Chapter 23: Ruth

“Ruth. What are you… doing… right now?”

She could hear the tension in Tom's voice even over the phone. “Me? In Whitby, convalescing. What is it?”

“I… I don’t know… I don’t know what… what to do. It’s… it’s Charley.”

“Right. What about Charley?”

“She’s… she’s seeing Mark again. The guy who… you know…”

“I know. Slow breathing, Tom, I'm listening.”

“I found out… she left her phone in the car by accident, she was in a hurry, she got a text so I noticed it and it… was him… I don’t know… what to do…”

“Slow down. Breathe. Have you said anything to her?”

“No. Only just saw.”

“Megan?”

“In… a minute. I don’t… want to… upset her.”

“She’s a sensible woman, I think this is something you need to do together. Why me?”

“First name… I thought of… except Megan… and that… that’s complicated.”

“I’m flattered. What are you doing right now?”

“I… I can’t… can’t breathe. Don’t know… what to do…”

She could see him now, in her mind's eye, chest rising and falling as he fought for breath. “Okay. Relax. Relax, let it happen. You’re in a safe place?”

“I parked… side of the road…”

“That’ll do. You want to get out of the car and walk up and down?”

“It’s… there are people…”

“Okay, you don’t have to. See if you can relax. Hold your breath if you can. Can you do that? Tom? See if you can do that for me. I’m right here.”

She could hear his breathing, and glanced out of the window. No sign of Lucy yet. Hopefully she'd be late.

“That’s sounding better. How are you doing? Talk when you're ready, I'll wait.”

“I’m…” several heavy breaths. “I… don’t know if I’m angry… or scared… or what… I’m just… I don’t know… what to do.”

“Right now, nothing. Just get your body back in control. Got anything you usually do to calm yourself, any prayers? I use the rosary?”

“Um… Our Father…”

“Who art in heaven.” She joined him, quietly, forcing him to slow down. She could hear him calming already.

“Amen. Um…”

“Trisagion?”

“Yeah.”

“Holy God, holy and strong…”

It was so easy to do, just to recite the prayers with him, slow and steady until his voice was similarly calm. Glancing out of the window again as a car drew up outside and a sullen curate got out. Pray, and with the words, offer a silent intention for Tom. As if he hadn’t enough to deal with anyway. And Charley, poor Charley, a fourteen-year-old girl with her life in tatters already.

“Thanks, Ruth. I’m not… you weren’t doing anything, were you?”

“No. I have a pastoral meeting now, but you didn't interrupt.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, I should let you go…”

“Don't worry, Tom, I have time. What are you going to do now?”

“Um…”

“Come on. Talk to Megan?”

“Yeah.”

“Talk to Charley?”

“Yeah… maybe… I dunno.”

“I think you need to talk to Megan about that, don’t you?” Sister Joan appeared in the doorway, and Ruth held up two fingers, indicating the phone. The Sister disappeared again, and in the distance Ruth could hear the murmuring of voices.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Yeah. Well, you should do that. Properly, in person, when you have lots of time and privacy.”

“Yeah.”

“Take your time, keep calm.”

“Yeah.”

“Is there anything I can do for you?”

He sighed heavily. “Um… dunno. No. Probably not.”

“Alright. Are you going to go and talk to Megan?”

“I have work…”

“Are you going to be able to do work?”

“I have to.”

“Okay. Don’t let emotions get in the way of anything sensitive.”

“I know.”

“So do I, I still do it.”

“Fair. Thanks.”

“God bless you. Take care.”

“Thanks. Sorry… to keep you.”

“That’s okay. I'm always here for you. And you conveniently got me before my meeting.”

“Talk… later.”

“Definitely. I'll text to find a time.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

"Take care."

Lucy was waiting, but Ruth took her time anyway, allowing the few minutes it took to pray and try to get herself in the right headspace for this meeting. Then she stood up and stretched, and made sure her cross was straight, before making her way down the hall to find Lucy sat waiting, bruises right across her face. Ruth had had warning, but it was still hard to contain her reaction.

“Well you sure don’t do things by halves.” Ruth collected herself and held out a hand in welcome. "Come through to the library."

Lucy ducked through the doorway guiltily. “It’s not as bad as it was.”

