Epilogue - Ruth

York Minster. How right it was, to stand at this altar. How wrong, that it should be for the last time. She needed a maniple, really, to wipe the river of tears that flowed from her eyes!

Afterwards, the party. She'd wanted it after the service to avoid going home to an empty flat, and was glad of that decision now. Wine flowing freely, laughter and sorrow and congratulations and commiserations. Around the walls, display after display, photos dredged out of God-knows-where. She’d already caught a glimpse of some of the Westcott ones. She'd have to take a proper look later. If only she were allowed wine.

First, though, a retreat, to sit near the top of the stairs and lean against the bannister. A moment of quiet relief from the noise and the crowds.

“Do you want company, or would you rather be alone?”

Ruth looked up and considered for a moment. “Hi Isla. Company’d be nice. Your company, at least.”

Isla sat down next to her on the step. “You’re pretending well, just so you know.”

“Good.” Ruth rested her head against the bannister and blinked hard. “I don’t want to go.” It came out strangled, taking her by surprise.

“But you have.”

“Yes.”

You’re not Archbishop anymore, Ruth. It’s over. Officially, properly over.

“So. That’s us. It’s been a good innings.”

“It has. And you’re off to Tom now. I’m glad.”

“Yeah. It’ll be different.”

“Of course it will. Probably the better for it.”

“And you’re off to… what, Turkey?”

“Once I've moved everything to Cambridge and had my last scans. Cleanest break I can manage.”

“Enjoy. I know you will.”

Ruth tried to sit up. “So. All these embarrassing photos…”

Isla pulled a face. “They’re not too bad. Might want a few more drinks before you go that far back down memory lane, though?”

“My thinking exactly. Except my doctor said no.”

“Ah. Well, maybe a bit of quiet time first. Do the crying in private.”

“Not done so well at that so far today. But yeah. I was thinking about going to chapel.”

“Yes. Or a walk round the gardens.”

“What, in this weather?”

“Fair point. Keep forgetting heat wave has snapped. Still, storms are rather fun.”

“I’ve had enough lectures about self care…”

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t be encouraging you. Bad chaplain!”

Ruth half smiled. “I could just go back. Drink wine. Don't tell my doctor...”

“Self care?”

“Hey, I have to get through this somehow…”

“Plead age and take an early night?”

“It’s literally a party for me.”

“Give it about half an hour and nobody’ll care about that anymore.”

“Fair point.”

“So. Clear path ahead. Eyes to Cambridge.”

“Yup.” Ruth sighed. “It’ll be fun.”

“It will.”

“It’s going to be weird.”

“It is.”

“Not working tomorrow. Or the day after. Or the day after that. What am I going to do with myself?”

“Uh, see the world..?”

“Oh yeah. Well, obviously.”

“That feels like plenty to be doing.”

“And house move,”

“Oh yeah. We’ve both got that joy, haven’t we?”

“Yup.”

Isla picked at her trouser leg. “Well. It’s been wonderful working for you.”

“Oh, I’ve been pretty awful, no need to pander.”

“Oh yes, would never claim you’ve been my easiest employer. But still. Or even, with all that. It really has. You taught me so much, and made me who I am now - a better, stronger person.”

“I'm glad I've had the chance to work with you too. Sorry for all the times I’ve been horrible. It’s been a wonderful few years. Do keep in touch, ask if there's anything I can help you with, maybe come visit me?”

“Definitely. The same to you. When you’re not terrorising ordinands.”

“I’m not going to terrorise them!”

“Yeah, yeah…” Isla laughed. “Ah, I know you won’t really. Except when they deserve it. There’s a soft heart under all the spikes.”

“Shh, don’t tell…” She pulled herself to her feet. “It’s right to go now, really, and everything will be fine. I just… really don’t want to, right now.”

“No. Of course you don’t.” Isla stood up too.

“Maybe it’s time to drink wine and go see what horrors Karen and co. have pulled up for me?”

“It’s quite a collection. Slightly terrifying how much they keep in those archives…”

“Oh joy.”

“Some fantastic parish placement ones…”

“Great, I can guess. I spent way too much time in costume. And for some reason allowed people to document it.”

“And ordination photos, of course. And newspaper cuttings. Book extracts. Sermon snippets.”

“Oh come on.”

“Yup.”

“Right. I have to see this thing. Find out whether I have to kill Karen.”

“Don’t do that, you’ve done pretty well until now, don’t wreck it. I mean, I know you like firsts, but…”

Ruth snorted. “Right. Don’t be the first Archbishop arrested for murder. Would I be the first?”

“Not a clue. Come on, let’s get back in there.”

“I guess we should.”

“Good. Let’s go. Assuming you don’t want your quiet time anymore.”

“Nah, it’s fine. I already cried in the Minster.”

“Nothing wrong with crying during the consecration.”

“No. But in front of that many people. Hopefully wasn’t too noticeable?”

“Nah, shouldn’t think so.” Isla grabbed two glasses of elderflower cordial from the table and thrust one of them at Ruth. “Don't moan, I know how much you hate dialysis. Ready to brave the photo boards yet?”

“Let’s go for it.” Ruth caught Karen’s eye and indicated the boards with a jerk of her head.

