Something changed in her then, something loosened, gave way to the radiance.
She thought she heard a whisper.
“Be brave, Bitty Brown.”
She opened her mouth to speak, but no sound came forth.
In the next instant, the light disappeared.
She brought her hand up and watched the water drip from her fingers.
When she stood and clutched Percy’s arm, she pointed to the pond. The swans were feeding, dipping their snow-white necks and orange bills into patches of bright green widgeon grass and purple stonewort.
“They’re well fed,” he said. “My mam makes sure of it.”
She scribbled in her pad.
“Are they magic?”
“Magic? If love can make them magic, then yes, I’d say they are.”
One of the pair turned his neck and stared at Percy.
“Well, let’s get in,” he said and trotted up the steps, holding out his hand for Bitty.
“What’s this, then?” Fiona asked when they entered the kitchen. “What’s wrong with our girl? Just look at your cheeks how flushed.”
Bitty shook her head and held out her hands, palms up.
“Ah, well, sit down now, and we’ll have a bit of tea before I have to start lunch for the guests.”
Bitty watched as Fiona prepared the tea. Occasionally, she glanced over her shoulder and shot a look at Percy.
Bluebelle leapt onto the table and touched her nose to Bitty’s. With a swish of her fluffy tail, she overturned a small glass of water that spilled into Bitty’s lap.
“Ah, look now, Mam. She’s on the table again. Ock, she shouldn’t be doing that, all the hair in the food.”
Bitty grabbed her and held the enormous cat tightly in her wet lap. She snuggled her, rocked back and forth and closed her eyes.
To her adored Bluebelle, Bitty Brown hummed a lullaby.
A cup full of tea crashed to the ground, ignored.
“You’ve done it, sweetie. You’ve made a sound,” Fiona said. “Praise the Lord, you’ve made a sound.”
Bitty smiled and laid a hand on Fiona’s shoulder then stroked her cheek.
“I know, darlin’, I love you, too,” Fiona said.
“You just keep humming, and one of these days, you’ll be talking straight away. Aye, that ye will.”
Bitty glanced over at Percy.
“Percy,” Fiona said, “didya hear it? Our Bitty hummed a wee lullaby.”
“I heard,” he said and smiled. “It sounded lovely. I’m off to the church, so I’ll see you both later this evening.”
Before he left, he stopped. He kissed the beautiful young woman gently on the lips.
“You’re a wonder, Bitty Brown,” he said. “A shining rose.”
When he’d left, Fiona sat next to Bitty.
“You’re taken with him?”
Bitty nodded.
Fiona covered one of Bitty’s hands in her own.
“My Percy,” she said, “he’s a good man, but he’s still grieving. When Mr. Jones left, Percy changed, became withdrawn, very quiet. You’ve brought happiness to his soul, child. I never thought I’d see him so happy again.”
Bitty raised her shoulders and held out her hands.
“No, you wouldn’t know. He never talks about it. But you see, he was devoted to him. Years and years they were together. Percy loved Mr. Jones with all his heart, and when he left, he took part of my Percy with him.”
She scribbled furiously on her notepad.
“Who is Mr. Jones?”
“Ah,” Fiona said. “He was a dog. Mr. Jones was a dog. He was with us from the time Percy turned twelve, I think. He disappeared a year ago.”
Bitty stared at Fiona with her mouth open.
Then she held up a hand to signal her to stay there.
As she ran up the stairs to her room, Bitty thought about the old beggar and his dog, the dog named Mr. Jones. Her heart raced. Could it be the same dog?
She reached under her pillow and pulled out the small red Bible. She flipped through the pages until the came to the blank ones, on which she’d kept a sort of journal of notes. On one of the pages, she found what she was searching for.
Bitty dashed down the steps, sat next to Fiona and wrote in her notepad. After a few moments of writing, she leaned back in her chair and sighed as she pushed the pad into Fiona’s view. She tapped it, then nodded her head. Then, she opened her mouth and touched her lips.
“Shall I read it out loud, then?”
Bitty nodded several times.
“All right, child.”
“I ran away. Sisters of Mercy Orphanage.”
Fiona stopped and looked at her tenderly. She laid a hand over one of Bitty’s.
“I lived on the streets for one year,” Fiona read. “A year? Why, that’s when Mr. Jones disappeared.”
Bitty nodded and urged her to continue reading.
“The old beggar man and his dog, Mr. Jones, are staying with me tonight in my special place outside the store. They’ve nowhere to go, either. Big dog is sleeping with his head in my lap. Fierce cold and raining outside, but I am full and warm and my cough seems better. I hope I can sleep and dream of my mother and a beautiful house. Maybe she will come for me one day. Maybe she will want me back.”
Fiona sat in silence, tears trickling down her cheeks.
12
The Beggar and His Dog
Percy gave it one more try.
“This is not a fair decision, Reverend. Why should we disband our football team? These young men need this activity. They need a diversion and a way to stay tied to the church.”
“I’m sorry, Percy,” Reverend Murphy said, “but it’s out of my control now. The Catholic Bishop has ordered all games to be stopped.”
“But we’re not Catholic!”
