The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 10

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we try and fail, and it's how we deal with failure that matters in life.

Six weeks ago I gave birth to two lovely babies, Simon and Veronica. John and I thank

God every day for them: I had a difficult pregnancy and there were many nights I was

afraid I'd lose them. It was the memory of your rock solid faith that helped me turn to Christ for help from my heart instead of my mind, as you always encouraged me.

I know that there may be a lot of pain for you left over from our marriage, but you have been my rock and you helped me through this even though you were at a distance and unaware. A week from Sunday my children are going to be baptized and I considered it a sign from God that you're home right now. John and I would consider it an honor if you would baptize Simon and Veronica; it would mean so much to us, and it might mean something for you as well. We'd understand if you can't do it, but I think your presence would be more important than anyone else's there. The family is with me about this idea; we hope that you will pray about it and let the Spirit guide you.

In Christ's peace and love, Janet

I sat in my chair dumbfounded. Mom looked at me with concern, and after a long silence finally said: "She brought the babies over last week. They're little angels, just adorable Janet told me everything that's in the note and it struck home with me: I had trouble carrying you and many times I thought I'd lose you. Don't know if you can do the baptisms or not, but consider it, son, consider it. If not for your sake, then for sake of the children." She handed me a picture of the two infants, redfaced, sleepy, wearing matching white outfits in the carriers, then left the room and shut the door. I didn't know what to think.

Sunday Eucharist went smoothly enough. Many more people remembered me that I thought, and they all had to greet me afterward, updating me on their families. The Jeffersons from down the road gave me warm greetings, and said they were honored that a vocation they had been praying for years had sprung up so close to home and was so strong. Mary and Agnes made acquaintances easily and soon were chatting busily with women who had known me my entire life. Occasionally I caught their eye; they pointed at their new friends and acted like they had learned state secrets about my past, but Mary read my disquiet. We came home at last, and after changing, I talked with her alone in her room.

"I'll take you into Hays tomorrow like we planned and rent some bikes for you to ride this week. We'll get three but I don't think I'll be taking the same roads. There's something I need to work through now, and I need some time alone."

"Your mother told me all about it, luv," she said. She held my cheek with her hand and looked deep into my eyes with her compelling pools of blue. "I know this opens a Pandora's Box of things you thought locked away or resolved. Take your time alone with our blessing. Aggie and I will explore the back roads of Western Kansas." Her lips met mine and stayed there for a long, loving time. She pulled away and said: "You have stolen my hard old heart, luv, and although it will take a long time for you to figure out what you have to do, but I know your heart will lead you the right direction in the end."

There was a horse in the barn named Sophie that I'd ridden on my last visit home, and after I took the girls into Hays to rent their bicycles, I rode Sophie all around the ranch. At night, I was physically back at the house, eating with my parents and my Englishwomen, watching television and commenting on the days events, but I was disconnected and longed to keep riding the Plains. There were showers on Tuesday, and I let myself get wet; after the clouds parted, my skin browned to a reddish hue as it had during my youth working there on the ranch. Sophie was patient with me, and quietly nickered when it was time to let her graze or return to the house.

Wednesday morning's sun rose dramatically from behind some thin clouds, and I saw it with Sophie from the top of a rise on the North side of the place. I read Morning Prayer from horseback: I was not as faithful to my daily prayers as I should be, but the mire of my emotions desperately required me to seek release. Finishing, we took a gallop to the South, veering wide to the East to avoid the house, and heading for opposite side of the place. Memories of Janet still clogged my memory . . .

It was fiendishly warm that September night sixteen years ago as Janet and I crossed the Fort Hays State campus holding hands. We'd been a couple for a year, and we'd behaved ourselves. Sure, we'd had our make out sessions when a roommate was away for the weekend, or far behind abandoned stacks in the library, but never went beyond first base. The summer was spent working different church camps as counselors: we'd spent many nights literally beating the bushes to catch kids doing what we were considering that night. That September day we'd registered for classes and in a couple of days they would start.

The sun finally had set behind a few wisps of clouds; the night insects were tuning up for another serenade. It was a huge bunch of bushes on the fringe of campus then, far from any lights, and no one was paying attention to us. Looking around, I commented: "This is like being in a LeCarré novel. Do you have your cover story?"

