An Unholy Mission (7 page)

“I don’t have a headache, my love,” she said with a preoccupied smile, “but if you go any further, I will have. Now is not the time.”

“Tired of me already, are you?” Fredrick clapped his hands to his chest and struck a theatrical pose.

“Nope, just tired, and if you listened to that conversation, concerned about something that may or may not be happening at the hospital.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know. That’s why I called Jim.”

“Sit down, put your feet up and then tell me what’s bothering you. We’ve got all evening. I’m not hungry. I’ll get you a glass of wine for now, and we can send out for a pizza later on, if you want.” 

When Frederick returned with their wine, he had a white linen napkin draped over his arm. 

“Here you go, my love,” said Frederick, bowing low and handing Olympia her glass. “The very finest
vin ordinaire
chilled to perfection.”

Luther Stuart was passing by the nurses’ station in the Transitional Unit when the charge nurse called out to say that visiting hours were over and asked if she could help him. 

“I’m one of the chaplains,” he said, turning to her and holding up his cross. “I thought I’d just check in on Mrs. Farwell before I went home for the night. Is there a problem with that?”

The charge nurse looked at Luther over the high counter surrounding the administrative area. “I suppose not. Has she asked you to come in?”

“She told me that her husband wouldn’t be able to come in this evening, so I thought it would be nice to stop by and visit her. She said she gets lonely in the evenings, that she misses her family.”

“Well, all right, Mr. Stuart, but if she’s sleeping, I’m going to ask that you not wake her. She’s very weak.”

“Of course,” said Luther, flashing an appreciative smile at the woman behind the desk and turning in the direction of room 311. “Thank you, Sister, and God bless you.”

Frederick and Olympia were out, walking hand in hand around the neighborhood. The crunch of dried November leaves punctuated their footsteps. The chill in the air reminded them that winter was not far off, but a companionable walk in fresh, cool air cleared the brain and helped digest the pizza.

 “So you think this Luther person is intruding on your territory, Olympia?”

 “I don’t know what to think. One minute he’s bending over backwards to be helpful to all of us, really. Then the next minute he’s standing behind me, hovering. I don’t like to say this, because I can’t put my finger on it, but something about him is making me uneasy.  Maybe it’s the super Christian thing. I never was comfortable with people who are constantly invoking Jesus or any other Higher Power all the time. You know, it’s a little like methinks the gentleman doth protest too much, to paraphrase Shakespeare.”

“On the other hand, on day one he asked if you were married, did he not? Maybe he thinks he might still have a chance and is looking for an opportunity. Shall I come charging in there, brandishing my sword and crossbow to defend the honor of my woman?”

Olympia laughed at the vision. “No, my dear Sir Laughsalot, I think I’m safe from any unwanted advances.”

“Well, we’re going to consult your friend Jim on Saturday, are we not?”

“You are coming, then,” said Olympia.

“I like Jim, and I’ll be interested in his take on this, and actually, there’s something ...”

She could tell by the lengthening pause and the change in his voice that something more than the events at the hospital was bothering him, and immediately, her mind raced to the worst possible scenario: He wants to return to England. I knew it would happen sooner or later.

Olympia was trying not to succumb to the unreasonable fear that what he was about to tell her was that he’d grown tired of the living arrangement and maybe they needed some space and … Her dismal, self-doubting thoughts were spiraling downward when he stopped walking and put both hands on her shoulders.

“Olympia, much as I love being here with you …”

Oh, God, here it comes.

“Yes, Frederick?” It came out in a whisper.

“… and I know I agreed that I would not be a bother, but I have to ask you again. Will you ever consider marrying me?” 

Olympia didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so she did some of each. When she did dare speak again, all that came out in the whoosh of relief was, “Is that all? Frederick, darling, I told you once before that marriage is not one of my strong suits. Things are going well here. Let’s leave it at that for now. I’m proudly wearing your ring and not planning on going anywhere, and it looks like you aren’t either. Let’s just continue to live in sin. Don’t you think that’s just the thing for a lady minister?”

