Bishop England removed his gloves. Trembling—for he knew what was coming—Joseph held out his hands. His Lordship dipped his thumb in holy oil and anointed Joseph’s palms. “O Lord, consecrate these hands by this unction and”—he made the Sign of the Cross—“our benediction.”
Though his throat was tight, Joseph replied, “Amen.”
His Lordship placed Joseph’s palms together, and Father Baker bound them with a spotless white cloth. Bishop England brought a Host and a chalice, and Joseph touched them. “Take this power to offer sacrifice to God, and to celebrate Masses, both for the living and the dead.”
The cloth was removed from Joseph’s hands. The prayers of the Mass continued, in which Joseph now took part. He kissed the altar and the episcopal ring. He received from Bishop England the Body and Blood, the soul and divinity of Christ under the appearance of bread and wine.
In time, Joseph joined his hands again, and His Lordship placed his around them. “Do you promise to me and my successors obedience and reverence?”
“I promise,” Joseph answered, and Bishop England offered him the Kiss of Peace. Their cheeks were both damp with tears.
I am a Priest,Joseph thought, stricken with awe, relief, and joy.I am a Priest, forever.No one could take this away from him. At long last, his life could begin.
When the Mass concluded and the congregation spilled into his Biblical garden, Joseph’s family descended on him. Perched on her father’s hip, even little Sophie was wide-eyed and speechless. “Bless me first!” demanded his five-year-old nephew, yanking on Joseph’s chasuble.
“Soon, David,” Joseph told him. “A new Priest blesses hisparentsfirst.”
Joseph’s mother was so overcome, she forgot she never signed in public. ‘Now we havetwodoctors in the family: a physician of thebody and a Physician of the Soul!’ Though she kept dabbing at her eyes, she was beaming. ‘Isn’t it wonderful, René?’
He managed only a wan smile. ‘Just don’t expect me to call my son “Father.”’
When Joseph held his hands over his mother’s head to begin the First Blessing, his father knelt beside her. But afterward, he rose without kissing Joseph’s anointed palms, when his father needed the indulgences far more than his mother.
Nearby, Miss Conley was weeping. She stood next to a young man with her coloring—that must be her brother Liam. Eschewing etiquette, Hélène began chatting with them while Joseph blessed his grandmother, Cathy, Perry, and their children in turn. Then Miss Conley approached. Her eyes downcast beneath her mantilla, the young woman knelt before him, her white skirts billowing around her on the ground.She looks like an upside-down flower, Joseph thought as he gave her the blessing.Like a fallen camellia.
When he offered his palms, Miss Conley took them in her own hands. Perhaps she could not afford gloves; her slender fingers were bare and warm in the chill November morning. The intimacy took him by surprise, and every muscle in Joseph’s body tensed. This was the first time they had touched. It was the first time any woman had ever touched him skin to skin—any woman unrelated to him, and that made all the difference.
Miss Conley took possession of his hands in a grasp that was gentle but impossible to resist. The wound he’d incurred while pruning the gardenia had left the barest imperfection in his flesh, invisible to anyone who did not know where to look. Yet somehow, when Miss Conley raised Joseph’s palm to her lips, she kissed him exactly there.
His reaction was weak but nonetheless electric, like one last convulsion in the tail of a dying fish. Clearly the chrism had yet to reach his loins.
When Miss Conley kissed his other palm, Joseph tried to keep his arm limp; but at the last moment, his tendons contracted as if controlled by some invisible puppeteer. As she let go, his fingertips brushed her silken throat.
“Will you pray for me, Father?” Miss Conley pleaded in a hoarse whisper. His hand was still so close to her mouth that Joseph could feel the trembling caress of her breath. Her eyes flickered, as if she were not sure where to look. When she closed them, more tears seeped between her long lashes.
“O-Of course.” He wanted to fall to his knees and take Miss Conley’s face in his hands. He wanted to dry those tears with his stole and beg her to tell him what was wrong so that he could make it right.
But how would that look? He would soil his vestments—it had rained last night.
Hélène saved him from doing anything foolish. Without waiting for his blessing, she promptly followed Miss Conley’s example—except when his sister grabbed Joseph’s hands, she was sniggering.
Joseph took control, patting Hélène’s cheeks in admonishment as though she were a child, since she was acting like one. “It has to be donedevoutly, El. It doesn’t count if you’re giggling.” Still he couldn’t help smiling himself.
Hélène huffed in mock effrontery and sprang up to embrace him instead. “I love you, Joseph! I don’t care if that earns me indulgences or not!” His little sister then lost no time in introducing everyone to the Conleys. She invited them to dinner.
At the prospect of guests, Joseph’s mother fretted as if her deafness were contagious. His grandmother gave Hélène her wide-eyed jaw-clench of disapproval, which was already too late.
‘Lookat them, Grandmama!’ Joseph’s sister argued in sign. ‘They’re so thin! And we always have plenty of food!’
Mr. Conley watched Hélène’s hands with interest. “What’s she saying?” he asked Perry, who must have seemed less intimidating than the rest of them.
Perry had learned a great many signs, but he chose his own translation: “She is saying that a new Priest must become acquainted with his parishioners.”
The Conleys joined themfor dinner the day after Joseph’s first Mass. Being served by Henry and May clearly made them uncomfortable, but brother and sister did their best to hide their reaction. For most of the meal, Miss Conley was gracious but withdrawn—so different from the vivacious woman he’d met in the garden.
Of course their guests wanted to hear about Rome. Joseph imagined he would be recounting his years in the Eternal City for the rest of his life, but he did not mind. Then Perry and Mr. Conley commiserated about the cruelty of landlords. Perry’s family had been victims of the Highland Clearances. Mr. Conley’s ire was fresher and seemed even deeper. During this conversation, his sister became as white as death. The young Irishman quickly changed the subject, but Joseph longed to know their whole story.
Hélène asked Mr. Conley a surprising number of questions. Joseph had not realized she was so interested in Irish politics. Their guest was eager to discuss Catholic Emancipation, how life in Ireland had changed since the Relief Act of ’29—and how it hadnotchanged. The “Tithe War” still raged.
