by Paul Kelly
At that moment, Miss Harrison came into the church.
“Father, someone is here to make their confession, can you come please?” she whispered and Peter followed her slowly in obedience to her request, but as he walked away from the altar, a mystical voice consoled and reassured him.
“My grace is sufficient for thee, Peter Spinelli.”
***
Tom Mahon read the letter, which he had received from London that morning.
“Blah blah blah, ah, yes... The young man’s voice came across with a strong, masculine presentation, yet with a quality of feminine charm that gave purity and strength to the rendition; A very unusual and pleasant voice, unpretentious, yet compelling ... Sweet and sensual. We would be interested in further recordings.’
Tom regarded the appraisal, as more like something from the critic of a local newspaper and hardly the report of a professional entrepreneur, however, everyone was delighted. Shona made her entrance with a bottle of champagne and the mood was warm, enthusiastic and full of promise for the future of the young man they all loved. Only Fern had a dark shadow hanging over his happiness. There was sadness of questions that brought no answers.
“What’s the matter, lad? You should be over the moon, whatever is the matter?” asked Tom, but Rose whispered something in her husband’s ear and Shona blushed as Fern ignored the charade and left the house. Tom followed.
“There is something on your mind, is there not?” he asked again as he followed Fern into the fields outside.
“Tom, can I talk to you, privately?”
“In a minute …I have to get my coat. I’m cold.”
Tom returned to the house for his coat and scarf and he walked out with Fern into the cool fresh air.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said, but his voice demanded an explanation as they made their way up into the hills together in silence, with the darkening skies threatened impending rain. Fern pulled his collar high around his throat.
“You knew my mother well, didn’t you Tom, and my father too. My real father, I mean.”
“Yes, I did indeed, Fern, and what a lovely pair they were. A real love match that was ... well it must have been; they had you didn’t they?” Tom chuckled gleefully, but Fern remained sad.
“How did my father die?” he asked without looking at his companion and Tom Mahon held his breath for a moment, producing a cloud of moisture as he exhaled quickly. He had not been prepared for this…
“It was an accident, Fern. Why do you ask me this question?”
Fern shivered in the cold.
“I must know. I must know all there is to know about my parents.”
The air was getting colder and Tom took off his scarf.
“Put this around your neck. You should, have put a coat on,” he scolded affectionately as he wrapped the warm scarf around Fern’s throat.
“Thanks Tom ... Please tell me what I want to know.”
Tom Mahon looked out at the horizon and his eyes narrowed.
“Your dad was part of a rescue team that went out to people who got trapped in the mountains. People will climb without knowing the dangers that the mountains can hold. Your father volunteered for this work, just as we are doing to this very day. It was not long after you were born. All of the men in the village shared this task and each took it in turn to go out with the rescue.” Tom prevaricated, knowing that he was being evasive and could not bring himself to speak further.
“So what happened?” enquired Fern, but the talkative choir master wanted to find some way to avoid the subject and evade his usual loquacious talents.
“What happened, Tom?” Fern enquired again and Mahon spoke slowly and hesitantly.
“One night, a team of climbers were stranded and the helpers were sent out to rescue them... One of these helpers was your father ... There were four climbers; three men and a woman. The rescue crews were out all night and all four climbers were brought down safely, but the woman had very bad frostbite and was unconscious. They brought her down on a stretcher and she was taken to hospital but when they got there, they found that she was wearing your father’s coat and helmet. She would have died had she not been given this warmth. The team said that your father must have thought he would get back to the village quickly as he knew the mountain well, but there was an avalanche that night, and it was three days before his body was recovered.”
Tom looked at the ground, wishing he had never been asked to relate the incident. It had been a very sad time for everyone, but Fern took his companion’s hand and rubbed his knuckles. Nothing more was said, as the two men walked on but Tom dried his eyes whilst Fern just stared ahead.
His face was ashen and his lips were pale. He was cold and alone ... utterly alone but there was no tears; not even for his father ... and it was some time before he spoke again.
“Why did my mother marry Stephen Lockton?” he asked with a solemn tone in his young voice and Tom Mahon looked even more sorrowful.
“Are you sure you want to hear any more, lad. Why not leave things as they are?” he pleaded and Fern could feel the first touch of rain on his forehead, but he persisted with his enquiry.
“I want to know Tom ... please?” he said urgently and Mahon knew it would be impossible to be silent any longer.
“We all knew that Stephen admired your mother and he was upset when he found she was to marry your father. There were religious difficulties, I think, at that time and your mother went into Edinburgh to be married. They were so happy, Fern and even more so when you came along.
They called you Fernando after your grandfather on your father’s side.
We never knew much about your mother’s parents, I think they were dead when she came to live here in the village and as far as I know she came from Edinburgh too, but no-one ever spoke about your Spanish grandparents.” Mahon looked pained. He had run away with himself and had said more than he wanted to say and he hated the memories that he was being compelled to re-live. “Fern, I’m sorry to be telling you all this. I truly am. You must know how Mrs. Mahon and I feel about you, and had you been an orphan, we would have jumped at the chance to adopt you. As you know, we never had a son and after Shona, we could not have any more children.”