“No, but we are clergy and as such, we must respect the horrific circumstances which have been imposed on our Catholic brothers by the Yugoslavians. Having their team come here to play football when their country has imprisoned two fellow bishops is unthinkable. Can’t you see that? We must cooperate. We simply must. Therefore, no more participation in the football games. To do so would be to go against our tenet of brotherly love.”
Percy sighed and sat down in his office chair.
“I have compassion,” he said, “for our Catholic Bishops who are suffering in the Yugoslav prisons. I pray for their release and for an end to war.”
“I am glad to hear it, Percy. We must follow the directives from our own Bishop. The games have to end now, maybe not forever, but certainly before the Yugoslavs arrive.”
“But you know, just as I do, that the working class folk here will not tolerate an end to these games. They will revolt. They will set up picket lines. Perhaps even cause riots. These games are important parts of their lives. They will not let this pass without some form of rebellion.”
“Rebellion against our church, Percy?”
The Reverend shook his head.
“I doubt that.”
“But Sir, you do not understand how important these games are. It is the one activity in which these men can participate, which their incomes, or lack of, will allow them to afford. They will surely attend that game between Ireland and Yugoslvia because, for one thing, they can afford the price of the ticket. And for another, they know boys in the big league. They’ll all be at that game, every one of them.”
“Then we must double our efforts and pray for peace.”
“The Yugoslav team will arrive in Dublin in one week, Reverend.”
The Reverend twirled his hat in his hands. He looked at Percy, then at the door.
“Is there something bothering you?” Percy asked.
The Reverend walked to the door and put his hand on the knob.
“Our Board has said that I must get a formal letter from you stating that you will in no way participate with any of the games, here or anywhere else. You must end your association with the team members, as well.”
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For a moment, Percy sat dead still. He felt his heart rate speed up, his face flush. When his hands began to tremble slightly, he spoke.
“Or?”
“Or they will call for your immediate dismissal. I hope you will make the right choice. The letter should be on my desk by late this evening. If it isn’t, then you will be terminated by morning. It is a critical situation, a tempestuous time for Ireland. You must respond appropriately in accordance with the church laws. Good-bye, Percy.”
With that, the Reverend closed the door behind him.
Percy sat, unable to speak, unable to clear his thoughts. He felt as if he’d been dropped from a tall building and smashed into the dirt, all the breath gone out of him. He folded his trembling arms on the top of the desk and put his forehead atop his hands. He wondered briefly if he could die from shock and heartache.
An hour later, he remained in the same position, but the throbbing in his leg had become so intense that he knew if he didn’t get up, he might not be able to walk to his car.
Someone knocked at the door.
Percy forced himself to sit up straight. His bad leg was now so stiff that he had to move it with his hands and carefully slide it under the desk. He winced and stifled a cry of pain.
“God help me,” he said. A loud rapping at the door rang in his ears.
“Yes, come in,” he called.
When no one came, Percy struggled from the chair and opened the door.
The old beggar stood there.
“Yes?” Percy said, that feeling of familiarity washing over him. “Please, come in and get warm.”
“A prayer is all, Percy. Just a prayer.”
“But what shall I pray for?” Percy asked. “How can I help you? I’m not very good at praying these days, but I have plenty of warm clothes and some food.”
The beggar turned to walk down the steps.
“Please, don’t go,” Percy called after him. “Please.”
The old beggar turned to him.
“A prayer is all.”
“But..”
The man disappeared around the side of the building.
“Come back, please,” Percy called after him. “Please, tell me what to pray for.”
“I beg your pardon, Pastor?”
A man walked up the steps, then another and another until all twelve of his local team members stood in the doorway, the motley bunch all with their caps in their hands.
Percy shook off that sense of helplessness for the beggar.
“Yes, Gentlemen, how may I help you today,” he said.
Jimmy, the oldest of the group, almost twenty-one now, spoke”
“We…we wondered…I mean, we saw the Bishop leave. We were just….we wanted to know about practice. With all the uproar about the teams and those Yugoslavs coming, we thought maybe we could carry on as usual, like you said last week.”
Percy fished in his pocket and drew out a coin.
“Jimmy, is your car fixed? Does it run?”
Jimmy stood up straight and squared his shoulders.
“I fixed it, I did, Sir,” he said. “Don’t have any petrol, but it’s fixed. Purrin’ like a kitten, she is.”
Percy tossed him the coin.
“Put some petrol in your car, get the others, and drive out to Dunaghy Manor. Two or three of you can ride with me. We’ll have a short practice.”
“You mean it, Sir? We can have practice?”
Percy knew deep in his soul that these young men needed each other and the team. They needed to get their minds off their troubles, if only for a little while. He also knew the consequences he faced.
As the men left, he whispered:
“Father, if you’re listening, please bless these young men. They’ve so little left, so very little. I pray that you will protect the bishops in the Yugoslav prison, release them in Your time, and keep them from harm. But Father, these poor men in this town need help, too. They’re in their own prison of poverty. They’re hungry, tired, and cold. Bless them, Heavenly Father, and send Your angels to comfort them. Amen.”
