The Sacrifice (19 page)

“Teddy got the message: It was open season on Kennedys.

“Forget about the death, the assassination. Our hierarchy simply doesn't want a dynasty. When Dad was made a bishop, Alice and I could kiss any similar aspiration good-bye.”

“But then,” Gwen said, “to everyone's amazement, he turned it down.”

“Yes. The time came. The offer was made. And to everyone's surprise he turned it down.”

“And you were back on track.”

“Yes. The obstacle was rolled away. They wouldn't have to worry about a dynasty. So, my campaign started fresh. My path was clear.

“Now, I'm a shoo-in … as long as I continue to do all the right things that a bishop-in-waiting should do.”

Ron looked at the kitchen clock. They had been seated in silence for almost three quarters of an hour. For each of them their respective recollections had been like viewing the rerun of a movie—a movie of their past.

Gwen's early life might have been unique in its peculiar circumstances. Her knowledge of a wide range of religious hymns contributed form to her extraordinary familiarity with Sacred Scripture. She saw herself as the wife of an important clergyman. She did not want the ordained life for herself. That would be too confining. She would function better as the power behind the throne. So she had to be most judicious in selecting her consort.

He would have to be the type who could ascend the ecclesiastical ladder to a prestigious level. At the same time, he would have to be malleable to her guidance.

It was not an easy challenge. But she found her prize candidate—and landed him.

Her nominee's father could have been an obstacle to her grand plan. But before Gwen even appeared on the scene, as if by a miracle, Ron's father had taken himself out of the race, leaving the field clear for Ron. Enter Gwen, whose sails caught the wind, and it was full speed ahead for both of them.

And now—! Now George comes up with this … this cockamamy notion to desert the Church in favor of the Romans.

Once more Ron's friends in power would tell him that his chances were buried … nil. ‘The acorn doesn't fall far from the tree' argument. Ron would, after all, be the eldest son of a defector. How could the electors be confident that, having followed in his father's footsteps before, he would not follow in them again?

No argument would be sufficient to sway them. Ron was not the only possible candidate for the office. Yes, he would have made a good, perhaps even a superior bishop. But if not he, others could fill the bill most adequately.

Who could have known that the old man would defect? And that his defection would create yet another impediment?

This is where they were at the moment: Ron and Gwen, all dressed up and no episcopal vestments to wear.

Gwen was unsinkable. She believed firmly that if a door was shut, one should look for an open window.

But all this had sapped Ron's strength. Thus their verbal battle this evening. She had to firm up his resolution.

There must be a way.

No doubt about it, Ron's spirits were at rock bottom.

He had wanted for so long to be a bishop.

He had counted his lucky stars that he had found Gwen. Or vice versa. It didn't matter; the point was that he had a life's companion who was all but tailor-made for her role. And to top it off, she entered fully into his ambition to go places in the Church.

They had shared this roller-coaster ride. Yet she seemed as resolute as ever. He marveled at her endurance. It was due mainly to her steely determination that they would continue to go forward.

That didn't matter to Ron.

It was time for him to take the reins and do something on his own. Something effective for a change. Something that would prove to her that he was his own man. That he could play the role of the leader in this twosome.

What did it say in Scripture about one who wanted to be a bishop? Something from Timothy … Ah, yes: “This is a true saying, if a man desire the office of a bishop, he desireth a good work. A bishop then must be blameless, the husband of one wife, vigilant, sober, of good behavior, given to hospitality, apt to teach; not given to wine, no striker, not greedy of filthy lucre; but patient, not a brawler, not covetous; one that ruleth well his own house, having his children in subjection with all gravity; for if a man know not how to rule his own house, how shall he take care of the Church of God?”

There was more. But this was the pertinent excerpt: “If a man know not how to rule his own house …”

How true.

Am I going to be the leader of this house as the Bible describes what I want for myself and, now, for Gwen?

There could be only one answer.

Gwen sensed that the time for remonstrating was long past. Now was the time to shore up their resolve. “There are so many things that could happen,” she said. “Do you really think your father can bend himself to the rules and regulations that the Roman Church is going to throw at him?”

“I hadn't thought of that,” Ron admitted. “It doesn't seem likely. But I don't really know. So much has happened that I can't comprehend.”

“Well,” Gwen offered, “think of the possibilities. Suppose he finds that in practice, the Romans are going to have a very low degree of tolerance for his opinions. Remember, a lot of things that he's been able to do and support as an Anglican priest are opposed by the Romans. From the highest levels some of these things have been condemned so strongly as to irrevocably be out of the question.