“And you have far too much self-control, not to point out that I can hardly speak.” Her own eye, bruised from the anaesthetic injection, twinged. “I’ve had to deal with a few funeral punch-ups, but I have to say, I’ve never been part of one.”

“Tim’s already fussed plenty.”

“And I can see why.” Ruth pushed the door closed and waved Lucy into a seat, before reoccupying the one she'd just vacated. “You’re making me sorry I encouraged you to go.”

“I know, I shouldn’t have said anything. Should just have done things their way.”

“Well, yes, I know I just complimented your self-control, but…” She shook her head. “It’s all learning experiences. I know you meant well, and I’m hardly going to criticise you for trying to help. Especially given your own grief.”

“Tim’s already given me the full lecture. I’m kind of… I dunno. Like, some people thanked me for saying what I did, they said it was really helpful, but then it caused all that upset and ended up ruining the day. Making it worse. I didn’t mean to say as much as I did, really, it just… came out. And then I didn’t know how to stop without making it worse.”

“I’m sure if you’d been taking a service, or even preaching formally, you’d have done a wonderful job. But in situations like the one you were in, you perhaps need to… take a step back. Leave it to other people, let them do their vision, even if you think you can do better. Unlike when you're taking the service, you don't have an opportunity to find out the background - the 'is there anything I should know' that you always ask in funeral visits. There's always a reason they're doing it that way.”

Lucy nodded meekly. “I should have realised.”

“And I’m content that you recognise that. At least from what you’ve said, some good will come from it. I apologised for your actions, by the way, and they accepted it in good grace recognising that you were grieving yourself."

Lucy looked down, embarrassed. "Sorry. I didn't realise you'd have to get involved."

"I was the one who sent you, and thought it best to forestall any complaints. I believe in giving curates the grace to make mistakes, which sometimes means making excuses for you. Now, how are you doing, yourself? Apart from having a rainbow across your face?”

Lucy sighed. “It doesn’t feel… right. Like, that was supposed to be a close, but it wasn’t, it was just a bit more mess. More disappointment.”

Ruth nodded. “I was afraid it might be, and I’m sorry. I really hoped it might help, I should have realised… well, I’m glad you’ve come here, anyway. Welcome, by the way, to the Priory of St Hilda. I’ll take you out for a walk up the cliffs soon, if you don’t mind the rain, you can see where Samantha spent the last few weeks of her life. And maybe, we can say goodbye, in our own way?”

A small nod in response.

How often would Lucy come back to her like this? It was more than a year since she’d sat down on Lucy’s sofa in her first curacy house and dragged from her the full list of everything that was on her mind. Each time, the problems seemed to get harder, more unanswerable. Back then, she could make things happen: find a new curacy, get Lucy moved… it was all under her control. And then before her eventual priesting, those fears, the doubt that it would ever happen. Harder to answer, but there’d been a resolution, through the ordination itself. But this, now? There was no solution, certainly not one that Ruth could offer. She couldn't even deal with her own thoughts, let alone Lucy's.

It was the kind of rain which, though deceptively light, soaked one through in minutes, which took waterproofs as a special kind of challenge, and which caused rats'-tails of hair to stick to one’s face. Ruth had fixed the plastic eye shield to her face before leaving the building, and though it got in the way of glasses, that made little difference, as they’d have been opaque with droplets soon enough anyway. And at least her good eye was proving the value of the operation, striving valiantly against the grey mist as though doing its best to make up for the temporary incapacitation of its pair.

“You’ve good shoes for it, anyway.”

“You did warn me.”

“I did, and I hope you’re up for a bit of a slog. It’s easy enough, once we’re up… but you’re young and fit.”

Not that either of them struggled, except with the slipperiness of the path. The cliff edge stuck out jaggedly into the mist, at times just a couple of metres away. The fence worn, in places broken to make a clear path through.

“We don’t know where exactly she went, of course. But… probably along here somewhere. You can see how easy it is to reach the edge. There are rocks down there now, but during the storm, the tide would have been in. Quite impressive, how high the waves can kick, along here and against the harbour wall.”

Lucy trailed her hand along the fence, drew it back sharply. “Splinter,” she answered Ruth’s look.

“Ah.”

“It’s… a good place to come. To be alone. Except for…”

The drop. Yeah. The easy answer, when one’s internal voices grew too strong.

“What do you think she was thinking? When she came out here, to… you know.”

