Valentine: The Comforter - Part 4
James Dugan
bikracerHe was having a simple breakfast of some bread and fruit when he heard the far off cries. Almost simultaneously, there was a knock at the door. He put on his priestly, warm dark smock and opened the door. “Come quick, Father, the people need you,” a young boy shouted into the house and then swooped away.
He grabbed his Bible and small iron cross he kept around his neck. He would not have time to finish his breakfast. He closed the door and left his home in blackness. The street was filled with light and movement. Everyone seemed to be scattering from this home to another. He moved to his small chapel at the end of the row of houses. If people needed him, they would be looking there.
He heard the cries of woman, both young and old, and the hollers of men who talked too loud for this time of morning. He saw the soldiers at the gate handing out the letters to small boys who were paid to deliver them. They would scoot off in each direction and be back in no time. This didn’t seem different except for the number of boys. Usually only the first five or six would be chosen and the rest would scatter to play. Today there was over twenty boys running letters for the soldiers. He knew in his heart what the news would be. The boys were not laughing or jumping about. They stood at attention and ran quickly and resolute. They didn’t dally or press against one another as Valentine had seen in previous days.
There was war and many men were killed. The legion from this very town must have suffered many causalities. The church doors were open and he walked into the stone church. He saw a small figure kneeling near the altar. He walked up to the person and stood behind the reverent figure. The body turned and he saw the small young woman whom he had recently married to a soldier. She had tears falling from her eyes and tried to stand but fell back onto the floor. Valentine lifted her until she stood straight. His arms went around the small huddled mass sobbing into his chest. His heart would break many times today.
The people were starting to approach the chapel in prayer. They made a large mourning procession into the open space. The light was dim and the church still held the cold of the previous night. Valentine saw the pain of his people and cried. He kept the small body of the girl against his as he walked down to greet and console the empty and desolate faces of the women. The town was quiet outside and the men must have stopped work early and went to their homes. It would be a day of family and prayer. Valentine knew his words would be empty. He tried not to blame himself for the pain in the young women, but he had married them. He had helped create a new number of widows who would face poverty and emptiness. His answer to his doubt and the people’s pain was to say Mass. God would come with his sacred power. There would be much to do and say in time. The mass would heal and give the people strength.
The day progressed and Valentine saw many faces in pain and tears. He could not compare the same identities of the young women with the joy and happiness of last seeing them. Another small girl at the altar haunted his heart. She had stayed long after the people had gone to their home to mourn.
“Why do you stay, Vera? Go home and mourn with your family.”
She spoke in a soft voice and he realized it was one he had never heard the night of the marriage.
“I will be disgraced because I never told them about my marriage. We wanted to wait and surprise them. I am pregnant and have no father for the child. Why would God do this to me?”
The question continued to haunt Valentine long after he had walked her home. She was a beautiful girl in her late teens. Valentine stayed with her as she talked to her parents. There was shock in their eyes, but only pity and understanding filled the afternoon shadows of the small house. He prayed over the lunch meal with Vera’s family and left them in the early afternoon.
The day had grown hot suffocating the silent town. He knew they would be taking their heavy meals of the day. This would be followed by a slight sleep, and then the men would work. The women who had lost a son or husband would not be seen, but the other members of the family and community would help them with their duties. Valentine could see God’s healing hand in the routine movements of the town. He would retreat to his home for his prayer.
You can follow James Dugan’s latest writing on Facebook and on Twitter at jamesduganlb. Read more:
Valentine: The Christian - Part 1
Valentine: The Priest - Part 2
Valentine: The Prayer - Part 3
Valentine: The Prisoner - Part 5
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