EXTENSION Short Story Contest - 1st Honorable Mention

"No.  Perhaps you've had too much news since your Dad's name appeared in the War Casualties List?  Or your Mom's  and sister's  in the Dearly Departed column after that auto wreck?  Everyone was sorry you couldn't stay in the house, but since you couldn't pay the rent... you do have a place to stay, don't you?"  Joe  mocked. 
Patrick kicked a pebble silently.  Icy wind numbed his cheeks, stinging tears brimmed in his eyes.

"Well, you want a paper, don't you?"

Patrick felt a familiar pressure on his arm; the glitter in the bully's eye warned him to take the paper.   Reluctantly, he drew a cold coin from his ragged pocket.  

"Here."  Patrick held out a dime, not daring to look up.  His voice strained.  Fear glittered in his eyes and made his lip tremble.  He knew his fate if Joe wasn't satisfied with his pay.  

"A dime?  Of all the lowdown tricks, this is all you'll get for a dime. "  


 Crack.

Joe dealt a smashing blow to Patrick's jaw, setting his head ringing.  Quickly, Joe probed Patrick's pocket, grabbed his wallet and dropped the paper.     

Patrick ground his teeth furiously; he had been saving up to leave Stanton.  In a moment, the savings from a year's labor vanished.  He wouldn't have begrudged a dollar to someone in need, but Joe was the only person in this poor town to stoop to thievery.  

Townsfolk's breath hung in the frosty air as they scurried to and fro, hugging interesting packages, ignoring the lonely orphan.  Patrick thought desperately of Father O'Halleran.  Why had I never appreciated his kindness before? 

Across the street, whistling like a starling in the frosty air, strolled Father O'Halleran.  Yes, his clothes were a bit shabby, and a silver frost had begun to cool his flaming red hair, but one look at his face, and all this vanished.   He seemed to see every fault and failing hidden deep inside.  Then, he'd look you squarely in the eye,  laugh a contagious laugh and all was forgiven.  His jovial face beamed with life giving hope.  

Like his patron,  Father Francis O'Halleran sought to build not only God's Church, but His fledgling community as well.  When he stood musing in the barn, his vision of a future church stretched farther than broken windows and cracked walls.  He trusted his prayers would be answered by Extension.  Someday, everyone would understand the generosity of their unseen benefactors as clearly as they would see the newly arrived crucifix, statue of Mary and stained glass window.  For many years every morning had found Father on the streets, eyes twinkling with his happy secret, evangelizing and encouraging his future flock.

But this morning, his grin seemed large enough to span the English channel.  His eyes twinkled with Christmas Eve mystery.  Seeing Patrick, he walked briskly across the street. 

"Ah Patrick, me lad, I've a Christmas surprise for you.  I got an answer to my prayers from the good folks at the Extension Society.  From me days in the Seminary, they've always come through.  Oh, the Lord's been watching out for us, you know that Patrick, me boy."  

Quickly, the good priest slipped something into Patrick's hand and walked briskly off again, humming ‘Silent Night' in his deep Irish baritone.  Patrick stared in disbelief from the crisp ten dollar bill to the receding figure.

With a grin, a wonderful grin for one so long out of practice, Patrick shoved the money deep into the recesses of his recently marauded and long-suffering pocket.  But the smile faded as he saw approaching a sight less welcome than a thunder cloud.

"So Flaherty.  You been hobnobbing with that priest have ya?"  

Patrick nodded weakly though inwardly he boiled with rage.

"That priest isn't even good enough to afford a church.  We're not millionaires ‘round here, but he has to stay in a cow-barn, come begging people's money, then give it to the likes of you!" 

That was enough.  Patrick's blood throbbed through his veins and with the roar of an angry bull, he charged, knocking Joe to the ground.  

Momentarily, Joe was too surprised to react.  But he soon overcame his shock, smashing another blow into Patrick's jaw.  Darkness approached as Patrick crumpled to the icy ground. 

Patrick's eyes flitted open as Joe stalked toward him, hate in his glaring eyes.  Just as he stood poised for a final blow, a hand caught his fist from behind and a deep voice boomed, "And what might you be doing here, me boy?" 

Joe whirled, but at the sight of the tall priest, he dodged quickly around the corner and out of sight. 
"Ah, me poor boy," Father murmured softly stroking Patrick's brow.  "And sorry I am to see you like this all because he said a few dirty things of me?  Poor lad!  Seeing him put me in mind of me younger days meself."
Patrick groaned, clutching Father's arm as the priest lifted him gently. 

"Come, me boy.  I'll take you to the Church and fix you up a bit, eh?"

Resignedly, Patrick leaned on Father's firm shoulder, limping slowly beside him.  They cut a striking picture; wounded boy and tall priest. 

Patrick's mind was in turmoil.  How could some men tear each other apart like beasts while others were so good and kind? 

The dilapidated barn stood before them.  Father's voice broke Patrick's reverie.

"Here we are.  ‘Tisn't much, but Christ was born in a stable; we can't complain."

Slowly, Patrick turned.  His heart ached at the thought of telling Father he wanted to leave, never to see him again.  It broke when he remembered he had already lost his family, but to see his best friend torn from him too...

