It wasn’t the meeting Ruth had expected- a chance to catch up with Tom, and to get to know Megan, and to encourage them in engaging with the nature of their pending matrimony. She hadn’t expected the silence of distraction, the sad uncertainty, the string of one-word answers. It wasn’t nerves – Tom, at least, knew her well and knew all about marriage prep. But it was worse than anything she'd imagined, when Tom let slip the first hints and then poured out the whole sorry story.
“I knew. I saw the signs, I just didn’t know what to do with them. I know all the procedures, but that doesn’t help… when it’s essentially your own kid. And now that I didn’t prevent it, what to do, especially with Charley. She did it... I don’t know what she was thinking, just that it might have made things better. She owed them money, they said, and so she had to do whatever they said. Bring Mars into it and they'd give her what she wanted, what she thought she needed, give her the drugs. How did we never notice her coming home... under the influence, as she must have done? And she was convinced they actually cared about her, yet at the same time she's terrified they'll come after her now, but what can we do, move across the country? They threatened Mars too, if he told, and obviously he did. Like his anxiety wasn't bad enough already. The police have got some of them but what if the rest go for revenge, what if the ones they got are released and come after Mars and Charley, how can we protect them all hours of the day? And then there's just the fact Charley's getting caught up in... all this... and she's even younger than... than Mick was." He swallowed hard, and she saw a tear escape. "And yeah. All because she thought it was love, still thinks it was, because that's what love looks like in her world, and isn't that horrible? So, well, never mind weddings, that’s quite enough.”
Ruth didn’t have a response. She was good at responding to the impossible, but not this good. “There isn’t a right or a wrong, is there?”
Tom shrugged, and Megan shook her head. “At least if there is a right, we haven’t found it. More like wrong and wrong.”
“But you are still trying, together.”
“What else can we do?”
What else? Run away! Wash your hands of the whole thing! One of you break it off, leave the other with children and problems! But here they were, worrying about failing to do the impossible.
“It sounds like what you most need is help I can’t give. I can see you’re both doing everything you can, and in the end that’s all you can do, if you don’t succeed then you have still done more than nothing just by trying. Stay strong, cling together. If exploitation were easily preventable, it would never happen.”
“We took them in to let them rebuild their lives. How do they rebuild now?”
Ruth was silent for a minute. “Through the strength of human will, and through the strength of your love. It’s hard, almost impossible, but think of all the impossibilities which have been achieved through history.”
“All the miracles.” Megan shook her head. “Sometimes, God feels a very long way away.”
“By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept.” Ruth nodded sympathetically. “You are not alone – in feeling that, I mean. It’s a cry reaching back through the ages, a constant cry of fear and anger and abandonment – Eloi, Eloi, lema sabachthani! But also, you are not alone. When God seems furthest away is often when God is closest, unseen and unfelt. Did the Father turn his face away from his Son on the Cross? Surely not, but that did not stop Jesus from feeling that he had.”
“Which is all very well, but two of the children in my care are caught up in County Lines. Never mind God’s presence or lack thereof, there’s far more to be worried about.”
“Which I understand completely. There is nothing I can say to change that, or make it any better, I’m sorry. I can only try to offer the reassurance that God is with you, which might be worth everything or might be worth nothing at all.”
Tom met her eyes, and she held his gaze until he looked down without words.
“So, you still wish to be married?”
“Yeah, though it’s hard to think about that right now.”
“It is, but yes.” Tom met Megan’s eyes. “Yes, even more so, because I want to do this together. I don’t mean I want a wedding, I mean I want to be your husband.”
“Though I can’t help feeling, does it make a difference?”
“You know it does. The same answer I gave to Liza and Charley when they asked the same thing, yes it does.”
Megan snuck a hand across, into his. “I suppose so.”
Ruth smiled slightly. There wasn’t really much for her to do, they were sufficient together as it should be.
“You want to enter into holy matrimony, as husband and wife, promising faithfulness to one another for the rest of your lives. You want to promise, before God, to share all things and to love one another, to give and to receive, to hold together through the worst that may befall you. Through times like this, now. You want the model real, healthy love to those children, through your love for one another and for them. And you want the promise of God’s grace, upholding you in that. Maybe as you say, it doesn’t really make a difference, but there’s definitely value in making the promises. After all, why do we make any promise?”
