I am loosing my faith. I can feel it slipping away. Days like this normally do that to you. My wife died 3 years ago. She was 19, I was 21. She was still a teenager for gods sake. I can still see her body lying in the ally next to the trash. It was a drive by. The gang wars were bad then and still are now. Where was god on days like this? This is not the kind of question a priest in training should be asking himself. Maybe I could talk to Father Conners about it. No he wouldnt understand, how could anyone? The church feels empty now. The light shining in through the stain glass window does not bleed into the corner I am sitting in. And just when I feel like there is no faith in my life, no hope, no love, she walks in. Hannah Grace flows in through the double doors and glances around the empty sanctuary. She walks torward the alter, her flapper atire flowing begind her, and kneels down to pray. Did she see me? No, how could she have? After all I am in a cassock sitting in a dark corner.
Hannah is your tipical 1920s woman. She could be defined as a flapper, if your into that whole stereotype thing. Thats the way the world sees her. But I see her as a balance. She is a balance between the world outside the church and the world within the church. I have known Hannah for about 2 and a half years now. Her father died my first week here at Our Lady of Sorrows Catholic Church. He was cought in the cross fire of industrial sabotage. From the moment we met we had a connection. Wether it was a connection of tragedy or something more Hannah and I have never explored that area. Though Im sure the thought has crossed both of our minds more than once.
Mrs. Grace. I said as she jolted up in surprise.
Father Baily, I didnt see you there.
Please Hannah, for the thousanth time, call me Bill.
And for the thousanth time, Father Baily, you have earned the title.
But Im not even through with my training?
But you have guided me through hard times and restored my faith in god. After all, isnt that was a priest does?
I stopped and let her commetns soak in. What she said made sense. But I do not feel comfortable with the title of Father, not after the miscariage. God what am I doing? My wife died 3 years ago and here I am talking with a woman I may have feelings for. But for some reason, when I am around Hannah, all my troubles melt away.
Well please dont let me interupt your prayers. I said as I started to walk away.
No please, stay. My prayers were for you.
Me?
I know what today is Father Baily, I only wish there was more I could do than prayers.
Trust me Hannah...you already have
For a moment our eyes locked and it was just me and her. No one else, not even god, just me and her. The way it was with Alice. Alice...Alice. I cant compare Hannah to Alice, this isnt right. At least not now.
Well...I have to go prepare supper for Father Conners and I. Goodbye Hannah. I said
Goodbye Father Baily.
She said as she walked out the door. No she didnt walk. She glided like an angel in the clouds. I felt a warmth all around me. I had not realized it but when I moved closer to Hannah for our conversation, I had stepped into the light of a stain glass window deplicting the image of the Virgin Mary. God works in mysterious ways my friend. In a day so dark as this, he has pulled me from my despair and into his warmth.
I watched her go out the door and into the radiant day. Radiant...thats what she is, radiant. Then a voice came from above and awoke me from my day dream.
BILL! shouted Father Francis Conners from the balcony.
Yes sir. I answered half wanting to go back to my dream world.
Your friend the boxer uh...Russell Sullivan, he wants you to go and spar with him at the gym. Maybe it will be good for you to get out those feelings you are trying to ball up right now.
Francis could always see right through me. I have known him since I was a child. He and my father were friends in childhood and adulthood. And when my dad died and mom was taken to the asylm he took me in and rased me.
He was right too, it would be nice to box some and to see Russell. Russell and I grew up together in the irsh slum Little Dublin. Even after I left and lived with Francis we still kept in touch. But now Im going into the priesthood and he is one of the top contenders in New York so we rarely see each other. We use to play box when we were children. He always won. He even broke my nose once. But thats nothing compared to the way he and his brother Charles use to fight and agrue. They did more than play box but still remain close to this day.
I put on my trench coat and hat and stepped out into the real world. The world where my own personal depression was reflected in the world around me. The roaring 20s were over. In 1905 we entered the technology boom. One year these streets were filled with horses and carages. Now cars fly above the skyscrapers and create a film of crimson smog over New York. But what goes up must come down. And boy did it come down. The homeless and unemplyed walk the street and beg, but no one has any money to give them. They have even communized and live together in shanty towns in Central Park. But even that is not the extent it. Their communization has turned into communism. The American Communist Party organizes and operates in the heart of the shanty towns. Someone with power needs to help and guide this herd of sheep. At least some people are doing something. A herd of protesters passes me and I think of Alice. She would have been right there with them, fighting for their rights. But Alice is gone now and I have arived at the gym.
