Dreams (Peter)
Peter was sitting behind a desk, with veritable mountains of paperwork in front of him. He was working his way through, as diligently as always. It wasn't as if he had anything else to do here.
"Are you ever going to take a break, Father Kemp?" A voice from the doorway asked. Peter looked up and he smiled tiredly at his friend Father Charles Hollister. There was no joy behind Peter's expression, however. There very rarely was. Kindness and honesty, but no joy.
There is a time for work and a time for play." Peter responded, enigmatically.
"You and your Ecclesiastical mumbo-jumbo." Charles said, shaking his head.
"Ah, watch that opinion around Abbot Erhardt." Peter said wryly. Abbot Erhardt was a hardarse. And he didn't appreciate people stating that sometimes what the Bible was, was an outdated tome of historical significance and not much else. Which was Peter's take on it, though most people didn't know that. Charles, however, didn't think that. He was just trying to get Peter to rest for a moment.
"When's your time for play then, hmm?" Charles crossed his arms and he leaned against the doorframe of Peter's office. "I haven't seen you ever take a moment for that."
"I'm doing reports for the Abbey school." Peter advised. "And there's nigh on a billion of them. How many students do we even have?"
Before Charles could answer, the phone was ringing. "Better get that, Father Kemp."
"It's probably for you." Peter said with an arched brow. "It could be your conscience calling." But he answered it anyway. It was not Charles' conscience. It was Peter's daughter...
"Daddy."
Peter looked up at Charles, working hard to keep the edge of panic out of his expression. If Charles didn't leave now, Peter was going to end up having his greatest secret exposed. No one could know he had a daughter. Charles left, however, pulling the door closed behind him before Peter even had to give the age old 'it's my niece' excuse. "Lydia." Peter breathed when he was alone. "How are you?"
"Fine!" She chirped brightly. She was nine years old, but she was an intelligent child. And happy. Peter was thankful everyday that she was happy. "I won a spelling bee and everything!"
"Well, you are my brilliant girl." Peter said warmly. He missed her so much it hurt. He hadn't seen her in almost two years now. That was far too long. When he had been working in a parish in London, he had seen her every weekend. But since being shipped off to Austria...nothing. "I miss you." Peter admitted because he felt she could do with hearing it.
"I miss you too, Daddy. When will you come visit me. Mummy says you don't want to."
"That's not true, I do want to. I just have to figure out when I can get some time off, Baby." If ever. Abbot Brunhardt has not a fan of Peter. He hardly ever got the things he wanted.
As Peter made promises to his daughter he never knew if he'd be able to keep, the dream memories shifted until he was standing outside on a bitter February day, just waiting. As the redhaired girl approached one of the benches in the courtyard and took a seat on it, Peter stepped forward to address her. He had been waiting for her. He was the one person who could help her.
The scene shifted again, and now he was sitting on his bed in his room at Melk, sorting through his mail. There was a letter from a Deirdre Gallagher in there, and he smiled and tore it open. Reading her words, he felt both motivated and pleased. She sounded good. She was confiding in him. If only he could sustain that link and see it through. Maybe then he wouldn't lose her like all the others. He settled down to respond to her and when he was done, he moved to his window and he glanced out across the grey courtyard. The bright yellow of the walls contrasted sharply with the grey and it hurt his eyes for a moment. And Peter sighed, resting his head against the window frame. It was a lonely life. He only hoped he could make a difference in Deirdre's. Then it was worth it.
The final scene shift saw Peter back in his office. He was meeting with a parishoner he saw often, Deitrich Gottlieb. Dietrich had been born Jewish, but he had converted. For a girl, Peter knew, though he kept that quiet. Dietrich confessed his sins to Peter, and because there were rather a lot of them, he did it on a regular basis. He had now extended to seeing Peter outside of the confessional, which Peter preferred anyway. It was there that he could give actual advice, and not 'say two hail marys lalala' and be distinctly unhelpful. "So do you think she's angry with me?" Dietrich asked, his Austrian dialect showing through, but as Peter had been raised speaking German as well as English, he understood every word.
