Fenn heeded his husband. He went to the stage again that summer, but this time around someone saw him and recommended New York.
“I can’t go to Broadway.”
“Why can’t you?” Tom demanded.
So, Fenn shrugged and went to Broadway. He didn’t have a staring role, but he was able to pay his bills. Tom missed him, but from then on Fenn did one show in New York every year and one in Chicago. That equaled up to over twenty weeks of the year or so and the rest of the time he recovered in Rossford.
“Why the hell can’t you come with me?” Fenn demanded.
“I have a job too.”
“Of course you do. I know that. Oh, Tom, I want you to be with me, though. You’re a musician. There’s work in New York.”
“Like what?” Tom asked him while they lay in bed.
“How should I know? When did I become an organist? But you play the piano too. And the violin. I would love it if you came with me. Did some more concerts.”
Tom had a sober look on his face and he said, “I’m worried, though.”
“About?”
“If you are off doing things, and I’m off doing things, how in the world will we ever come together? Will we lose touch?”
“Tom,” Fenn said, “you and I need to be everything that we can. And support each other in it.”
By then Todd was coming out of high school, heading for college, and Layla and Dena were talking and thinking of kindergarten and being big girls. Tom went to do a whirlwind of concerts around the country and Fenn set out for New York, and a tour of the East Coast. Tara went with him, and Adele and Hoot moved into the apartment.
“Don’t upset too much.” Fenn pleaded.
Hoot looked around as if something smelled funny.
“Adele, we need out own house.”
“You’ve been saying that.”
“Well now that big one on Lawrence is for sale.”
“We’ll see,” Adele said.
This mode of life lasted for two years. They were walking in Brooklyn one night when Fenn said, “You thought we needed to go out and do what we needed to do.”
“No, love, I thought you needed to do what you needed to do.”
“I need us to be a couple again,” Fenn said.
“Where do you wanna go?” Tom asked.
“This time it’s your choice.”
“Loretto offered me a permanent teaching position.”
“You never told me.”
“It’s not certain yet,” Tom allowed.
“I will be glad to settle wherever you settle,” Fenn told him.
“You mean that.”
“God!” Fenn kissed him, “Of course I mean that.”
Tom smiled and told him, “The only place I really ever felt at home was Rossford.”
“Then let’s go back to Rossford,” Fenn said.
They were both twenty-eight.
CHRIST THE LORD is risen today, Alleluia!
Earth and heaven in chorus say, Alleluia!
Raise your joys and triumphs high, Alleluia!
Sing, ye heavens, and earth reply, Alleluia!
Love’s redeeming work is done, Alleluia!
Fought the fight, the battle won, Alleluia!
Death in vain forbids him rise, Alleluia!
Christ has opened paradise, Alleluia!
“They don’t have a very good organist,” Tom whispered.
Fenn just shrugged.
“Well, they don’t,” Tom said, looking around.
They were standing in the fifth row of the great abbey church of Saint Terre and two by two, ranks of white robed priests were entering the church. At the head of the priests, in a plain, cream colored robe—something like what Jesus would wear is how Fenn styled it—was Dan Malloy. He looked so young and so tall and so very dignified. Fenn was surprised when, quickly, the wheat haired young man flashed him a smile before taking his seat in the front aisle next to his mother. Each priest bowed when he reached the altar and then split off, one to the left, the next to the right, to take his seat in the many chairs behind it.
“All I’m saying,” Tom went on, “is that a church of this size could get a much better—”
“Tom?” Fenn looked at him.
“Yes.”
Fenn put a finger to his lips.
King of glory, soul of bliss, Alleluia!
Everlasting life is this, Alleluia!
Thee to know, thy power to prove, Alleluia!
Thus to sing, and thus to love, Alleluia!
Fenn did not know the priest in charge. He hadn’t attended Mass in a very long time. In fact, he was carrying a copy of the Bhagavad Gita in his breast pocket, very surprised to find himself in a suit.
“We begin in the Name of the Father, the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Peace be with you,” the bishop intoned, and the congregation responded, “and also with you.”
“We gather with great joy and great celebration for the priestly ordination of Deacon Daniel Malloy on Saturday of the Octave of Easter…”
The bishop welcomed Dan’s mother and father, and his sisters and cousins—not so much his friends, Fenn noted—and then, after a reference to the Disciples in the Upper Room, it was time to ask forgiveness of sins.
“You’d think we would have apologized enough by now,” Fenn murmured, remembering the lengthy Lent just past as they sang:
Lord have Mercy
Christ have Mercy
Lord have Mercy
And then they launched into the Gloria and while Tom sang, “Lord God, heavenly King, almighty God and Father!” he stopped and whispered, “The choir’s beautiful? What if we went into the choir at Saint Barbara’s?”
Fenn had no desire to go to Saint Barbara’s for anything. He didn’t hate the Church, he was just bored by it.
And then the priest sang, “Let us praaay.”