Janet hit me on the arm. "You nut," she whined softly. "You're far too paranoid. Nobody cares that we're sitting by these bushes your buddy told you about, and when we slip underneath, no one will see us. Campus police never comes out here."

I gave her a quick kiss on the lips. "All right, Jan, you're right, I guess. Are you ready?"

Her eyes shone. "Absolutely."

Taking a last look around, we slipped underneath to find a hollow big enough to inhabit comfortably. There were a couple of beer cans thrown there, but I tossed them aside easily as we settled in on our backs. Our lips met, famished by our long absence from one another, our tongues flicking electrically back and forth. I stroked her side as she stroked my back: familiar territory, but still fantastic for a pair of twenty year old virgins. Then, her blouse buttons came undone; I had fondled her bra many times before, but that was our limit that first year. She stroked my backside and undid my belt.

Now we were crossing lines. Her nimble fingers were fumbling inside my pants, and my hand slipped inside her bra to find uncharted territory. A wet spot started to form on my undershorts, and she homed in on it, stroking and squeezing softly. After a moment's taut groping, I reached around to unfasten her bra: I didn't know what I was doing and she had to help me. With difficulty, my mouth left her and I ran my tongue over her smooth skin, noticing in the faint light the line between her summer tanned skin and the milky white of her unexposed flesh. I found the bud and started to lick it, swirling it with my tongue and it responded by hardening to a tiny ball.

Janet reached into my shorts and released my cock; the first time a woman had handled it in my memory. I moaned and slid my hand into her damp shorts, finding her wet spot easily and a little bud that widened it as I played with it. She spasmed as I did this, and my mouth returned to her left nipple as I stroked her slit. I traced her cunt lips directly, probing into the damp channel, and she quickly bucked and moaned. Her hand forgot what it was doing; for a very long time I had hold of a bucking bronc on my hand, and I kept my lip lock on her soft mound until she pushed my hand away. Putting her head on my chest, she panted for a long time. "Was it good for you?" She was speechless; only nodding her head.

Then, she pushed me down and pulled me pants down far enough that my pole swung free, eager for action. She started stroking it again and said: "I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel." Her mouth found mine again, and our tongues danced again.

Breaking for a moment, I whispered: "I'd love it if you kissed me three feet lower." I could tell she was thinking about it for a moment and almost said something. She looked me right in the eyes, and I saw her adoration. Bending over, she kissed the head of my cock; tentatively, she sucked me in, her tongue darting wetly the entire time. It wasn't the best oral sex I ever had, but it was the first, and it took less than a minute for her to claim my first orgasm, flowing out the sides of her mouth and falling to the soft bed of foliage like drops of egg white. After that night, our trajectory together was sealed, through joy to commitment to relocation to rejection and parting.

In the present, a bright summer August Wednesday, Sophie was glad for the run, but as the morning warmed, we took a break in the Southwest corner of the ranch. I sat on a rock outcropping and tried some Eastern meditation techniques, attempting to empty my mind of everything. The twenty year old blonde from Colby who shared love with such gusto sixteen years ago haunted by thoughts for a while, but she dissolved in the growing haze of another summer's day on the Great Plains, and I found some release. It was lunchtime before hunger roused me, and I thought of a place to eat my sandwiches.

It was a place of family history that I sought: the old tree that sat in a little depression on the Southwest side of the ranch. My great grandfather planted it and several others here when he set up his homestead in the 1870's, and it was the only survivor. The trunk was fifteen feet thick, and its thick branches was an oasis in the treeless prairie: a singularity. Grandfather found a water source fifty feet down, and set up a windmill to pump a small pond for the cattle; my brothers and sisters and I learned to swim there and it was the site of many family picnics. It was a mile off the road, on a lane that led back to the house two miles farther on.

When Sophie and I trotted up, I found the spot had been taken. The Sterns women had discovered the oasis, and were making use of it. The bikes were propped under the tree, and Mary sat on a blanket under its shade unclad. Agnes was splashing around the pond, floating on her back with her sweet breasts pointing up, sunlight striking a spark on her nipple jewelry. Waving, Mary spotted me and invited me over. There was a moment's indecision: I wasn't in a mood to talk, but it would be rude not to say hello after the saw me. Sophie trotted up and I slid off her back; the horse went to graze in the shade.

