Chapter 1: Patrick Goes to Sunday School
The first Sunday after the honeymoon, Patrick came down to breakfast a bit later than usual. Dressed in his best suit, hair smooth and smelling of cologne, he smiled sheepishly as he sat down to his coffee.
"Where are you going dressed up like that?" Timothy asked, cheekily.
"I thought I might go along with the both of you to church today, if that's all right." Sitting at the breakfast table, he picked up his paper as if he hadn't said anything remotely unusual.
"Church?" Tim asked, incredulous. "You only go to Church on Christmas and Easter. Before Mum came along, you only even sent me when Granny Parker took me."
"Patrick, you don't have to come with us. I wasn't expecting you to," Shelagh told him. She knew Patrick's life, if not his faith, was testament to his devotion to a Higher Purpose. His lack of attendance at weekly services was less important than his care and support of those in need.
"I want to. Really." He reached out and squeezed her hand.
"Well, then, of course we're happy to have you join us," she smiled and shyly kissed his forehead before she went to finish dressing.
Listening to make sure Shelagh had gone up the stairs, Tim whispered to his father, "Granny says that you've never really gone to church. That you said once you weren't even sure if you believed in God."
Patrick put down his paper. "I'm not quite sure what I believe, Tim. I haven't been a church go-er for most of my adult life. Your mother wasn't really, either. Our faith wasn't something we discussed, or even thought about much." He took a sip of his tea. "This last year has certainly made me rethink a lot of things. There's so much to be grateful for. I can't help but think that there's something, some kind of force that's behind it all. I'm not sure what it is, but I'll say this: there are some things I know beyond any doubt. Most importantly," he grinned, "it will make my wife happy if I go to Church with her. And when Shelagh's happy, I'm happy."
Timothy shook his head. "Women certainly change things."
"They do, indeed, son," his father agreed.
"What have we come to?" questioned Timothy. "Both of us dressed our best and ready to sit listening to Reverend Collins on a perfectly fine Sunday morning." He munched on his toast, shaking his head resignedly. "Two grown men, completely wrapped around her finger."
Patrick laughed. "It's not so bad, son."
"Mhmm," Timothy muttered. "Just wait, Dad. She'll have us planting flowers and dressing up for dinner any day now."