Olympia was trying to lighten up the situation, but Frederick wasn’t having it.

“I won’t press you, my love, but I will continue to remind you of my honorable intentions from time to time. If that fails, I’ll just hang about until you’re too old and helpless to resist and then have my way with you.”

“Actually,” said Olympia, pushing open the front door, “There’s no reason to wait that long. I seem to remember an unspoken invitation extended to me earlier this evening, and I certainly don’t have a headache.”

Frederick locked the door and turned off the lights behind them as they trotted across the great room to the bedroom they shared so enthusiastically. Olympia turned and was closing the door behind them to keep out the cats when she heard a distinctly musical ping from the antique clock on the shelf over the woodstove.

“I hear you, Miss Winslow, and this is really none of your business!”

“Did you just say something?” asked Frederick.

“Not really,” said Olympia.

Nancy Farwell was lying on her side, facing away from the door, when Luther Stuart entered the room. The lights were dimmed, and Elinore was using a clip-on lamp to read her book so as not to disturb her roommate.

“She’s sleeping,” whispered Elinore, gesturing to the still form in the bed next to hers. “Maybe you should come back tomorrow.”

“I’ve spoken to the nurse,” said Luther. “I told her I’d just sit beside her bed and read my Bible. I won’t stay long. If she wakes up, we’ll visit, and if not, I’ll still have brought her the word of God.”

Elinore shrugged and went back to her book, but before long, still holding the book and wearing her reading glasses, her head dropped forward, and she slipped into a light doze.

Luther eased the visitor’s chair up close to the far side of Nancy Farwell’s bed. He sat and watched the rise and fall of her shoulders and listened to the labored breathing over the sounds of the machines that were helping to extend her life until a liver might be available. She lay with one hand under her chin and the other extending just beyond the edge of the hospital bed. He opened his Bible and laid it on his knees. Taking Nancy’s limp hand in his, he began to read to her from the “Book of Psalms.” He kept his voice low, almost chanting the ancient words of praise and comfort and stroking her upturned palm with his thumb. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want …”

Seven

By the time Olympia and Frederick arrived at the restaurant, Jim had already staked out a booth in a far corner and was perusing the menu.

“We’re not late, are we,” asked Olympia?”

Jim shook his head. “I’m early. There’s almost no traffic on a Saturday morning, so I breezed right through.”

Frederick reached over and shook Jim’s hand in greeting before sliding in beside Olympia. 

Once Olympia had inhaled most of her first cup of coffee, and Frederick had made similar inroads on his tea, they ordered their food. Frederick had to be reassured that it was not against the rules to have a sweet (maple syrup on his pancakes) and a savory (in this case, sausages) on the same plate.

“How unlike the home life of our own dear Queen,” huffed a jovial Frederick.

“Get over it,” said Olympia.

With that bit of lighthearted theatrics out of the way, Olympia cut to the chase. “So, Jim, what do you know about professional interfaith ministry?”

Jim set down his cup and looked across the table at his long-time friend. “It’s legit, Olympia. Usually it’s someone who feels the call to ministry but either isn’t affiliated with a particular denomination or may claim a religious affiliation but wants to serve more than just his or her own people.”

“Could someone with those credentials qualify as a hospice chaplain?” Olympia surveyed the remains of her coffee and took a small sip.

“I don’t see why not. Why, is there an interfaith minister in your group at Mercy?”

“There is. It’s just that I never met one before, so I didn’t know what to think at first. He always wears a big silver cross around his neck, says it’s so people will know he’s a chaplain. He’s been assigned to the hospice unit, but he keeps turning up on my patch. The other day I found out he’s been paying regular visits to one of the women on my unit.”  

“Is she in hospice care?” asked Jim.