The publicity officer was over in an instant. “What do you think?”

“Not looked yet. Going to make you come and listen to my running commentary.”

“Most of it wasn’t me, you know. Blame archives. I just directed the putting up, since apparently my lot are the only ones who know how to format.”

“Yeah, yeah, where’s the start? Over there? Oh for goodness’ sake, you got that picture? Seriously? The information age is a terrifying thing…”

Karen laughed. “Well, you know, what happens at theological college... definitely, definitely doesn’t stay at theological college!”

Ruth rolled her eyes. “Evidently not. Evidently. Not.”

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson

Chapter 27 - Tom

It had been a few days since the move, and Bishopscroft still didn't feel like home. Furniture was just about in place, thanks to Megan’s ruthless efficiency, but of course every room still had its boxes. They were almost done with the hall and dining room, the important bits of the house which visitors might see. Tom’s office was also progressing well, although there was still a good deal of book sorting to be done. The chaplain’s office, through the connecting door, was the one complete room, still holding desk and chair and filing cabinets left behind after the departure of the previous occupant. That was the one room they didn’t need yet, wouldn’t until his new chaplain was appointed. Or even until Ruth retired, depending on how Isla’s interview went…

Tom picked up a stack of books and slotted them onto a shelf. It would feel like home, in the end; this room at least was already starting to feel that way. And Mika’s room… well, it had her clothes strewn all over the floor, that definitely gave it a lived-in feel. And Mars had plastered his with Notts Outlaws branding, Jos Parker life size in a poster above his bed, signed bat propped against the wall. He was sticking with his loyalties, he insisted, at least for this season. After that he’d think about sharing his support with Yorkshire, but it was a bit early for any allegiance switching. And c’mon, Notts was just better. Larksy’d just got picked for the training squad, wasn’t that just, like, so cool? Like, he was so good, he deserved it…

Tom shook his head at the memory and checked his watch. Bloody postal service, “expected delivery time” and all that nonsense. It was only five minutes past the slot, but…

The doorbell rang and he stopped worrying, half ran to the door and greeted the delivery driver with a warm smile. “Hello. Yes, that’s me. Sign there? Sure, thank you so much…” He accepted the package, only slightly taken aback by the weight, and try not to shut the door too fast. “Mars!”

A young elephant came crashing down the stairs, even younger elephant just behind. Obviously Mika wasn’t going to be left out of the fun.

“This is it?”

“I very much hope so.”

Megan’s head had appeared as well. “Now think how much less stressful this would have been…”

“…if I’d ordered it along with everything else. Yes, I know. But I didn’t. Just glad it’s J&M and I trust them. Now, are we going to have a grand family opening?”

“So it seems.”

He lugged the parcel through to the living room and dumped it down on one of the sofas, family crowding around as he ripped the packaging open. Glimpse of red, sparkle of gold… proper fabric beneath his fingers, solid stuff. He’d helped Ruth with hers enough times, just… never quite imagined something like that for himself. The real deal.

He turned the mitre over in his hands, first. Chewed his lip a second before swinging it onto his head. Better get used to it, make sure you can move around without it falling off.

Mars, impatient, was more interested in the cope, pulling away the remaining packaging, gingerly turning it over to examine the clasp. Megan stepped in to undo it and pick the whole thing up, admiring the fabric and then holding it out for him. “I hope you’ve been working out.”

Tom sighed and fastened it around his shoulders, feeling the solid weight of fabric. “Not the most practical of garments.”

“C’mon, turn around…. Oh yeah. Probably a tad more normal with vestments underneath?”

“Well yeah. Jeans and cope is an odd mix.”

“You look…”

“Completely ridiculous?”

“In a majestic sort of way. It's not bad, as copes go!”

Tom struggled to shrug. “Best we can hope for, I guess? I can assure you I certainly feel ridiculous.”

“And considering the kind of thing you’re used to poncing around in, that’s saying something.”

“Ah well, a chasuble is more appropriate for pretty much everything. Or I can wear choir dress.”

“Bit of a waste, considering what you’ve spent on this thing.”

“Oh, I’m sure the Cathedral will put me in it occasionally. And the odd wedding. Maybe licensings too.” He practised walking. “Hey, Mika? My crozier, in my study? Bring the case, would you mind?”

She jumped up and was back a minute later, and he screwed it together carefully, glancing up at Megan. “Go on, make fun of me, I know this is ridiculous.”

“Less ridiculous than you tripping over your own feet in front of thousands of people in the cathedral.”

“That’s the thinking.” He did a couple of laps of the room, handed the crozier to Mika – “good work, chaplain!” – and then took the mitre off and on a couple of times. It was harder with a cope on. He unclasped it and then held it out to Megan. “Go on Mrs Bishop. You know you want to.”

“I couldn’t possibly.”

“It’s just regalia. Not like the mitre or anything. Just for looking poncy. Go on.”

“Oh go on then.” She pretended to stagger as he laid it on her shoulders. “Go on. How do I look?”

“Ravishing.”

“By which you mean ridiculous.”

“Hey, I’ve seen worse.”

“Well yes, fortunately you have taste.”

“Or Mars does.”

“Well, between you. Go on, let Mars have a try. Since he picked it out. Come on, before I melt!”

