“It’s good you believe she could hear you, Gabriel. I think that’s a positive on your part.” When he asked if I was still devout I admitted I was not as observant as I was when I was a child. I also said that I wasn’t as aware of committing sin as I was in Dublin.
“Sins or no sins, Gabriel, I strongly recommend you say a few prayers – not only for yourself but for everybody else as well. I am of course suggesting you remember your unfortunate mother as well. From what Margaret told me, I sense your mother was close to being a saint. How she managed at all I don’t know.”
I promised I’d make an effort to say a prayer for Maggie Sheridan and my mother Molly the next time I was in church. My clerical friend quickly reminded me that I need not be in a church to say a prayer. With that I had no argument.
As we got closer to Tarrytown Father Leo asked me the question I hoped he wouldn’t. “What about Confession, Gabriel? Have you resumed that? I trust and hope you have! The last time we talked you told me you were drifting away from it.”
I didn’t want to answer the question and tried to avoid it by telling him about Sergeant Gilroy. “On the occasional Sunday I’ve gone to Mass with a policeman who lives nearby. He’s Irish and he goes to Mass every day.”
“Who?” Father Leo asked, sounding relaxed and satisfied that I was talking about a policeman. He also seemed to be happy with the fact that I was driving him to the castle for dinner. “You know a policeman? Is that what you just told me?”
“Yes. A sergeant. Sergeant Gilroy.”
“Always good to know a policeman – can help if you get into trouble.”
“This policeman was told to keep an eye on me.”
“Who told him that?”
“Mrs. Axe told him.”
“Mrs. Axe?” Father Leo responded incredulously as if not believing his ears.
“Yes, Mrs. Axe told him!” I replied.
Father Leo seemed to take that as a criticism of me. “Well, you were not so committed to Sunday Mass the last time we chatted. Were you? Am I right about that?”
I didn’t answer that question either. “It’s good you’re going once in a while in any case, but you didn’t answer my earlier question, Gabriel.”
“What was the question, Father?” I asked, pretending I didn’t know.
“Have you gone to Confession lately? I am of course referring to the sacred ritual of saving your soul and acquiring a second chance to truly repent for your sins and make a pledge not to repeat them, real or imagined.”
I hesitated again in answering about the question of Confession.
When I went to Confession in Dublin from the age of seven I used to make up imaginary sins so that the priest didn’t feel he was wasting his time listening to me. I was afraid to tell the priest that I hadn’t done anything wrong or had ‘bad’ thoughts or anything like that, so I would make up silly stories about how I kicked a dog or strangled a cat or threw a neighbour’s unwanted kittens into the canal. I was always looking for something to confess to the priest that I didn’t do. On a few occasions I even thought that if I told him I took my clothes off during Mass or if I committed murder he’d be impressed with me. The bigger the sin and crime I confessed to the more it seemed to justify going to Confession. Whenever I heard about a really bad and serious crime happening in Dublin I thought about the person who committed the crime rushing to Confession and confessing. I often found myself wanting to commit a sin so that I could confess it and please the priest. Not having sins was a bit like not having money. Without ‘sins’ there was little to say to the priest to get his attention. Without money there was little to eat at home. When I made my Confirmation at the age of ten, according to the local priest in Dublin at the time, I became a more important and independent Catholic because aged ten I was obliged to take full responsibility for being a Catholic. At ten and with Confirmation bestowed on me I was a real official soldier in God’s army. That’s what the priest said anyway. It was as if I had got promoted. Then one week I went to Confession and told the priest that I hadn’t committed any sins or done anything bad or wrong since I was in the confession box the previous week. The priest got annoyed at me and told me I must have had at least a few bad thoughts. I told him I hadn’t and he got upset. He accused me of lying and told me to say the Rosary six times for penance.
The subject of Confession and me confessing, particularly to Father Leo, was more than impossible. I would definitely not be able to tell him, or anyone else for that matter, about the dark night on the driveway and the drunken night of the cup of coffee with Mrs. Axe.
My silence and obvious retreat from the subject didn’t please Father Leo. I could tell by the way he turned his face from me and looked out at the scenery as I drove along the highway. Each time I drove by a landmark or something that I thought Father Leo might be interested in I pointed it out, but he didn’t react or acknowledge me or the place I was pointing out to him.
After what seemed like a sentence in Limbo I told him the story about how Maggie put Sergeant Gilroy in touch with the President of Ireland when the policeman and his family visited Dublin. Father Leo avoided commenting on the policeman’s trip, perhaps because he was well aware of it at the time. With a tinge of annoyance he raised his voice and said to me: “If you want me to hear your confession when you get home tonight I will.”
“I can’t think of anything to confess, Father,” I replied.
A silence followed.
“Did you hear me, Gabriel?”
“I did.”
“Well?” he asked in a challenging tone.
I retreated by leaning my head forward to distract him by showing I was concentrating on my driving.
