Anna was efficient and thorough, which were excellent qualities for a solicitor but not necessarily comforting. Ruth found herself perfectly turned out, waiting outside the courtroom with plenty of time to spare. And waiting was not good for the nerves. A short, and somehow infinitely long, wait, before she was called in.
She called Tom first, as soon as she was out.
“Ruth! What happened?”
“A fine, a small one. You can stop worrying.” She smiled privately. Anna was pleased too. It was what they’d been cautiously expecting, and what they’d hoped for – while a discharge would have been nice, this avoided suspicions of bias.
“And your job?”
“Still up for discussion. I’m about to call Richard, he’ll summon the necessary people and they’ll consider it. Which way’ll be better for the Church.”
“Great! Come and see me? I’m in the home, it’s boring.”
“Move go okay?”
“Yeah, lot of unnecessary faff but I’m here now. The other patients are nice.”
“Glad to hear it. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”
“Awesome. Go call Richie.”
“Richie?”
“Sorry. Losing my mind stuck here. At least I didn't call him Biscuit. You know... Rich Tea, Biscuit, Bishy Biscuit...” Tom tailed off. “Sorry.”
“Still on the pain meds?”
“Yeah. Sorry.”
She shook her head, though he couldn't see her. “It's fine. Go do something… formational.”
He laughed, though it sounded strained. “Okay, I’ll let you get on. I’m happy for you.”
“Bye.” She hung up and slumped into the driver's seat. All that preparation, all that worrying, and it was done. Well, almost, there was still the clergy discipline measure…
What would Tom do if she lost her job? What would he do if she kept it? She pushed the thoughts back, not wanting to tackle them now. It was so pointless, all over one stupid lapse of judgement. She remembered Tom's laugh, the pain he'd tried not to show, and prayed it was only physical.
Then, taking a deep breath, she called Richard and gave him the overview.
“Great. I’ll get people over, we’ll see if we can wrap this up in the next couple of days.”
Yeah right, it was the Church of England, it’d take a couple of weeks minimum.
Ruth took the car and drove west, back to the cottage. It was stupid, because she hadn’t done much, but she’d like to sleep for at least three days, preferably longer. Months of stress, the fuss and expense to the Church, the media attention and the public reactions… it had all come down to less than an hour in a courtroom. Why did it have to take so long, so much energy?
And of course, the consequences wouldn’t be over. Not now, perhaps not ever. She climbed the fell, pausing at the rock at which Tom had celebrated the Eucharist for them, had prayed for and blessed her and given her strength to get through those first days. It was a long way back. She carried on up, to the peak, and brushed snow off an outcrop of stone to sit down. Winter was unending. The sky was empty white overhead. Forgive me, she prayed silently. I don’t deserve this. Please, help the people who do deserve it. There are so many. But let me go, let me stop fighting. I’m tired.
The sky was empty white. Far below, a lake glittered. A breath of wind kissed her cheek in silence, and she blinked out a single tear. Everything for nothing. Suffering that never ended. Meaningless worries.
Richard called her the middle of the following morning, while she was driving. She put him through the car’s speaker system.
“Hi, Ruth. We’ve met and reached a decision, paperwork is on the way and we need a meeting. Recent precedent is making things... tricky, it’s only really fair to impose some penalty. Would you accept a rebuke? Penalty by consent, you know. Then we can lift the suspension and you can get back to work.”
She concentrated on the road. “That was quick.”
“No point in hanging around.”
It’s the Church of England, she wanted to say. She considered his suggestion. It made sense.
“Fine. Let me know a time.”
“Are you okay with this?”
“Yeah, it’s fine.”
There was a silence, as if he were waiting for her to say something more. Gratitude? She didn’t have anything else, certainly not gratitude. She was too tired.
“Have a good day. I’m looking forward to working with you again. See you soon.”
“Cool.”
“Um… I’ll email you a time. Do you want to bring Lizzie again?”
“No, it's fine.”
“Okay.”
“See you.”
“Bye.” The call hung on about ten seconds before he hung up. The car carried on, a route she knew too well. The first tents appeared. Should she tell the other volunteers? Nah, not yet. She couldn’t face it yet, because that was admitting it was true.
Tom greeted her later that afternoon with a smile somehow as faint as her own, even that fading at her expression.
Her greeting stuck in her throat. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Sure.” He stood, leaning heavily on a stick, and led the way outside. “There’s not much privacy, sorry, this’ll have to do. What’s up?”
