Tess Evans - Book of Lost Threads

Finn was at a loss. ‘Let’s say a prayer,’ he suggested in desperation. ‘Hail Mary…’ A rosary was on the bedside table and he twined it around the old man’s fingers.

Boniface closed his eyes, and his face relaxed as he recited the familiar words. ‘Hail Mary, full of grace. The Lord is with thee…’

Finn stayed until, soothed by prayer, his old friend drifted off to sleep.

‘He has lucid moments,’ Jerome told Finn as they walked through the cloisters that evening. ‘But you can never predict them.’ He studied Finn’s face. ‘I’m not sure what we can do for you, though, Finbar. You’re welcome to stay for a few days, but you may be putting off the inevitable.’

Finn shook his head. ‘I feel safe here. I ran away, I guess. Just like last time.’

‘Not just like last time,’ Jerome responded thoughtfully. ‘I can sense that you’re stronger now. How do you account for that?’

‘I’m not sure. I do keep the Silence after my own fashion. That helps.’ His eyes slid away. ‘I also found my daughter- actually, she found me.’

‘Daughter? You’ve never mentioned a daughter.’

Finn smiled wryly. ‘It’s a long story, Father. She turned up on my doorstep a few months ago.’ He chose his next words carefully. ‘I’m not sure I’m… father material, but she-she’s a good person.’

Jerome nodded. ‘You’re lucky to have found family, Finn. It must make your life less lonely.’

‘Yes. I guess it does. And I do have a couple of friends in Opportunity.’ Good friends , he thought, surprised. ‘They sort of fill out my life a bit.’

‘What do you expect your friends might do now they know all about your past?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Will they turn their backs on you?’

Finn remembered the concerned faces as he stood paralysed in Mrs Pargetter’s front room. ‘No,’ he said finally. ‘No. They wouldn’t do that.’

‘So why did you leave?’

‘I don’t feel worthy of love or friendship. I don’t want to taint them with my troubles.’

Jerome stopped and turned to him, signalling the end of the conversation. ‘I’d like you to go away and think about what you just said, Finbar. We’ll talk again tomorrow.’

‘Do you mind if I sit in the chapel for a while?’

‘You’re always welcome in God’s house.’

Finn made his way to the chapel and paused to savour the quiet interior. Two monks were kneeling in prayer, and another was sweeping the aisle, his broom whispering rhythmically on the polished floor. Coloured light filtered through the arched windows and gathered in pools on the marble steps of the altar. Carved wooden figures looked out at the worshippers: Saint Benedict on one side, holding his book and crozier, the Virgin Mother on the other, holding the Christ child.

Slipping into a pew, Finn sat, head bowed, hands dangling between his knees. He needed to think things through. He knew that his friends would stand by him. They had already demonstrated that. He had told Jerome that he felt unworthy of love. Was he being disingenuous? He was loved. He hadn’t really thought about it before, but he was loved. His daughter had loved him enough to try to help him come to terms with his past. That it had gone disastrously wrong was not her fault. Mrs Pargetter and Sandy were fiercely loyal friends. More than that, he knew they loved him. They all shared a circle of dependence and support; each of them a little broken, but brave. Not fearless, he thought, but brave.

So why would he want to fend for himself? Why would he want to leave his friends to fend for themselves? Finn knew that he’d become a loner. The charming, sociable Michael had been left far behind, and the Finn he’d become was insular and obsessive. When he looked honestly into his heart, he saw that his greatest fear was of commitment. He saw now, with sudden clarity, that he was not just running from the press and from his own shame; he was running from the obligations of love and friendship.

These thoughts led back to his parents, who also loved him. After the accident, he had refused their love and all but disappeared from their lives, returning only for rare visits, when he sat at the dinner table chafing to be gone. His father had died three years ago, and his mother was in a retirement village now, frail but still alert. How long would it be before she, like Boniface, failed to recognise him? He looked up at the statues and then lowered his eyes. Was there accusation on the face of Mary, patron of mothers? He felt like a guilty child as his eyes slid back to the carved face. No accusation there. Just sorrow. Our Lady of Sorrows.

He was suddenly aware that the monks were filing in for Vespers. Keeping his eyes averted, he slipped out the side door and made his way to the infirmary. He stopped short when he saw Kevin reading the evening prayers at the old man’s bedside. Boniface was smiling and nodding, his troubled mind clearly soothed by the long, familiar cadences. Kevin’s voice was low, his eyes alight with faith. Finn lingered and saw Kevin rise from his knees and, like a parent, tuck in the bedclothes and gently kiss the now sleeping face. Afraid of being seen, Finn turned and walked swiftly back to his cottage. He had intruded upon a private moment, but rather than embarrassment, all he could feel was humility.

He put on the kettle and made some tea, moving aside the tea cosies that still lay on the bench. Tomorrow was Sunday, and conversation was allowed-a good time to give the tea cosies to their intended recipients.

Finn gave one each to Jerome and Kevin at breakfast the next morning. They accepted their gifts with pleasure and listened with genuine interest as Finn told Mrs Pargetter’s story.

‘We’ll pray that she finds peace,’ Jerome said.

‘We’ll pray that she finds her child,’ Kevin promised.

Finn was once again touched by the kindness of these men. It would be so easy to again immerse himself in the tranquil rhythm of their days. In reality, he had to be resolute. Without belief, he’d be living a lie. ‘I think it’s time to go back,’ he said to Jerome. ‘I’ll take the bus tomorrow. I can’t say how grateful I am for all you’ve done.’ He hesitated. ‘Can I ask one more thing of you? Can I see Boniface again before I go?’

‘You can keep watch a while this evening,’ said Jerome. ‘He’s dying, Finn, and will soon see Our Blessed Lord face to face.’

Finn spent the rest of the day in the garden with Kevin, but his thoughts were of Boniface. After the last Office of the day, Jerome indicated that the time had come, and Finn almost ran through the cloisters to the infirmary. He nodded to the monk who was sitting by the bed, and slipped into the chair he vacated. Boniface was sleeping, his breathing shallow and harsh. Taking his hand, Finn looked down at the dying man’s face.

‘I’ve decided to go back, Father Boniface,’ he whispered. ‘You told me once that I would know what to do when the time came. I don’t know. It might be now… Could it be now?’ He searched the old face for answers, but it remained shut. ‘I’ll go back, but then what? I still want forgiveness. I wish I had your faith-redemption is easier with faith. But people like me… we have to make reparation in whatever way we can. The Holy Spirit… he doesn’t speak to people like me.’

Boniface stirred and opened his eyes. ‘Finbar,’ he said. ‘Could you open the curtains, please?’

Startled, Finn did as he was asked and looked out at the sharp sickle that sliced the clear night sky. The stars, framed by the window, pierced the surrounding blackness with cold needles of light.

‘There’ll be a frost tomorrow; the sky is so clear,’ remarked Boniface in a conversational tone.