Ruth sighed. “I don’t think that’s a helpful question to ask.”

“But I’m asking it.”

“And I can’t answer it. I’m not going to try.” It had occurred to her enough times, lying awake at night, and she'd got nowhere.

Silence, except for Lucy kicking at a stone. “Why… why didn’t she tell anyone?”

Another question Ruth had asked herself. “That's as easy as answering why she did it at all.”

“She told me, last time.”

“This wasn’t last time. It was different – the reason, the method, the background.”

“I guess… what if she wanted to, this time? But it was too late?”

“Another question which will get us nowhere.”

“But I’ve got these questions. I can’t get rid of them.”

Nor can I. “And I can’t answer them.” She walked on, forcing Lucy to keep going.

“Why did God let it happen?”

“Why does God let anything happen?” A few more steps, and then stop, because Lucy was no longer following. Because she stood there, sagging and dripping, arms hanging down by her sides.

“I don’t want to be a priest.”

Ruth just looked at her.

“I mean it. I don’t want to.”

“I know you mean it. Why not?”

“I… I don’t want to.”

“And it’s wet, and cold, and I don’t really want to stand still getting wetter and colder. Why don’t you want to?”

Lucy shrugged. “It just… sucks. It’s hard, and tiring, and people hate me for it, and I just feel like I’m wasting my time. And I’m not any good at it, and I don’t even know if I believe in any of it.” She looked at Ruth with a helpless kind of defiance, and Ruth sighed.

“Walk.” Better to be moving, so that they at least had movement to counteract the cold damp. “I’ve been doing this more than half my life, and I’m feeling the same as you right now. That’s a lot of wasted time.”

“If you don’t believe it, what hope do the rest of us have?”

Ruth shook her head, and suddenly the tiredness was too much for her. “I haven’t a bloody clue. I just know there’s a lot I could have done with this time. I could’ve had kids. Could have spent more time with my sister’s family. Could be earning six figure bonuses and jetting round the world, that's what everyone predicted. Instead? A lifetime of trying to steer this chaotic mess that calls itself the Church of England.”

“So, I should get out now? That's what you're trying to say?”

Ruth glanced at Lucy, took a few long breaths, tried to find an answer, something she could give Lucy beside her own despair. “God doesn’t make sense, Lucy. What God calls us to doesn’t make sense. The disciples were sent out and told to take nothing for the journey. And they were warned – you’ll be rejected. You’ll be laughed out of towns, but shake the dust off your feet and carry on. And that was in the early stages, before he told them later that was only the beginning. Told them, you’ll be persecuted for me. You’ll be driven out, and flogged in the synagogues, and put to death, for my name. You think that warning was only for them? No, I don’t know why I do it either, all the time, but we can’t say we weren’t warned.”

Lucy stared at the ground. “Why can’t you just answer… anything?”

“Maybe because I don’t know the answers.” Ruth stopped and looked at her. “You’ve been here before, Lucy. You’ve asked these questions before. What did you do then?”

She shrugged. “Got distracted. Forgot about them. They’re still there though.”

“You think there’s a better way of dealing with them, those unanswerable questions?”

“Well, this way sucks.”

“Let me know if you find an alternative. Or any of the answers.”

They stood in silence for a minute, rivulets of water running down both of their raincoats, Lucy scowling at the ground.

“So. We came out here to talk about Samantha.” Move on from the I-don’t-want-to-be-a-priest meltdown, there was nothing to be accomplished there.

“Yes.”

“Why don’t we pray?”

“That’s how you answer everything?”

“Yes.” Ruth half turned so that she was looking out to sea. “Why don’t you begin?”

“I… dunno…”

“You’re a curate, Lucy, you know how to pray after a death.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Lucy. Come on. You start, I’ll finish…”

And Lucy did, falteringly, growing more comfortable as she went on. Giving thanks for Samantha, praying for her family and other mourners, prayers for eternity, perfect following of the order familiar from funerals. She was good at finding the words, really, if reluctant. She finished and looked at Ruth, who nodded encouragement and led the Our Father, and finally considered one more time the decision she’d already come to.

“Let us commend Samantha to the mercy of God, our maker and redeemer…”

She knew the commendation by heart, and it was clear that Lucy recognised it, as she looked up with a mix of emotions. Ruth closed her eyes and kept silence a minute, and then gestured Lucy on, still silent until they reached the path back down.

