The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 12

"I need your help, Vicar," he began abruptly.

"All right," I said as I settled behind my desk.. "What can I do for you?"

"It's Doris. She doesn't excite me any more."

"Can you say more?"

Fred scratched his head and thought, struggling to form the words. "Well, over the years, she's let herself go. When we was first married, she was a little wisp of a gal, fragile as a feather, I was afraid I'd squash her when I got on top and, you know, she was so lively and carefree. Then the babies came, and the years of housework and now she's fat."

"Are you the same man you were when you first married?"

He chuckled. "Well, I've put on a couple of pounds in my time, but it's all her fault; she feeds me up with meat and potatoes, all this heavy food all these years and I've gone to pot. Why does she do this, Vicar?"

I counted to ten as I let this remark pass: he probably wouldn't eat anything but meat and potatoes. This was going to take a while, if it would work at all. "Do you get, ah, desires, when you look at other women?"

"Well, Vicar, I like a good show as much as the next man, used to go to the strip clubs for a while, but they're too expensive for me now. Tried flirting a bit with different girls at the Pub, but they brush me off, so I don't do it anymore. Now and then I look at some magazines or surf the Internet, but not that often. Don't even wank myself that often these days."

My mind worked hard to keep from picturing that. "Have you been in for a checkup lately?"

"Oh, about six months ago, Vic. Regular service, oil change and lube, you know?" He chuckled grimly again, and scratched his head. "But I was wondering if you had any magic remedies like what's helped me mates Stan and George."

"George? Who's George?"

"George Harris, he's over at St. Edmund the Confessor parish. The Reverend Arthur Farnsworth was telling him that if he'd do some crazy things with food in the bedroom his love life would improve, and it worked for him. Can't understand it myself; Clara's a hot bit of tottie who could get me going with a wink and a smile, know what I mean? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge, say no more. George said he poured honey all over her chest and rubbed it over her breasts and stomach, and they fucked like rabbits all night long. Father Arthur said he got the idea from you."

Thank you, Artie, I thought to myself. There's probably people playing with the food in bed all over the deanery thanks to the gossip line. "Well, I can't say that's all my idea, but I don't think that this is something that a little boundary stretching is going to help. From what I'm hearing. Doris doesn't strike me as the adventurous type."

"Well, she never was much of a goer. Nice enough, and seemed to enjoy it in her day, but now she's like a dead weight."

"Do you think she still loves you?"

His eyes searched around the room anxiously, finding rest in the corner of the ceiling over my left shoulder. "I don't know," he said in an unusually quiet voice, "I just don't know." His hands began twitching in his lap and his breathing grew quicker and shallower. "She takes care of me all right, and she's always so attentive, and she listens when I tell her something, but I look in her eyes sometime and I think she's just going through the motions, like she has no other option than live out her life like this." He bit his lip a minute, and blinked a few times. "It was the same look my Mum had in her eye when she was doing the laundry by hand when I was a lad, just before Dad walked out."

"Fred, are you thinking of leaving Doris?"

"No, no, Vicar, I'd never do that. I'm a better man that my Father was, and I'm not giving up. Doris doesn't excite me anymore, but it doesn't mean I don't care about her or want to take care of her. She gave me four lovely children, and I'm proud of all of them. Just feel rather lost, like, like. . ."

"You're disconnected from yourself? Like there's something missing?" He nodded, and a single tear snuck out of the corner of his eye.

I looked at him silently for several moments, but he had nothing more to say. Eventually, I said: "Fred, I think you still love Doris, and although you're feeling frustrated and want things to change, you're afraid of many things. First think I think you should do is get a physical, and tell your doctor what you've told me about how you're not that interested in Doris. Maybe something else is going on."

"What, what, you mean I might have cancer or somethin'?"

"I don't know, but you need to find that out. I'm not a doctor, but I know that different conditions can affect desire. As far as Doris goes, I don't think that kinky bedroom play is quite what you're looking for. Try being nice to Doris for no good reason, you know, acts of random kindness. Don't say much about it to her, but just try reaching out in subtle ways, like taking out the trash before she asks you."

He face dropped. "You mean that might help?"

"Couldn't hurt. There are many way to break out of a rut. Focus on her, and see what happens."

