The Vicar of St. Dunstan's Ep. 23

Barbara laid her hand on the older woman's. Mrs. Parkhurst looked up at her. "Miss Jenkins, I know you've seen young men die, just as I did, cut down in the prime of life. We've both been marked by the same sorrow. Claim your young man while you can, Miss Jenkins, and savor every moment you have with him. Don't hold back, you may never get another chance.

"In the meantime, I owe you a great debt. You helped save my Charles in your hospital, and bring his comrade great joy and happiness. You are welcome here anytime, and if there is anything we can ever do for you, you need only name it."

That night, S. J. and Barbara consummated their quondam marriage. After he took her virginity, she welcomed him eagerly between her legs, riding the winds of ecstacy for an eternity as his turtlenecked worm filled her tight birth canal. They renewed their consummation every night in Sussex, while thoroughly enjoying their time with the Parkhusts and building bonds of friendship with them. When they returned to Paris, a miracle led them to an apartment they could share, next to one where Charles and Lydia made their love nest.

Throughout the tense summer of German attacks and Allied counter attacks, they talked from time to time about where they would live. S.J. wanted to bring her back to Kentucky with him: she could work while he finished college and then he would teach and support her at home. Barbara wanted to return to England, and practice her avocation with the infirm elderly and war veterans, while he worked either as a teacher or with the horses he held so dear. "We don't have to figure it out yet, Barbara," he said when the topic hit a dead end. "We'll have lots of time once the War is over."

It was a warm day in early September that he met her for breakfast/dinner at their favorite bistro. He was inundated with support work for the Allied offensive, and she was worn by caring for the battalions of wounded the summer's battles sent her. "What's wrong, luv?" she inquired. "You look like the world is going to end."

His brow was furrowed and his face unusually serious. "New orders today, for both Parkie and me. We're going back to the Front."

The plug was pulled and her heart sank through the floor. "But surely you've done your time, dearest. Can't they send someone else?"

"They are sending someone else, as well as every other soldier who's been invalided and every Billy Yank who's followed Black Jack Pershing over here. The Germans are falling back, and we have to keep up the pressure. The War is winnable, and we need to win it now."

"I don't understand."

"Parkie and I are experienced officers; a valuable commodity. They're desperate for officers right now. They need us to lead the raw recruits."

She left her seat and threw herself around him. "I didn't say they could have you,." came her muffled voice from his shoulder.

He chuckled darkly. "I know, darling, I know. I'd rather not go back, but there's a job to be done, and we've got to do it. Parkie and I survived three years in the trenches, took Arras and Passchendaele. Now we've got to finish the job, catch the Kaiser and lead the Doughboys on the victory parade down Unter den Linden in Berlin."

"I know, dearest, I know. How soon do you leave?"

"This afternoon."

She gasped. "Come with me. I need you one more time."

"Barbara, I've got to get ready to go."

"It won't take you long, and I don't know when I'll see you again. Make love to me one more time before you go."

He looked at his watch and did some calculations. "All right, I've got till noon, I guess. Let's go." As they came to their apartment, they heard the sounds of Charlie and Lydia copulating in the next room.

It was the only time S. J. and Barbara made love in the daylight. She couldn't stop looking at his lean, strong frame the entire time she was with him. When she performed fellatio on him, she almost went too far and summoned his seed before she wanted it; when he performed cunnilingus on her, the orgasm was the strongest she felt in her entire life. His turtleneck worm was eager to penetrate her thighs, and she held him tightly against her as he rode her, leaving flecks of red on his back from her nails. They reached their climaxes at the same time, and lay entwined as the hours flew by until noon. She didn't want to let him go, but he persisted, untangling from her to wash himself, gather his gear, and dress in time to meet his noon departure. The banging from the next apartment told her that their neighbors were similarly occupied. When the men left, Lydia and Barbara wept in each other's arms the entire afternoon, and Barbara called in sick for her shift that night.

The hospital was moved East as the Allies pressed the broken German armies. She got to view a part of the Western Front, the fighting long over, and was horrified at what she saw, her mind reeling as she imagined S. J. and Charles living in that kind of hell. The work kept her busy despite feelings of light headedness and nausea she began to encounter regularly as the days wore on.