“I do really.” Megan murmured it to Tom, loud enough for Ruth to hear. “It’s just… so much faff. When there’s so much else in need of our energy, and time, and money, and everything.”
“We could just run off to Gretna Green.”
“Or just turn up to the church in June, have Ruth take the service, and then go off and get on with life. Even easier.”
Megan laughed. “Fair enough. Screw the rest of the planning, then.”
Ruth laughed too. “Well, we’re going to have to go through the marriage vows first, and then have a look at some other details of the service, to further reduce the amount of planning you have to do…”
Later, on the way out, Tom waved Megan back to talk to Ruth by the door. “How are you holding up?”
She snorted. “That’s something for you to ask me?”
“Just because terrible things have happened in my life doesn’t mean yours isn’t worth mentioning. Obviously, I’ve seen all that’s happened recently. How are you, how’s Janice?”
“I’m fine. Janice is… well, she’s Janice.” Ruth hadn’t thought of her, actually. She’d been so calm about everything, had been the one looking after both Lucy and Sam in the immediate aftermath. She was always so calm, so competent, never an emotion in sight. It was easy to forget that the archdeacon might struggle too. “I’ll have a catch up with her at the end of our next meeting, on Thursday.”
“And you? You’re fine?”
She’d had that look directed at her so many times. “I screwed up, I’ve confessed to that, I’ve done my best to fix it.”
“Every practical minded.”
“I don’t have time to be anything else, as you know. And it’s hardly something you can criticise me for!”
“Of course not, of course not. I wouldn’t necessarily say it’s a bad thing, anyway, just that it often leaves unfinished business.”
“And that’s sounding like something of a confession.”
He sighed. “You’ve spent the past hour guiding me. Time for a change?”
“I need to get on, really.”
He glared at her. “You. Are. Impossible. Rest assured, I’m going to get you on my sofa again.”
“When you have considerably less to deal with yourself.”
“Never mind me.”
“Of course I mind you.”
He sighed, turning away. “Send me times. The longer you put it off, the more you’ll regret it.”
True. But also, she could deal with that when it came. “Sure. When you’re in a little less of a crisis yourself. Have you talked to your bishop?”
“Obviously?”
“Properly?”
He rubbed a hand across his face. “Ruth. Another time.”
She rested her hand on his arm. “I’m sorry, Tom. Talk when you can. In the meantime, God’s blessing be with you and Megan and the children. Stay strong in faith, care for each other. My prayers are with you, and I will offer any help I can.”
His head was bowed. “Thank you. It will get better, somehow. It just doesn’t feel that way right now.”
Lent was here, and felt appropriate, except that Lent held the promise of Easter. Where was Easter, in this world where everything had gone wrong? A short conversation with Janice at the end of a meeting uncovered nothing, and there was nowhere to go with Tom, only the helpless knowledge of pain. Why worry so much about him, when it was the children who’d really been harmed? Because she knew him, and that was how humanity worked. If she could think of any way to help the children, she would.
At least Samantha was safely settled in the motherhouse in Whitby, and a preliminary report from Sister Antonia held reassurance. Samantha was attending most of the services, receiving the Sacrament daily, she seemed content to take long walks in the grounds and surrounding countryside, and to bury herself in a book during community time. Just the way to make Ruth look forward still more to her pending retreat, a week and a half of quiet reflection culminating in the great mysteries of Holy Week. There was a motivator, when days dragged into nights and the pleasure at the prospect of a single day in the hills was smothered beneath meetings and emails. She was starting to forget how to stop, which never ended well.
Forty days was a long time. Less long, as one grew older, but still long. Once again, she’d assigned herself too many books, especially now that she had to read more slowly, as she awaited the dreaded cataract surgery. As for other disciplines, she should take them up full time really, it was only following recommendations for someone of her age – less sugar, fewer carbs and more protein. Coffee without sugar, the biggest trial, but she was getting used to it. Maybe she should have given up coffee? No. No way. Might as well give up work.
It was a few days of thinking about it before she made her way through to Isla’s office.
“Hi, Ruth, what can I do for you?”
She pushed the office door shut and leant against the desk. “Couple of things.”
“Yes?”
