by Adams, Alisa
Columba was an unremarkable-looking man, but he was very conscious of the fact that Gregor was not. Wherever they went he got admiring looks from women because he was so attractive and the opposite kind of attention from men because they were jealous. Gregor was accustomed to being admired; he was not vain, but neither was he stupid. It would have been an exaggeration to believe that he could have any woman he wanted, but he could certainly have had many of them. That was the trouble.
When he woke up that morning he was tense and irritable. He had a thumping headache and his eyes were red-rimmed from tiredness. Alexa, his former love interest, was bouncing her daughter on her knee and looked happier than he had ever seen her. Then there was Lorraine, to whom he had been betrothed. She had cast him aside, but he bore no grudge against her for that; if they had married they would have been miserable. She and her husband Graham were inseparable and their little red-haired adopted son Gabriel was the light of their lives.
Moira and Iain were not particularly sociable people. They lived for each other and their children, but their friends were always welcome at Drummond Castle. Gregor knew that if everyone else in the world cast him aside he would always have a place here. Strangely, he felt more at home in this place than at his own home and, as if Iain and Moira had recognized that fact, they had welcomed both Columba and him with open arms. If his parents were hurt about this they did not show it and were rather relieved at the possibility of someone else taking on their wayward son.
After breakfast, Gregor announced that he was going for a walk. Iain wanted to go too, but Moira stayed him by grasping his arm and giving him a tiny shake of her head.
"He wants to think," she whispered, "let him be alone for a while."
Fiona watched him walking away without any anxiety. "He is like me sometimes," she said thoughtfully, "he just needs to be by himself with his thoughts."
Gregor wondered if he was losing his vocation. Lately, more worldly things and desires had been crowding into his mind and he was finding it harder and harder to concentrate on God. It was easier to think about matters of the flesh and take his mind off his maker for a while. He sighed and looked at the sea. God was very hard work sometimes.
He spent half an hour looking at it and trying to empty his mind, then he went back up to the cliff path to the castle. He had a sickening, empty feeling; he had achieved nothing. Thank God they would be on their way soon. Tramping through the wilderness of Skye was guaranteed to take your mind off anything but putting one foot in front of the other. He was looking forward to the trip.
That night he slept more easily, probably because he was absolutely exhausted. There had been no more disturbing dreams, and he woke up more refreshed, knowing that the next day the boat to Skye was taking him over to that mysterious island. Perhaps, he rationalized, he had had a bad day. Surely all religious people had days like this? He hoped so.
3
Leaving Drummond Castle
Next morning, they said their farewells. Gregor kissed all the ladies and shook hands with the men. When he got to his mother he could see tears in her eyes, and he hugged her. "Son, if this life is not for you any longer, you can come back anytime you want." She looked deeply into his eyes. "Carmichael Castle will always be your home."
"I know, Mother," he smiled at her a little sadly, "but I started this journey and I mean to finish it. If I change my mind then I will do just that - come home, but I need to see if I can pursue this venture to the end, and Skye is not the other side of the world. Last time I left I was going on a much longer journey than this and you were not so worried then."
"But this time I sense that you are troubled. I will pray for you and take comfort from the nearness of Skye." She sighed. "Be on your way now, son, before I weep all over you." Then she turned and hurried away.
Moira also looked worried. "There is always a place for you here, Gregor," she whispered in his ear, "always."
"Thank you, Moira, I will remember that." He smiled at her. "Goodbye until we meet again."
Moira watched him as he went to say farewell to Alexa and Auguste. She knew that he would always have a tender spot in his heart for Alexa, as she did for him. Alexa gave him a wide smile as he shook hands with Auguste, then he bowed and kissed her hand. "Good luck with the bishop!" She laughed. "And look after yourself, Gregor."
"I will," he replied, laughing, before taking his farewell of Graham and Lorraine.
"Au revoir et bon voyage!" Auguste called after him. "Goodbye and good journey!"
Lorraine was a beautiful as Alexa but in a less dramatic way. Since a miscarriage had rendered her body infertile, she had thought herself condemned to childlessness, but then Columba and Gregor had found the abandoned baby in the church of Stella Maris on their way home from their pilgrimage. Lorraine had taken to motherhood as easily as a duck to water. From the first time she had laid eyes on Gabriel she had loved him, and it had made her complete. She was even more lovely than before, and he envied her certainty. This was what she had always wanted to do, and she was living her dream.
Graham had Gabriel in his arms, and he was rubbing his nose against his father's, wriggling and pulling Graham's hair. Both of them were roaring with laughter. The little boy had a shock of bright red hair and bright blue eyes, both of which contrasted vibrantly with his parents' light brown hair and gray and hazel eyes.
Gregor suddenly felt very sad and very old. He would be giving all this up, the chance to have sons and daughters, to hear their laughter and watch them as they fell asleep, tell them stories and cuddle them, and for what? This grim and sterile life which he had chosen, which had few pleasures, not even a gentle woman's kiss. But then there was the other side. He loved to listen to Columba, whose mind could take him to places he could never have imagined going to. Sometimes just to understand his reasoning was a struggle, but it was worth it to feel his mind soaring into the heavens.