At that moment, the phone rang. I looked at him and he nodded, so I picked up. "Vicar, Vicar, it's Sheila. I'm riding an ambulance to the Emergency; Bert collapsed in the yard and we think it may be his heart."

"Do you want me to come over?"

"Yes, Vicar, yes, please."

"I'm on my way."

I rang off and turned to Fred. "Sorry, Fred, I've got to run. Emergency hospital call. Think about what I said and see what you can do."

"Sure, Vicar. I'll think it over." He was a bit shell shocked, which was unusual for him.

I scribbled a hasty note for Agnes, and after escorting him to the door, I got my car out and drove to the hospital like a madman. It had been cloudy all day, with bits of sunlight peeking through, but the day was winding down and the gloom was gradually growing more and more grey toward the twilight. Traffic was light, fortunately, and I pulled in near the emergency entrance. I thought about Bert, genial guy, a bit lethargic, and fond Arsenal and his family. He was the Verger and Sexton for St. Dunstan's, but only took his public office at Christmas and Easter, and supervised Percy and Stan in their handyman work around the Parish. Occasionally, he swept the Chapel floor when he had nothing better to do. The only time I generally saw him was on Sundays.

Sheila was already in the waiting room. "They're working on him now, I don't know what's going on. He was weeding the garden and just keeled over; I didn't find him for, oh twenty minutes maybe, I was doing the wash." She sobbed and put her head on my shoulder for several long moments.

I held her and let her cry. When she had settled a little, I asked her what I could do. "I don't know, Vicar, just stay with me here? I called Jen and Derrick already, and they're on their way. Jen'll call everyone." She settled back against my chest and we sat in silence.

Jenny and Derrick showed up a half hour after I got there. Their dress was casual: they had been on campus. Jenny was showing her five month pregnancy in a floral top over white shorts; Derrick had a polo shirt and jeans on his tall and lanky form. They were both very worried when Sheila told them the story; no one had come out to update us on Bert's condition. Jenny sat next to her grandmother and held her, while Derrick and I wandered up the hall for a moment or two.

"How's it going, Derrick?"

"Fine, Vic. Jenny called Aunt Sandra, Aunt Julie and Uncle Clive. Sandra and Julie will get here as soon as they can arrange it; it'll take Clive a while to get here. He was driving his lorry back from Poland and needs to go home to Cornwall before he can come here. The cousins will find out from their folks. I gave my Gran a call, so she's on her way, too."

"Excellent. I'll stick around until you find out something, and we'll go from there."

"Grand, Vic."

We walked farther down the hall in silence, and turned a corner. When I was sure we were out of earshot of the women, I asked him: "Derrick, can I ask you about something completely unrelated to what's happening here?"

He brightened up and said: "Sure, Vic. What do you want to know?"

"Has Percy Witson been talking about the marital counseling he got?"

Derrick laughed. "Well, he hasn't been going into a lot of detail, I think his wife would kill him, but he's been saying that chocolate sauce in the bedroom has changed his life and he has you to thank for it. Some of the younger lads around the parish try it, some of the gals, too. 'Not even if you've got chocolate sauce' is now a put down at the Pub."

I chuckled softly at that. "So that's all he's saying?"

"Sure, Vic, that's all. What, is there more to it?"

"Yes, but I can't say. Along the lines of how I helped you out a few months ago."

"Oh, I see. Right, Vic, mum's the word. I hear the Bishop's daughter had a baby. What's she calling him?"

"Freddie."

"Grand. As long as it isn't Derrick."

We went back to the women, and Mary had joined them, as well as Sheila's daughters Sandra and Julie. They were listening to a doctor finish an explanation; the man walked away just as we were walking up. The Button women began sobbing, and Mary took Derrick and I aside to fill us in.

"It's the same thing that took Tommy; Bert had a massive heart attack," Mary said. "We don't know how long he was lying in the garden before Sheila found him. He's going to be in Intensive Care this evening at least, and it's a coin flip whether he lasts through the night or not. They're going to run a series of tests tomorrow to see more about what's going on, but his brain was deprived of oxygen for a while and they don't know if he was out too long to bring him back."

I nodded and looked at Derrick. "How old was Mr. Button?" he asked.