It was another grey day, and wild rumors spread through the ward regularly: an Armistice was signed and the fighting would be over soon. Three times it whirled through the hospital, only to be dispelled by another fresh contingent of wounded. Nurse Jenkins glumly kept watch, hoping at times that if her husband or his friend were wounded, they would come under her care once more, and other times, hoping that the opposite, if wounded they would go elsewhere lest her heart break completely.

Then one late morning, she heard the guns stop and the song of bugles. Shouting filled the air, and the French were jubilant: "Le Guerre est finis! Victoire! Victoire!" As the news sank in, her heart filled with hope that S. J. would be back with her soon, so she could tell him the news she just received the day before.

*********'

"Stonewall Jackson McCoy and Charles Parkhurst never came back from their last Tour at the Front," Mother Mary Rufus concluded. "The French and the Americans were eager to punish the Germans for starting the War, so they ordered Allied units to attack on the morning of November 11 before the eleventh hour. The two men led their troops over the top and were cut down forty five minutes before the Armistice took effect."

"I read about that stupidity," I volunteered. "The Allies lost more men than on D-Day to take positions the Germans were going to walk away from within two weeks. A microcosm of the Great War: an exercise in senseless slaughter. That must have made their losses doubly painful."

"It was something neither Miss Jenkins or Mrs. Parkhurst ever talked about, according to Mum."

She sat quietly, and looked down.

"If any question why we died/ Tell them, because our fathers lied," I offered.

"Ah, Kipling," she replied, "How appropriate."

So what about grandmother and the Quilting Room? Sister Mary Francis Xavier asked.

"Nurse Barbara Jenkins came back to England and visited the Parkhursts to share their grief. Colonel Parkhurst had a major stroke the night of the Armistice; since they needed a nurse to help look after him, they engaged her to stay with them. In June, she gave birth to Major Stonewall Jackson McCoy's daughter, whom she named Lucinda after his mother back in Kentucy. The Parkhursts adopted Lucinda gladly and raised her as their own daughter, providing her status, education, and all her needs until she reached adulthood. Mrs. Parkhurst used to say: "We won't lose this one in the next war." Mum always thought the Parkhursts were her parents growing up.

"But what about Barbara Jenkins?" I inquired.

"She worked for the Parkhursts until 1939, living with her daughter as a stranger. Her heart was broken by the War, and work was the only thing she could live for. She taught Mrs. Parkhurst how to make quilts, partly from her own heritage of the North Country and partly in honor of the McCoy family, who also made quilts in their home in Kentucky. The Great Depression provided and unending need to warm unfortunates, so they transferred their quilting operation to St. Dunstan's, inviting the women of the parish to join them in their charitable work. Mum grew up there and worked on quilts her whole life, until arthritis stilled her hands. Mary Sterns, Sheila Button and Mavis Hazelton's mothers were the first young women to pitch in to help them, and your current Quilting Ladies spent most of their formative years together in that room."

What happened to Barbara Jenkins?

"She went back to nurse the soldiers when World War II broke out. A year later, during the Blitz, a bomb hit the London hospital she worked in and she was buried under rubble. She was dead when they dug her out.

"She kept a diary of her experiences, from the time she was 14 until the end of the Great War. The last entry was for 11 November 1918. Mum kept it, and let my sisters and I read it when we came of age. Peggy has it now. Mum also had her grandmother's quilt, the only thing she possessed from her birth father, that she hung onto her entire life."

"I saw it in her hospital room. It was incredible that she had something so old and worn around her."

"She could never be parted with it. Mum always wore that gold bracelet Stoney gave Barbara, and she was buried with it."

Barbara Parkhurst-Frazleton, aka Mother Mary Rufus, slumped exhausted in her chair from telling the story of her Mother's conception. The younger woman looked drawn as well, and my energy was gone. The older woman gestured to the younger, pulling her close to hold her for several long moments, before letting her go. The younger woman went to the sideboard and offered me another drink, which I refused.

I turned to look at the Parkhurst family picture Barbara indicated. The portrait was taken in the very room we occupied: an upper class English family, the parents smiling a bit more than propriety allowed, sitting in front of their four sons in their prime, three of them wearing the uniform of their country, and the fourth an officer's tunic in the Canadian cavalry. Their eyes were bright and cheerful; clearly these young men had yet to take their first tour in the trenches.