Lorraine interrupted his reverie. "Gregor!" she reprimanded. "Our conversation was too short. When are you coming back?"
"It depends on how long the bishop wants us," Gregor shrugged, then smiled. "And if we are talked to death or not!"
"The place has not been the same without you," Graham said sadly. He had been the person most vociferous in his opposition to Gregor's vocation.
"Thank you for saying so," he said and smiled. "But I am happy." As he said this he knew it was not quite the truth, but he felt that he owed it to himself to think a bit more. He had been on the road with Columba for three years, and he hated to think that it had all been for nothing.
Lastly, he went to see his father, who embraced him tightly. "The estate is still yours if you want it, my boy," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "You can still change your mind. You have not yet taken your vows."
"I know, Father." Gregor sighed. "You will be the first to know if I do, but I would not hope too much if I were you."
Neil looked at him, a desperate expression in his eyes. "I am your father. I would do anything for you, my son." Then he turned and walked away as if he could not bear to say another word. Gregor and Columba shouldered their packs and began the long walk into Gairloch in silence.
As soon as they began the five-mile walk Columba began to talk. Usually, Gregor would have been fascinated by his insights, asked questions and formulated hypotheses of his own, but today he was too tired and too sad. He determined that if he felt the same way by the time he returned from Skye he would give up the monastic life forever, but he just could not make the decision at that moment.
Columba noticed his silence and his faraway look. Usually, Gregor was arguing with him or laughing at something he had said, but at that moment he was in a world of his own, and by the look of things, not a very pleasant one.
"Care to talk about it?" Columba asked. Gregor had been so absorbed in his thoughts that he started in fright when Columba spoke. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you," the priest apologized gently.
Gregor shook his head. "No
harm done," he replied and his voice was flat. "I was just thinking that maybe I'm not cut out for this life."
"Many of us have doubts," Columba sighed, "it is a problem we all have to live with, but eventually you will learn to cope, even become comfortable with it. If not, you can change your mind at any time before you take your vows."
"Yes, I know all that, Father, and thank you, but it doesn't make me feel any better."
"In that case," Columba's voice held a slight hint of a reprimand, "I will leave you to your own thoughts for a while." His tone was irritable.
Gregor immediately felt penitent, but he was simply too drained to apologize. They covered the next three miles in uncomfortable silence, and at last, came to Gairloch.
The boat which would take them to Skye would leave on the morning tide, and they were given accommodation at the church of St Peter and Paul overnight. It was only a straw mattress and a rough blanket on the floor of the main hall, but it was warm and comfortable enough. Before they settled down for the night, the priest, Father Clement, gave them a warm welcome and bade them sit and break bread with him. He was a small, balding, chubby man with an expansive smile and an engaging air of bonhomie. Gregor liked him on sight.
Gregor, by this time, was feeling very ashamed of his self-pity. Before grace, he turned to Columba and said, "Father, I apologize for my words this afternoon," he gave a heavy sigh, "I have been full of my own concerns the whole three days we were at Drummond Castle. I'm sorry."
Columba gave him his wide generous smile and patted his hand. "Thank you, Gregor. I appreciate it," he said warmly. "We are not perfect, none of us, so forget it. Now, let us not waste this excellent food."
The food consisted of crusty fresh bread, boiled fish straight from the sea, and some home-grown vegetables from the church's kitchen garden with an unlimited supply of goat's milk to wash it down. It was a simple meal, but there was plenty of it, and both Columba and Gregor were more than satisfied. Clement was a pleasant dinner companion, but Columba was on top form, aiming to cheer Gregor up.
"I am not going to tell you about the Bishop of the Isles again," he began but got no further before Father Clement began to howl with laughter.
"That man!" he roared, "is without a doubt the wordiest person I have ever met! He has a long-winded comment about everything under the sun and knows his bible forward and backward. If he had been alive at the time of Jesus the gospels would never have been written, because Christ would not have got a word in edgewise!"
Gregor burst out laughing, wondering if all priests were like these two. His spirits lifted immediately as Columba began to regale them with the tale of Father John, who had tried to survive on nothing but water and communion wafers for a month. He claimed that the Holy Spirit would keep him alive.
"It seemed to be working," Columba said with some surprise. "Indeed, he seemed to be putting on weight!"
Gregor listened, fascinated.
"The Bishop of Aberdeen was brought to the monastery and declared it a miracle," Columba went on, "but then…" He paused for dramatic effect. "But then they discovered that one of the postulants had been putting food under his bed which he ate under the cover of darkness."
"Why did he do it?" Gregor asked, frowning and spreading his hands. "What was the advantage for him?"
"There was no advantage to him." Columba shook his head and leaned over the table as if he was going to tell them a secret. "He said he did it for the faith. If people thought the power of the Holy Spirit could keep him alive their faith would be strengthened. Logical, is it not?"
"It sounds more like seeking attention to me." Gregor laughed. "If he could say that God worked through him he would be a hero." He yawned. "I must get to bed, Father Clement. I would like to stay longer. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak."