‘This’ was a small patio by the bin yard, with a single battered bench. She huddled on it, not quite looking at him.
“Richard called me while I was driving down, this morning. They made a decision already, I’ll accept a rebuke and then I’m back in post. Back to being Archbishop of York.”
He looked at her for a minute. “What's bothering you? Is it coming back, the penalty, the... I dunno, something else?”
“The penalty just means I need to not do it again. It’s... coming back, I guess. Right now I'm thinking... I’m tempted to resign anyway, but I’m not going to. At least not yet. If I do, I need to leave things straight for my successor, and I'd like a gap between it and the CDM, for Richard's sake if nothing else. But with everything that's happened...” She picked at the edge of the bench. “These past weeks have been difficult, and I’m incredibly grateful for all that you’ve done. You helped me when I most needed you. If I do decide to resign... I’ll help you however I can. And I'm sorry to... be giving you this to worry about. I just feel like I need to warn you.”
He was looking at the ground, but raised his head to meet her eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ve been thinking too, since before the operation, praying about it. I’ve concluded... it’s time I moved on. Whether you stay or not. I'll help you settle back in - once I'm sufficiently recovered - but after that it's time for me to find another job.”
She fidgeted with the ring on her finger. Throughout all this, she’d never taken it off. It was the sign of her consecration, a promise she’d never let go of. The promise that was pulling her back to Bishopthorpe. She wanted to argue, but at the same time it wasn’t her place to do so. This was his decision.
“I’ve thought about it, many times before now and especially since you called me yesterday - I have far too much thinking time right now. I started getting this feeling, before the operation, that... God’s calling me to something else. I’m not quite sure what, but... I think I need to commit, and focus on working it out. Look at other jobs, see what’s right. I’ve been working for you for long enough, a change will do us both good. Someone else, to present you with a different take on things – you’ve already heard my take on everything. As for me, I’m not sure what’s next, but… it’s time to look.”
“I really appreciate you. The way you keep on top of everything at Bishopthorpe, support me day-to-day, keep my life running smoothly. Bring me lunch and make sure I eat it…”
He shook his head. “I’ve worked for you for a long time. It’s time for change, otherwise we get stuck in our ways.”
“Don’t leave because it’s in my interest.”
“It’s in both of our interests, whether we like it or not. I’m going to start doing applications, and depending how long it takes me to find something you can expect my resignation... soonish.”
She stared at the floor.
“It’s not the end,” he pushed her. “It’s not a goodbye. We’ll still meet, maybe work together in future. I’m always up for a chat, you can come and visit. It could be ages until I find something anyway, and then I’ll work out my notice until you’ve found someone else. And more immediately, I certainly hope you’ll keep visiting me while I’m in here. I just wanted to warn you.”
“I’ll do my best - I can come at least once more this week, I’ll make sure of it, whatever is waiting back at Bishopthorpe. And I’m glad you’ll continue while the job is advertised. Get me – and Bishopthorpe - through the transition. I’m going to need you.” She fell silent, fidgeting.
He gave her time before prompting. “Something's bothering you. Maybe I can't help, but do you want to tell me?”
She twisted her ring on her finger. “I climbed the fell yesterday, the one behind the cottage. I went there to escape, I needed to – still do, if I’m honest, but that’s beside the point, it’s not an option. Anyway, I went past the rock where we went, that first Sunday…”
“I remember.”
“You got me through then… and I have to ask..." She was silent for a minute, looking for the words for what she felt. "Will you bless me, now? I don’t know how to face... you know. It. Everything.”
He nodded. “Always,” he told her quietly. “And I will continue to pray for you – it doesn’t have to be my job for me to do that. Shall I lay on hands again?”
“Yeah.” She bowed her head, eyes closed. Last time, she had knelt among frosted grass, on a mountain side away from the world. Now, traffic roared by just the other side of a fence, and she sat on a bench damp with melted snow.
He laid both hands on her head and prayed in silence for a while. She let her anxiety still, let time slip away. A last moment of peace before returning to the real world. Would she get one like this again? Probably not, though she would have to be careful to look from time to time. Her job was so busy, it was hard, even enforcing her hour of private prayer every morning. Other concerns always crept in, things she found hard to entrust to God.
He spoke a blessing, traced the cross on her brow, and then she stood.
“Thank you.”
He smiled silently. They went back inside and talked about nothing in particular, about the weather and life in the convalescent home and his plans for going back to York. And then she said goodbye and stepped outside, where snow was swirling yet again. She had work to do.
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