Father John looked back at the window, the rain sweeping through the cottonwoods, blurring the field where the Eagles practiced. Anger smoldered inside him like a wildfire ready to break out, and once started, he knew, hard to control. How dare Don Ryan put the mission at risk! It belonged to the Arapahos. They had laid the stone in the buildings, set the steeple on the church, painted the symbols on the walls. It was only a legal technicality that, more than a century ago, the chiefs had asked the Jesuits to come and educate the children and had given the Jesuits enough land for a mission.
He tried to focus on what the Provincial was saying, something about Don Ryan being distraught, going back to Milwaukee for a retreat.
“We should offer to settle, Bill,” Father John said.
“Settle? I’ll take that as a momentary lapse in your judgment. The woman’s lying, impugning the character of a fine priest. Our lawyers assure us we’ll win at trial, that a jury won’t believe her. There’s no proof that he coerced her in any way.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Two consenting adults, John. There was no taking advantage of.”
“We both know that makes no difference. If he was counseling her, that sets up a special relationship. The victim can’t consent.”
“The woman should still accept the consequences of her own actions.”
The front door opened and shut, sending a blast of cool air through the office. Don Ryan stepped into the doorway, his face lost in the shadows of his slicker hood.
“Couple more things.” There was a sharp tone of authority in the Provincial’s voice. “Our lawyer will be in Riverton day after tomorrow to interview you. “I’d also like you to refer any media questions to me. Understand?”
He understood. Todd Hartley from the Gazette already had the news. Now he wanted a statement from the pastor at St. Francis. Father John dropped the receiver in the cradle.
“Sit down,” he said to the man in the doorway.
The other priest pushed the hood back, came across the office, and dropped into a side chair, like a penitent, eyes puffy and red, dark lines etching the corners of his mouth.
“I take it you’ve heard.” He threw up both hands in a kind of supplication. “I’m afraid I let myself get carried away back in Milwaukee, didn’t use the soundest judgment. There was a brief”—he swallowed—“encounter that didn’t mean—”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
The other priest’s head snapped back. He stared at him a moment, some kind of debate going on behind the red-rimmed eyes. Finally he said, “I fell in love with her.”
“Why didn’t you tell the Provincial the truth?”
Don Ryan dropped his gaze to the floor. “What difference would it make? I have no intention of leaving the priesthood. A priest forever, according to the Order of Melchizedek and all that.”
“Is that what you told Mary Ann Williams before she followed you here?”
The sound of the rain outside crowded into the space between them. After a moment the other priest said, “I couldn’t stand the thought of losing her. You know what I’m talking about.” He looked up, locking eyes with him. “Your reputation isn’t as pure as snow,” he said. “You’re not exactly known as Saint John O’Malley around the Province. There’s a lot of speculation about you and the Arapaho lawyer lady.”
Father Don shifted forward. “Why don’t you stop bullshitting me with your high-and-mighty attitude? The only difference between us is that Mary Ann decided to sue me.”
Father John rose out of his chair, and the other priest shot to his feet. Leaning over the desk, Father John said, “I don’t care what you’ve heard; you’ve got it wrong.” He stopped himself from trying to explain the truth. What was the truth? That he and Vicky never had an affair? No promises made? That was only part of the truth. What about the unspoken promises, the longing, the immense sense of loss when she’d left? He didn’t take his eyes away from the other man’s. It was a thin line that divided them.
“Tell the Provincial you want to settle,” he said.
“I can’t do that.”
“You said you love her.”
“I have a career, a reputation.”
Father John gripped the edge of the desk, aware of his knuckles popping white through his skin. “You’d better get out,” he said.
He stayed at his desk a long time, until the rain had stopped and darkness had begun to creep outside the window, until he heard the engine in the blue sedan turn over and saw the vehicle swing around Circle Drive, headlights flashing past.