by D C Macey
‘First, understand, I know everyone thinks I’m old fashioned, I cling to traditions that are probably past their time. I was never really against you, Helen. I was against putting a young woman, a modern young woman, who did not understand the situation, our history, into what could one day become a challenging, even dangerous position.’
Helen frowned. ‘Well, I don’t know what could be more dangerous than yesterday, do you?’ The two elderly ladies nodded in agreement.
Elaine held Helen’s gaze for a second then she nodded too. ‘Exactly my point. The danger is real. John wasn’t convinced, you know. Over recent years he had started to think it was all lost in the past, argued that we kept it all going for tradition’s sake and nothing else.’
‘What danger? Kept what going?’ Sam had been listening carefully, but he was now getting frustrated. For all the talk, there were still no answers to explain the horror of the previous day.
Elaine sent him a black look as she barked across the room. ‘You have no voice here. Please allow those who should speak the space to do so.’
Undaunted, Helen cut in. ‘Sam’s with me, and when he speaks, he speaks for me. If you can’t accept that, then this meeting is going nowhere, it’s over right now and we’re out of here.’
Sam threw her a look of thanks as the elderly ladies muttered supportive sounds.
Suddenly, less certain of her place, Elaine seemed reluctant to challenge Helen and a little hesitantly nodded an acknowledgement to no one in particular. ‘If I might continue?’ said Elaine. ‘This is a parish with a special history and tradition. Unique, I believe. Most of us wanted a strong minister to carry on our tradition. From our own roots, our own history, mentally and physically strong,’ she gave a shrug and thought of big John Dearly, crucified on the kitchen table. ‘Perhaps when evil comes physical strength is irrelevant. Yesterday I saw real strength of character in you, Helen, how you responded to that nightmare.’ She stopped speaking, trying to force the vision of suffering back down into the subconscious place from where it had just emerged again.
Helen shared in the same recurring vision, but without the causal knowledge and like Sam now just wanted answers, nothing else. ‘Elaine, physical strength, mental strength, whatever. You and I have just seen hell. Tell me what I need to know so I can try to understand what happened, please. I can’t be expected to go home to the States and live any sort of life without knowing why that happened. For the love of God, just tell me! Just cut to the chase now. All right?’
Sam nodded agreement, the two elderly ladies were suddenly still, suddenly noncommittal, concerned over what Elaine could or would say.
Elaine did not speak to Helen as she continued. Instead, she was focusing on the elders again. ‘You know my views. You also know that John Dearly, in spite of his reservations, which had grown in recent years, cared for his flock above everything else. He cared for us, and he did care for our traditions too. I don’t know who his killer was, but irrespective of what the papers are saying I believe it was not some religious madman, and I believe John must have realised it too.’ A ripple of disquiet ran round the room at this unexpected revelation. If not a madman, then what?
Elaine pressed on. ‘In John’s last moments, through all his pain, the only thing that mattered was that the ring was passed on, the task continued. That he still had the ring on him shows he had not given up on our parish’s tradition altogether. He had not abandoned it and in spite of the torture and his suffering, he kept faith with us and our history. In the end, he must have realised that the threat was real. He gave Helen the ring, made her promise to keep it. He made me promise to support her.’ She had to stop as excited whispers erupted and flowed around the little group.
Suddenly, Bethany and Cathy were both speaking to Helen, firing a series of questions at her in excited voices. ‘You got the ring?’
‘The man didn’t steal it?’
‘You have it now?’
‘Where is it? Let’s see.’ They shook her arms gently, trying to extract a response to all the questions at once.
Helen nodded. ‘Yes, I’ve got it, look,’ she flipped undone the top two buttons on her blouse and pulled out the chain and ring. All the elders were delighted and the two old ladies both reached out to touch it. Elaine seemed happy with the responses and for a moment she showed just the hint of a sad, sad smile, but almost immediately was arching an eyebrow and waving her hand, describing a small circle in the direction of Helen’s chest - perhaps there was a little too much undergarment and associated flesh on public display. Helen threw back a slightly quizzical look as she allowed the ring to slide back against her skin and fastened the offending buttons.