"Father, I ain't hurt bad.  I'm fine now, honest.  Couldn't I go?'

Father turned, seeing doubt in the boy's eyes.  His own eyes twinkled in reply but could not ignite even a flicker in the boy's downcast face.  He looked out at the bare fields, snowy mountains, gray sky, bathed in bleak, winter sunlight, then back at the boy.

"Aye, me lad.  Our Lady watch over ye." 

Unshed tears choked Patrick's reply.  He stumbled towards town.  His only thought was perhaps, with Father's money, he might leave Stanton and his troubled past behind.  Tears stung his eyes.  Reluctantly, he turned back and gasped in horror.  An awful sight branded itself into his memory forever.  

Joe pulled as Father O'Halleran, forced to his knees, desperately clutched his chalice.  Father tottered forward, clutching his treasured chalice.  More priceless to him than it's coveted jewels was it's honored role as the receptacle of Christ's Precious Blood.Patrick stood, rooted in horror.  He tried to force himself to think, to move, to scream.  The first person he had learned to love after so much loss was being torn from him.  Like lightening, it struck him.  He must stop pitying his past and think to the future.  The present was his own!

With a yell that made the mountains shudder, Patrick charged.  He couldn't see where he was going, and he didn't care.  Branches reached out with gnarled fingers, but he kept on. Three yards, two, one.  

Joe and the chalice were gone.  Sobbing, Patrick knelt at the priest's side.  Father had fallen in the scuffle, hitting his head.  Blood spattered the ground.  The cold wind whistled and moaned, lonely and forsaken.

"Father, Father, don't leave me.  I need you!" 

"Ah, me boy."  Father's eyelids flickered.  "I new ye'd come back.  Take me into the church.  I've a surprise fer ye."  

Still sniffling, Patrick lifted Father gently.  They cut a striking figure; bent man leaning on brave boy.
At the foot of the Blessed Virgin in the shadow of the crucifix,  Father O'Halleran collapsed. 

"Ye see, me boy, our Mother's heart suffered with her dying Son.  Tomorrow, she'll rejoice when He comes into our hearts, thanks be to God.   She's watching out fer ye.  Trust her.  She'll make you a priest someday.  Father's breath came ragged and shallow.

"Father, if I have to chase him to the ends of the earth, I'll kill that dirty traitor!" 

"No, me boy, we mustn't hate. He's a child of God, same as yourself.  Forgive him.  Pray for his conversion, me lad." 

A sound startled them.  A slouching figure entered the church.  It was Joe.  In his hand, he held the precious chalice.

"Oh Father, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to.  I didn't mean to.  I'm sorry.  I heard you talking and oh, I'm so sorry!" 

Joe's hands shook as he passed the chalice to Patrick.

"Ah, me boy," whispered the priest softly. "I'll thank ye for taking care of that.  It's precious to me, but I trust ye."

The tears flowing silently down Joe's cheeks overpowered him, racking him with sobs.

"Ah, hush.  ‘Tis all right.  I forgive you.  Patrick does too, don't ye lad?

Father turned to Patrick, "Ah, me lad, trust in Mary, Our Mother.  She'll see to it that you serve Our Lord as a priest someday.  Jesus, Mary, have mercy..."

Father laid his head on the ground, heaving a labored sigh.  He gazed with a contented smile into the sweet face of the Blessed Virgin, and breathed his last. 

Patrick collapsed, hugging the dear priest's body as tears coursed down his cheeks.  Joe kissed the man's hands, weeping.  Slowly, Patrick gained control of himself and turned, chalice in hand, to Joe who's head hung in shame.  He touched a scratch. 

"That happened when it hit the ground.  This is all my fault," Joe mumbled. 

"Ah, but he forgave you.  How could I do less?"  Patrick spoke softly, looking with devotion at Father O'Halleran's face.  "We've both lost a father."

The orphans embraced, sobbing.  Moments later, clear light, peaking through cracks in the walls, revealed two tearstained faces.

Patrick knelt before Our Lady, praying silently, clutching Father's chalice.

"Father, you gave me hope.  Guide me.  Mary, Mother of Christ, be my Mother, too.  Infant Jesus, give me the strength to serve You and Your Church."  
 
Joe stood awkwardly for a moment, then knelt beside Patrick.  "Father forgave me.  Help me to earn his gift by serving the Church he was so devoted to."

The only sound breaking the silence was tears falling softly, a cleansing balm for wounded hearts.  

The sweet sunlight illuminated the tears of a man in monk's garb.  Brother Joseph wept as he knelt to ring the bell.  Tears spilled down Father Patrick O'Flaherty's face as he offered Christ's precious Blood to God the Father.  But of the many-faceted gems adorning the chalice, the priest most lovingly caressed a scratch, more precious than any jewel for it represented eternal love and forgiveness. 

He looked about the chapel crowded for his first Mass -- Christmas Day, 1956.  A decade of Extension's generosity gave the Church a new servant.  Father O'Flaherty fulfilled Father O'Halleran's dream -- welcoming the Infant Savior into a Church of their own, stretching their spiritual family across the country.  Everyone cherished Father O'Halleran's memory knowing they had gained a Heavenly advocate.  Mary still stood there, in the Church of Saint Francis, rejoicing with her brave son, now a priest of God.