ve neglected to bring our new table companion up to speed on all things Zephyr.”

He skillfully steered the conversation to the spectacular vistas to be seen the next day when they crossed the Colorado Rockies. Peter gradually regained his composure.

When the main course arrived, Marie smiled. “You seem like you’re more at ease now, Peter.”

“I hope so.”

Harry chimed in. “I don’t believe you had a chance to tell us why you’re on the train.”

All their eyes turned to him. He made a gargantuan effort not to be drawn into Dan’s.

“I’m afraid this is a one-off trip for me. I am relocating to the San Francisco area. I’ve been offered a teaching job at a university.”

“Interesting.” Dan spoke quietly. “Teaching what?”

“Psychology and social work, assistant professor.” Somehow, he mustered the courage to face his seat-mate directly.

Dan’s face brightened. “Oh, you look kind of young for a tenured position. You must be leading a distinguished career.”

Peter simply smiled and nodded.

No way in hell am I going to tell this table full of complete strangers I’m a former Catholic priest who finally admitted to himself he is gay.

“Well, I’m sure you’ll have a great experience there,” Marie said.

They kept up the small talk through dessert. The couple wanted to view the setting sun from the Observer car, so they left the two men at the table.

“See you tomorrow,” Marie smiled maternally.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Harry joked. Marie chuffed him on the shoulder.

Uncomfortable with his proximity to this strange and charming man, Peter said, “I guess we’d better clear out so they can set this table for the morning.”

“Not interested in the sunset?”

“Not especially. I’ve seen plenty of them, living on the plains.” He caught himself, horrified he had revealed anything about his personal life.

Dan let it pass. “So, how about a drink in the café car, Peter? My treat.”

I’m scared of where this might lead, so I’d better say no.

Instead, he heard himself say, “Sounds OK to me.”

As they stood, the car crossed over a switch point, shuddering from side to side. Peter lost his balance, and Dan grabbed his shoulder. “Steady, old chap. It’ll take you a while to get your ‘train legs.’”

They made their way two cars forward. Every time they rumbled over a rough piece of track, Dan was right there, his hand on Peter’s shoulder. It dawned on Peter that his new friend was taking a little longer to remove it each time.

Is this going to go somewhere? Do I want it to? Am I ready for this?