It seemed to Helen that revealing the ring had produced a disproportionate response from those around her and she did not understand what Elaine had meant by, supporting her. She began to suspect that no definitive answers were going to emerge from the meeting, Helen got ready to stand. ‘Well this is all very well, but it explains nothing to me. I really don’t want to carry on with this mystery. And what did you mean by supporting me? Wasn’t that just talk in a crisis, a dying man’s confusion?’ The two old ladies, breathing hard, almost quivering with excitement, kept tight hold of Helen’s hands, pressing them down, as though they really believed they could restrain her if she was determined to stand and leave.
Sensing that time and the meeting were running against her, Elaine abandoned her plan to explain everything in a carefully balanced sequence of revelations over several days. ‘It means that John nominated you as the successor minister and he made me promise to support you,’ she said.
‘What? Wow. You’ve got to be kidding, right?’ Helen was shocked.
‘No, I’m not joking,’ replied Elaine. ‘However, technically it wasn’t in John’s gift. As I said - it’s the task of the nominations committee. It’s for the elders to inform succession decisions, according to the rules, which we are now following to the letter. John is not allowed to influence the selection of his successor.’
Elaine felt the looks of defiance from the suddenly invigorated elders and hurriedly continued. ‘But I know he was trying to maintain continuity at the end. To help us, guide us, as Archie did for him, and countless others before them; Helen, I’m a woman of my word. I want you to apply, we’ll follow the rules to the letter, but I will be supporting you and I fully expect the others will support your selection and then recommend you to the full congregation.’ A murmur of consensus ran quickly through the group.
Helen was still trying to come to terms with John’s death. Now, she had been nominated to succeed him instead of getting ready to fly home to her family in New England. She needed some time to think. To think about her future, about Sam, and about all this danger stuff. It was like something from a gothic horror. Maybe New England was a safer bet.
Once the murmuring had subsided, Helen thanked them for the invitation but insisted she needed a few days to think things through, still needed to understand what had happened and why, before any decision could be reached. She could see the disappointment on the faces around the room, but really needed time to come to terms with everything. Needed facts, facts she was clearly not going to get today.
She and Sam left the room and a rising babble of confused and excited voices followed them down the hall and through the vestry, finally dissipating within the silent cavern of the nave. They walked out through the silence, still with more questions than answers.
CHAPTER 15 - SUNDAY 9th JUNE
So soon after the butchery, Helen had not felt able to lead a service in John’s church, or anywhere else for that matter. A guest minister had stepped in and Helen had been happy to take a place in the congregation close to Elaine and Grace, finding some strength amidst the congregation, a great family of friends. There she had spent an hour going through the motions while her mind had churned, demanding answers of God. She had not heard a reply.
The guest minister had the sensitivity to realise this w
as not a day to prolong the post service formalities. After delivering his commiserations and sympathy, he had slipped quickly away. The congregation had done the same. Many of them had really wanted to stay and talk, but had been scared away by the media pack that was gathered outside.
As the last of the churchgoers left, Elaine was able to close the great doors at the front of the church. She locked them from the inside and walked quickly back through the church to join Helen in the vestry. The room was always cool, this morning it felt cold. Even in her uniform tweed, Elaine shivered.
Helen greeted her arrival in the vestry with a drawn smile. ‘I can’t remember when I found a service so hard,’ she said.
Elaine nodded. ‘Aye, it was hard this morning. Those journalists didn’t help though. Vultures.’
‘You know, I think one was actually recording the service - so disrespectful.’
‘Aye,’ said Elaine. She had suspected the same thing, but right now, she just wanted out of the church. ‘Come on, we’ll go out the back way.’