“And me!”

“And you, Mika,” Tom agreed, as he took the cope off Megan and offered it to Mars. “Everyone can have a try, just today. You’re being an excellent chaplain with that crozier, by the way.”

She walked around the room with it. “I’m not the chaplain, I’m the bishop.”

“Hook towards you. Chaplain way round.” He reached out to take it from her as she tried to turn it, unscrewing the parts and returned them to the case, then pacified her scowl by holding out the cope to her. She tried to snatch it, but he shook his head. “Go on, turn around.”

She did as she was told. He lowered it onto her shoulders and held it as she fiddled with the clasp, releasing gently. She wrestled with the fabric, applying great effort to keep it from slipping down. A few steps, allowing it to drag on the floor behind her, before Megan crouched down and arranged it all artistically. “There. Picture perfect. All set for your official royal portrait.”

“I think I need to grow a bit.”

“You might be right there.”

She fought with it a bit more. “Why’s it so heavy?”

“Because it’s posh expensive stuff. Real stuff. And we want it to hang well, not billowing or anything.”

“Cloaks are supposed to swoosh though.”

“Cope, not cloak.” He enunciated the consonants clearly.

She wrestled it off over her head, not bothering to undo the clasp. “It's hot.”

Tom grimaced. “Oh, I know. Not much fun for summer…”

It wasn’t. Even just cassock and rochet, and he was beginning to overheat as he greeted civic dignitaries and took the last steps of the long procession from the city centre towards the cathedral door. A fine day, probably better than rain, but definitely too hot- although that probably wasn’t the whole reason he was short of breath. The glass doors stood before him, a little more nerve-wracking than the traditional oak. Do not miss. The verger had given him a very long lecture about that. And, like, come on. He could see the congregation through them, they could see him. Didn’t that make the whole thing even more ridiculous than it already was?

He raised the crozier to shoulder height. Fixated on the very centre of the frame. Do. Not. Miss.

He swung, and struck. Once. The doors rattled. Twice. Thrice. A trickle of relief, lowering the rubber ferrule to the ground. No major dents. No broken glass. Cathedrals really did need oak doors for this kind of thing.

But now the doors were open and he was stepping inside, into a blur of faces and voices and oh! It was too hot, too fast. Eyes on the dean. Follow the verger. Read the words on the page. Don’t screw up. This is your big day, everyone’s watching you, judging you, deciding whether they really want you as their bishop or not… There was Megan, in the front row, a child on each side, and Liza. Focus on the dean, don’t miss anything…

Ruth’s eyes caught his and held him, just for a moment. Mouthed words he couldn’t make out, didn’t need to. Calm. Don’t panic. Breathe. Yeah, easy to say, he would if he could. If the entire service wasn’t rushing past him like a river, like floodwater trying to sweep him off his feet. Music swirled around him. He focused on following the verger. Take it steady, get your thoughts together. It’s just what you did in rehearsal.

Okay. Thoughts weren't coming together. Okay then, just read the words on the sheet. Take the bowl and the rosemary, sprinkle the congregation, words on the sheet. Hand on the bible, words on the sheet. You made these oaths only a couple of months ago, no need to think too much this time. Now… sit for a bit. More people talk. Reader read. Listen to the words. Some more singing. Ugh, he should be making memories, drinking in every second.

It was just dizzying. He stood and was led back from his seat to the centre of the cathedral. Could people tell? How could they not? Just fix your eyes on the altar, he told himself. Or indeed the words on the page. They’re probably more useful right now.

There was the kneeler. He knelt, and suddenly the world was a lot more manageable. If he could just stay here, then it might be alright. Then he might be able to take the thick dizzying weight of God pressing all around him. The congregation was out of sight behind him, just the shoes of the bishops ranged around. One moving in, filling his view, and he looked at the familiar cross which swung before his eyes. Someone he knew, at last. Something familiar. Something safe.

The stifling weight of God was still there, but suddenly it wasn’t something to be feared. Why should it be, really? Calm down, Tom, you’re fine. Everyone here is wishing you well. Take Ruth’s blessing – God’s blessing. That’s why God’s here, to bless you. You’re fine. Still small voice of calm. All fine.

It was still a blur, when he stood back up. Glad of the dean’s hand, although it was only a ceremonial leading, as Anna took him closer to the cathedra – his cathedra! Soon to be, anyway. Now, as she placed him in it, gave him this seat in her cathedral. His cathedral. There was a glass of water left here for him, he noticed gratefully, draining it at the first opportunity. No fainting! Still got a sermon to deliver!

“My Lord Bishop of Sheffield.” Ruth greeted him later with a warm hug, once the crowds had dispersed.

He gave Mika a teasing glare. “No, Mika. I told you.”

She pouted and turned the crozier in her hands. Tom returned his attention to Ruth, saw her laugh. “Ever a stickler!”

“Talking about yourself?”

“Even I'm not QUITE that fussy! So. My Lord Bishop of Sheffield.”

“Stop trying to get a rise out of me, you’ll only be disappointed. I’ve nothing left.” He thrust his rochet at her. “Hanger’s over there.”

“Oho! Settled into your new station in life!”