"Of course," Father Clement said a quick grace then, with a kind smile, led Gregor to his mattress. "Goodnight Gregor, and sleep well. God bless you."
"Thank you," Gregor replied. He fell onto his bed and was asleep almost immediately.
He had another dream, and there was another beautiful woman in his bed, but it was not erotic. This woman was small, with chestnut brown hair and blue eyes, and although she was desirable, he felt no urge to make love to her, although the feel of her body against his was delightful. She had full soft lips, the shape of which looked as though they would curve into a smile at any moment. She radiated kindness and goodwill, and when she lay down beside him she was not naked but wearing a soft black woolen robe. She put her arms around him, kissed his mouth softly, and they both went to sleep.
4
The Crossing to Skye
In the morning as they were eating their breakfast of porridge and goats' milk, Gregor felt Columba's eyes on him, looking at him keenly. "Can I help you, Father?" he asked, raising his eyebrows.
"I was just thinking how much better you look today, Gregor," Columba said and smiled. "You are not walking around with your chin on the floor the way you were doing yesterday.”
"That does not conjure up a pretty picture, Father!" Gregor said, laughing.
"I am indeed glad you're feeling better," Columba said, "because I may need your help today.
Gregor looked up inquiringly. "I will do whatever I can, Father," he replied, "what kind of help do you need?"
Columba sighed and frowned grimly. "What kind of a traveler are you, Gregor?" he asked. "How are your sea legs?"
"You mean do I get seasick?" Gregor asked.
Columba nodded.
"I am fine on a windy day going down Loch Ness on a fishing boat," he answered, "but in the less than benevolent waters of the North Sea, I am not so sure. Why?"
Gregor could see that the priest's hands were clasped together so tightly that the knuckles showed white under the skin, and he realized that Columba was scared to death. "Remember I told you about the Puking Priest?" Columba asked.
"Indeed, I do," Gregor said and laughed. "It was one of the funniest stories I have ever heard you tell."
Columba looked shamefaced. "I am terrified of the sea," he confessed, "I nearly drowned once as a child and, ever since then, I have been unable to bear it."
Gregor was shocked. He had become accustomed to thinking of his mentor as invincible because of his prodigious intelligence, and to hear him admitting a weakness of this kind was, to Gregor's mind, unbelievable.
"I usually cope by making a joke of it," Columba went on, "but the sea is so rough, and thirty miles is a long way. I have asked Father Clement for some valerian tea but I do not know if it will help much."
"But Father," Gregor asked, puzzled. "We have crossed oceans before. Why are you scared now?"
"The Mediterranean Sea is a great deal different from the North Sea," Columba answered. "One is warm and calm, the other cold and rough. I nearly died here when I was only eight years old, playing with my brother just off the beach. I should have known better, but I got out of my depth and a big wave nearly took me. Luckily a fisherman who was on his way to his boat was passing and he pulled me out." He sighed. "Ever since then I have been scared of the stormy waters of the North Sea.
"Gairloch is not a place with fond memories for me. I rarely speak about it," he looked up at Gregor, and his normally calm gray eyes were pleading. All that I ask, Gregor, is that you hold my hand and pray with me. I may need you to put your arms around me if the sea is very rough and perhaps help me to the rail if I need to be sick."
"Of course, Father." Gregor was touched with pity. "I will do whatever I can."
"Thank you, Gregor," Columba said gratefully and put a hand on his arm for a moment. Gregor was amazed that the normally unflappable priest had a fear of anything, and in a strange way, it made him feel better.
Columba finished his meal and said grace before leaving the table to collect his belongings. Gregor did likewise and together they went to see Father Clement say goodbye. His little round-cheeked face held a hint of sadness. He knew of Columba's problem, and
as he passed him the flask of valerian tea he asked anxiously, "Is there anything more I can do for you, my dear friend?"
"Pray for me," Columba replied quietly. His face was very pale.
"Of course." Father Clement embraced him. "May God bless you both and keep you and those who travel with you from safe from all harm. I will be thinking of you and praying for you for the rest of your journey."
When they had said farewell to Father Clement they went down to the harbor where the boat was waiting. It was a reasonably large fishing boat and they felt encouraged by its size, reasoning that this boat would not be easily capsized.
"There you are, Father," Gregor said, trying to sound encouraging. "That looks like a sturdy enough ship, does it not?"
Father Columba squared his shoulders. "Indeed, it does," he agreed in what he hoped was a steady voice. He pinned a smile on his face and went down the cliff path with a heart that was hammering with terror.
The captain was a tall dark man with a ruddy, weather-beaten face. He greeted them both cordially. "Faithers!" He cried, holding out his arms and smiling the widest smile Gregor had ever seen. "Welcome tae my wee boat, and I trust ye will have a good journey wi' us." He was about to say something else when Gregor interrupted.
"Excuse me, Captain, but you are giving me too high a status," Gregor stated and smiled. "I am only a postulant. This is Father Columba, who is an ordained priest."
"I beg yer pardon, sir," the captain said and looked embarrassed.
"Please don't, I am indeed flattered to be mistaken for a real priest. I am Gregor Carmichael, and this is Father Columba McCarthy."