Time's Legacy

by Barbara Erskine

  The fact that Abi’s sudden re-posting had been to a Cambridge parish had in a way been a disappointment, for she had known the city for a large part of her life. Her father had been a professor at the university until his retirement and her parents still lived in the house on the far side of the city where she had been brought up. As it turned out her new job was in an area of a Cambridge she had never known before and one that every day shocked and surprised her more and more, but in many ways she would have preferred to be based somewhere far away because much as she loved her mother, her relationship with her father was uncomfortable to say the least.

  The household into which Abi had been born had been aggressively godless. Her father, the world-renowned chemist Professor Harry Rutherford, had drummed a compulsory atheism into his only child from the first. When she had gone up to Lady Margaret Hall in Oxford and chosen to read history he had nearly had apoplexy, but her lack of talent in maths and the sciences at school could neither be overlooked nor sidestepped and he was forced to give in with good grace to the inevitable fact that chemistry would never be her thing. He even understood his daughter’s love of sacred music. Music was his own passion, sacred music an illogical but profound side shoot of something that had a comfortable root in mathematical progressions. The areas of her life which involved healing and intuition and irrational spiritual longings she kept very carefully to herself. Had he known that sometimes she lingered in churches and cathedrals to sit, lost in thought which sometimes turned to prayer, he would have disowned her on the spot. As it was, her decision to study theology and later to seek ordination led to a quarrel which had kept them apart for five years in spite of her best efforts to effect some kind of reconciliation. Since her move back to Cambridge she and her mother had met alone, secretly, for furtive lunches in small restaurants in the narrow winding streets of the old city far from the modern science laboratories which were still her father’s usual habitat even now he was retired.

  Laura Rutherford was a deeply spiritual woman but she had no time at all for the strictures and structures of the church. ‘I am afraid you will regret this, sweetheart,’ she had said with a sigh, when Abi had told her of her emerging vocation, ‘but you have to follow your own star. You will always have my blessing, whatever you do. You know that.’ Her own worship was centred on her love of plants, her world famous garden, the time she spent alone in the company of flowers. With her husband she was able to maintain a sufficient level of scientific involvement with horticulture and plant chemistry to keep their marriage stable and happy over its thirty-five years of existence. Her private beliefs, whatever they were, she kept to herself. Neither her husband nor her daughter were a party to them.

  Her mother greeted Abi at the front door and they hugged each other with guilty glee. ‘It’s so lovely to see you!’ Laura led the way indoors. ‘Darling, Harry! I’m quite glad to be shot of him for a few days. He is such a bigot!’ There was a bleak emphasis on the last word which brought Abi up short. She caught her mother’s hand and swung her round to face her. ‘Mummy? Is everything OK?’

  Laura nodded. ‘Of course, darling. Now, you tell me what has been happening to you. I was very surprised to hear you had moved. Why the sudden flight from the Rectory? Has that oleaginous man been pawing you?’

  Abi let out a snort of laughter. ‘He’s not oleaginous. He’s basically a nice person, but yes, we were getting a bit too close and his fiancee objected. All over now. The bishop had a word. It’s strictly business from now on.’

  Laura led the way into a garden full of roses. ‘You still shouldn’t be working with a man like that. How can you concentrate on your job!’ her mother retorted.

  ‘It is my job to learn to get on with people. To manage situations. To cope with men like Kier. If I fall at the first fence I might as well give up.’ Abi flung herself down on a mossy stone bench. A small fountain trickled gently in the circular pond at their feet.

  Her mother sat down next to her. She smiled fondly at the water spout. ‘Solar powered. Isn’t that clever.’ She turned to her daughter. ‘You are not talking about your clients here. Your parishioners. Whatever you call them. You are talking about sexual harassment at work.’

  Abi shook her head. ‘I have to deal with it, Mummy. God must have sent me to St Hugh’s for a reason.’

  Her mother glanced across at her. ‘Perhaps God is trying to show you that you are in the wrong place. In the wrong job.’

  Abi looked away. ‘I’m not in the wrong job!’