“Well since you’re just here to wind me up, you may as well make yourself useful.” He undid buttons as fast as possible, desperate to not be in the cassock any longer. “Happy August. Autumn soon, right?”

“I certainly hope so.” She hung up his rochet and reached out a hand to take the cassock too. “Go on. I’ll wait on you for a change.”

He didn’t reply, because at that moment his head span again, and he lowered himself to the vestry floor. Saw all the many clergy in the room turn to look at him with alarm, but had no chance to be embarrassed because he was sticking his head between his knees and breathing hard.

“Hey. Hey, Tom. It’s okay. Shh, it’s okay. I’m here.” It was Megan’s voice, Megan’s fingers undoing the studs which held his collar, undoing his top button. He made a slight attempt at raising his head and winced. Nope. Still seeing stars.

“It’s okay. I’m here,” said Megan softly, the continued with then a sharp change in tone. “Well? Stop gawping, someone get some water. Forty bloody degrees is far too hot for poncing around in that many layers. And I suppose you want to rush him off to go do more parading around at some fancy dinner!”

No reply. Nothing but Megan’s hand on his back, the stars starting to fade.

“Is daddy okay?”

“Obviously not.” Mars tight and dismissive.

“He’ll be fine.” Megan crushed them both. “Mika, you’ve got the bag. I put a banana in there.”

“Water.”

“Thanks.”

His head drawn up, the cool rim of a glass pressed against his lips. Sip. Sip. Don’t let teeth chatter too hard. Another sip. World drifting back, slowly. A few more sips, and then reaching up to take the glass himself, although Megan kept a hand on it to be safe.

He drained it before blinking around. “Sorry.” Still gawping, despite Megan’s tirade. Yay, great start to a new working relationship. “Let’s try that again. Hi everyone, I’m your new bishop and I totally didn’t just almost pass out. Thanks, Mika. Anyone got any more water?” He peeled the banana and took a large bite. Don’t even bother trying to pretend, it’s a bit late for that.

“You’re okay?” Anna now, crouching down with more water.

He smiled wearily. “Long day. Especially with the walk through the city first, think that did for me. I’ll be fine. Thanks for your concern. Cold shower when I get home, think we’re all dreaming of that.” Their concern began to ease at the joke, and he settled himself into a more nonchalant position, leaning against the cupboard.

“Would you like a chair?”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“If there’s anything you need…”

“Cheers.” He drained the second glass in one. Great start. Bishop who can barely get through a big service. How does that bode for ordinations next summer? “Gorgeous service, thank you. All a little bit overwhelming, I’ll admit.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” Sympathetic looks. Awed looks. Yup, that’s the trick, remind them what it’s like to be overawed by God. They’ve all experienced it, to some degree.

“So, anything else I can do for you, my Lord Bishop?” Ruth was still there, leaning casually against a table.

He rolled his eyes at her. “Take that crozier off my daughter? Since she clearly doesn’t know how to hold it properly.”

Mika jumped and relinquished the staff reluctantly.

“I’ll put it in the case for you.”

“Ta. Well, nice to meet you all. Do carry on with your lives.” He beckoned Mika and patted the floor beside him, and she shuffled over. “It’s okay,” he murmured. “I’m okay. And I’m not cross, just teasing so they stop worrying about me. You can get it out at home for a bit if you want. Cuddle?”

She hesitated a moment then dived in against him. He put an arm around her, dropped a kiss on top of her head. The half of chapter who had been gathered staring relaxed and started to drift away.

“Well. You excelled yourself there.” Ruth waited until the vestry was empty before moving to stand over him.

Megan glared up defensively, but Tom placed a hand on her arm. “I made it through the service, didn’t I?”

“Looked absolutely shell-shocked throughout. But yes, you did. Well done.”

“Thank you.” He hesitated. “Was my sermon okay?”

“Very good. Few tiny stumbles in delivery at points, which was rather endearing really. Excellent content, which is what matters most. I’m sorry the whole thing wasn’t as good an experience as you might have hoped.”

“Nah, it was good. Just like… always crazy when God’s around. Thank you for your blessing.”

She nodded acknowledgement, her usual response to that statement. “And now you’ve taken up residence on the vestry floor.”

“So it seems. Overcome by the heat... I always did go in for following your example.”

“Go home, you idiot. Nap before party.”

He nodded, and then grinned drunkenly, as emotion settled like a blanket of clarity. “I’m a bishop. I’m bishop of Sheffield. I’m the bloody bishop of Sheffield!”

“Yes. Yes you are. Sort yourself out.”

“I’m the bishop of Sheffield. That’s wild. That’s just wild.”

Megan punched his arm. “And rapidly becoming bishop of blithering idiot.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Inside he was laughing now. I’m a bishop now! I’m actually a bishop! And I’m just so full of God!

“Ready to stand up yet?”

“I guess we can see?” Oh God, I love you! I love you I love you I love you. He shook his head slightly and nudged Mika away, taking the offered hands and letting them pull him upright. The world span, and then settled. He fixed his collar, hooked his cross to the button of his shirt. “Right. Party time?”

“I thought you were going to have a cold shower and a nap.”

“Okay. Shower at least. Fresh shirt.” He blinked hard. Be sensible despite the euphoria. Though… now it had hit, he was just so happy. Overwhelmed happy.

