Barbara Erskine - Time’s Legacy

She confronted Kier that evening. ‘Why didn’t you tell me that you disapproved of healing?’

He glanced up at her. She had cornered him this time, walking into the study where he was seated before his desk. The room was warm, lit by the last of the sun and its light was catching his hair, turning it a deep coppery red. He looked up at her and laid down his pen, carefully aligning it with his blotter. The computer was on a side table on the far side of the room. Beside it piles of letters and papers were arranged in neat sequences, graded by size. ‘It did not occur to me that it would be something you would attempt,’ he said carefully. ‘When I began to receive reports, I didn’t believe it at first. I assumed that people were misinterpreting your zeal for prayer.’

‘Has someone complained?’

He nodded. ‘I’m afraid so. It has reinforced the natural aversion some parishioners still feel towards a female priest. I’m sorry, Abi. I should have mentioned it. I just hoped you would realise that it was not appropriate.’

‘But it is appropriate! It is what Jesus taught us to do. It is what I learned at college. I was encouraged to do it!’ She was furious.

‘People round here don’t like it, Abi.’

‘Ethel liked it. So does Molly Cathcart. It has helped her. She was healed. She has been outside for the first time in months.’

‘And you take credit for that healing, do you?’

‘Yes I do. I’m the only one who has even bothered to go and see her apart from her carer!’ Abi paused. ‘I mean, no. Of course I don’t take credit for it. That was God. But I was the one who made it happen.’

Kier raised an eyebrow. ‘Did you use your magic wand?’

There was a moment of silence as Abi registered the cold sarcasm in his voice. ‘How dare you!’ For a moment she wondered how she would stop herself hitting him.

‘I dare, Abi, because it is my job to care.’ There was a carefully modified touch of sadness in the wry smile. ‘To put you back on course if you stray. You’re very new to the life. You find it glamorous and exciting. Of course you do, that’s natural. But you have to stay within the accepted parameters. You have to stay in control.’ He clenched his fists, then forced himself to relax them again. ‘We pray if people are ill. Laying on healing hands is not acceptable in my parish I’m afraid. End of!’ He stood up. There was a moment of silence as he looked at her. ‘Anger suits you, Abi, if you’ll pardon the cliché! It makes you look quite beautiful.’ He reached forward and playfully tugged at a lock of her hair. The clips that normally kept it restrained on the nape of her neck had come free and a heavy lock had fallen across her shoulder. ‘We are going to have to tame you, I can see.’ She jerked back out of his reach. ‘That hair is a bit too wild, isn’t it. Perhaps it would be better if you cut it.’

She stared at him. ‘I will do no such thing!’

‘Then keep it under control, Abi. It makes you look far too enticing.’

She thought long and hard that night up in her flat as she stood at the window looking out across the rooftops. So, healing was not acceptable and neither it seemed was her hair. She shivered. She had first discovered she had what was, for the want of a better term, the power of healing, when a fortune teller at a fairground had told her so when she was sixteen. The old gypsy in a colourful caravan had taken her hands and scrutinised them for several seconds, then she had shaken her head as though puzzled by the wonders she found there and begun to speak with, as it turned out, quite remarkable accuracy. ‘You will have a life of service, dear,’ the old woman had said. The great black gaping holes between her teeth gave her the expression of a storybook elf as did her mischievously sparkling eyes. ‘You are a sensitive and you have healing hands. I can feel their power. You must train yourself to use your powers for good. It is too easy to go to the bad! You will have the potential to do so much for people.’ Abi had been a bit miffed at the time. She bet herself that the woman said that to everyone and that was not what she wanted to hear. She wanted to hear about future romance. The old woman, effortlessly reading her thoughts, had sighed. She looked again at Abi’s hand, tracing the lines with a grubby forefinger. ‘I see two men here. More than two.’ She glanced up disapprovingly. ‘But one is special. The trick will be to decide which one he is.’ She had cackled with laughter. Abi remembered wondering cynically if she had trained herself to laugh like that or if it was natural.

The remark about her healing hands had however lodged somewhere in her unconscious and years later, after yet another person had told her how good it was after she had massaged a neck or laid a cool authoritative hand on an aching head, she had enrolled for a course with the National Federation of Spiritual Healers. One of the many things she had not told her parents about. The course was fascinating. It showed people how to channel energy. To be aware. To work with the body of the sick person, to remove pain and direct healing. The spiritual side of it was non specific. It did not involve prayer, but even now as a priest Abi still found herself instinctively using the skills she had learned on that course. She prefaced her actions with prayer now of course and gave thanks afterwards. She could not believe that what she did was evil.

She recalled the expression on Kier’s face as he had brought up the subject. Sandra had warned her. There was something strange going on here and she did not feel comfortable about it. Any more than she had felt comfortable with him touching her hair. She was finally beginning to wonder if she was really enjoying living that close to him. Her initial attraction to the man was waning. She could never quite put her finger on it, but there was something about him which was increasingly making her uneasy.

From then on she began to notice things; from time to time their hands touched accidentally when they were sitting at his desk, their heads together over parish reports; once or twice they brushed against one another when they were robing in the vestry of the church. She never encouraged him. He was flirting mildly, that was all. It was his manner. Perhaps it was just that she had started to notice it more. She had thought she could cope with it. She acknowledged that at the beginning she had enjoyed it, missing, she had to admit, the company of a man, flattered and rewarded by his attention. Now suddenly she realised that she had been foolish. It had been wrong to encourage him, even if only subconsciously. Quite apart from anything else, he had a girlfriend.

Sue Green was a teacher at a girl’s prep school on the far side of the city. She and Kier had been together in an offhand sort of way for three or four years, living apart most if not all the time. Abi wasn’t sure how frequently she stayed overnight, but it couldn’t be very often, that was for sure. Abi met her very seldom – usually when they passed in the hallway or on the stairs, but the knowledge that she existed was somehow comforting. Another female presence in the house. That was important, because there were never any other women there. She seldom saw Sandra, and although she frequently saw Kier talking to women, and watched their reaction as they melted beneath his smile be they in church or on the street, or when she accompanied him to visit parishioners or sit in on their visits to the Rectory, none actually came and stayed for more than a few minutes save the two cleaning ladies who came together once a week and worked together and left together. Once or twice she found herself wondering if it was because he didn’t trust himself with women.

From now on she would keep Kier at arm’s length and since he made such a big deal about it she would make sure she kept her irrepressible hair tightly restrained in its clips and pins. Any healing she did she would keep carefully low key. There was no point in antagonising him. But there was no way she was going to stop, either. It was what she did. More and more she began to distance herself from his attentions. More and more often she found herself creeping in at the end of the day, and, almost ludicrously, tiptoeing up the stairs to try and avoid him.