CHAPTER TEN
6:30 pm, Sunday June 25th, 1922
St. Paul's Roman Catholic Church
His hand moved in pace with words so familiar, the ritual so ingrained, his hand moved without conscious thought. "In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost; Bless me Father, for I have sinned. It has been seven days since my last confession…"
A mild Irish lilt began from the other side of the confessional. "The Lord be in thy heart and on thy lips, that thou mayest rightly confess thy sins. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."
Murdoch bent his head by the screen separating him from his priest, going through the motions. His list of transgressions this week was long, to which he added his offensive treatment of Dr. Ogden not an hour before, scouring his conscience for all his sins. Anonymous confession or not, Father Edward Cullen knew who was on the other side of the booth and was used to his recitation of anger and despair for God's mercy and listened without comment until he was through. "Dear God, I detest my sins and am sorry for having offended You. I dread the loss of Heaven and the pains of Hell…".
He also knew what Father Cullen knew: his heart wasn't in it. They both kept it up - albeit for different reasons.
"Misereátur tui omnípotens Deus, et dimíssis peccátis tuis, perdúcat te ad vitam ætérnam. Amen." The priest made the blessing sign and completed the remainder of the soothing Latin phrases, ending with the last "Amen…"
"Amen…" He made the sign of the cross and got up off his knees. Outside the confessional, he found a pew and prayed, or at least tried to, until the priest quit the confessional and joined him in the quiet, nearly empty sanctuary.
"You will have to arrange for communion." When he opened his eyes, Father Cullen had his arms crossed over his hassock and a hand under his chin. "Will…. have you heard from Liza?" the priest asked.
He did not sigh, did not admit to any emotions about the matter. Only Eddie Cullen, his best friend since their Jesuit boarding school days, knew the whole truth. Outside of their roles as priest and parishioner, they were just Will and Eddie, two boys from the Atlantic Provinces who grew into men, remaining friends even as their paths diverged when one of them abandoned studying for the priesthood.
"No, Eddie, I have not." He twisted his ring, a thick gold band his wife had given him in this very church, to make sure you and all those French women know you are taken, she had said. Eddie was going to tell him to go to Brantford again to try to reconcile with Liza, give it another chance.
He used to believe there was always hope, but in the few months after he got home and just before the war ended, Liza left Toronto for a coveted teaching post in her hometown. He carried with him the image of her at Union Station as she waved goodbye out of the train compartment window. Around her neck was the silver horse pendant he gave her as a love token, to remind her of the day he proposed to her at Scarborough Beach Park. They had just witnessed the famous jumping horse who leapt headfirst sixty feet into a pool of water below carrying a rider. Liza clung to him in anticipation before the stunt, and afterwards was awestruck by the trust and shared courage of animal and rider, two souls who hurtled as one to their fate. The moment was entirely magical.
"Liza," he remembered saying, "I want to take the plunge with you too...you and me together. Will you marry me?" She was so happy when she said yes. He'd have sworn they were happy. Years later, as she left that day for Brantford, he took her wearing his gift as a sign they were going to be able to bridge the divide between them...
But, Liza, you never came back.
He sat in the pew, not sure why he hung on. Was it because the truth was unbearable to him? Because something lodged in his gut and kept him up at night.
O, Lord! Have mercy on my poor heart. My life is ashes without Liza...
Father Edward Cullen, the priest, told him regularly it was a sin to be ungrateful for what he had, the bright and beautiful world God had made, by shutting himself inside his head.
Eddie, his friend, just sat with him, not speaking, not pressing him for anything, not judging, while Murdoch ground his teeth to give himself something real to feel, other than the crump hole inside of him.
Impotence was grounds for annulment only if it was present before the marriage took place, which had not been the case; so there was only one option left to Liza to be free of him - other than murder or suicide. He un-clenched his jaw just far enough to whisper:
"As far as I know, she still insists I file for divorce on the grounds of her desertion. The three-year time was up at the start of the month."
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