A warm hug greeted me, and Agnes waved from the pond. Mary's face held concern as she greeted me and said: "How's it going, luv?"

"Slowly. It's taken a couple of days just to get a strategy together to flush out the old memories, but I feel like I can get started. I know that sounds strange, but a lot of times it takes a couple of days of a retreat just to get settled and unwound. How are you two doing?"

"Grand, Vicar, just grand. We've been riding twenty miles a day, letting the wind blow over our faces, and the sun bake us. These roads just go on forever; it's so lovely to see this much ground. Your Mum clued us in about this spot and we've been taking our lunches here, as well as a cooling dip."

"I'm glad to her you're having a good time. Sorry I can't spend more of it with you right now."

"We understand, luv. You've got a lot to work out. Take your time and we'll still be here for you when you're ready. Care for a spot of lunch?"

Agnes had gotten out of the pond and wandered over to make friends with Sophie. She was a young Venus: pert breasts, moderately thin, luscious, nicely rounded hips, bronzed skin without a tan line, and long, red hair that hang wetly between her shoulder blades. It was too late to stop her: it was extremely dangerous to approach an unknown animal period, much less naked, but Sophie was extremely gentle, and was fondly licking her hand while soaking up the newly sprung affection. I looked back at Mary: a distant mirror of her granddaughter, a few more wrinkles and sags with shorter hair. But she generated as many sparks as the younger woman, and it was difficult to decline her invitation.

"I wish I could stay a while, Mary. But I'm in training, so to speak. I'll meet you here after I've worked through everything."

"All right, Vicar. As you take this to your good heart, remember: when all is said and done, you're a Priest, and the best thing for you to do is act like one."

I gave her a delicate kiss on her cheek. "Thanks, luv." Calling Sophie away from Agnes was a little difficult, but I remounted my horse and rode back to my outcropping for lunch and an afternoon's meditation.

My head knew all along that her life had gone on, and mine had as well. We were both happy in our own ways, and I wasn't willing to give anything up try repairing something beyond hope. Our lives were full, and we didn't need each other, perhaps we never really needed each other.

My heart was having a tough time catching up to my head, and it was only seeing a brilliant Thursday morning's sunrise that I was able to find real peace in my heart about Janet.

The baptism still bothered me, but Mary's words came back, echoing louder and louder in my ears. They were innocents who needed to be washed and claimed by Christ, and as a priest it was my calling and my duty to wash and claim them for Him. It wasn't about my pain or jealousy or pride, or any relationships I had with anyone in the past. I looked at the picture of the two infants, so similar to the other babies I had baptized, and my hard heart started softening. The world didn't revolve around me, and knowing that helped me make up my mind. On Thursday afternoon, I rode back to the house and sent a brief message to the e-mail address she provided on the note: "I'll be there Sunday. Alfred." After I hit the send button, I found my father in his study and we played Gin Rummy until suppertime. After supper, we got out the Scrabble set and had a hilarious game arguing about the differences in spelling between England and America.

On Friday, I gave Sophie a rest and joined Mary and Agnes in their bike ride down the long, flat roads of Western Kansas. By 10:00AM, the swelter had started, and Mary and Agnes peeled their tops off down to their skin: their tans were so deep brown that I couldn't tell where the tan ended and the nipple began. Although my eyes rejoiced to see the beauty, my libido was still dormant from my week's self struggle, and my heart weary; they respected my need for silence and didn't suggest anything prurient. Saturday I spent in my father's study, preparing my Sunday homilies. A night of storms took the baking sear out of the air, and Sunday dawned bright, clean and lovely.