As we approached the gates of the estate and to ease him away from wanting to hear my confession, I told my religious passenger that I would think about having my confession heard the next morning before he went back to his parish in New Jersey. I added that I was too tired just then to remember the sins I had committed since I confessed last. I wasn’t sure he was fully satisfied with my response because he fell very silent. When he scratched his bottom lip with his upper teeth several times I sensed my apparent indifference to the sacrament hadn’t gone down well with him.
“Well, there’s always tomorrow,” he said and a smile came back to his face.
I knew, however, in my head and in my heart, that I would not follow up on it.
I placed glasses on trays and carried bottles of wine and liquor out to the main buffet table at the party Mrs. Axe gave for Father Clifford. There was a scattering of different types of people at the function. Some were executives in the company. Other individuals were invited perhaps more because of their notoriety than their acumen in finance and business. At the party I did my best to avoid Father Clifford by running in and out of the kitchen and bringing in food platters. I knew if I approached him he’d bring up the subject of Confession and how Maggie Sheridan would turn in her grave if she knew I was not attending Mass or receiving the sacraments.
As I was heading towards the service door that led to the kitchen Father Leo called me from across the room. “Whenever it dawns on you, Gabriel!” he called with a smile on his face.
I wasn’t sure if he was just joking or if he was being serious about hearing me confessmy sins to him. He did appear to be enjoying himself and it was apparent by the way he made his way around the room that other guests appreciated his company. Father Leo had a great sense of humour and applied it to his ministry. He was also quite a handsome man and he stood out even more by wearing the black suit and white collar.
Anyway he stopped me in my tracks and I felt obliged to walk up to him.
As I stood in front of him he calmly made an effort to reassure me. “Relax, Gabriel. I realise that this is not the time or the place to confess and atone for one’s sins.”
Just then Mr. Axe approached holding two glasses halffilled with wine.
“Look what I’ve got here!” he proclaimed as if he had won t
wo trophies. “Nobody here tonight could tell me what wine came from where. Can you tell by looking at the two, Father?”
Stepping back to get a better view of the two glasses, Father Leo said, “I think one of the two is . . .” He hesitated then shook his head. “I honestly can’t tell, Emerson.”
I wasn’t sure if Father Leo was drinking alcohol or not. He had a glass with something in it but I wasn’t sure if it was wine or ginger ale or some other concoction. He hadn’t come to the wine bar when I was serving the wine. He might have, however, when I was back in the kitchen. In any event I didn’t want to question him on his alcohol consumption even if he was drinking it. I feared he might take my questioning him as a criticism.
Mr. Axe then turned to me and asked me, “How about you, Gabriel?”
I drew a bit closer to both glasses. “They are the same, sir,” I said.
“How do you know that?” Mr. Axe inquired of me.
“I poured the same wine into both glasses when you went down to the wine cellar to replenish the supply at the bar.”
Both Father Leo and Mr. Axe laughed just as Mrs. Axe, wearing a broad smile, entered the circle of three. “What’s so funny?” she wanted to know.
“Gabriel here has poured the same wine into most of the glasses – that’s what’s going on,” Mr. Axe said.
“I only did it when Mr. Axe went down to the wine cellar for a different label,” I said apologetically and defensively.
“You kept the party going, that’s all,” Mrs. Axe said.
“Wonderful, wonderful party, Ruth,” Father Leo said.
“Thank you,” she responded.
Hearing Father Leo refer to Mrs. Axe as ‘Ruth’ I thought to myself that Ruth was a nice name. What would Mrs. Axe say if I called her Ruth? As I entertained the thought Mrs. Axe turned her attention back to Father Leo.
“I’m glad you’re having a good time.”
“I am indeed and my forever thanks to you!”
“You’re most welcome.”
Mr. Axe turned away. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he made a beeline for the wine bar. Mrs. Axe looked at me for a moment and then at the priest.
Father Leo then asked Mrs. Axe, “What do you think of our young man now? What would Maggie say?”
Mrs. Axe put her glass down on a tray that was already stationed on a cabinet that was almost touching her right elbow and looked at me.
“I get very positive reports from the office. He’s learning day by day.”
Father Leo then interjected, “I can attest to the fact that he is a very good driver. He got me here safe and sound.”
For a few minutes I stood between Father Leo and Mrs. Axe while they discussed my life at the castle. Mrs. Axe would mention my high school situation and Father Leo would comment on my weakening religious observance. Mrs. Axe would speculate on my future as an executive and Father Leo would raise his glass to that prospect.
As I stood mute and immobilised Pat came by and handed me a large tray filled with empty glasses and asked me to take them into the kitchen which I happily did. It was a welcome rescue. When I got into the kitchen I helped Pat arrange and rearrange food platters. I then tackled a mountain of dirty plates and prepared them for the dishwasher. After that I sat down at the kitchen table and decided that I didn’t want to return to the party. The thought of meeting up with Father Leo the next morning wasn’t at all comfortable. There was a strong possibility that I would be asked to drive him back to New Jersey and it was likely he would, with the zeal of a missionary, pursue his vocation and do his best to keep me from falling into the hands of the Devil. I was also concerned that he might, intentionally or not, influence Mrs. Axe in a way that could change or end what I believed to be an evolving friendship. To help alleviate the thoughts that were making me feel insecure by the second I decided to get in my car and drive to Tarrytown and visit the crowd at the bar.