He wanted Dan to turn back and look at him, and at the same time he hoped Dan had the sense not to. A man in a suit rose to do the first reading, and Fenn took deep breaths to still himself. It had been a while since he’d been in a church, and he had a harder time than he knew sitting through a mass.
A pretentious young man in a suit thundered, “This is the day the Lord has made, let us rejoice and be glad!” and the choir sang it back. It all sounded very nice and Tom looked transported in that way that church music often moved him.
As they moved from the second reading into the Gospel, Fenn looked around and thought, “How sad for all of these people, on a Saturday in May, stuck in this building, going to church. And then he realized that he was one of those people, and laughed a little to himself.
After the Gospel reading, there was a speech about Dan by some people at the mission he had served in up until a few months ago. Fenn knew about the mission because Dan had written him letters every week charged with a holy faith and a passion for the priesthood. Any passion Fenn felt for the Church was long gone, so reading these letters from Dan had a strange effect.
When the people from the mission had spoken, the bishop rose up and declared, “We welcome our brother, Deacon Daniel, into the priesthood,” and everyone clapped, and Fenn clapped too and beside him, ever polite, clapped Tom. Dan rose up in his white robe with the sash over his shoulder and stood before the bishop, very handsome and very sober. The bishop sat in a chair before the altar and a priest was on one side of him, a deacon on the other. They opened up a book and the bishop asked: “Do you resolve with the help of the Holy Spirit to discharge without fail the office of priesthood in the presbytorial rank as a worthy fellow worker with the order of bishops in caring for the Lord’s flock?”
Dan, hands folded before him, responded, “I do.”
There were other questions, but after the length of the first one, Fenn didn’t pay attention. And then Dan came up the altar steps and knelt before the bishop. There were some words about Jesus, but Fenn noted more about “obedience to superiors” and teaching and acting, “in accord with the Church.”
Next the bishop said: “Please stand,” and everyone rose. Dan went back to the floor and the bishop prayed that God would strengthen his humble servant and then, even though Fenn had seen movies where women became nuns or men became priests, he was suddenly shocked to see his tall, handsome friend spread himself face down upon the floor and suddenly the cantor chanted:
Lord Have Mercy!
And the congregation chanted back:
Christ Have Mercy!
And then they began the Canon of Saints.
On Easter, increasingly one of the few times Fenn ever went to church, the Canon was sung, and everyone knew there was only a select number of saints every church chose. The Virgin Mary came first, obviously. The Twelve Apostles, with Matthias, not Judas, and Saint Paul followed by Mary Magdalene and then Saint Joseph. But after the old standards and the supporting cast saints like Thomas Aquinas, Augustine, Francis and Clare, was a whole strand of extras Fenn rarely or never heard of. While incense burned and Fenn kept looking at his prostrate friend he wondered if they would ever get to “Lord hear us, Christ Jesus hear out prayer!” which, eventually, they did. What was it like to be stretched out on the cold floor through that long list of saints? Did it feel good? Did it feel saintly? Or was it just chilly? Was he just waiting for it to be over? One day Fenn would ask.
The bishop stood up and prayed some more, and then Dan got up off the floor, approached the altar, knelt once more, and the bishop placed his hands on Dan’s head for a long time. After this, one by one, each of the priests came, one after the other, and then the other, to repeat this in various ways while Dan knelt and, in the choir loft a motet was sung that Tom knew the words to, apparently. After this they led Dan down, and one by one, they dressed him in the Easter vestments of a priest. As they placed the alb and the chasuble over him, suddenly Tom touched Fenn’s hand and said, “Are you alright?”
“What?” Fenn looked at him, and then said, “Why wouldn’t I be.”
“Because—” Tom began, but then he smiled, patted Fenn’s hand and said, “Right. Why wouldn’t you be?”
Dan went up, knelt again, and then when he walked around the altar, Fenn whispered, “What happened?” and Tom said: “He’s a priest now, Fenn. Now he’s going to sit up with the rest of them.”
“Um,” Fenn said, more emphatically than he meant too. It seemed like a wedding day that had suddenly changed into something else. Tacky people had been taking photos and Tom commented, “I know you’re supposed to be serious and everything, but you’d think after six years he’d look a little happier about getting what he wanted.”
Fenn did not reflect on this. He didn’t allow himself to think about it. He wanted Dan’s happiness or, if not his happiness, his fulfillment. The rest of it was just a mass. He knew how a mass went. There was more music, more bells, a trumpet or two. But it was still a mass. When communion came he realized he was going to receive it from Dan. That was too much.
“I have to go to the restroom,” Fenn said.
“What?” said Tom.
“I’ll be back.”
As Dan’s family was filing out of their pew into the communion line, Fenn climbed out of his aisle and went rapidly out of the church. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t receive communion from Dan, and he didn’t know why. The world was just so irrational. No, he was irrational, but he came back as the music was dying and knelt beside Tom.
Tom’s head was bowed and he lifted his eyes and said, “You’re really silly. You know that?”
“I do,” Fenn agreed.
Tom reached over and put his hand on Fenn’s back.