“But why did my mother marry Stephen Lockton, Tom?” Fern persisted and Tom Mahon knew he had diverted long enough on that subject and he sighed as he resumed his tale with renewed sadness.
“Mrs. Mahon would be the best person to talk to about that, Fern. She knew your mother well, and you know what the women in the village are like… they all know one another. They send birthday cards to each other and all that sort of thing. A little clan within a clan if you like and they have their own set of rules where silence and secrets are concerned… but you must understand your mother wanted to provide for you, Fern and it was no easy task for a woman in those times to do that if she didn’t have a husband to support her. Stephen proposed to her and they came to some arrangement. She married him, but not with the same feeling that she had for your father. Oh dear, I shouldn’t be telling you these things.”
He stopped short and wiped the rain from his forehead as he reflected how the village had their own course of gossip when Anna Zambrano had married Stephen Lockton, but that was such a long time ago and Tom did not want to go through all that again. Besides, it was no-one’s business but their own …
“Were they in love? My mother and Stephen, I mean,” Fern asked solemnly and Tom pulled his collar around his neck.
“I think it is high time we were getting back to the house. The rain is getting heavier and I think there is a storm brewing,” he said, trying to avoid the question, but Fern persisted again. “I asked you, were they in love, Tom?”
Tom Mahon looked to the skies as the darkening clouds gathered rapidly. “Ah!, what is love Fern? It means different things to diff
erent people. Your stepfather is a good man. He was a good provider for your mother and I am sure she was happy. She had made the right decision.
The best one…”
Fern narrowed his eyes and the rain drops fell from his lashes onto his cheeks.
“If I had not been here, she could have chosen better,” he insisted, but Mahon waved his hands in the air.
“Don’t say that, lad. If you hadn’t been here, we would all have missed an awful lot of happiness. That’s for sure.”
Mahon hugged Fern to his chest as he spoke and the boy felt a bristled chin on his ear. He wanted to pull away, but refrained and looked up into Tom Mahon’s eyes, where he could see the pride in the welled up tears, just waiting to fall.
“Thanks, Mr. Mahon ... thanks.”
“Now let’s get started home. Remember you have a practice early tomorrow for the wedding on Saturday.”
Tom scolded Fern in his inimitable tender fashion where his prodigy was concerned and placed the tip of his forefinger on the boy’s nose.
“We must look like a couple of drowned rats,” he laughed and Fern was appreciative of the concern, for all the joviality.
“I’d better get home to the Manse, Tom. It’s getting rather late,” he said quietly and the two men took their separate ways. The jovial choir master to his lovely Rose and the slender boy to the solitude of his thoughts.
Chapter Eleven
THE YOUNG BRIDE looked radiant as she walked down the aisle and Stewart McPherson was waiting at the altar, excited at the moment, but nervous too. He shuffled a little as the entry hymn was played and the organist smiled approval, more at his own playing, than at the young couple.
Stewart wore his kilt with pride as he stood tall and alert and Fern waited by the organ for his cue to sing. The old priest who conducted the service was dressed, as Fern had seen Peter dressed for Mass whilst the altar boys were in red cassocks and whiter-than-white surpluses...
No doubt the work of devoted mothers. The organist nodded and Fern went into the introduction of the hymn with a fine clear voice, but unknown to him, Peter had slipped into the church where he could listen again to the voice that charmed him to his depth and without being noticed, he watched Fern’s face as he sung. He wanted to capture the whole scene again as he had done that day in his own church when he had played the accompaniment for Fern and he watched the newly-weds as they glanced shyly at each other, sure that they would be as enthralled with their singer as he was, but they only had eyes for each other. The silent church echoed suddenly with the strains of the ‘Ave Maria’ and the atmosphere became alive as Shona turned from her seat at the front, to catch a glimpse of Fern. His face was aglow and his eyes were fixed steadily to a point above the High Altar. Shona knew there would be no distraction, as he joined his hands involuntarily and rendered the gift of his voice and his soul to God ... to the God he envied and could not understand.
***
The afternoon reception was packed with relatives and friends, who had come from all over Scotland, and even farther afield as Canada and New Zealand. Particularly Stewart’s clansmen made the speeches with great pride. The room was filled with the flamboyant tartans of the Fergusons and the McPhersons.
Peter had purposely avoided Fern until sometime after the speeches, “You were in excellent form, Fern.” he said as he stood behind the young singer who was standing alone in the crowd, appearing as a very small figure amongst the large tartan clad youths of the party and he was dressed in a simple suit.
“Father, I didn’t know you would be here, how are you,” He was surprised and pleased that his friend was with him as Peter nodded and sipped his sherry.
“I’m fine. Have you got a drink?”
“Not yet. I’m not sure that I want one. Well maybe a fruit juice.”
Peter looked around the room at the many guests, smiling occasionally to the ones he knew.