* * *
Frank Dillon was sitting in his usual spot when I entered the pub. When he saw me he jumped off his seat and greeted me as if I was a long-lost cousin. Or, at the very least, someone he was definitely looking forward to seeing. He gave me a hug that nearly choked me.
“Where the hell have you been? I wait here for you and you never show up.”
I was a bit taken aback by his exuberance. I attributed his air of confidence to the fact that he might have had more than enough to drink.
“I’ve been working at the office in the castle and doing other things up there,” I said.
“Well, let me tell you what I’ve been doing, Mr. Irish.” He used the word Irish as a term of endearment. It definitely meant he was on a roll of some sort. “The newspaper I was showing you – remember it?” He waited for me to respond.
I couldn’t remember.
He continued. “The Show Business newspaper! Someone left it here once. I got one when I went into the city last week and I checked out places where they were looking for actors.”
For a second or two I thought he was going to tell me he was soon to be starring on Broadway.
A friend of Frank’s called out: “Yeah, he definitely went into the city. I didn’t think he’d come back though!”
Frank told me he had gone to an office in Manhattan that had an ad in the newspaper. A woman at a front desk told him to come back on Tuesday if he wanted to audition for one of their productions. After a few more drinks Frank informed me that the office he went to was a summer-stock-producing one. Most of the summer-stock productions attracted stars, he said. Sometimes even the ones who originated the roles on Broadway went on to work in the out-of-town productions. The place Frank kept referring to was Buck’s County Playhouse in New Hope, Pennsylvania. It was the premier stock theatre on the east coast. I asked him when he calmed down if he had gone to Pennsylvania.
“Hell, no! That’s where the theatre is. I went to their office in the city because that’s where actors live.”
I couldn’t resist teasing him. “You don’t!” I said.
“No, but I will if I get a job.”
His enthusiasm was contagious and I began to feel a bit more confident about myself after avoiding Father Leo and the possibility of Confession. Frank went on and on and bragged that he was finally going to be on stage. The pub, it seemed, wasn’t a big enough theatre for him and the five or six half-inebriated patrons leaning on the bar wasn’t an appreciative audience. Judging from the hug and welcome from Frank, he wasn’t going back to the city alone. Before the pub closed he convinced me to go into the city with him on Tuesday to try to convince someone else that he had the talent to be an actor. I happily agreed and had another beer before both of us were told to go home because the bar had closed.
* * *
The next morning when I brought Mrs.Axe her breakfast she asked me where I had vanished to the night before. I wanted to tell her that I was simply afraid of being around Father Leo too long in case he asked again if I wanted my confession heard. I was terrified the Reverend might bring up the subject, even in jest, in front of her. The consequence of such an event would likely have serious implications for my relationship with her. Although the odds on me confessing anything to Father Leo was zero, I was still filled with trepidation.
I told Mrs. Axe of my trek to the pub and meeting up with Frank Dillon. She wasn’t too pleased and abruptly dismissed me from her room.
“Ah, I can’t talk to you!” she said and as I walked towards the door she called after me, “Wasting too much time! That’s what you’re doing. Goodness gracious, I don’t know what you get out of going down to that den.”
I didn’t stop to respond.
“You should focus your attention on work at the office. Do you hear me?”
I didn’t answer and kept walking.
A few minutes later I was in my room lying on my bed, looking up at the ceiling and thinking about my silent confrontation with Mrs. Axe. I questioned as to whether I should have defended myself and talked back to her but the feelings I h
ad for her inhibited me and I was afraid that she might suggest that I leave the castle once and for all.
In an hour or so I would be called on to drive Father Leo back to New Jersey. To escape my thoughts about him and the incident with Mrs. Axe, I turned on the radio next to my bed and William B Williams on WNEW was playing Frank Sinatra songs. Most of Sinatra’s songs, certainly the ones I identified with, had to do with wishful thinking and aching hearts.
While Frank’s voice singing “What’s new? How is the world treating you?” caressed my pained and confused feelings, a knock came to my door.
For a second or two I wasn’t sure I heard it. When the knocking persisted and got a bit louder, however, I turned the radio off. I assumed it was either Pat or Jim coming to tell me the Cadillac was washed and filled with petrol and ready to take Father Leo back to his parish.
Then the door slowly opened and Mrs. Axe entered. She was wearing a silk Oriental bathrobe over the usual long white cotton nightgown she had on every morning I saw her in bed when I brought her breakfast. The bathrobe was either Chinese or Japanese. I couldn’t tell the difference.
“I was walking about and I heard your radio playing,” she said.
I didn’t know how to respond to her comment so I kept quiet.
With the heel of her right foot she closed the door behind her, walked to the small chair near my bed and sat down.
“Pat came up – I gave her the tray to take back to the kitchen and . . .” She hesitated.
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