Much like my abstinence from certain junk foods, my quick updates seem to have fallen by the wayside as soon as the lights came up at the Great Vigil. Sorry for the delay! I can't tell you enough how much all your encouragement has meant to me.
Still not entirely sure how many more chapters are in this. We're nearing the end, to be sure, but there's a lot left to unpack. Your feedback on this point is well appreciated!
Kathleen's clumsy musicianship signalled the start of the recessional. As the bell clanged, Peter wanted more than anything to bolt for the sacristy and check on Assumpta. Still, he knew duty called him to stand once more by the exit and greet (or at least face) his parishioners as they went out into the world again.
At the same moment, Assumpta wanted nothing more than to hunker down in the sacristy until the entire congregation had left for home. Unfortunately, she suspected the Egans would probably want their infant son back sooner or later, and if he didn't need a change already, he certainly would soon. So she closed the heavy self-locking door behind her and carried her godson across the courtyard, a scenic route back toward the narthex.
The result was that Assumpta was the first face Peter saw. Her eyes were wide and, he noticed, a little red.
As a few acolytes stumbled past, he drew in a breath. He only had a few seconds.
"Should have told you first. I'm sorry."
She shrugged as if it were a trivial thing. "They're going to let you stay in town?"
He felt bolder, suddenly. "Their orders don't fully come into it anymore."
"Vows don't dissolve that easily."
"What'll they do, defrock me?"
She looked full of questions, but the tide of Easter churchgoers was upon them now, coursing between them. Some shook Peter's hand as though nothing new had come to pass; some gave him tearful hugs; some approached Assumpta to dote on Kieran, the rightful man of the hour.
Back in the front pew, the Quigley-Egan family were set to be last out the doors.
"So this was what you meant when you cornered me the other day and told me to keep my nose out of it?" Brian asked as they shuffled behind the slow-moving crowd.
Niamh nodded. "Surprised?"
"Not entirely, no," Brian said.
Imelda looked at Ambrose. "If a priest had upstaged your christening that way I'd have been fit to be tied!"
"Never too late," Brian mumbled.
"What?" squawked Imelda.
"Nothing," Brian covered.
"Daddy?" Niamh cut in.
"Yes?"
"Remember what we talked about."
The businessman looked indignant, but cowed. "I know, I know."
Easter-egg festivities took precedence at St. Joseph's, and naps took it at the Garda house. As a result, the reception for Kieran at Fitzgerald's was hours later. Assumpta tried her hardest to keep her mind on the party. She was losing the will to do so. Peter was keeping his distance, sticking to the shadows; would they never have an hour's privacy to talk?
Just when it seemed her nerves couldn't get any more frayed, in walked Father Mac, looking as always like a bird of prey. Assumpta waited for him to attack Peter, but to her surprise and horror, he sat down at the bar before her.
"Tullamore Dew Single Malt, neat," he said. She accepted his coins and prepared the drink. When she reached into the till to make change, he dismissed her.
"What do you want?"
"To ask a question about today's service, that's all."
Assumpta folded her arms.
The parish priest took it in stride. "Tell me, Assumpta: when the water touched Kieran's brow, did he smile and laugh, or did he throw a tantrum?"
"Well, Gran's lipstick sent him into a snit later, but he was a perfect angel over the font."
"That's what I was afraid of."
"I don't follow." Assumpta didn't trust where this was headed.
"Well, in my career I've developed a little pet theory about babies at christening. I've christened a number of the people here tonight, including yourself."
"Don't remind me," the landlady grumbled.
Father Mac smirked. "Ambrose and Niamh were both holy terrors when the water hit them, kicking and screaming the whole way. Niamh even slapped me!"
"Good on her."
"Did your mother or father ever tell you that you were a breeze by comparison?"
Assumpta had to chuckle at this.
"Anyway, in these and many other cases, it seems the hellraisers grow up to be devout, and the perfect angels go on to make trouble. You're Kieran's godmother now. I have a wild hunch he'll turn out rather like you. Your own attitudes about the Church notwithstanding, try to model good behaviour for the boy." He punctuated this with a sip and a fixed look. "At least, by the time he's old enough to notice."
Assumpta rolled her eyes as if trying to monitor a cloud above her own head. "Happy Easter, Father Mac."
Brendan waited until Assumpta's back was turned before he allowed himself to grin at this exchange. Father Mac still made him uneasy, too, after all these years. Still, Brendan had known from Assumpta's early days that she would be able to give as good as she got from the rigid-minded priest.