Helen felt the same need to be out in the open and followed her into the little corridor behind the vestry. They walked to the end and the heavy wooden door that led out to the back of the church. Elaine unlocked the old door and pulled it open letting daylight flood in. There were no journalists at the back of the church and the two women slipped out, pushing the door shut behind them. Elaine hesitated for a moment, and then carefully locked the door. Then they were away and heading down the path for a little gate that led them directly from the rear of the church into the cemetery.
The pair walked in silence while weaving a path amongst the graves; steadily working their way deeper into the forest of stone until eventually they were invisible from the church. Now completely alone they let their pace ease, and by some unspoken agreement, they settled on one of the gravel covered pathways that criss-crossed the cemetery. Helen linked arms with Elaine and instantly she felt the older woman tense, almost bridling at the sudden physical contact. Then Elaine relaxed, perhaps suddenly realising how alone she really was and for once welcoming proximity. She allowed the link to remain and both women found comfort in it.
They walked for a few minutes, moving deeper and deeper into the cemetery. The serried ranks of headstone slabs were interrupted by an occasional stone angel and a scattering of imposing Celtic crosses, some towering so high they seemed to be reaching for heaven. The pair talked, dancing around the issue like sparring boxers until Helen finally took the bull by the horns.
‘Elaine, I need to understand what’s happening. I’m flattered you have said you want me to be minister and will support me. I understand there are procedures to follow and it’s not in your gift so let’s just see how things play out. I’m with you, okay? Just, there’s so much stuff I don’t understand. You need to give me some answers.’ Using her own linked arm, Helen squeezed and joggled Elaine’s arm hard against her side, encouraging her, coaxing her. ‘Okay?’ She turned her head to look into Elaine’s eyes and the two women came to an involuntary halt. Their eyes were only inches apart. ‘I need to know what I’d be signing up to, right?’
Each saw sadness and worry in the other’s eyes. Elaine was motionless, thinking, holding Helen’s gaze. The closeness of their bodies, the intensity of their gaze and their unswerving focus might have easily been misread by an observer. This was not romance though; this was a desperate search for truth and trust. After a long moment Elaine nodded, sighed, and started walking on. Helen matched her step for step, keeping arms tightly linked.
‘Well?’ asked Helen, expectant.
‘I’m not sure where to start,’ replied the older woman.
‘Anywhere you like, just fill me in, please.’
‘You know, I’ve been here so long I can’t remember when I wasn’t a member of this parish. My husband died when I was young, Grace was just a baby then and it was John’s support that got me through.’ Elaine could feel Helen’s arm squeezing tighter still against her own, offering sympathy and support.
‘John was a good man,’ said Helen. ‘You must have become so close.’
‘We are, were… Grace and I would have been lost without him and I’ll never forget that. I trusted John without question, he was good through and through. Stood by Grace and me, and never sought anything in return.’ Silent tears were running down Elaine’s face, unbroken streams finally unleashed.
‘He did so much for us it was only natural I took on more and more tasks to help him. It wasn’t long before I became an elder. I was quite young for the role, but he encouraged me there too.’ Through the tears, she gave a fierce, defiant laugh. ‘Oh, we had our moments though, believe me. He could drive me to distraction. He was too good, needed to be toughened up. I tried. Oh, I tried all right. You know, no matter how hard I pushed him he still stayed calm, relaxed, ready to see the good side in people.’ A bitter tone entered her voice. ‘See where all his goodness and forgiveness got him?’
She stopped and turned to Helen again. ‘God forgive me, but if I ever get my hands on who did that to my John I’ll, I’ll…’ Her voice trailed away lost in a huge sob. Helen was crying too and the pair cradled and hugged each other.
Set close beside the path was a little bench, and almost without realising, they found themselves sat. As Elaine’s composure slowly returned she produced tissues from her jacket pocket, the pair dabbed and wiped. Suddenly, Elaine let out a chuckle, smiling through the tears as she recalled fondly how impossibly liberal John could sometimes be, and especially when he would not take her concerns seriously.