"Around sixty seven, I think," his grandmother answered.. "Are you hungry, lad?"

"Famished, Gran."

She looked at me and I nodded as well. "Would you boys mind going for some takeaway?"

"Mary, I'm here to do whatever I can," I said. "Let me check in with Sheila, and we're on our way."

Sheila was fine with her daughters, granddaughter and best friend present, so Derrick and I went after a pizza. They had moved Bert to Intensive Care while we were out, and the women were at a waiting room nearby. Conversation was at a minimum as the meal progressed: Sheila's daughters caught us up on their children, and pressed Jenny for details about her pregnancy. Derrick and I found a deck of cards and started playing Gin Rummy over to the side as we waited: so passed the evening's vigil. The hospital was relatively unoccupied that evening, and rooms for everyone who wanted to stay were available. Mary left around 10; Derrick and Jenny went home around 11, promising to drop by the Button house to check that all was well; Julie and Sandra went to bed around the same time; and Clive checked in approaching the Chunnel.

Sleep eluded Sheila, and she wanted company, so I sat up with her. Sporadically we chatted about some innocent subject. Suddenly she stood up: "That stupid git, that bloody stupid git. I told him for years that sitting on his arse would kill him. Just like Tommy Sterns did, the damn eejit did nothing but sit on his dammed arse in front of the Telly or down at the Pub. Never paid attention to what he et, never paid attention to how much he drank. The bastard deserves to die, the useless bastard."

I let her rant; it probably did her good to get it out of her system. As she wound down, the night nurse came in the door; the look on her face said everything. Sheila's rage shattered like a dish hitting the floor and she collapsed in my arms in tears, as the final news was announced.

Three days later we celebrated Burt Button's life and conducted him to his final rest. Family gathered to comfort Sheila and each other, taking the opportunity to catch up with each other's lives. There was storytelling, memories and good food to share: Sheila spent mot of the time in the kitchen, refusing to be herded out by her daughters. "It's therapy for me," she said, "cooking helps me cope. Leave me alone." The Wake was a joyful remembrance of Burt's blessings and foibles, and the Funeral worked its healing office and proclaimed hope of eternal life. Sheila was quiet throughout, shedding hardly a tear, while the rest of her clan grieved more openly, especially at the cemetery. I stopped by the house to visit as they had a light meal, and stayed until most of the extended family had drifted away. It was with trepidation that I saw Sheila beckoning me upstairs; I knew she harbored some anger with him over his lethargy after his retirement, and his disinterest in her needs. I slipped upstairs a decent interval after she left the room; the only lavatory was there, so I had a cover story.

After closing the door to her room, she pointed to a chair by her dresser for me to sit in. Sheila and I had been intimate for about a year and a half, but we had always met in the Quilting Room or the Vicarage. Their room was stark, the walls afleur de lis wallpaper that had seen better days, the bed barely big enough for two, the two dressers cluttered with jewelry and pocket contents. She paced nervously, looking in every direction but at me or out the window, taking slow, deep breaths. Her arms were crossed in front of her and after a minute she tossed her widow's hat on the bed so hard it bounced off the other side. I knew she wanted to tell me something, but she was fighting for the words. Sitting quietly, I .let her choose her time to speak.

Bert gave every indication of acquiescence to Sheila's extracurricular activities, but never referred to our relationship directly. Like his friend Harry Hazelton, he proclaimed himself no longer interested in sex, and glad to see his wife occupied with someone he trusted. His attitude struck me as rather indolent and apathetic. The only thing I'd seen rouse his interest in the past six years of my residence in the neighborhood were the various games and collateral conversations in the Pub, and the welfare of his children and grandchildren.

Finally, Sheila slowed down and sat on the bed rigidly, tapping her right foot on the floor rapidly. She was still focused on a corner of the room, and it was a clipped, angry tone that come from her that I never heard before.

"God forgive me, Vicar, but I hated the bastard. Bert Button was a self-centered, stupid git, who never saw past his own prejudices. Never wanted to find a job that made more money, never cared about what his children were wearing as they grew up. Everything revolved around him."