  ‘So, you’re enjoying it?’ Laura turned back to the fountain, studying the moving rainbows in the water with exaggerated care.

  There was a short pause. ‘I’m finding it a bit tough, actually,’ Abi said at last. ‘It’s not just Kier. It’s the whole pastoral thing. It was so different before, in my last parish. I saw myself as a healer, not a social worker. Now I’m expected to give advice, recite an austere prayer, but keep my distance from people and I hate it.’ She bit her lip. It sounded shameful, said out loud like that. ‘It must be what God wants for me, and I have dedicated myself to serving him, but –’ She paused.

  There was so much missing from the reality of being a priest now, compared with her expectations, she didn’t know where to start. She had tried again and again to face what was wrong, to pray about it, to ask God what she should do differently, to try and find why so much was missing in her life now that had been there before, even when she was a student. The sense of the numinous. The wonder. The absolute knowing that there was so much there which cannot be seen but which is known absolutely deep inside. It was a certainty which made the whole world shine and that shine had gone. ‘I’m not very good at poverty and obedience, I suppose. I didn’t sign up to be a nun! Everything I do here presents some kind of conflict. I’m a mystic by nature, but I have to be a realist as well. I have such a sense of duty towards this job, and yet, I long to be free. I know I have a calling but now I want to rebel at every turn. I want to help and heal, but apparently I’m not allowed to. I want beauty and passion and a sense of the sacred in my worship! It’s not there. I sense the other world around me, but I don’t dare mention it. It is as though Kier is terrified of anything spiritual. There is no Mystery in what I do. With a capital M. At least not when –’

  ‘Not when?’ Laura did not look up. Her hands in her lap were clenched.

  ‘Not when Kier is there. It’s his way, I suppose. He is a sincere, dedicated man, and he believes in what he is doing, he’s passionate, but he bullies the congregation. He talks about sin all the time, never the hope and beauty of God’s love. He works to rigid rules as though he’s afraid to allow any mysticism to escape. In fact as though he’s afraid of everything.’

  Laura grimaced. ‘It sounds to me as though it’s Kier who is your problem, not God! Don’t you take services on your own? Can’t you do your own thing?’

  ‘Not very often. I take them at the little church in the parish, but even there I am always conscious of being watched. Spied on. Someone is always there to sneak back and tell him I’m doing something wrong.’

  ‘He sounds awful.’

  Abi laughed. ‘No. It’s just a different approach to mine. I have to learn his way of doing things. He’s also warm and funny and very charismatic in his own way.’

  ‘He doesn’t sound any of those things from what you are saying.’

  Abi opened her mouth to deny it, but somehow the words didn’t come.

  That evening when she walked into her flat there was a message on her phone from Kier asking her to meet him over at St John’s. They arrived more or less together and he ushered her in, closing the door behind them. Carefully deliberate in his action he turned the key and taking it out of the lock he put it in his pocket.

  ‘Why did you do that?’ She looked at him, startled.

  He shrugged. ‘I often do in the evenings when I am over here alone. You know as well as I do there are some rough types around. Once or twice they have come in and tried to cau
se aggro. It can be a bit intimidating.’ He walked a few steps away from her, looking troubled. He was dressed more informally than usual, an open-necked shirt under a casual jacket and with a slight sense of surprise she caught sight of a silver cross on a chain around his neck.

  She frowned. ‘What is it, Kier? Is something wrong?’ He had turned on only one light. It shone fitfully in the area at the back of the nave. The rest of the church was shady as the sun began to drop below the neighbouring rooftops; the atmosphere was tense. It was very quiet.

  ‘Yes, something is wrong.’ He turned to face her. ‘We get on well, don’t we, Abi.’

  She smiled uneasily. ‘Of course we do.’

  ‘And we like each other.’

  ‘We’re colleagues. We work well together.’ She felt a flicker of apprehension.

