Chapter Thirty Six

 

SHONA WAS RETURNING TO LONDON the next day and she was uncertain whether she should go to see Fern or not. She wanted to know that he was well, but her mind was confused and her heart was heavy as she walked passed the hospital several times before she could resolve to go in. The sense of walking through the corridors was the same as it had been before, but her step was different and she was aware that her visit held a different meaning, but she could not deny the feelings of her heart. She knew, come what may, that she would always love Fern; that she was a prisoner to that same love and that she would never be free.

Fern was awake when she came into the ward and he greeted her warmly.

“I’m glad to see you again, Shona,” he said as she sat down beside him wishing he was there for her alone. Her joy sprung from wanting to be his alone and her love begged for him to be hers alone.

“You are looking better Fern. You scared us all last night ... Don’t do that again, will you?” she joked and Fern blushed. He was sorry to have caused so much trouble and concern but Shona’s memory of the previous night would not allow her to forget.

“I’m going back to London tomorrow, but I shall be back home again in September,” she said, but he did not hear her words as she continued to speak. “When I come back, perhaps we will be able to ...” Shona could find no words to speak of the feelings that she had in her heart and as she leaned down to him, he turned his face from her slightly before he returned to her gaze again and smiled.

“Are you going to do my ear again?” He quizzed and he coughed as he spoke. But she knew her heart to be totally stilled as she pressed her lips to his ear and lingered long as her breath tickled him as it had done before, but this time he did not move away, nor did he laugh.

“Be happy, Shona ... be happy,” he said and she was unable to stem her tears.

“God bless you always, Fern,” she said and she was going to add, ‘my darling’, but the words faded in her throat … however as she left the ward, Shona knew a peace that was not with her before her visit. There was no bitterness in her heart. The sting of jealousy had gone and her step was light. She knew that Fern was the love of her life and that nothing would ever change that. She prayed that he would get well soon and that God would look after him always. Fern tried to sit up in bed after she had left and the nurse came to assist him.

“You’re getting thinner,” she remarked as she took his arm to raise him up in his bed.

“I was never fat,” he replied as he sat with his hands folded in his lap. The ward was quiet and his thoughts were poetic.

“T’was on the mountain that my love was born,

Yet, in the valley was conceived.

In midst of snow, my heart in sadness, torn,

With awe in tenderness received.

The Mighty Author of Eternal love,

Invited that we should rest in He,

Together, hand in hand, we walk my love,

In mingled tears of destiny.”

 

***

 

“All right, All right, I’m coming,” Miss Harrison called out as she went to the front door. The postman always rung the bell incessantly if there was something in the post of particular interest to himself . . . and his curiosity was over exuberant that morning, as he handed the letter to the housekeeper and his lingering stance showed her that he was waiting to find out what the letter contained. Miss Harrison thanked him curtly and closed the door, but as she took the letter into the library, she too was rather curious to know its content. It was from the Bishops House.

Peter seemed better but still very quiet when she put the letter on the table by his breakfast and he lifted it slowly having seen the sender’ address on the outside of the envelope and looked at Miss Harrison. She returned his glance and left the room.

 

***

 

Reverend and Dear Father Spinelli, it read ... and then Peter only saw the words that conveyed any reality to him at that moment, but fear and apprehension gripped him as he read on…

“You are requested under Holy Obedience, to retire to our Mother College in Rome, for further theological studies…”

He dropped the letter limply to the floor.

“Oh God … How much more do you expect of me. Give me strength. Help me in my weakness. Let me understand your ways.”

Miss Harrison returned with the coffee and if her eyes were low, her curiosity was high and Peter did not speak, as he lifted the letter and handed it to her. She put the coffee on the table and wiped her hands on her apron.

“Requested under Holy Obedience,” she read again, “Rome for further theological studies. Oh! Father, what can I say ... I’m frightened…You have heard of all this trouble in Italy on the wireless, with the Fascist movement out there and this man, Mussolini. There is a strong rumour that the war in Europe will not end soon” she said as she tightened and relaxed the fingers of her left hand repeatedly. “Only last night, on the radio, there was talk of recruiting troops out there. They are determined to go in with Germany” She steadied herself after a few seconds and looked at Peter with grave concern. “Do you have to go Father? Isn’t there any way in which you can stay here? You haven’t been well, have you and there’s your ankle that hasn’t healed yet, has it?”

She listed a variety of excuses as she stammered excitedly, but the priest sat in silence as his eyes stared out at a space before him and he searched in vain for a view of his future.