The Eucharist went well, and I got good comments on my reflections on Matthew 25, the core of my personal theology. The baptisms afterward found me extremely nervous: this parish had started baptizing babies by immersion a few years before, and Janet wanted me to immerse her children. The Sacristan filled me in on the technique, and I could begin. It was a day that I thanked God for theBook of Common Prayer: it gave me poetic words when I had none, and the Spirit gave me strength to perform the Rite. The Sacristan of St. Michael's took the precaution of putting very warm water in the font, so the babies never hinted at crying as they entered the water. There were the obligatory pictures afterward, and Janet promised to send me a copy of the shot where I held the babies. My parents, Mary and Agnes accompanied me to the dinner afterward, and I was able to stay a respectable time, greeting all present as a good priest should.

I could do no more than give basic congratulations to John and Janet, although I longed to say much more. They were at a loss for words as well; John responded to my congratulations with a warm handshake, and Janet gave me a hug and a chaste kiss on the cheek. She said: "I know this was tough for you, Alfred. Thank you for doing this, you don't know how much it means for me. I owe a lot to you." That was the moment I had to leave.

We spent the rest of the Sabbath around the house with my parents; from their interplay, it was clear that Mary and Agnes had endeared themselves to Mom and Dad while I was lost in my meditation. My brother Jonathan, and my sisters Eunice and Nancy came over with their spouses and children still at home shortly after we took a nap for an impromptu family reunion that lasted well after dark.

Monday morning was an active morning: my parents were leaving for Seattle to visit my brother Jim and his family, and Jonathan brought his van over to take them to Salina for their plane. He arrived around 8:00AM, and I helped load the bags for the trip. Dad gave me a big hug before Jonathan and I lifted him into the passenger seat and Mom had tears in her eyes. "Next year, we're thinking about England," she said, "Do you think you can handle it if we came over to see you?"

"Absolutely Mom, I'd be thrilled to have you and Dad across the pond. Come whenever you can and stay as long as you want."

"Thanks, son. Alfred, I think your father may have only one more year of traveling in him. He'll be eighty five in November, and I'm not as young as I used to be. If he lasts five more years, I probably won't be able to take care of him and have to put him in a nursing home, even though it may break my heart."

I gave my mother a long hug. "I won't be away so long next time. You come to England next year and I'll be back the year after. We'll go from there and I'll always be in Cyberspace. Maybe we could set up a video link."

"Take care, son, and God bless you. Your father and I are proud of you."

I stood in the morning sunlight for several moments watching the van pull away until the disappeared over the crest of the hill, the dust trail a smoky smudge hanging timelessly in the yellow beams. Someone came up behind me. "Fancy a bike ride this morning?" Mary whispered in my ear.

"Sure. How soon do you want to head out for Denver?"

"Tomorrow would be grand. We have plans for today."

I turned and gave her a quizzical look, to which she replied with a wicked smile.

Agnes stuck her head out the door. "Get a move on, Vic. We're wasting a lovely day."

I went to change into a blue polo shirt, white shorts, athletic socks and shoes. As I came back out the door to take my bicycle, Mary and Agnes were wearing red shorts with white stripes up the side, red lined white tube socks and running shoes, and nothing from the waist up. Agnes' pierced nipples held elegant silver dangles that hung three inches beneath her firm, conical breasts; Mary's nipples had two inch golden sunbursts whose hollow center allowed her perky nubs to peek through. "Let's get a wiggle on," Agnes jeered and pedaled off. Mary and I gave each other a look and followed her.

Once we hit the paved road, Agnes set a leisurely pace for us, and we pedaled and chatted in the morning sun. The air started crisp, perking their nipples beautifully, but grew hotter as the day wore on. We had the road to ourselves for the most part, although a couple of old farmers passed us the going the other direction. The girls waved innocently at them; they responded with a wave and a toot of their horns. "Have you seen many farmers on the road this week?" I asked.

"A few," Mary said, "They're so friendly. One bloke paced us and chatted us up the other day, but he went on his business after a while."

."I thought your brother's Jonathan's eyes were going to pop out of his head the day he came across us," Agnes said. The dangles she wore wove a merry dance as she pedaled, making me glad we were going slowly. "He stopped the truck and watched us go by with his mouth open. It was so cute."

"Your family are just grand, Vic," Mary cut in, "we got on famously and I told your mum she had no worries coming to God's country next year." We waved as another farmer passed us and wove down his side of the road ahead of us until he topped the rise out of sight. "We'll help you take care of them."