“Drunk on God?” Ruth voiced it for him, quietly.

“Yeah. Yeah. It’s a crazy day.” He reached for his vestments, to find Mars had already gathered them up.

“It really is. Being here, amongst the people, amongst all those committed to your care. Being trusted with this much authority. Taking on promises which are far beyond you. And then all the weight of history, pressing close around you. It’s wild and wonderful.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it is.”

“Right. I’m going to clear off and let you have a wild one with your new colleagues. Don't push yourself too hard, if the heat's really getting to you then take it seriously and show up at A&E sooner rather than later. Unless of course you fancy hanging out with me in a hospital outpatient unit every week. I mean, fun as the hospital concelebration was, I'm not convinced it would be worth it for a repeat...”

He laughed and shook his head. “Yeah, not planning on it.” Then he looked her up and down quickly. “How's it all going? Body still knitting itself back together properly?”

“Thankfully, yes. Another couple of months of treatment ahead, but there's hope of an end in sight. You know, my least favourite thing is not being allowed to moan because it's my own stupid fault.”

“Well, you look... not well, but better.”

“That's good to hear. Might mean I escape this constant fussing.”

He rolled his eyes but relented and moved on. “Thanks for coming.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Have fun being thrown in the deep end. Yell if you need me, all the other bishops do.”

“Thanks boss.”

“Sister. Not boss.”

“Bossy older sister.”

“Wait are you, like, siblings?” Mika broke in, confused.

“Brother and sister bishops, Mika,” Tom explained. “Like you might call a priest Mother or Father. Related by God, not blood.”

“Like Godmummy Ruth’s my godmother?”

“A bit like that, yes.”

“It’s a way of saying we’re equal,” Ruth added. “Rather than having any one person in charge.”

“But you’re still more important, right? I mean, you’re an archbishop. Dad’s only a bishop.”

“Only!” Ruth laughed. “No. We might say “first among equals”. But that’s more like your dad said, like an older sister. They don’t need my permission for things, they can disagree with me.”

“I mean, whether that’s wise or not…”

“Tom…”

“Sorry.”

“I’m getting out of your hair and letting you settle in. See you! Bye Mika – oh, I met my great-niece a couple of weeks ago, she’s the same age as you and thanks to you I could pretend I knew all the in things and be a cool grown-up! So thanks. Right, bye Mars, Megan. See you. Don't push yourself too hard. God bless.”

Tom shook his head as she disappeared, then made an effort to straighten his shoulders as he saw the dean coming towards him. “Thanks, Anna.”

“You’re okay now?”

“Much better, thank you. See you tonight?”

“Of course. There won’t be any problem..?”

“No, no. It’ll be fine after a shower and maybe a quick nap. See you there.”

“And you too, Megan?”

“Not too late, work training thingy tomorrow, but yes.”

“See you there, then.”

Tom nodded towards her and carried on, towards the side door away from any lingering tourists. In his head the rousing chorus still rising upwards, even up the spire, to its very tip. Great is thy faithfulness! Great is thy faithfulness! Morning by morning new mercies I see…

He opened the door and the sun struck him, dazzled him, gleaming even off the grimy paving slabs, off graffitied stonework and bent iron railings. And he smiled, as he silently repeated his blessing from earlier. His city. His diocese. His own charge. Something to care for. He put his arms round Megan’s shoulders and squeezed her close. “It’s going to be awesome. I just know it. It’s going to be awesome.”

In one of the flats high above, a baby was crying. A breeze lifted up, just for a second, kissed his face, ruffled his hair. He took Megan’s hand and squeezed it, an arm around his daughter and a smile at his son. Here they all were, together, and it was going to be okay. Awesome. It was going to be awesome.

A young woman leant against the cathedral wall, cigarette trailing pitifully from her fingers. She glanced up at their approach and then froze. New bishop, in clericals, big deal. He nodded in greeting and blessing, hesitating a moment as something niggled at the edge of his giddy brain, something confirmed when he felt Megan’s hand tighten on his arm.

“Um, hi.” Her voice was tight, nervous, and she stood almost skeletal in too-big top and skirt.

“Charley?” It was Megan’s whisper, even as Tom was still trying to process.

She dropped the cigarette and ground it out with her foot. “Hi. Saw the news. Dunno, just thought, worth a try? You might walk by?”

Tom saw her swallow, fight to keep the tears from escaping, from making another track on her already-ruined makeup. He swallowed, before nudging Mika towards Megan and holding out his hand. “Charley. Oh Charley. I’m so glad you did.”

“I just thought… I dunno.”

“Things not going too well?”

A shake of her head. “Things sort of… went a bit wrong.”

“Yeah.”

“You warned me, I know.”

“Cup of tea and a chat?”

She nodded slightly in response. “That… that’d be nice.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. “You remember what I said?”

“I can always come back?” She swallowed. “I mean, I don’t expect… I’ve been getting by okay.”

“Let’s have a good catch-up.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

And the sun glinted off the parked cars all around, and his giddy soul sang. What a day.

