XXXV
Many people found routine to be boring. It was safe, it was predictable, and it was unsurprising. That did not suit some people, leaving them feel as though something in life was lacking. Jean Beazley, however, appreciated a routine. There was security in knowing what to expect from her day, in being able to plan for what she wanted and needed around a set of certainties. Too often in her life had surprises interrupted a comforting routine, and she had come to appreciate the monotony that might have left others searching.
She and Lucien certainly had a routine. In the weeks since Christmas and her quick bout of flu, they had found a way to live a life together these last two monts. Or rather, as together as they could manage to be under the circumstances.
Jean came over to his each morning at nine as always to start the day and make breakfast and have her tea. They'd do the dishes together and steal kisses along the way. More then once, Lucien had bent her over the kitchen counter and taken her right there, adding a truly exciting and immensely pleasurable break in the ordinary routine. But that was not an everyday occurrence by any means.
They would work in the garden together, or she would come to St. Catherine's to help tidy the church or his office there. He would do his tasks, listening to Confession and training his altar boys, conducting funerals and weddings and baptisms when the occasion called for them. She would help him write his homily for Mass, though she did not always attend. They'd teach catechism classes together in the afternoons twice a week, just as they had before. All of that was just as it had been before this seismic shift in their relationship. It was important to them both that the good things from the time before be held onto. Now, though there, was so much more they could share.
Jean took to making dinner for Lucien most evenings. She also took to spending the night in his bed rather frequently. Not every night, of course. She had things that needed to be done in her own home, laundry and tending to her own garden and various other chores. But she had brought a small selection of her clothes to his so that she could spend the night on occasion and not be left embarrassingly without anything to wear the next day or having to risk the danger of being seen coming and going from the rectory at odd hours of the late night or early morning.
All in all, it was a good routine. She liked it. She understood it. She knew where the lines were drawn between them still. And something like this, while certainly not something either of them could be particularly proud of, was something that could be sustainable. Lucien did his duties and remained focused and committed to his parish. Jean could be there to help him along the way, just as she'd been hired to do. Now, though, they could also be in love and happy together, even if they were the only ones who could know.
Sometimes, late at night, her mind would wander. She would think about what they were doing, what had led her to be a lonely widow in the bed of the parish priest. She would watch him sleeping peacefully beside her. The rise and fall of his broad chest, the small twitches of the burly muscles in his arms and shoulders and neck, the gentle part of his soft lips not quite hidden by his beard. The wrinkles on his face and the gray sprinkled in his hair were evidence of his age, certainly, but when he slept, he looked so soft. So much younger than when the weariness of his life showed itself. In truth, she loved everything about him, even the parts that she did not particularly like. She had grown to accept those parts of him and love him anyway. It felt inevitable, looking back. She had almost no choice in the matter. She loved him almost without her own consent. By the time she had come around to the idea, it was already done.
But what of that love? That she loved him and he loved her, those facts were unquestioned between them. The question that did remain, however, was what to do about it. Would they remain like this forever, trapped in this routine and in these secrets they held? It was living in far more sin than Jean had ever though she'd be comfortable with. Though her damnation did not bother her at all anymore. It had never really bothered her to begin with. Lucien had told her that he'd not believed in God in a very long time. Maybe she hadn't either. Her prayers and her presence in Mass had always been a habit of her life. But did she actually believe? Did she really think that God could hear her prayers? And, perhaps it was more interesting to consider if it even mattered. If Lucien was right, if there was no God, what did it change? The Church, as an institution, was inexorable. Truth did not factor in much to Catholicism. The canon of Church doctrine was based on faith and acceptance. Personal belief was somewhat secondary to going through the motions of the various sacramental rituals. And the truth, the provable fact of God, that was hardly considered at all.
She rolled over and sighed, trying to get comfortable in bed. These questions had kept her up before, and she knew she would never have answers to them. Perhaps it did not matter what she believed or what the truth was. Perhaps all that mattered was that she and Lucien, through all the sadness and hardship they'd both faced, had found the love and comfort and happiness in each other. Perhaps that was the only truth worth believing in anymore.
Lucien felt Jean shift in bed beside him, and he was jostled out of a light sleep. She had a tendency to toss and turn. Such traits used to be his alone, his nightmares keeping him up or the alcohol making him sick and uncomfortable until he passed out. But he his nightmares had not bothered him much recently. He slept better having Jean beside him, and falling asleep after sex instead of after a bottle of whiskey was immeasurably more pleasurable. The dreams, when they did come to torment him, were less violent than they'd been in the past. He did not wake up screaming and sweating and shaking. Instead, he only jolted slightly out of whatever the dream had been, and he was able to coax himself back to sleep without much worry.
What did worry him, though, was what had become of Jean and himself. They were in love and they were happy, and Lucien had never dreamed that those two things could ever happen to him ever again in his life. He treasured this time with her, this life they were building.
But that life was in secret. That life required sneaking around and hiding and even lying at times. He wished that they could be an ordinary couple, that he could hold her hand walking down the street, that he could buy her gifts and take her out to the cinema or to an elegant dinner. None of that was possible while he remained in his position.
They hadn't discussed it at all since he'd offered to leave the Church to be with her, back before Christmas. In the few months that had passed since, it had not been brought up again. He did not now if he should. Surely that was what she wanted, to be able to be with him proudly and in the open, for him to marry her and be together properly? It was what he wanted. He wanted it more than anything.
Unfortunately, it wasn't that simple. Jean had brought it up to him when he'd offered the first time, that he was needed here. And it was true, he was a good priest and he was a comfort to his parishioners. Yes, another priest could do the job just as well, if not better, but the progressive ideals he tried to espouse through his teachings were not commonly held amongst the clergy. That was important, he knew. Promoting kindness and tolerance and understanding with the churchgoers was important. And though it might have been hubris to say, Lucien knew he was better at that than anyone else could be.
And what if he did leave? It would be no secret to anyone why he left. If he suddenly left the Church and moved into Jean's house and married her? She would be vilified, he knew. She would be blamed, as women always were in these situations, for leading the beloved priest astray. Never mind, of course, that it had been Lucien who pursued her from the very beginning. No one would care about that. All they would see was Jean who had worked for the priest only to end up as his wife once he was forced to abandon them all for the privilege of getting to be with her. The both of them would be persona non grata in the community if they stayed. Lucien would not be able to get a job anywhere, surely, for who would hire a disgraced priest? Jean would similarly be unemployable, and even if she weren't, Lucien would hate to be unable to provide for her, to force her to work when he could not support them. They might have more luck if they moved, but that would mean forcing Jean to sell her house. She loved that house, he knew, and it would hurt them both if she had to leave it. And, even if they did leave, what could he do? He'd been a good doctor at one time, but it had been so long. Could he really make a living that way? Surely no hospital would hire him with such a woefully deficient CV as a physician.
No matter how he looked at it, they were well and truly stuck. They were trapped in their current situation. If they were going to be able to be together and in love, this was how it had to be. Hiding in the rectory where no one could see and carrying on in public as though there was nothing untoward between them. It was killing him to continue on this way, but if he had to give up Jean, what point would there be in living at all?