"Dietrich...shouldn't you be focusing on Margareta here?"
"My Gretchen is fine." Dietrich said with the wave of his hands. "Claudia's the one ignoring me."
Peter kept mum on the fact that that was because Margareta didn't know Dietrich was having affair after affair and Claudia did. "In all honesty, Dietrich, I think you should stop worrying about it and go home. To your wife." She had been injured in an accident and was now a paraplegic. It was a horrible thing to face, but Dietrich wasn't making it easier by sleeping around. Even if he thought he was. "Whether Claudia is angry at you or not is irrelevant there. Does that make sense?"
Dietrich blinked. "Actually...yes."
"Good. Is there anything else I can help you with-"
"I'm not going to go to Hell, right?" Dietrich asked, causing Peter to pause with his mouth still open.
"Er..." Always with the hard questions. Peter raised his eyebrows and then he licked his lips, closed his mouth and crossed his hands on the desk. "Dietrich...you're a good man. I know this...this is because you don't want to put undue pressure on your wife. Though I can't condone adultery and I think you should speak to Margareta, I hardly think..." But the Bible said so, didn't it? It said adultery was against the commandments. For fuck's sake. "I don't think God would punish you because your wife was involved in an accident. There are things you could do here to make your situation better, Dietrich. But as long as you confess your sins...as long as you forgive yourself...just don't hurt anyone, Dietrich. I don't think God wants anyone to be hurt by this. You included."
"What if I don't tell Gretchen?" He didn't want her to feel guilty.
Peter sighed and he rubbed his eyes. "Dietrich, you're not going to go to Hell. God forgives. As long as you ask for it. Alright?"
Dietrich nodded, pleased that he had been given a reprieve from Hell. "Hey, Father, feel like going out drinking some night?"
Peter laughed and he shook his head in amusement. "Dietrich, if you can sneak me past the Abbot, then you're on."
"Are you ever going to take a break, Father Kemp?" A voice from the doorway asked. Peter looked up and he smiled tiredly at his friend Father Charles Hollister. There was no joy behind Peter's expression, however. There very rarely was. Kindness and honesty, but no joy.
There is a time for work and a time for play." Peter responded, enigmatically.
"You and your Ecclesiastical mumbo-jumbo." Charles said, shaking his head.
"Ah, watch that opinion around Abbot Erhardt." Peter said wryly. Abbot Erhardt was a hardarse. And he didn't appreciate people stating that sometimes what the Bible was, was an outdated tome of historical significance and not much else. Which was Peter's take on it, though most people didn't know that. Charles, however, didn't think that. He was just trying to get Peter to rest for a moment.
"When's your time for play then, hmm?" Charles crossed his arms and he leaned against the doorframe of Peter's office. "I haven't seen you ever take a moment for that."
"I'm doing reports for the Abbey school." Peter advised. "And there's nigh on a billion of them. How many students do we even have?"
Before Charles could answer, the phone was ringing. "Better get that, Father Kemp."
"It's probably for you." Peter said with an arched brow. "It could be your conscience calling." But he answered it anyway. It was not Charles' conscience. It was Peter's daughter...
"Daddy."
Peter looked up at Charles, working hard to keep the edge of panic out of his expression. If Charles didn't leave now, Peter was going to end up having his greatest secret exposed. No one could know he had a daughter. Charles left, however, pulling the door closed behind him before Peter even had to give the age old 'it's my niece' excuse. "Lydia." Peter breathed when he was alone. "How are you?"
"Fine!" She chirped brightly. She was nine years old, but she was an intelligent child. And happy. Peter was thankful everyday that she was happy. "I won a spelling bee and everything!"