Turning to Siobhan to share in a quiet chuckle, he saw her staring a hole in the taps with eyes too tired to blink. Brendan tried a nudge to the elbow; Siobhan wobbled a bit and blinked once. He nudged her again; she added a grunt and a glare.
"Penny for-"
"No."
He thought for a moment. "Lager for-"
"Not now."
He settled back onto his barstool, perplexed.
Brian and Imelda cornered the young parents at the other end of the bar.
"We have a present for the newly baptised," Imelda said. Ambrose's eyes went wide as he rocked his son; Niamh flinched a little.
Brian reached into his coat pocket and fished out a small, crisp envelope. "Imelda and I pooled our resources," he said.
Imelda nodded. "It's yours to invest in his future as you wish, but it is enough to hire a few months' nanny."
Niamh opened the envelope and gasped at the amounts on the two cheques within.
Ambrose swallowed. "You're sure about this?"
Brian nodded solemnly. "Not that you don't have matters well in hand on your own. But we all know the pub runs better with Niamh helping out. Has her mother's business acumen, she does. And when the pub runs better, people are happier, and it's good for business elsewhere."
Niamh glanced at Assumpta to check for a reaction, but Assumpta was miles away.
"And it might give you time to spend alone together," Imelda added. "When Ambrose was little I'd have loved a little domestic help."
"I don't know what to say," Niamh whispered.
"First time for everything," her father retorted.
"Only promise you'll hire someone who loves him as deeply as we do," said Imelda.
Niamh looked over her shoulder at the man in the now-unadorned black suit, likewise miles away, though physically playing hostage to Father Mac's cigar smoke and unsolicited advice.
"Think I know just the person."
"I do wish you hadn't gone over my head."
Peter tried to concentrate. He turned from the object of his focus and watched Father Mac tap his pungent cigar on the ashtray, thinking he'd rather some holy incense.
"Sorry?"
"I was your confessor. Still am, if you'll have one."
"I'm not walking away from Catholicism!"
"You should be able to confide in me. You needn't have driven all the way to Carlow!"
Peter ran a thumb down the wall of his pint glass, leaving a clear road through the condensation. "The feeling I couldn't be open with you was part of my decision."
"You make it sound as if any man with secrets couldn't be a real priest."
"Did you ever really think of me that way?"
"Fa...Peter," the older man corrected himself. "If you weren't the real thing, who shall we say made the mistake? You? The Church? Not God, surely."
Peter looked once more at Assumpta. "I have no problem viewing the whole sequence of events as His will."
Father Mac braced a thumb and forefinger at his temples. "Was it not all for Assumpta Fitzgerald?"
"No. I wasn't meant for it." Peter thought about it. "But I could've gone on faking forever if I hadn't come here."
Father Mac looked away uncomfortably and drew another puff on his cigar.
Assumpta had hoped Peter would linger past closing - they still hadn't found a moment to talk alone - but at about twenty minutes before, a startled look had appeared on him, and he had bailed for home with barely a wave as if he'd left the burner on.
She buzzed through last orders, waiting for the chance to send the guest of honour and his retinue home. Peter's absence made the regulars' behaviour more obvious, almost retroactively. A pile of balled-up foil wrappers suggested Niamh had been obliterating those Cadbury Caramel Eggs all night, her eyes seeming to flare with the promise of a new scheme as she bit into the smooth chocolate shells. Ambrose had left a half-done puzzle on a table, with Assumpta's permission. And Assumpta noticed Siobhan was unusually quiet, with Brendan seeming to hound her about what was the matter, even as she walked out the door.
Assumpta was wondering where the strength to clean up might be found, when she heard Fionn's familiar plea for a little constitutional.
"Fine by me," she said. The dishes and party decorations could wait.
She decided that, within reason, the dog could dictate the course of this journey. As luck might have it, this meant Fionn leading her up to St. Joseph's.
The extra paces to the door of the curate's house were admittedly her own idea.
The hour was hardly decent, but all his lights looked to be on.
Just knock.
Ugh, I can't do this.
He quit his job in front of the whole town today, and I can't knock on a door?
She tapped the door softly with a quivering fist.
It was, apparently, enough for him to hear.
Peter opened the door only a crack.
"Can't I come in?" she asked.
Peter looked behind him nervously, then at Assumpta, then at Fionn. "Hang on."
Then he shut the door.