“First of all, you know I’m going for cataract surgery next month? At the start of my retreat?”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’m going to need an extra large print copy of the service book for the Chrism service – the Cathedral will be subtle. Might be okay, but that depends on recovery, I’m not going to push it. Also, you’re going to need to help me out until then. You’re good at the liturgical whisper, I’m saying most of the services from memory but might need prompts, especially for movements. And make sure I don’t fall down any stairs, please. And let me know if there’s any text I need to know the contents of, I’m not going to try too hard to read it otherwise. Oh, and people. Make sure I don’t mortally offend anyone by not recognising them. Can you do that?”
“I’ll do my best. Are you okay to be working?”
“Well, it’s not like I have a choice…”
Isla picked at her nail. “I suppose not. You have retreat soon, anyway. What was the other thing?”
Never mind. “Um…” Make something up. No, don’t. “You’ll tell me if you think I’m… making mistakes? You’ll correct me?”
“Making mistakes?”
“Theologically, spiritually, pastorally… in my life, in how I interact with people… you know, whatever. Be open.”
“Um, I’ll do my best. I really admire how you do everything, anyway.”
Ruth sighed internally. “Nobody’s perfect – I’m definitely not. I just don’t always notice when I’m doing things wrong, and when that can affect other people, it’s frightening. It’d make me happier to know I could trust you to be open.”
“Oh. Of course, you can.”
“Thanks.”
She’d meant to open up more, to ask for a proper conversation, what Tom would have called a “pastoral care chat”. He’d just have informed her they were going to have one. But she couldn’t explain it all to Isla, couldn’t find the words. Couldn’t express it all – the fear, the doubt, the guilt. Just get on with it, Ruth, either do something about it or move on. You’ve done it all before, and you know what you’d tell anyone else if they came to you like this…
She returned to her office. What to do? Emails, zoomed in on her computer screen, until her eyes were too tired. Phone calls. A couple of documents, with a magnifying sheet. Sign some forms. Mess with Holy Week sermons. Watch the clock impatiently. Look back at the ever-growing mountain of tasks and stay at her desk well into the night. Why did everything have to require eyesight?
At least she was looking forward to the operation now. A day in an outpatient unit, maybe half an hour in surgery, and then the nuns would take her away to rest. An eye shield, a few days of being careful, four weeks of eye drops. She’d offer more than that, just to be able to see again.
“Is everything okay, your Grace?”
“Call me Ruth,” she corrected, before looking up. “Isla, hi, anything I can do for you?”
Her chaplain hesitated in the doorway. “I just wanted to check… everything’s okay?”
She sighed. Lying was so tempting, she didn’t have time to talk about it. “I’m just tired.”
Isla hovered by the door. “You’re sleeping okay?”
“Not really, at the moment. Too many things on my mind. But mostly I just have too much to do.”
“Do you want me to reduce it? I didn’t realise…”
Ruth shook her head. “There’s nothing wrong with the amount of work, it’s just that it’s taking me a while. It’ll be fine after surgery. Anyway, I have retreat soon.”
“Can I help with.. anything? You have a lot to read…”
“It’s got to be done. It’s just slowing me down, that’s all.”
“You want me to print things bigger?”
“We kill enough trees round here as it is.”
“Why don’t you read on your computer? Zoom in, or get a screen reader?”
“Computer’s tiring. Screen reader’s too slow – I tend to skim.”
“I can read things out to you.”
“You’ve more than enough of your own to be doing.”
Isla lent on the desk, looking down at Ruth with frustration. “I have every respect for you, but I’m going to have a word with Kath, if that's okay with you. Your diary’s too full.”
“It’s all stuff that has to be done. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine after the operation.”
“Until then…” Isla shook her head. “Um… so my job…”
Now, really? “Is there something you’re unhappy with?”
“No, nothing like that. No, I was going to say, my job description has a lot of things – research, communications, generally assisting you, all the Bishopthorpe side, but also supporting you personally. I mean… I don’t really know what you need, but… if there is anything… you will say, right? I mean, we all need a priest… I don’t mean to be rude or anything…”
Ruth sat back, examining her hands, twisting the gold ring on her finger.
“Thank you, Isla. Don’t worry about being rude, you’re impeccably polite. You’re quite right, I am working through a few things at the moment – anxiety over the operation, obviously, concern about a few people I care about, and some personal doubts. That said, I’m quite good at working through things myself, and besides that I have plenty to distract me right now.”
“You don’t want… to talk? Or anything?”
No. Yes. “Not at the moment.”
“Well, if you do… I might not be able to help, but I can try, and I can listen…”
Ruth pushed out a smile. “Thanks, Isla. I appreciate it.”
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