Elaine took a deep breath and then let it out in a long slow sigh. ‘So you want to know. Well I’ll tell you what I can. I guess I was John’s trusted lieutenant. You know this parish has one or two independent ways, things that James Curry wants to put a stop to.’
‘I guess so,’ said Helen, ‘but I’m not sure exactly what his problem is. What’s wrong with local customs?’
‘Church rules, I suppose. But this is a very old parish. St Bernard’s church building is only a couple of hundred years old but the parish roots go way back. And we’ve got one or two things we do our own way that don’t quite fit the modern rulebook. It was all right in the past, and even quite recently, back when John was taking over from Archie. The world then was more about who you were, who you knew and maybe just getting the right bits of paper signed off for the record. These days there are rules and records and you can’t move for computer controls and oversight. One of our little quirks is the selection process - you know about this, but the presbytery clerk really is determined to put a stop to it. Then there’s the money.’
Helen tensed at the mention of money. The trust fund that had been causing such a stir last week. ‘That’s what James Curry is really nosing around into. Isn’t it?’
Elaine nodded agreement. ‘Yes, though believe me, Helen, the money and its use is as clean as a whistle, everything above board. Everything. John would never do anything deceitful.’
Helen smiled acknowledgement. ‘So why the big secret then? What was he hiding?’
‘Nothing. Well, it’s not so much to do with the money. It’s more the traditions. And I guess that’s where you come in.’
‘Me?’ asked Helen. ‘What do I have to do with it?’
‘John trusted me but there were some things I didn’t know. It’s all about hand me downs, stories from the earliest days of the parish. There’s stuff from then that I don’t know about. Things that one minister handed on to the next, which is why the parish had its own little recruitment tradition. The current minister needed to know who the next minister was to be able to brief him - or her, now - old church rituals or something.’ Elaine was suddenly sounding a little vague.
‘So that’s what this ring’s about?’
‘I think so,’ agreed Elaine.
‘I can’t keep John’s traditions going if I don’t know what they are. Will you tell me what to do?’ Helen was sounding sceptical. ‘I might not even want to be
involved. It all sounds a bit iffy to me. Why can’t we just hand it over to the police?’
Elaine gripped her wrist and squeezed it. ‘Nothing John Dearly did was iffy. He chose you, gave you the ring and made you promise to keep quiet. I don’t know what’s going on, but how many church ministers do you think are killed in Scotland in a year? None! Then Archie is killed, then John. I don’t think that’s a coincidence, do you? He begged you to keep it secret, please, it was his last request, let’s respect that, don’t tell the police about his ring. He begged you on his deathbed not to reveal it and you gave your word.’
‘I know and I have kept quiet. Obviously, I’ve told Sam and you told the elders yesterday, but I don’t understand why I’ve to keep quiet. Why did he want me to keep it from the police? I don’t understand.’
‘Whatever it signifies, he carried the ring all his working life. It mattered to him and we should respect that. I can’t see his life’s work discarded, wasted. He was the best person I’ve ever known. His beliefs are my beliefs. I can’t bear to see his trust broken.’ The tone in Elaine’s voice was almost pleading, revealing another layer of vulnerability whose existence Helen had never suspected.
Helen was not entirely persuaded but she could see Elaine’s sincerity and allowed herself to concede, for now. ‘Okay, I’ll go along with this for now, but I still need to know the full story. I’m not committing to anything without the facts, right? In the end, if the ring’s material, I’m handing it over to the police right away. Understand?’ Helen was not concerned with keeping traditions or secrets if it put her on the wrong side of the law, but she could tell it had meant a lot to John and just as much to Elaine. She would keep quiet for now.
Elaine nodded acknowledgement. ‘I know some things, procedures and processes but I don’t know the whys and wherefores. It was always John’s secret, not mine. To be honest, I supported it because it was part of the parish, the minister’s thing. I’ve never known anything different. I think we should see Francis Kegan. He and John go a long way back and were as thick as thieves. If anyone can give you the full background, it’s him. He’ll speak to you, I know he will.’