  ‘That’s what I thought.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I don’t know how to put this, Abi. It seems wrong just to put it baldly, but the way things are at the moment, well, the thing is, I think you’re causing some dissension in the parish.’ He didn’t meet her eyes, staring down instead at the strip of carpet on the flagstone floor. It was designed to bring some vestige of warmth to the often cold church but suddenly it seemed like a barrier between them as they stood awkwardly facing one another. ‘Since you moved out I’ve been able to see things more dispassionately. I’ve thought about this a lot over the last weeks and I’ve prayed endlessly about it. You are stirring up difficult and unacceptable emotions in our congregation. And,’ he paused, still not looking at her, ‘in me.’

  Abi laughed. She couldn’t stop herself. It was shock rather than amusement and as soon as she had done it she was sorry. ‘Kier, I don’t understand. What on earth do you mean?’ She frowned. ‘Is this about Sue…’ Her voice died away as he looked up at her at last and she saw the burning intensity in his eyes.

  ‘Sue and I were over the day she came up and spoke to you. She knew. She understood how much I need you,’ he said quietly. ‘She can’t help me the way you can.’

  Abi took a deep breath. ‘Kier, I am still not sure I understand. How could I help you any more than I am? No!’ She put out her hand to fend him off as he moved closer. Suddenly she was angry. Was the man actually admitting he fancied her? ‘This can’t happen, Kier. You are a priest of the church. You are my mentor. I trust you.’ She paused. ‘I trusted you,’ she added softly. He was holding her gaze with frantic intensity. ‘You are going to make it impossible for me to work with you if you say another word.’

  The church seemed to resound with the silence that followed. She didn’t dare move.

  ‘You misunderstand, Abi,’ he said at last. His voice was flat. ‘I am not propositioning you. I won’t deny that I find you attractive, but that is not why I need you.’

  She took a careful step backwards, holding his gaze. Until he extricated the key from his pocket she was locked in with him. ‘I know you need me, Kier. That is why I am here,’ she said robustly. ‘As your curate. Nothing more.’

  He grimaced. ‘It is as my curate, Abi, that I want you there. I have to have you there, on the premises.’

  She stared at him, shocked. ‘You are asking me to move back to the Rectory?’

  He nodded. ‘God sent you to look after me.’

  ‘God didn’t send me, Kier,’ she said sharply. ‘The bishop sent me because he felt you needed someone to help you with the parish.’

  ‘And the bishop was instructed by God. He prayed for the right person this time. So did I.’

  ‘The right person for the job, Kier.’ Her unease was steadily building inside her. There was something strange about him which was making her nervous. ‘Which doesn’t include living on the premises. This is a complete nonsense and you know it. And the bishop knows it.’ She saw her fear reflected in his eyes for a moment and took another step back. Desperately she made herself remember her training. The situation had to be defused. She had to get out of the church. ‘Look, I will think about this,’ she added more gently. ‘Of course I will. I need to go away and consider what you’ve said.’

  He was shaking his head. ‘You need me too, Abi, as much as I need you. More so. Out there, on your own, you are not under proper supervision. People don’t like it. They don’t trust you. When you are at the Rectory I can tell them I’m keeping an eye on you. I can reassure them that I am overseeing your work. I need your promise, Abi, to come back. You have to be there. If you defy the will of God He will be angry.’

  ‘If it is the will of God, Kier, He will tell me so in my prayers.’ She couldn’t keep the sharpness out of her voice. Her hands had grown clammy. She took another step back from him. ‘I need to go, Kier. I have to pray about this, surely you can see that? Can I have the key, please.’ She tried to keep her voice calm.

  He hesitated, then he looked up at her and she could see an answering stubbornness in his eyes. ‘Are you are defying God, Abi? Are you defying me?’

  For a moment she was too shocked at his choice of words to answer. ‘I came to this parish to serve God! If God wants me to move back to the Rectory He will make it clear, I am sure. Until that point, I will make my own decisions and at this moment I just want to go home. The key please.’ She held out her hand and somehow she kept it steady, waiting for him to produce it, using every ounce of will she had to make him comply. For a moment she thought he was going to turn away but with a shrug he took a deep breath and reaching into his pocket he pulled it out and after a moment’s hesitation he dropped it onto her palm.