“I must obey, Miss Harrison, I must obey,” he said and rose from the breakfast table to go upstairs where he made a telephone call …

“Is that Mr. Carswell,” he enquired into the mouthpiece…”Thank you ... I would like to know the latest condition of young Fern. Fernando Zambrano ... I am Father Peter Spinelli and I was with him last night.

I know he has been advised to rest and that visitors are best to stay away for the moment, but is there any improvement, I mean ... further improvement?”

The priest nodded a few times and the voice on the other end of the phone continued to speak. Peter was relieved. The only sad news was that Fern would not be allowed to travel and certainly not abroad for at least another year. He was anxious to visit Fern. Father Roach, a neighbouring Parish priest and the one whom the Bishop had appointed to deputise for Peter during his time in Rome, required to know much more, about St. Mark’s in Bolarne, now that he would be expected to run Peter’s parish as well as his own and the two priests talked for a long time, but Peter was becoming impatient as he looked at the clock on the mantelpiece ... and Father Roach was in no hurry. He was rather a lethargic man who took his time about everything and expected everyone else to follow suit, however, the sagacious and discerning Miss Harrison came to the rescue.

“You’re wanted at the hospital urgently, Father,” she gasped as if she had just received some news of great importance and looked at Peter knowingly where he excused himself politely to the visiting priest and went to the garage. He was getting used to driving with one lame leg and when eventually he did arrive at the hospital… Fern appeared to be much improved and was sitting up eating grapes.

“Want some?” he asked, passing the tray to the priest and Peter stuck one in his mouth.

“I never got this attention when I was in hospital.” he remarked.

“Hush your mouth,” said Fern.

Peter wanted to talk to Fern about his letter from the Bishop, but he didn’t know how to begin. He did notice however, the wheelchair by the young man’s bed.

“Have you been up at all today?”

Fern screwed up his face and spat a grape skin into a tissue.

“That one was sour... Yes, Peter, I was in the day room for a short while. It is rather nice in there and you don’t feel like a patient so much.”

“Want to go for a drive now?” Peter glanced at the wheelchair as he spoke and Fern was delighted with the suggestion. Peter lifted him carefully from the bed and settled him into the chair. He felt such tenderness and as he tucked a blanket around Fern’s knees and guilt once more plagued his mind, they set off for the day room and settled themselves in a corner, where Peter slowly unfolded the news of his departure to Rome and Fern sat listening intently with despair in his heart.

“Do you want to go to Rome for further studies, Peter?” he asked and Peter laughed in an effort to hide his own unhappiness.

“I want to stay here and be as daft as I always am,” he said and Fern wanted to join him in his forced laughter, but his emotions were arid and he could not enthuse.

“I wondered why old Carswell went on about travelling abroad, this morning. He wouldn’t stop. I suppose he was forewarning me that a trip to Italy is out, at least for quite some time.”

“He wouldn’t have known about my letter, Fern, and anyway, you will be better soon and then I will come for you and take you back with me.”

Peter wanted to make Fern happy; to say or do something that would bring laughter to his face… at the very least, to console his apparent despair.

“When I am better . .?” Fern repeated Peter’s words as he looked longingly at his friend and he would have told him about the little poem he had composed, but a sudden shyness overtook him and he began to wonder how much Peter knew of the mountain experience for he had been unconscious most of the time and he blushed at the memory.

“Are you all right, Fern? Do you want to go back to bed? You are looking rather flushed.”

Fern reached for a glass of water.

“I’m fine ... really fine,” he said and they talked some more for quite some time, but not with joy or laughter until Peter wheeled Fern back to his bed and tucked him in comfortably. He was surprised to realise just how much weight the young man had lost and as he left the hospital, his mind again was gripped with confusion and a fear that he was unable to comprehend. He did not know what would become of their friendship but he knew that this young man was very special to him ...Fern was like a shadow that followed him wherever he went ... He was like a replica of himself and he wanted to share the happiness of his feeling with someone, but with whom? Well, there was God ... and Miss Harrison, of course.... but how can you tell someone that you are a very ordinary man, without the slightest tendency to effeminacy or in any way gynandrous and in the same breath, explain that you love another man who is made, fibre by fibre, just as you are yourself...? And that you love him with a purity that shakes the living daylights out of you ... How? Just how do you do that?

Peter prayed that God had not forsaken him and that he was without illusion ...That his integrity had not become perverted by the withdrawal of grace.