"Well, you are my brilliant girl." Peter said warmly. He missed her so much it hurt. He hadn't seen her in almost two years now. That was far too long. When he had been working in a parish in London, he had seen her every weekend. But since being shipped off to Austria...nothing. "I miss you." Peter admitted because he felt she could do with hearing it.
"I miss you too, Daddy. When will you come visit me. Mummy says you don't want to."
"That's not true, I do want to. I just have to figure out when I can get some time off, Baby." If ever. Abbot Brunhardt has not a fan of Peter. He hardly ever got the things he wanted.
As Peter made promises to his daughter he never knew if he'd be able to keep, the dream memories shifted until he was standing outside on a bitter February day, just waiting. As the redhaired girl approached one of the benches in the courtyard and took a seat on it, Peter stepped forward to address her. He had been waiting for her. He was the one person who could help her.
The scene shifted again, and now he was sitting on his bed in his room at Melk, sorting through his mail. There was a letter from a Deirdre Gallagher in there, and he smiled and tore it open. Reading her words, he felt both motivated and pleased. She sounded good. She was confiding in him. If only he could sustain that link and see it through. Maybe then he wouldn't lose her like all the others. He settled down to respond to her and when he was done, he moved to his window and he glanced out across the grey courtyard. The bright yellow of the walls contrasted sharply with the grey and it hurt his eyes for a moment. And Peter sighed, resting his head against the window frame. It was a lonely life. He only hoped he could make a difference in Deirdre's. Then it was worth it.
The final scene shift saw Peter back in his office. He was meeting with a parishoner he saw often, Deitrich Gottlieb. Dietrich had been born Jewish, but he had converted. For a girl, Peter knew, though he kept that quiet. Dietrich confessed his sins to Peter, and because there were rather a lot of them, he did it on a regular basis. He had now extended to seeing Peter outside of the confessional, which Peter preferred anyway. It was there that he could give actual advice, and not 'say two hail marys lalala' and be distinctly unhelpful. "So do you think she's angry with me?" Dietrich asked, his Austrian dialect showing through, but as Peter had been raised speaking German as well as English, he understood every word.
"Dietrich...shouldn't you be focusing on Margareta here?"
"My Gretchen is fine." Dietrich said with the wave of his hands. "Claudia's the one ignoring me."
Peter kept mum on the fact that that was because Margareta didn't know Dietrich was having affair after affair and Claudia did. "In all honesty, Dietrich, I think you should stop worrying about it and go home. To your wife." She had been injured in an accident and was now a paraplegic. It was a horrible thing to face, but Dietrich wasn't making it easier by sleeping around. Even if he thought he was. "Whether Claudia is angry at you or not is irrelevant there. Does that make sense?"
Dietrich blinked. "Actually...yes."
"Good. Is there anything else I can help you with-"
"I'm not going to go to Hell, right?" Dietrich asked, causing Peter to pause with his mouth still open.
"Er..." Always with the hard questions. Peter raised his eyebrows and then he licked his lips, closed his mouth and crossed his hands on the desk. "Dietrich...you're a good man. I know this...this is because you don't want to put undue pressure on your wife. Though I can't condone adultery and I think you should speak to Margareta, I hardly think..." But the Bible said so, didn't it? It said adultery was against the commandments. For fuck's sake. "I don't think God would punish you because your wife was involved in an accident. There are things you could do here to make your situation better, Dietrich. But as long as you confess your sins...as long as you forgive yourself...just don't hurt anyone, Dietrich. I don't think God wants anyone to be hurt by this. You included."
"What if I don't tell Gretchen?" He didn't want her to feel guilty.
Peter sighed and he rubbed his eyes. "Dietrich, you're not going to go to Hell. God forgives. As long as you ask for it. Alright?"
Dietrich nodded, pleased that he had been given a reprieve from Hell. "Hey, Father, feel like going out drinking some night?"
Peter laughed and he shook his head in amusement. "Dietrich, if you can sneak me past the Abbot, then you're on."