“I can’t wait long, Fern, as I have to attend the hospital very soon, but I didn’t want to miss the wedding. I’ve known June and her parents for some time now and I understand the Fergusons have lived in this village for some years. June used to live near my family in Glasgow,” he said, but their conversation was constantly being interrupted, as people wanted to talk to the priest or to Fern. Peter wished Fern a good afternoon and left the Reception to attend to his duties at the hospital, leaving his friend standing alone with his fruit juice at the back of the hall.
“Having a nice time?” The voice came from behind a large rubber plant in the corner of the room and Shona appeared as if from nowhere. “Penny for them,” she continued and Fern was pleased to see her as he was beginning to feel lost in the crowd.
“I wasn’t thinking anything in particular,” he answered.
“You looked as though you might cry at any moment,” she said with a smile and Fern forced a little laugh.
“Oh not as bad as that, surely,” he said, but he knew what Shona meant and she wasn’t far from the truth of the matter.
“Well you did buck up a little when Father Peter came in,” she went on and Fern glanced at the door where his priest-friend had left.
“He is a very fine priest,” he said softly as he lowered his head and looked into his glass. Shona studied Fern’s face as he spoke and her eyes did not want to leave the picture before her.
“Your voice is getting better, Fern. It sounded lovely in the church,” she said, but Fern made excuses to avoid embarrassment.
“The acoustics are good and the organist was wonderful,” he added quickly, but he could have bitten his tongue after he had made the last remark and he glanced again at the door where Peter had departed.
“I thought you would have worn your kilt for the wedding, Fern ... Most of the other young men are wearing their tartans ... Have you noticed?” she asked, but Fern sipped his fruit drink in silence and did not answer, which made Shona more impatient to arrest his attention.
“You must go on singing, Fern, and I’m glad this opportunity in London has come up,” she trivialized and her voice shook as she spoke. She was saying anything and everything that came into her head but she knew that she was wasting time. She wanted to take Fern’s hand and run away ... run away anywhere just to be alone with him, but her heart realised the impossibility of her dreams…
“By the way, I don’t know if you’ve heard yet. I’m dating Andrew Kerr,” she added, hoping that her remark would make Fern show more interest, but her efforts were fruitless.
“That’s nice. Is he here with you?” Fern replied as he smiled at an elderly lady who bowed politely and returned his sentiments with a sneer, but Shona knew she had timed her statement wrongly. She had hardly expected such simple acquiescence, as it was not the response she wanted.
“No,” she replied in a wry tone,” he is picking me up at five this evening, after the afternoon Reception. He couldn’t get to the wedding as he has a practice in Glasgow now and I can’t see him as much as I would like. He‘s a doctor now, you know”
Andrew was a G.P. in a very poor part of Glasgow and Fern had remembered him as a very promising young man, but he had no idea that Shona knew him so well. She had never spoken about him before.
“Andrew and I have a lot in common,” she said holding her head high, “We think much the same and we like the same things,” she added, but she was aware that she must have sounded trite ... almost apologising for her romance and her heart was heavy.
“Why, that’s lovely Shona,” Fern replied, looked innocently at her as he spoke, but she avoided his eyes as she picked at her nails.
“I hope everything goes well for you Fern. Maybe you’ll be singing at my wedding one day?” she said in a nervous voice, afraid of the answer she might hear. She wanted to tell Fern that Andrew was kind, considerate, loving and handsome in his own fashion, but that he was NOT the love of her
life, but how could she do that? There was a mystery always surrounding Fern; a strange deep unfathomable strangeness that she could never understand. There was an impenetrable wall surrounding him, which caused her to despair, but she could never stop loving him. He appeared very much younger than his seventeen years although he was strong in his character and her love for him knew no bounds, even if she was aware of the incomprehensible impossible situation between them. There was a murmuring in the gathering as they spoke together.
“I think they would like you to sing again, Fern,” Shona said sadly, aware of the jealousy she experienced of anything or anyone who would distract his attention from her, but contrary to her thoughts on the matter, Fern did everything to decline the invitation and looked appealingly to Shona to help him out… Stewart was defiant and the quartet was instructed to play anything that Fern requested…
“Yes please ... Encore,” the unanimous plea could be heard.
Fern excused himself reluctantly from Shona and she moved away slowly towards the French doors leading to the patio. The afternoon air was warmer than usual and although the doors were open, several of the guests had gathered there from the garden, knowing that Fern was to sing again. As the music played, the young tenor gently commanded the attention of the day and as he sang Shona strained to catch his eye in the hope that some of the lyrics could have been meant for her, but Fern did not look her way. It appeared as though he was searching for someone who was out of sight…
Shona could hear the applause. She had seen Fern’s gaze as he sang before and the thought of that look caused her heart to beat wildly, beyond her control. She closed her eyes and steadied herself against the ivy-pillared wall and she knew how he could caress each and every other eye he observed as he sang. He had a way of making each person feel that he or she was the only person to whom he was singing his song, as his eyes would melt over with love, desire and appeal, and yet no one was the desire of his yearning; least of all Shona. She turned into the garden and walked through the patio, where people were crowding around Fern to ask for further requests, but he wanted to be left alone and when the attention subsided after a while, he looked around for Shona, but she also wanted to be on her own ... if she could not be with Fern. . . She looked up at the sky…