He got up from his desk, grabbed his jacket, and stopped at the door.
“And forgive me, Father,” he said, “for disobeying the rules of the Church. Forgive my insolence and arrogance. Please.”
On the way out to his car, Percy staggered back and gasped when he thought he saw his lost dog, Mr. Jones trot behind the dumpster.
He raced across the street to the big trash bin.
“Mr. Jones!” he yelled. “Mr. Jones! Where are you?”
But even after an exhaustive search, he saw no sign of the dog.
His heart heavy, he went back to the car and got in. He put his head on the steering wheel.
“What’s wrong with ya?” asked one of the young men in the back seat.
Percy jerked up, startled. He’d forgotten about the men.
“You still lookin’ for your dog?”
Percy looked in the rear view mirror and saw the three of them cut their eyes at each other.
“I have hope,” he said to them.
“He might turn up again,” one of them said, his voice full of doubt.
Percy started the car.
“Well, never mind about that. Let’s get in an hour or so of practice before dark.”
A collective cheer rose from the men in the back seat.
As they drove, Percy glanced back at them.
“Now, fellas,” he said. “Remember that you’re not to go the big game next week.”
No one responded.
“Church rules,” Percy said. “We have been warned not to go. The Church wants our support of the imprisoned clergy in Yugoslavia. So, he’s ordered that we not attend the game.”
“But, we’ve…”
“No ‘buts’. We need to follow the rules, gentlemen. Is that clear? As your current Associate Pastor, I’m obliged to make you aware of the rules. After all, it’s just a game.”
But Percy knew better. He knew that to these men, it was much more than a game. It was camaraderie, support for their fellow Irish players, support for Ireland herself. It was the spirit of the game, their chance as “lower” citizens to participate in one of Ireland’s finest events: the big playoff between the Irish and the Yugoslavs. Nothing similar had ever happened in their country. And the Yugoslavian team had never been beaten. So, this was Ireland’s chance to shine, and those men wanted to be in the stands.
With tickets selling at an all-time low price, Percy was certain that they’d already purchased them.
“Did you hear me back there?”
“We heard you. Yessir, we heard you.”
Two hours later, after a workout of a practice, they drove back to the church.
“I’m counting on you, fellas, to do as the church asks of you, and if for some reason, you need me, you’ll know where to find me.”
With a quizzical look on his face, the older of the men stepped forward and shook his hand.
“We thank you, Percy, for giving us this practice time. We all know you could get in deep trouble over it, so we’re grateful. Ain’t we guys?”
They nodded in agreement.
“Listen,” Percy said. “If you come around and don’t find me, just head on out to the Manor. I’ll be there.”
“But why wouldn’t you be here? You’re always here.”
Percy rubbed the back of his neck.
“Well,” he said, “I might just take a little holiday.”
He looked at all of them, one by one, straight in the eyes and hoped they’d understand. The smiles on their faces vanished.
After a couple of minutes of silence, the oldest grabbed Percy’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake.
“Well, we’ll all come and go fishing with you,” he said. “Fair enough?”
Percy slapped him on the shoulder.
“Fair enough.”
As he watched the drive away, Percy went back into his office and sat at his desk. He drafted a letter to the Bishop,
sealed it and left it so that it would be seen easily. Then, he went to the storage closet, took out two large empty boxes, and began to pack away his personal items.
He knew that he would not have a job tomorrow. He’d be fired and possibly transferred to another church if he were lucky. Or fired, period. Either way, his heart went out to the young men on his team. Helping them seemed more important than playing along with the Bishop, and right now, after he’d spent an hour watching them laugh and cut up while they played, he understood even more how important this time was for them. It gave them a chance to forget about the fact that they didn’t have jobs, couldn’t feed themselves or their families or children, had little hope of getting work. If only briefly, the men forgot all this and gave their hearts to the game and their friends. And to Percy, that was what worship was all about, allowing people to unburden their souls, to forget their troubles, and to help one another.
He filled the two boxes with books, notes, photos, his Bible, his study guides. Gifts that parishioners had given him were carefully placed inside, and after about an hour, he surveyed the treasure trove. His whole life’s work….reduced to two boxes.
A great sadness washed over him.
Then, the fear set it. Where would he go? What would he do?
The fear was quickly replaced by rage.
For a brief moment, he considered grabbing that letter and tearing it to shreds, calling the Bishop personally and telling him how stupid and heartless it was to demand that these men give up their games.
But, this was his job, his parish home. Being terminated would almost guarantee that he wouldn’t get another job in a church in Dungarran. Of course, there was no other Anglican church here. But to lose this job after so many years! He loved his work, loved all the parishioners.
He slammed his hand down on the desk.
“No, it’s not right! Let them have their church.”
His heart raced. What am I doing? What in the world am I doing?
Still, to keep himself occupied, he checked the drawers and the shelves for any remaining evidence that he’d been there. Then, he went to the storage closet again and took down his robe and an extra collar, folded them carefully and placed them in one of the boxes. His gold cross hung on a nail in the corner of his office. He slipped it around his neck, the weight of it comforting somehow.
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