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson

Chapter 26 - Ruth

It was a while since Ruth had been in an unfamiliar church, even the more far-flung parts of her diocese becoming familiar over the years. And especially to be attending like this, for a normal service, just as congregation, not even a clerical collar at her neck. Taking things gently, as per doctor's orders.

She took a service sheet from the pile, found a seat with no more than a polite nod to an inquisitive member of the congregation, leant back, and let her eyes wander across the sanctuary. Altar decked in green, stained glass an abstract riot across the east wall, chalice glinting from the credence table to the side. Shadows moving behind a half-open door, a head stuck out for just a moment to survey the congregation but disappearing quickly, nobody emerging again until the dot of twelve thirty.

Then Ruth couldn’t resist looking up, meeting the eyes of the young vicar as she took her place before the congregation, a twitch of anxiety in her hands before she drew her focus back to the welcome.

It was after the service, having hung back until the rest of the congregation had left, that Ruth could shake her hand with a beam. “Lucy.”

“Thank you for coming.” A cautious answer, testing the ground. “I can’t say I was expecting to see you when I looked out!”

“Now, about that homily…” Ruth kept her face straight for a few seconds before shaking her head with a laugh. “No, I'm not really going to judge your sermon. It wasn't heretical, which is the only thing I would call you out on in a situation like this, but in fact I'd go as far as to say I found it rather interesting. It occurred to me I’d never heard you preach before, and I've missed out.”

Lucy smiled. “You’re still a tease, it’s really not very fair. You could have told me you were coming!”

“And given you even more cause to worry? Anyway, it wasn't really planned. It’s my day off, I was vaguely in the area from a thing last night, so I just decided to drop in. I've been going round sneaking in on a few of my old ordinands. Especially since my doctor was very clear with me about not attempting any strenuous hills!” Ruth pulled a face.

“Do you want to get lunch? I just need to get all this sorted and then I’m free…” Lucy shifted her weight from foot to foot.

“That’d be lovely, if you’d like. Would you let me treat you?”

“Um, sure. Can I just…” she jerked her head towards the sacristy.

“Absolutely.”

Lucy led the way through, into the small room where her sacristan was already at work drying off now clean silverware. “Liz. Thank you so much. Ruth, this is Liz, churchwarden. Liz, Archbishop Ruth.”

“Afternoon.”

“I’m going to get this off, if you don’t mind. Sorry, I thought when I saw you I should be wearing a chasuble but I don’t think this church actually owns one…”

“Your dress is perfectly appropriate and canonical, and no doubt in keeping with the tradition of your church, no need to mess with it - especially in this weather! Lovely service. Wonderful homily too, as I said – an extra treat, I wasn’t expecting anything like that for a lunchtime. And the Eucharistic Prayer, it felt like you meant every word. Never lose that.”

Lucy smiled shyly as she hung her alb up in the wardrobe and reached across for the records book, jotted down numbers and signed and put it back on the shelf. “Doing things properly, if you want to check…”

“Oh, I’m sure I can entrust that to the archdeacon. Good to see you not panicking over it anymore.”

“Janice and Tim were good teachers.”

“I’m sure. Anyway, do finish what you’re doing, we’ll have plenty of time to chat over lunch.”

“I usually take a quiet minute to pray…”

“Delighted to hear it, do.” Ruth nodded encouragingly as Lucy dipped out of the sacristy back into the body of the church, then turned to Liz with an explanation. “I ordained Lucy a few years ago, it’s really nice to come and see how she’s getting on.”

“Oh, she’s wonderful. Well loved round here.”

“That’s great to hear.” She looked good, too, happier, like she’d settled into her ministry. Ruth played with a drawer handle and then peeked inside at the layers of neatly folded linen. “Sorry, just looking…”

“No worries…”

Ruth went back to reading the contents of the walls, mentally coming up with responses to some of the more inane prayers. In a corner, a mountain of cushions and cables. Absent-mindedly, Ruth started to line up pens, perfectly parallel to each other, perpendicular to the edge of the desk. Random pads of post-it notes pushed together, everything at right angles, then forced herself to stop. Peek in a few more drawers instead.

“Hi Ruth, thanks for waiting…”

She pushed the drawer shut guiltily and turned with a smile. “No worries. Sorry, I got curious, sacristies are fun…”

“That’s fine… sorry, needs a tidy in here really…”

“I’ve seen worse. Lunch?”

“Yes, let’s.”

“Any recommendations, or shall we just walk along the high street and see what takes our fancy?”

“Uh, sure, up to you.”

“Great.”

“Liz, I locked up the main church, you’re okay to do the back?”

“Sure.” The churchwarden turned to Ruth. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“And you. Thank you for letting me invade your sacristy. God bless.” Ruth turned back to Lucy. “Right. Lead on.”

They found a nice place a little way down the street where they could order noodles and sit at a quiet table in the corner to eat them. Ruth raised her eyebrows at Lucy. “So. Incumbent.”

“Apparently.”

“I hope curacy went a reasonable way to preparing you, though obviously it’s a big step. You’ve had enough support?”

“Oh yes. A wonderful bishop, a helpful clergy network in the city. And then people in the parish have been understanding. Think I’m just about settling now.”

“Bit of a bumpy start?”