“Things like contraception, remarriage after divorce, and maybe biggest of all, women priests. Can you see him turning one hundred and eighty degrees on things like these?” She shook her head. “It's not going to happen.”

Ron thought about that. “As far as I can tell, he's creating a dilemma for himself. You're absolutely right: I can't imagine him giving in on a single one of those issues.

“But Dad's no fool. In fact, he's one of the brightest, most intelligent men I've ever known. I'd put him up there—especially in this kind of situation—with Thomas More.”

“How is that possible?” Gwen tossed her head.

“Oh, it's possible. I'm quite sure of that. He is extremely good at sidestepping and splitting hairs.

“I mean, everybody knew that Thomas More was ‘guilty' of not recognizing the king as head of the Church in England. And that he opposed the king's remarriage after the divorce. But as ‘certain' as they were they still couldn't pin More down. Only someone else's perjury would defeat him.

“I must confess,” Ron continued, “I don't know how he's going to somehow bridge the distinctions that separate our Churches. But he must at least have a plan.

“Gwen, he's going to have to take theological studies for the better part of a year. These things will have to come up. His professors must be aware of the beliefs of the Church he's leaving. How will he get past their eagle eyes?”

“I don't know chapter and verse,” Gwen said. “But that's all theory. There won't be any—what would you call it?—a practicum, where he'll have to tell a woman who genuinely and desperately wants to be ordained that there's no hope of that ever happening. Nor is there any Roman bishop who would wink at such an ironclad Roman ruling … no such bishop exists to whom Dad could refer such a woman. No”—she shook her head definitively—“I'd be willing to bet he'll never be able to get past the intense scrutiny he'll get, especially from some of those fundamentalist conservative Catholics.

“Besides,” she continued, “even if he were to somehow be able to get past the conservatives and the hierarchy, what would be the cost to him?”

“What do you mean?”

“In health. This campaign that seems inevitable would have to take a lot out of him. How long can he hold up under the gigantic pressure? He's not young. He hasn't got a lot of reserve. He could end up in a nursing home—or worse.”

Ron rubbed the stubble on his chin. He was well past five o'clock shadow. “God, I hope that doesn't happen. I don't want my father to be humiliated—or to be ill, and maybe even confined. I don't hate him. But I hate what he's doing to himself—to you, to me. If it came to that, I'd rather see him go quickly.”

“You mean die?”

“Well, yes. It sounds outrageous, I know. It's just that sometimes a quick death solves some problems that can't be solved in any other way.”

A smile appeared at the corners of Gwen's mouth. She looked pleased, as if she'd stumbled across a solution to the problem. She yawned. “Come on,” she said, almost inaudibly, “let's go to bed.”

The answer to everything: Let's go to bed.

At times Ron thought about Gwen and bed all day long. Well, perhaps not literally
all
day long. But, he had to admit, much of the day.

If all else failed, bed was always where every game was played—except conception. For various and differing reasons, the two had agreed from the outset that they would have no children. Not unless both genuinely agreed to do so—either by adoption or having their own.

Once that had been decided, neither had ever brought up the subject again.

The conversation tonight actually was an articulation of Ron's thoughts on the matter of his father. En route home, he had pondered the same ideas Gwen had expressed just now. The three possible conclusions to Dad's conversion: disgrace, insanity, or death.

Ron had reluctantly settled on death as the most reasonable conclusion: The kindest thing to do for his father would be to end this charade. That was pressure enough if this was to be solely his responsibility. But now, amazingly, Gwen seemed to have reached the same conclusion.

Leaving Ron smack in the middle.

Monkey in the middle.

He wanted the office of bishop so much he could taste it.

He'd had it once on a silver platter, made possible when his father had turned down the office.

Odds were that his father's intended defection had again stolen it from Ron.

But what if Father Wheatley were dealt a mortal blow? Ron could then renew his quest. He would again be in the running. His actions and convictions would demonstrate that he himself was no traitor. Plus, as the principal bereaved—next to his mother—the offer of a bishopric would be an approved if not expected show of sympathy.

To put that in practical terms, a nominating committee somewhere would put his name on the slate; supporters would quietly advance his cause (while he maintained a studied pious unawareness), and
voila!
He would be elected bishop of a significant diocese.

He worried about the pressure that was building. It demonstrated once again that Gwen wanted this honor for him no less than she wanted it for herself.

Somehow fate had put him in the middle. He might fumble with a final solution to this scenario. But should he falter, Gwen would not let him abandon the course.

He had much to think about.

He had much that needed to be planned.