Ruth took the descent cautiously, well aware of her limited vision. “How are you doing?”

“Dunno.”

“Work with me, Lucy.” How was Tom doing? Getting on with work, in spite of everything… she couldn’t criticise, she’d probably do the same in his position.

“I was being serious, you know.”

“About?”

“Being a priest.”

“I don’t doubt it. We’ll deal with it when I’m back at work properly, Isla will liaise to find a time. Bring your license.”

The shock that met that, the mouth opening and closing without quite saying anything. Ruth could be gentle, or she could not, and on this occasion the words had spilled out before she'd really thought about them. Was she slipping up, as she had with Samantha? She didn't think so, because Lucy wasn’t Samantha, she knew just how tough Lucy was. And Lucy knew how to talk to people. No, just give her the choice, properly, so she actually thought about it for herself.

And then a waving figure caught her eye, and she sped up, taking the steps two at a time. Like she hadn't had enough drama to deal with today. “Sister Joan?”

“Sister Antonia told me to watch out for you. It’s Sister Mary…”

“Where?”

“Her room.”

“Coming. Lucy?”

The curate hung back, a few steps behind, and Ruth beckoned impatiently. “Coming?”

“Um…”

“Come on.”

Lucy did as she was told, sticking close behind round the long corridor. The door to Sister Mary’s room was open, and Sister Antonia jumped up the moment Ruth appeared, to speak in a murmur.

“Your Grace, I hoped you’d be back soon. She’s had a stroke, not her first… she’s told us before and insisted again that we don’t call an ambulance. Considering how long rehabilitation would be, and the fact we were told last time that her chances of making it through another would be slim, she’d rather be here, with dignity.”

“Of course.” Ruth took the offered stole, crossed the room in a couple of steps, and took the vacated seat. Sister Margaret, on the other side, stood to let Sister Antonia take her place, but the prioress remained standing.

“Sister Mary, my dear.” Ruth took the elderly nun’s hands, focussed on the wrinkled face, let her own concerns drain away. Watery eyes looked back at her.

“Reverend Mother… thank you…”

“You’re ready to receive last rites?”

“Yes... please.”

Ruth held out a hand to Sister Antonia, who gave her the open book. She placed it on the edge of the bed, open. “This is Lucy, a curate in this diocese. Do you mind if she is here with us?”

“That's fine. Hello." Sister Mary smiled weakly in Lucy's direction

"And your Sisters are here too, to share the Eucharist with you. Is there anything you require from me, besides last rites?"

"No. Thank you."

Ruth turned for a moment, to check that bread and wine were at hand. Then she signalled Lucy closer, giving her the book to hold at a suitable height. Finally, she folded her hands together and waited for her thoughts to still.

“Who will separate us from the love of Christ? Whether we live or whether we die, we are the Lord’s…” A couple more of the opening texts, as Sister Mary closed her eyes to listen. The gentle quiet as all present shared in the Lord’s Prayer, the wavering voice that recited the confession, the God-given steadiness in Ruth’s as she spoke words of absolution.

The death of a Sister, a precious moment, the culmination of a life of devotion. The whole community gathered around to lay on hands, and then to receive the Lord’s Supper consecrated by the bedside, and to whisper the Amen in response to Ruth’s words. No time limit, but the full liturgy, every part, ending with the blessing. Each Sister filing past to kiss her brow, whisper a last goodbye, and then the wait. The short wait, though it felt long, a few hours as Sister Mary passed them and let go. Eyes closed, hands folded on top of the sheets, perfectly in order. And Ruth stood to say the commendation, and Sister Antonia prayed, and the Sisters filed from the room. The door was closed. Ruth folded the stole and returned it to Sister Antonia. And then she turned to Lucy.

“Time for you to head home.”

“Was it okay… for me to be there?”

“Of course. You are a priest, and even if you were not, death is nothing to be afraid of or embarrassed about.”

“I suppose we all ought to feel that way.”

“Perhaps, it’s not easy though.”

“No.”

“Well. Safe journey.” She gestured Lucy forward, waited for her to find coat and bag, and then watched from the door as she walked out into the rain. Let the experience do its own work within her. Lord, go with her, and help her to find certainty in you again. Give her hope.

© 2022 E.G. Ferguson