The Revelation Of Joan

(Author's note: this chapter is a subplot of the full story. If you want to just follow the Luke/Grace/Joan story line, jump to chapter 4)

Chapter 3 Consider the Lilies

Weird are the uses of adversity. Not more than a month ago, I had been beset by all sorts of religious doubts, which had not only driven me out of the nunnery but was compelling me to consider giving up my counseling job. Yet then came the attack on the church building, and I suddenly found myself a fervent supporter of the church, all the previous doubts looking petty in my mind.

Father Ken had also straightened me out about Kevin. For a long time I had regarded Kevin as a temptation against a religious calling (or, depending on my mood, a refuge against it). Now, I realized I could have both -- assuming that Kevin's mother didn't kill me today over a different matter.

I sat at one of the folding tables at the side of the sanctuary area, looking over Helen's sketches for the new works of art. I wished that I could have a cigarette, but that wasn't allowed in here. I also wished that I could dump this assignment on Father Ken, but he was busy, and besides, it was an open secret that he was rather terrified of Helen.

There she was, coming toward me now. She stopped to talk with Kevin, who was doing repair work on one of the less damaged knick-knacks, then walked to sit opposite me.

"We were looking over your sketches," I said, "and --" I stopped, trying to think of the right way to put it.

"They're not good enough?" guessed Helen.

"Oh, no! They're quite good," I said, quite sincerely. "But the use of them -- the purpose of religious art is to help the worshipper focus his or her thoughts on God. That's what we want the worshippers to think about when they see the painting -- not about Cubism or Pointillism or the role of irony in art."

"Ah," she said. "Too academic. It comes of being an art teacher, I suppose. Well, that won't be a problem anymore, Lily, because I won't be teaching next year."

"I didn't mean--"

"Oh, that decision has nothing to do with this. Back when I started, Joan said that teaching in her school would be "sort of like incest", and I finally realized what she meant. Toward the end of the spring term I kept staring at Joan's ex-boyfriend and his new girl, and trying to sort out my resentment from my artistic judgement. Thank God that's over." She looked at the sketches. "OK, I'll start over, but I'm not sure how. How can I help a worshipper focus when my religious attitudes are so unfocused?"

"Try to find a religious subject that moves you," I said, "and try to move somebody else. I can loan you Loyola's Spiritual Exercises. Read the section about 'composition of place'. "

"Thanks. This may take some time, though."

"It's all right," I said, vastly relieved that this had gone much better than I feared.

Helen walked off, and a young woman approached, looking tentative. "Can I help you?" I asked, then wondered if that sounded too much like a shopkeeper.

"Maybe. My name is Jennifer Hovah, and I was scheduled to be married here."

"Congratulations."

"The ceremony got postponed because of the wreckage, but I'm anxious for it to go on--"

I glanced at her waistline to see if she was pregnant. Unfortunately she seemed to read my mind. "Oh, it's not THAT. I've been saving myself for marriage. But I'm a little tired of saving myself -- I don't mind if there's still repair work to be done during the ceremony. The sacrament's the thing, right?"

"Right. I suggest you talk directly to Father Ken. He's over at the confessionals."

"Thanks."

She went off, and nobody else seemed to need my attention, so I wandered over toward where Kevin was working, at the meantime thinking over Ms. Hovah's plight. "A little tired of saving myself" -- that's the best euphemism for feeling sexy that I'd heard in a long time.

"That's good work," I said, looking at Kevin's carpentry.

"Thanks," he said. "Sometimes I think that NOT having to think about legs frees up part of my mind to focus on what my hands do. Have you ever seen our boat?"

"No."

"Joan's project originally, but she lost interest and the men in the family picked it up. Oops."

A little round piece, apparently used to bind two slivers together temporarily, had fallen off the end of the table onto the stone floor. It would be difficult for him to reach them from his wheelchair. On the other hand, I was wearing jeans and could bend down without embarrassing result. "I'll get them."

I got down on my knees to pick them up, and turned to Kevin. Suddenly everything -- the ring, my kneeling position, Ms. Hovah's talk, and my own feelings toward Kevin, all came together. "Kevin, will you marry me?"

He looked down at me and laughed. "That's my line, isn't it?"

"I mean it, Kevin. Would you like for me to be your wife?"

His smile faded. "Holy cr--- um, can't say that in a church, can I? You really do mean it." He thought a bit. "I'd like to, but there's things to discuss first, and I don't want to talk about them here. Coffee shop, after we get off duty?"

"OK."

"Cool."

Turning away from Kevin, I saw Ms. Hovah standing near the confessionals. She was smiling at me, as if she could hear what had just happened even at that distance. Then she gave me an odd wave and disappeared.

I waited impatiently for the end of the day. Fortunately most of the stuff I was doing was routine, not requiring deep judgement on my part. Finally I got to the shop. We couldn't get a booth, because of Kevin's wheelchair, but we found a fairly isolated table. I got that Kevin didn't want to be public about what he was saying.

"OK," I said, taking the opposite seat. "You're implying that you'd be willing to get married, BUT. So what's the but?"

"I have a confession to make. That's what Catholics are supposed to do, isn't it?" He had an expression I had never seen before -- introspection, but not focused on his health.

"Yeah, but to priests, not their girlfriends."

"This is something YOU need to hear." He took a deep breath and charged in. "About two years ago, I was still getting used to the idea of being confined to a wheelchair. But there was a woman, Rebecca. She helped me get a job at the newspaper, I still have it. She helped me put up with all the condescension I got for being in a wheelchair. And when Valentine's Day came around, she invited me to her apartment, and we, ah--"

"You don't need to go into details."

"OK. The rotten thing was, I was a total egotist, and thought of everything in terms of ME. I had gotten a job. I had persevered. I had gotten a girl. I hadn't realized how much I owed Rebecca, until she moved away and I lost the chance to thank her." He sighed. "I just wanted you to know how rotten I can be."

"D'you know what Father Ken would say to that confession? 'Go and sin no more'. You're not likely to make the same mistake twice."

"Yeah. Well, let me go on to stuff that will still happen. It's not politically correct to say it, but I AM a bit dependent. There are certain things I can't do for myself. Right now Mom and the others help. If I move out of home and take up married life, my wife will have to do them. I'm not talking about women being subservient -- I'd do them for my wife if the shoe were on the other foot, so to speak." He looked down ruefully at his own feet. It had been painful for him to admit all that.

"I understand that," I replied. "I'll learn. Is that all?"

"I think we should have a trial period, see if it'll work. I'm not talking about sex, like the last time we brought this up -- I understand that you want to wait until marriage. But we'll see if the other demands are too onerous." He frowned. "Of course, your holy friends may think you're living with a man out of wedlock--"

"I'll explain matters to Father Ken in confession, and if anybody else complains -- well, the hell with them."

"Well, that settles that," he said lightly. "Then yes, I'd love for you to be my wife."

"Keep in mind what you're getting into. I smoke, and when I try to kick the habit, I'm crabby. I have religious worries that may seem weird to you but mean a lot to me. Keep in mind that I'm several years older than you, even if I consider them wasted years. If we plan to have kids, that cuts down on the period where I can have them. What do you say to that?"

"I'm cool."

"One other thing. I don't expect you to share my religious concerns, but I do want it to be a Catholic wedding. In other words, no divorce. Once you've got me, you're stuck with me."

"Thanks for the warning. It's settled then. We're engaged. Now, which one of us breaks the news to Mom?"

That was a good question.