“Not too bad but…” Lucy shrugged. “Lot to learn. Weird, not having Tim there at least as a safety net. And not being able to tell myself “I’m only a curate it’s a learning experience.””

“It still is a learning experience, of course.”

“Of course. Different, though.” She smiled shyly. “I think I’m pretty settled now, though. Like I fit in now, I’m starting to be able to do things, not just figuring it out but actually… little changes. Easing the focus onto the liturgy, onto the Eucharist. Getting some groups going. And like… I’ve got used to preaching here now. Found my voice. Like, every church is different, you know?”

“Oh, I do.”

“Oh yeah, of course you do. But yeah, finding my voice took a while. It’s so good, though. So many people, so many wonderful conversations.”

“And you feel you’re doing what you’re called to do?”

The tiniest hesitation. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s okay to not be sure.” Ruth raised her eyebrows. “You’re young, you might not be doing all you’re called to right now, in fact you won’t be remaining in this parish for the rest of your life. It’s good to keep listening, you’ll find God keeps walking a step ahead. Do you think you’re where you should be right now, though?”

Lucy nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Like, I can’t see where else…”

“That’ll do for now then. Enjoy it. Stay open to God.”

“Keep it fresh,” Lucy agreed.

“Not how I’d put it, but perhaps.” Ruth focused on her food for a moment. “You’ve got a lot of potential, don’t hold yourself back. If you have a project you want to try, or see a job you’re not sure you’re qualified for, go for it - or at least have a chat about it with the archdeacon. Doesn’t have to be a job, it could be something you do around your ministry here. Just don’t stagnate, keep living your vocation to the full, that’s how you can really be a good priest.” She smiled to relax the intensity a little. “I’m so glad you’re enjoying it. It’s tough, but if it’s what you’re called to do, it’s absolutely wonderful.”

“It is.”

“Anyway. I didn’t really come here to grill you on your life plans. More just to see how you’re getting on and have a chat. Figure out that Greek in the end?”

Lucy’s cheeks turned pink. “I did, yes. One Thessalonians five, the one who calls you is faithful. Thank you, it’s definitely a phrase I come back to a lot.”

“I’m glad. It might be a cliché but it’s one of mine too – along with ‘al-tîrā kî ‘imməḵā-’ānî…”

“Slow down, I’m trying, I’ve only really done it in writing…”

Ruth found a pen and scribbled on the edge of a napkin, then slid it across, grinning as Lucy peered at the Hebrew. "Isla and I pass notes in Hebrew during long meetings. It's good practice, and she's taught me a lot."

“Not… fear… for… oh!” Lucy looked up. “That should not have taken me that long.”

“Oh no, very good, well done. Isaiah. Always reassuring.”

“Yeah, I see that.” Lucy paused. “So, you’re going to Cambridge…”

“I am indeed. You’ve been following the news.”

“Yeah. Looking forward to it?”

“Yes. It’ll be good. Quite a change.”

“I’m sure. Lucky ordinands!”

Ruth smiled wryly. “I’m not sure if you’re being sarcastic or not…”

“I’m not. Well, not really. I mean, you’re not going to give them an easy ride…”

“No, that’s certainly true. But I’ll try to be supportive.”

“With a bit of tough love thrown in now and then.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Lucy shook her head and laughed. “Thanks for coming by. Spending more time on a lowly… well, not curate any more, I guess.”

“No.” Ruth sighed. “You’ve come a long way. Since I first knew you as an ordinand, and then all that stuff through your curacy. Everyone has – I’ve ordained… must be over two hundred people, across twenty years. And seeing where they are now… some still curates, some retired. Some in line to be among the next bishops. Many in cathedrals. And then so many like you, leading parishes, transforming the world from your own little patch spreading outwards. That’s my biggest regret, now, not being able to do the York ordinations this year. Maybe I’m being greedy…”

“No, I think that’s understandable. Like… just joining in the act of ordination, as a priest. Laying on hands. Even that’s overwhelming enough.” Lucy hesitated. “You must have been pretty ill.”

Ruth shrugged, an attempt to dismiss it. “It wasn't nice. Tried to push myself too hard, didn't listen to my body, for which I'm being rewarded with regular visits to a hospital outpatient unit. The things you shake off easily when you’re young... they’re a little more challenging when you’re old. But anyway, I can hardly claim I’m hard done by - ordaining is something most people don’t experience at all!”

“Still rough,” replied Lucy sympathetically. “So, go on, tell me about this sabbatical year…”

“Sabbatical implies time out of a job, rather than between jobs.”

“Yeah. Technicalities. Go on.”

“Well, I’ve not finalised plans yet, they were dependent on… well, things that have now happened. But I’m going travelling. Provided the stem cell treatment works and I get clearance from my doctor, pilgrimage – of the traditional walking variety. And I’m visiting the Holy Land again, perhaps with a couple of other retired priests and bishops. And I’m going to decorate and furnish my new house and settle into it, and decide whether I want to take up rowing. And a lot of reading and writing and time with God. The kind of relaxation we all long for.”

“Sounds like a wonderful plan. And well earned.”

“I’d say it’s certainly a luxury. But one I feel rather in need of.”

“Go on. You have earned it.” Lucy looked down at her hand for a moment. “Just to stick in a thought relating to our earlier conversation. I’m helping someone in the parish, discerning to priesthood. That’s quite something.”