She looked at me directly. "He beat me, Vicar, the man struck me. He had enough self-control that he never did it around the children, thank God, but I felt the back of his hand more times than I can remember. Around the Pub or the Church, he was a great old lad, always ready for a laugh and a pint, and if you caught him at the right time, he'd even help you. But he was quick to anger around the house, and his acid tongue was quicker than the back of his hand."

"He asked me about Derrick just before he married Jenny," I interjected.

"Yes, he was very protective of his daughters and Jenny, who we raised since she was nine. It was all I could do to keep her away from him. No, I never thought he was going to force himself on her, but he treated her like his personal maid. We had to jump at his every command.

"I married him because I had to: I was pregnant with Georgie when we went to the Registry Office; that's what people did in those days. My God, why did he and Clara had to die in that crash? Mary and Tommy had to get married for the same reason, and so did Mavis and Harry. We've survived all these years, your Quilting Ladies, by keeping busy and staying out of the way, but we couldn't do it 24/7.

"When we had enough babies, the sex stopped. I was a doormat to him, he even masturbated in bed next to me for years without a care for my feelings."

"Why didn't you leave him?"

"Women of my generation and my mother's generation and my grandmother's generation always stood by our men, no matter what. For better or worse. Divorce was a scandal that no one wanted to live with, and Bert used the shame of it on me every time I wondered if I should leave, just to keep me here. You were telling me it was like that in Kansas where you were growing up; divorced people were a public scandal, weren't they?"

I nodded my head.

"Well, I rode it out and now I'm free of the bastard. I'm a widow and I couldn't be happier. You did a lovely job with the funeral, and you managed to find his few little virtues in your homily. The children appreciated that, and I'm glad for their sake. Those little kindnesses and the abundant mercy of Christ may gain him entrance through the Pearly Gates, but as far as I'm concerned, I wouldn't care if he were roasting over the fires of Hell for all eternity. May God forgive me for my anger."

There was nothing to say, and I kept my silence. She was still agitated, and it was better to let the steam dissipate on its own. Finally, she flopped back on the bed, and the storm was beginning to pass. I ventured a quiet question: "What now, Sheila?"

She turned on her side to look at me. "I don't know, Vicar. I hate this house; sleeping here the past three days without him has been agony, too. Maybe I need a change of location: Clive's girl just left him and he needs help with his little lads. I can take care of them for a while. Maybe stay permanently."

"Are you sure you want to live in Cornwall, away from your friends? Maybe you should just change rooms here?"

Smiling, she started to weep a little. "I'll miss you, Vicar, and Mary and Mavis and all the other folks at St. Dunstan's. It won't be a permanent exile; I'll have to come back to check in on Jenny from time to time, be here for the Christening of her baby. Not planning to sell the house or anything; Sandy and Julie can look after it. Just need to get away from here for a while, and Cornwall seems as a good place as any.

"I do know a few folks about there by Clive's place, and the parish out there is a good one. Maybe after a few months, I can even pray for the black soul of Bert Button. I don't know. I'll stay in touch, Vicar, don't worry about me."

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

A fresh spate of weeping hit her. "No, of course not. I'll have to wait a little before making up my mind. I know I'm blubbering ninny right now, and I'm not thinking straight."

"If there's anything I can do, please let me know, Sheila."

"I do know, and you're a love. I'll be all right, tonight, you can go home now. You look tired," she said, laying a soft hand on my cheek. I kissed it and left.

When I got back to the Vicarage, Agnes' light was still on in her quarters. She had done yeoman work the past few days, helping in many different ways, and she played for the funeral. I let myself in the back door, and she was in the kitchen to meet me. Her hair was brushed back, and a diaphanous white negligee that hinted at the treasures within. Smiling, her eyes narrowed right away as she saw the look on my face, and gave me a big hug. "How are you?"

"Tired. It's been a long three days. You?"

"A little tired, but okay. Hungry?"

"No, thank you. I had something at Sheila's house."

"Yeah, I remember, they had a ton. Mrs. Button's a great cook and so are her daughters. Anything I can do for you?"

I looked at her eager blue eyes. Any other night, I would have swept her into my arms and taken her to my room, but the burdens of the day, especially Sheila's revelations, bore down on me. Nobody knew, I thought to myself, she was miserable for years and she hid it from everybody, even her own children. I looked into Agnes' eyes and asked: "How was your grandmother when your grandfather died?"