J. Powers - Morte D'Urban

FR URBAN: When was this?

RECTOR: About a year ago.

FR URBAN: And you haven’t been back to see her?

RECTOR: No.

FR URBAN: Bum’s rush?

RECTOR: No, but she didn’t ask me to come back, and didn’t pay much attention to me while I was there. She’s an old woman.

FR URBAN: Any idea why she should wish this place off on us?

RECTOR: I wouldn’t say that. I daresay there are plenty of other orders that would be glad to have it.

FR URBAN: Who closed the deal?

RECTOR: Chicago. She wrote to us.

FR URBAN: But somebody must have looked at it first.

RECTOR: Father Provincial made a special trip up here.

FR URBAN: I see. What’s the old woman’s name?

RECTOR: Thwaites. Mrs Andrew Thwaites.

FR URBAN: I take it she lives near by?

RECTOR: Lake Lucille. That’s near Great Plains.

FR URBAN: That a town — Lake Lucille?

RECTOR: No, just a lake — a very nice lake. She has a house there, a big place, more room than she needs.

FR URBAN: Any surviving heirs?

RECTOR: Yes, but they don’t live with her.

FR URBAN: And you don’t feel that Mrs Thwaites is interested in doing any more for us here?

RECTOR: No, I don’t — but of course we can’t complain. Now then.

St Clement’s Hill had presented numerous problems at first, and still did. The Rector had arrived on the scene about a year ago — one year ago yesterday, to be precise. In the meantime, many of the problems either had been or were being solved. For example, there had been no means of transportation in the beginning, but this problem had been solved — not to everyone’s satisfaction, perhaps — but in the best possible way. Many of the achievements of the past year could be seen. There were others, though, that could not be seen. For example, it had been necessary to sink a deeper well, an operation requiring skilled professional labor and therefore a costly one. It had been money well spent, however, since there was now a plentiful supply of water. For drinking purposes, the water was excellent. Visitors praised it .

RECTOR: In my opinion, our water is something that could be — well, talked up.

FR URBAN: You don’t mean it’s therapeutic, do you?

RECTOR: For all I know it is. But I was talking about the way it tastes. Our water tastes good.

FR URBAN: Has it been tested for purity?

RECTOR: Yes, and it’s right up there. The iron content is very low — for this part of the country. The main thing, though, is that it tastes so good. I don’t know but what I prefer it to the water at the Novitiate. But be that as it may.

Sewage disposal could become troublesome in the future, and a new system would be expensive unless they did the work themselves. The digging they could do, but the rest of it — laying out a drainage field and putting down pipes — this, if not done by professionals, had to be carried out under expert supervision, since there was always the danger of polluting the fresh water supply. Unfortunately, such co-operative arrangements weren’t always too successful .

FR URBAN: No?

RECTOR: No. Brother Harold and I did a little work in Parlor B while Parlor A was being papered. After the men went home at night, we used their steamer — I don’t know whether you’ve ever seen one or not. Steams the old paper right off the wall. Really does the job. We were just trying to help. The men didn’t like it. Something about the union. As a result, I changed my mind about letting them finish Parlor B. I’m afraid they didn’t take it very well.

FR JOHN: Too bad.

RECTOR: Yes, but it couldn’t be helped.

FR URBAN: Assuming you had an estimate beforehand, as I imagine you did, what was your reason for trying to help? You weren’t paying them by the hour, were you?

RECTOR: No, but I had an estimate in round numbers, and I was trying to keep the cost down to the minimum. In fact, I was hoping to bring it down below that. I thought I was dealing with a Catholic concern.

FR URBAN: Sometimes that can be a mistake.

Perhaps the walls of Parlor B, now stripped of paper, should just be painted. Wallpapering was a tricky business, especially in an old house with high ceilings. The plan was to paint the walls of the Recreation Room, for which new furniture had already been purchased, and pictures of past Provincials would be hung there, as was the custom.

FR URBAN: In seminaries. As I understand it, this is to be a room for retreatants — for laymen — and I think they should be given every consideration.

RECTOR: I hadn’t thought of it in that light. Thank you, Father.

There wasn’t much wrong with the new building (Minor) that a little elbow grease wouldn’t put right when the time came, but the old house (Major) was in some need of repairs and alterations. Something would have to be done about a sacristy for the chapel. Just to erect a plywood cubicle, such as had been done for a confessional, was not the answer. Otherwise, though, the chapel facilities were adequate. If, in the future, it became necessary to heat the house throughout (not all rooms were being heated at the moment), insulation should be installed in the attic. The walls were insulated with sawdust, an acceptable material even by modern standards. Sawdust when wet, however, was worse than no insulation at all, and the roof leaked slightly in the northwest corner, which, unfortunately, caught the prevailing winter winds. Major could badly use a “pointing” job, but this, in itself a large and costly undertaking, would mean doing away with the vines, and this might lead to serious trouble. Therefore, at least for the time being, the Rector was in favor of leaving well enough alone. If this, perhaps, sounded strange to some of those present, he asked them to remember that he had to consider not merely what was desirable but what was desirable and possible. Somewhere the Rector had seen politics defined as the art of the possible. This, it seemed to him, might also be said to define the art of administration. Not that the Rector regarded himself as a great administrator. To this day, he didn’t know why he had been placed in his present position. It had come as a very great surprise to him at the time .

“Go up there,” Father Provincial had told him. “Go up there and see what can best be done.” The Rector had gone, taking Brother Harold with him. During the early part of the first winter they had barely subsisted on what the Rector earned doing weekend work. Cold they often were, and sometimes hungry .

Now, as to food production, it was felt that the surface hadn’t been scratched at St Clement’s Hill. To say that the presence there of a priest or brother with an agricultural background would make a world of difference was in no sense a criticism of the Rector or Brother Harold. They had put in a garden last spring, and the results, though they might have been better, had been good, and very likely would be better in the coming year. To this end, a compost heap was now maturing. It should be borne in mind that there was a lot more to gardening than looking through seed catalogues and ordering what took one’s fancy. No attempt had been made to raise chickens, ducks, geese, or turkeys, due, of course, to the shortage of labor. There were three apple and two plum trees which evidently ought to be sprayed for worms. Raspberries, both red and black, were abundant, but so were birds. There were colonies of gophers on the property. Gophers did untold damage .

FR URBAN: Any rats?

RECTOR: No problem with rats, probably due to the fact that we have the use of a dog. Eventually, we may have a dog of our own.

FR URBAN: Wouldn’t a cat be better?

RECTOR: If we had rats, I daresay a cat would be better. But just having a good dog around keeps them away. Personally, I’ve never cared for cats.