"For King and Country," I murmured.

"Yes," Barbara sighed. "To think of what might have been. They were all bright and promising young men, like my real grandfather. Caught in a dying world, they gave their lives for something that no longer exists. Oh, England is still here, but they would never recognize it. They wouldn't have recognized it in 1919. Their letters home talk about how the world had changed, and they weren't sure they could ever see things the same way again."

She shook her head, and stood up. "I need to go to bed. Thanks for everything, Alfred." I rose to meet her, and she crossed the room to give me a big hug and a long lingering kiss full on the lips. I returned it, but was surprised at the display of affection with another member of her community in the room. We parted, and she went over to give the younger woman a big hug and a peck on the cheek. Barbara's face was barely visible, and I saw her mouth moving. Good night, sweetheart. I love you.

Sister Mary Francis Xavier kissed her again, squeezing her, and let her go. Barbara glided from the room gracefully. The young nun saw the look on my face, and gestured me to sit.

I need to explain something to you.

Yes?

Mother Mary Rufus is my mother.

Yes? Of course she is, that's how you see things in your community.

Oh, she's my superior, and I call her Mother all the time, but she is my birth mother.

I sat down heavily at this revelation, and looked at her closely. There was the same line of Barbara's cheek, the same nose, the same turn of the mouth replicated in that I hadn't noticed before. She was a little taller than her mother although she was still a relatively small woman; she must have grown since I first met her. Her hands were delicate, like her mother's, and her hips the same proportion. How is this possible?

While Mother was a postulant, an Irish priest came for a month's retreat. Mother was helping with hospitality, and was taken in by the huge, jovial man full of stories. She fell for him hard, thinking he'd leave the priesthood for her. At the end of the month, he went back to Nigeria, and she was with child.

My brain worked madly to keep up with the story. Wasn't that enough to get her kicked out? I know that some convents were infamous dens of iniquity in the Middle Ages, and most of the children they raised were born to their inhabitants. But that's changed, hasn't it?

You forget my community has been like that as well, historically. It's extremely rare that a sister gets pregnant these days, Mother was the last, but her Superior, Mother Mary Athanasius was very compassionate. She let Mother decide for herself whether she wanted to stay or not, and since my Aunt Peggy was childless and wanted a daughter, she made the decision to let me go and give herself to God.

But you know she's your mother.

She kept in touch, but not close touch. Never saw her more than once or twice a year, and never got to know her when I was growing up. I decided to become a nun on my own, and chose St. George's to be near her. It was a tough choice for her to let me in, but in the end we're both glad she did. We have our conflicts, but we are close, and we trust each other completely. We don't let our relationship get in the way of our commitment to God and our community.

Neurons fired, and I wondered if there was a chance connection. Do you know your father's name?

Holy Ghost Father Kieran Flannery. All I know is he was in Nigeria several more years, then came back to Dublin in retirement. Never wanted to meet him.

Holy shit, I said to myself, the same bastard who gave Miriam Hali a son about a year later in Africa. She has a half brother living under my roof and doesn't know it. Oh, that explains the red hair, I said at last.

Yes, Mother said he was a tall man with very red hair. She also says it's the Irish part of me that makes me such a wild child.

I took a long drink from my wine glass, and looked at Sister Mary Francis Xavier. There was nothing more to say, and my heart was beginning to tell me I was needed elsewhere. I need to go. Good night, sister.

She stood up and came over to give me a big hug as I rose from my chair, almost knocking me over. Good night, Vicar. You're the bomb. Giving me a sweet lingering kiss on the cheek, she looked deep in my eyes and mouthed: Mother needs you. Go to her.

Shaking my head, I returned her intense stare with a puzzled look. I'm sorry?

She needs you tonight. Don't leave her alone. She has a lot to do in the next few days, and then comes the Chapter meeting in Rome. She needs you now.

I gave her a kiss on the forehead and released her, leaving the room and going down the hall where her old room was. Turning on the table lamp, I found her wide awake under the covers. I undressed and pulled back the covers, finding her naked. She held out her arms in welcome, and I joined her under the covers, where we clutched each other tightly and she sobbed quietly on my shoulder long into the night.