“Oh, it certainly is.”

“Like, filling in referral forms. Walking alongside them. When it’s not really that long since I was doing it myself.”

“Well, nine or ten years…”

“True. Longer than it seems, I guess. But a lot of that was theological college, that’s still discerning, still being guided. I mean more the step from being guided to being the guide. And from being recommended to doing the recommending.”

“I suppose it does feel big.” Ruth swilled the water in her glass. “Obviously, you won’t really have much impact on the decision, so long as you’ve passed the enquirer on into the appropriate process. The Church doesn’t - or at least shouldn't - rely on incumbents. But your support will be important. You know how tough the process can be - hard enough when it goes right, potentially faith-destroying when it goes wrong. They need you alongside to help them continually assess and make sure it’s the right path, to be there when it’s not going according to plan, to keep them in your prayers. I’m sure you can do all of that, you’re an empathetic person. It’s definitely an exciting thing to share in, anyway.”

“Definitely.”

Ruth glanced at her watch. “I should be thinking about heading back to York and letting you get on. Exciting afternoon ahead?”

Lucy shrugged. “Parishioners. Primary school assembly. Evening prayer. Emails. The usual. Bit of prep for PCC tomorrow.”

“Ah, PCC. Enjoy.”

“Oh, they’re not too bad, I've just about got the hang of running it now. It does help to be the actual incumbent.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

Ruth reflected on the conversation later, sitting on the train back towards York. Memories seeping back, near-forgotten images – how long it was since she’d been an incumbent herself! A new incumbent, fresh out of curacy, finding her feet, learning to function on her own.

In a place where she’d been chosen by her parishioners, not thrust upon them. That had made a difference. Somewhere she didn’t have to apologise every time she stood at an altar…

She shelved the thought. Three decades had passed since then, the church was a different place now – didn’t she and Lizzie prove that? Well okay, they couldn’t exactly pretend the opposition had gone, but it was just a handful of people now, and they were even giving up on protesting Lizzie, or at least losing their voices.

Her memory wandered again, through ordination after ordination, face after face. Ragged memories of her own ordinations, mostly just a shiver of emotion drowning out all else. The crush of hands from every side, that was the moment which rose and dominated – now coloured by memories since, in every other position of that scene. Of electric weight in her hands. Of the power and authority of God, filling every part of her body and seeping out to bless the world. To share the greatest gifts she had been given, with no dilution to her own share.

Lucy. Why did Lucy stand out, amongst the hundreds? Obviously she wasn’t the only one Ruth had retained some level of contact with – besides those still in her own diocese. She’d drop in on Jake too, and maybe Charlotte, either on a day off or during her empty year, depending how travel worked out. And there were plenty she met on occasion through their involvement at various cathedrals. But of the newer ones… well, obviously Lucy’s journey had been a rough one. They’d got to know each other.

She’d be a good bishop one day.

Ruth shoved the thought away impatiently. Come on, it’s not all about the episcopacy. She’s definitely called to something, no reason that should necessarily involve a mitre. In fact, Ruth wouldn’t be at all surprised if it was something freer than that, something of her own invention. Or she might get one of those diocesan positions created especially to suit her. Or she might just – “just” – stay in the parish, directly tending the souls of her little community, “just” being a priest. In her own way, of course. With her own thing on the side.

With the ease of long practice, Ruth shelved the topic and picked up her phone. Message from her sister – how quickly she’d got used to that, after the first few surprises!

Saw Martin. Good for Friday. Got a babysitter for Archie, Martin at work, so me Mimi & Zack. That okay?

Ruth grinned. Great-nieces and -nephews. She was getting better with children, Tom made sure of that; at least she was getting good at relaxing and letting them create the amusement, something at which Mika at least was an expert. Were other kids like that, or was it just Mika? She’d just have to see… hey, she was fine with primary school visiting and all that. Though that was addressing a whole class, and she could just explain to them the significance of a crozier and talk about sheep…

Come on, Ruth. You’re showing them round Westminster Palace. Don’t have to do small talk, just be a tour guide, that’s easy. Just show them all the shiny stuff and the sword racks and spout a bit of simple history. And try to get to know them, at least a little bit.

Definitely, looking forward to it. 4pm?

She flicked through her tablet gallery for the photo of them. Lou, smiling and exhausted, Archie bawling in her lap. Had she had a hint, then, how things would end? Was it there, behind that screen of makeup, the lingering thought, just waiting to break free?

Near as poss. from school. They’re excited.

Ruth smiled as the train pulled into York station and she summoned a taxi. It was funny, how quickly bridges could spring up. How quickly the tendrils of family could reach out and reel her in.

She unlocked her door and let herself in. The corner of the living room was empty, as ever. No stray tennis balls, no dog bed, no dog. Ruth was efficient and had she’d tidied up, everything bagged up and gone even before Dot was buried. It had been easier than seeing it every time she went home. So no more dog, just a picture on the mantelpiece. She turned around and went outside again, to tread silently across parched lawns to the crude wooden cross and the paving slabs topped with potted flowers. She stayed a couple of minutes and then went back inside. No use letting it become a habit.

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson