Avenged. Jacqui Rose
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wrought metal gates were held together by a large heavy chain and allowed no unauthorised visitor in and no resident out. But it was here that Father Ryan liked to sit and think – undisturbed and without interruption. Today, however, was the exception to the rule. Instead of getting the peace and time to reflect as he’d hoped and needed, Father Ryan was facing Donal O’Sheyenne who stood stonily opposite him.
Father Ryan hadn’t been sleeping well with what seemed like relentless pressure, and prayer had brought him little comfort, as it seldom did these days, and certainly no answers to his ever-increasing problems.
Sighing, he turned his attention back to Donal and to what he was saying.
‘So you see, Matthew, it’s all worked out well after all.’
Father Ryan’s voice was emotionless. ‘Not for the Brogans, or for the boy.’
‘He knew too much and rather than use the chance to work for me he began to sound off. These things have to be done.’
‘Thomas Doyle is a rogue indeed to be part of your wickedness.’
‘If I recall, it wasn’t so long ago you needed him for your own … how should I put it … inconvenience.’
The priest craned forward, pointing his finger at Donal. ‘How dare you! That wasn’t the same at all.’
‘You don’t want me to talk about your secret, Matthew? I’m sure a lot of people in the village would be most interested in what the real Father Ryan is like.’
Like a man possessed, Father Ryan stood up from behind his desk and rushed over to where Donal stood; hissing out his words. ‘Don’t push me. You might think I haven’t got what it takes to take on a man like you, but be careful, O’Sheyenne. One day. Mark my words … Tread very, very carefully.’
Donal looked down at Father Ryan’s clenched hands and grabbed them. He pulled the priest’s scrunched-up fists to his own face to mockingly punch himself with them, then exploded into peals of belly laughter.
‘Oh for the love of God! To be sure, Matthew, you’ve got a good craic in ye, so you have! I could swear those words were those of a fighting man. A threat no less. To me! Me! Donal O’Sheyenne.’
It was all too much for Father Ryan. He leapt again at Donal, pushing O’Sheyenne’s six-foot-four frame backwards to snatch hold of the lapels on his trench coat.
‘You’ll pay for this, O’Sheyenne! I swear; you’ll pay.’
Donal O’Sheyenne had been surprised many times and by many things in his life, but it occurred to him that, at that moment, Father Ryan attacking with such vigour and bravado was perhaps the biggest surprise he’d ever encountered, which was why it took him a moment to react.
However, instead of dishing out a ferocious beating – as he’d usually lay on any man who dared to challenge him – Donal O’Sheyenne found himself staggering around the room in blind hysterics, having to wipe away the streaming tears of laughter running down his face.
‘Stop! Stop! No more! By Christ, you’ll have me passing out. Look at me, man, I can hardly breathe for laughter!’
Incensed by the further mockery, Father Ryan – losing control altogether – ran up to Donal, who by now had collapsed with delighted amusement into a large brown leather chair.
About to bring down his fist with the full force of his anger and humiliation, Father Ryan froze as the door suddenly opened and a shrill voice sounded.
‘Tea, Father! … What in heaven’s name!’ A nun stood open-mouthed in the doorway of the study carrying a pot of tea, a plate of biscuits and a look of horror on her face.
Father Ryan blushed and dropped his fist. ‘Saints in heaven; have you ever heard of knocking, Sister?’
The nun said nothing, still startled by the sight which had greeted her.
Composing himself and wiping away the tears, Donal got up from the leather chair. He winked; charm snaking its way into his smile.
‘Why, Sister Margaret, don’t look so startled. Father Ryan was only showing me how the other day an ungodly scoundrel attacked a poor innocent man in the street.’
The nun’s face drew both relief and concern from Donal’s explanation. ‘Why that’s terrible. I hope the man was all right and a good Samaritan was able to intervene?’
Donal grinned. ‘There was such a Samaritan, Sister. In fact, you’re in the same room as him. It was Father Ryan who selflessly, and with no thought of his own safety, procured the man from a terrible fate.’
The nun’s face lit up in pride. ‘Is this true, Father? Did you really save a man from such a sinner? Were you hurt?’
Not letting Father Ryan reply, Donal spoke with mischief in his voice. ‘Now, Sister, no more questions. We know how modest Father Ryan is.’
‘But …’
Donal interrupted the nun. ‘Enough, Sister. Do they not say flattery is a sin? “The Lord shall cut off all flattering lips, and the tongue that speaketh proud things.” Psalm twelve, verse three.’
The nun giggled as she looked at Donal. ‘Father O’Sheyenne! You really …’
‘Sister Margaret, you know as well as anyone I left the church a long time ago. I am, unlike Father Ryan here, just an ordinary soul.’
‘To me, Father, a man of God is what you’ll always be. It was a sorry day when you decided to leave the priesthood; though the good Lord will never leave your side. Is there nothing that will tempt you to come back to our fold?’
Irked at this conversation, Father Ryan interrupted. ‘Sister! That is quite enough! You can pour the tea and leave us, and I would be grateful if this discussion wasn’t broadcast to the whole of St Joseph’s.’
Donal smirked; amused at the discomfort of Father Ryan as he tried to pretend all was well.
‘There’s no need to be too hard on Sister Margaret, she was only interested to hear what a good Samaritan you were, as I was when I was sitting in the chair.’
Watching the nun finish pouring the tea, Donal addressed her. ‘Thank you, Sister, you can leave us now.’ The nun nodded, pushing the plate of biscuits into Donal’s hands. As she turned to walk away, he stopped her.
‘And, Sister?’
‘Yes, Father O’Sheyenne?’
‘You’re looking lovely today.’ Donal chuckled as Sister Margaret, blushing in pure delight, scurried out of the room.
Once the door was shut, Donal turned back to Father Ryan.
‘Now where were we? Oh, I know. You were attacking me.’
Father Ryan, who by now had regained his composure, glared as Donal continued talking. ‘I’ve got a married couple downstairs who’ve come for the Brogans’ baby.’
‘Have you no shame? Connor and Clancy are barely cold and you’re already getting rid of their baby.’
‘As you rightly point out, they’re no longer with us, so I can’t imagine they’ll make great parents.’
‘Are you even human?’ Father Ryan shouted, his face red.
‘I provide a service, and that doesn’t come free; they know what they’re getting themselves into.’
‘I doubt that. These people are desperate for a child; they’ll do anything to make it happen; even make a deal with the devil and I will no longer be a part of it; you will cease to use St Joseph’s as your market place.’
Donal’s voice was laden with mocking contempt. ‘Now you know that’s not possible, Matthew.’
Father Ryan placed his hand on his stomach. He was feeling unwell; it was more than