  ‘Very well. We will leave it for now. I can see the suggestion is a shock for you. I thought you had understood, but I will give you time to come to terms with your duty in this. It is what we both need, Abi. I promise you, it will work.’

  Somehow biting back an angry retort she turned away, almost running to the door. Dragging it open she glanced back over her shoulder. He was walking slowly up the aisle towards the altar. He did not look back.

  The sound of the door closing behind her echoed round the church. Kier stood for a while looking at the altar then he moved into the choir stalls and sat down, his head in his hands. How could he explain? How could he tell her?

  Since she had left the Rectory his fear, his terrors, his childhood nightmares had returned. The huge empty house had echoed round him. He lay awake staring into the dark, aware of the echoes everywhere and he felt tears trickle slowly down his face. He had rung Sue, but she had not wanted to speak to him. Several times he had gone upstairs and let himself into Abi’s empty flat. It felt happy. It was bright and safe. Her bedroom was warm in the evening sun and her bed, even stripped of bedclothes seemed to retain the fragrance of her body. Quietly, embarrassed and ashamed by his own action, he lay down on the bed and hugged her pillow. There he could keep the ghosts at bay.

  It took Abi a long time to calm down. The walk home helped, striding fast through the warm streets, ignoring the groups of hoodies clustered at the crossroads, the chattering crowds around the doors of the pubs, cigarette smoke rising into the air, summer students coming out of some sort of meeting in the old Adventist meeting hall. Running up the steps to the door of her flat she let herself in and slammed it behind her. Her heart was thudding in her chest, her mouth dry. It was several minutes before she had composed herself enough to walk through to her bedroom. In the corner was a small table which she used as a prayer desk. The little wooden cross came from Iona, the candlestick from Walsingham. The room was dark, the window shrouded by the heavy lace curtain which prevented people in the street from looking in. At first she had wanted to tear the curtain down, let in the natural daylight, but she soon realised why it was there. Pedestrians strolling down the street could look straight in, only feet from her bed.

  ‘OK, big boss. Tell me what to do.’ She slumped on her knees on the cushion in front of the cross. ‘I can’t cope with this on my own. Something is very wrong with him. He’s too needy and too afraid. Surely you don’t mean me to go back. You wouldn’t serve me up like some sort of sac
rifice. You couldn’t!’ She stared up at the cross. ‘Could you?’

  Climbing to her feet she walked across to the window and stared through the curtain at the street outside. It was quiet and it was getting dark at last. Somewhere up there in the sky beyond the reflection of the streetlights no doubt the stars were beginning to appear. With a sigh she turned away from the window. ‘Tell me what to do? Should I go to the bishop? I don’t know if I can handle this myself. Kier was so – scary!’ She bit her lip. To fail so soon in her first appointment. To have to ask for help. It was humiliating. She was a grown woman, not a girl. She had fended off dozens of difficult men in her time. So what was different about Kier? She reached across and turned on the bedside lamp. By the dim light she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair had pulled free of its clip again. It framed her face and cascaded down over her shoulders, emphasising the luminous quality of her pale skin, the extraordinary clarity of her eyes. She was wearing a V-necked cotton T-shirt and she stared miserably at the small gold cross at her throat. Bloody Kier! He was putting everything in jeopardy. Her career, her future, even her faith! She was startled to see a look of sheer hatred flash across her face. It terrified her.

  ‘I’ve said no. I’ve said I don’t want to see him any more. I’ve told him I will apply for a transfer. I had to bolt my front door last night! I woke up to see him peering in through the net curtains. I don’t know if he could see me, but it gave me the creeps.’ At the first opportunity she had gone back to her parents’ house, pouring out the story to her mother. ‘I don’t know what’s wrong with the man! One minute he seems obsessed with me, the next he’s a little boy who has lost his mum in the supermarket. He’s terrified of something. I’ve had to leave the answer phone on. He keeps ringing. All the time. I don’t know what to do!’