“I don’t think so, but sometimes they assign people to hospice care even if death isn’t imminent. I read something about palliative care and pain management on her chart. I need to check that out with the nurse manager. I do know she’s on a transplant list, and there’s concern as to whether she’ll live long enough to get it. Anyway, she mentioned him when I was with her on Thursday. She told me he comes in after hours to see her. I asked her roommate about him later. She said that he’d been by a couple of times, and the patient seems to enjoy the visits.” Olympia held her fingers to her lips. “You understand, I can’t use their names even to you.”

“Actually, you can. I go there all the time, so we can call it professional confidence or courtesy.”

“I know, but Frederick’s here.”

“Olympia, you’ve been single too long. I may be a priest, but the married clergy that I know often take their spouses into their confidence. It’s not like Frederick is ever going to meet the guy, is it?”

“Not likely, and for the record, Frederick is not my husband.”

Now it was Jim’s turn to raise a loving eyebrow and say, “All but in name, Olympia, and don’t be so defensive.”

Frederick, who had been sitting there listening, joined the discussion.

“Have you said anything to your supervisor or talked to any of the other student chaplains about your concerns?” 

“I’ve only been there a week, so it’s probably way too soon. To be honest, Jim, I don’t know if there’s anything to say. I do know there’s something about him that makes me uneasy, and the thought of him coming in after hours to visit a patient, well, I don’t know if that’s usually done.”

“I’ve often come in at night after a late class or after Saturday confessions. Sometimes it’s the only chance I get. You people have to keep regular hours. That’s part of the requirements of the program. But if he’s already there, what’s the harm in his staying on for a while?”

“Nothing when you put it that way, and I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot with Sister Patrick and the others by calling attention to myself or playing tattletale. That can be the kiss of death in a cohort group.”

“So can an unscrupulous chaplain,” said Jim, shaking his head and addressing the other side of the argument. “You and I both know that some people are attracted to religion for all the wrong reasons. If we witness something that’s unprofessional, and we don’t speak up, then it’s my thinking that we share part of the responsibility for the deed itself. A misconducting clergy person can do enormous harm. Speaking from my own corner of the spectrum, how many people in the Catholic Church bear permanent physical and emotional scars because their abuse was covered up and not reported?”

“I don’t think he’s doing anything that bad, Jim, but there’s something about him that makes me uncomfortable. I wish I could say what it was. On the other hand, it could just be me. What do you think I should do?”

Jim reached over and tapped her on the forearm.

 “Do you see what Frederick is doing right now?”

“Taking notes on the back of a napkin. He’s always writing things down.”

Jim shook his index finger at Olympia in emphasis. “Start documenting your observations, Olympia. Write down anything and everything that piques your interest, arouses your concern or makes you uncomfortable. Then date it and e-mail me a copy.”

Olympia nodded. “I’m sort of doing that already. We have to record our interactions with our patients and present them in the group meeting for discussion.”

“Ah, the dreaded verbatims, scourge of Clinical Pastoral Education, I remember them well. But with regard to the guy you’re worried about, if you start to see a pattern in what he’s doing, run it by me or another one of the chaplains you can trust. You’re absolutely right to proceed with caution, Olympia, but in our business, you can never be too cautious or too observant. People, especially people who are ill and likely frightened, will trust an authority figure with their deepest secrets because they need comfort and reassurance. Clergy have a unique power that in the hands of the wrong person can result in the very worst of consequences.”

Olympia remained quiet for a moment, remembering other instances where the curious power of the cloth had been cruelly exploited.

“You’ve made your point, Jim. Thanks for listening.”

The priest held his two hands out toward his friend. “You want me to check this guy out next time I’m there? No harm in that.” He pointed to his Roman collar, “With this thing on I can walk through walls and talk to anybody. Luther doesn’t know me, and don’t you mention me. If you see me in one of the units, look the other way. I’ll make it my business to take a walk through the hospice unit at Mercy sometime in the next week and see what I can see. I have a parishioner there I need to visit. If I can just happen to meet up with Luther, it won’t be hard to strike up a conversation. From what you say, he’s pretty out there when it comes to his so-called mission.”

“Oh, Jim, I think that’s a great idea. He’d never suspect that a priest was actually checking him out.”