Watchers of Time - Charles Todd [63]
“Aye,” Hamish agreed, “with promotion a man is thrust into the glare of public notice. Was that what kept him content, anonymity?”
“I’ve been told,” Rutledge said slowly, “that his advice— well meant as it may have been—has sometimes caused great hardship for people.”
Sims knelt to work under the sill. “We talked a good deal, he and I. Well, we were both bachelors, and on occasion I’d dine at the rectory or he’d dine here, and we’d spend hours on whatever topic was uppermost in our minds. Sometimes we both feared we hadn’t given the best advice. That’s an occupational hazard. Are you infallible as a policeman? Do you know one who is?” The Vicar glanced up with a wry smile.
“That’s a tidy answer for the seminary,” Rutledge answered. “Perhaps in the scheme of a man’s life—or a woman’s—well-meant advice leaves abiding scars and misery.”
“We try,” Sims said, sadness in his voice. “We pray for solutions, for guidance. For understanding. It isn’t always forthcoming. And so we do great harm sometimes.” He moved on to the next windowsill.
“Enough harm that a man might turn on a priest and kill him?”
Startled, Sims swung around to face Rutledge. “God— I wouldn’t want to think about that!”
“But it isn’t impossible.”
He put the paintbrush down. “I—no. By the same token, you must understand that when a human being commits a sin, he’s well aware of it. He doesn’t come to us to be told that; he comes for a solution. A clergyman must address the fact that the cost of paying in full may be heavier or more difficult than the sinner expects. Seeing him through becomes our duty. We can’t self-righteously wash our hands of him and leave him to it!”
“But what if the payment for a sin is out of all proportion to what the sinner has done?” Rutledge asked, thinking of Priscilla Connaught’s face.
Sims said, “That’s where forgiveness comes into the picture. When restitution as such is not possible.”
Hamish growled a comment.
Rutledge, who understood better than most what restitution and forgiveness meant, didn’t answer. Instead he changed the subject. “Tell me about Herbert Baker.”
“Herbert Baker? Good heavens, what has Baker got to do with Father James?” Surprised, Sims stared at him. “Oh—you must be referring to the fact that he sent for a priest! I don’t know where you heard that story, but it isn’t so remarkable. A dying man is likely to worry about his soul in ways that we, with time to make amends still stretching out ahead of us, can’t imagine. What would be on your conscience that you’ve never told any other person?”
The question was rhetorical. But Rutledge’s face answered him.
“That’s what I mean,” Sims went on, “when I tell you that a dying man is not like other penitents. Baker asked for Father James, and he came as a kindness. I can’t tell you what passed between them. But Father James never gave me any cause to think he was worried about what was said to him that night.”
Hamish, judgmental in his own fashion, said, “Aye, but would he? The Vicar is no’ a man long on wisdom.”
“Did Herbert Baker confess to you?” Rutledge asked Sims.
Sims said uneasily, “Yes. I’m not at liberty—”
But Rutledge interjected, “I’m not asking you to tell me what he said—”
Sims, in his turn, interrupted him. “If you’re asking me if there were shocking revelations, no. I will say he was mainly afraid that he had loved his wife too dearly, and God would hold that against him. She’s dead, has been for a number of years. Apparently they were quite close.”
“And the dead man’s Will, what about that?”
“I expect it was in order. There’s not a lot of money here in Osterley to squabble over. I daresay the house was left to the elder son, but Martin is a very conscientious man. He’ll see his sister and his younger brother right.”
Leaving the vicarage, Rutledge crossed the road and walked up the hill to Holy Trinity.