Torn

By Mr. Carol

A fledgling, newly ordained, Father Stan, spends an adventurous summer in the holy land where he is present for an archeological find dating from the first century that threatens some of the long standing doctrine of the Catholic Church.He finds himself involved in a harrowing adventure fraught with danger, and a relationship with a beautiful woman, which challenges his vow of celibacy.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mr. Carol
• Release date: Sep 11, 2010

Mr. Carol

About the AuthorMr. Carol is my pen name. My real name is Carol Lewis Rickard. My parents each had a brother by the first name of Carroll. They wanted to honor those brothers but didn't realize that the name, when given to a guy, generally has two r's and two l's. But in life, like in poker, you play the cards you're dealt, hence the pen name. (At least my middle name isn't Sue.)I was born in Hanford, CA June 24, 1942. Dad was 19 and mom was 16 when they married on August 5th, 1941. When I was 3 years old, we moved to a rural area about 10 miles northeast of Salem, Oregon. I grew up there.I graduated from high school in 1960 and that fall began attending Mt. Angel Catholic College near my home. I was studying journalism and planned to eventually write great novels like my heroes Hemingway and Steinbeck. I'd taken journalism in high school and the college course seemed to be a repeat of what I'd already learned. I was bored with my courses. Using my then 18 year old reasoning, I decided that I simply needed more life experience to be a great novelist. In 1960 the draft was scooping up young men for Vietnam and I had a low draft number. During the early 60's if you weren't in college, you'd find yourself in 'Nam carrying an M-16 rifle sloshing through rice paddies. I left college and joined the Navy.In the Navy I discovered Electronics and had a great time serving on Submarines. I liked the Navy so much that I spent 7 years on active duty: 4 years serving at sea on both old WWII submarines and finally on a Fast Attack Nuclear submarine. The last 3 years I was on shore duty teaching electronic equipment repair and maintenance. During the last two years of shore duty, I was lucky enough to marry my lovely wife Jean Marie. We were married in 1965 and have two sons and now four grand children. Yes, we are still happily married!After the Navy, I got a Bachelor's degree in Electrical Engineering and went to work. Work, work, work, etc. is what I did until in June of 2006 when I was laid off from Maxtor (they made disk drives). I retired and began writing. Actually during my work years I wrote the Young Man's Adventure Series Books you see advertised on this website. However, after retiring, I attended a one-day seminar on writing. The lady told us that 85% of the people that buy books are women and that they want relationships and adventure. I thought, Yeah, I can do that. And that is when the idea for 'Torn,' blossomed.The Young Man's Adventure is mostly intended to appeal to guys. And it was done as a hobby. However, after retirement I decided I want to be a published author so I changed my focus. I considered what subject might provide fodder for a fiction novel that can combine fast moving action/adventure seasoned with a tantalizing romantic encounter. I decided my protagonist should be a young priest.Parish priests are hardworking, dedicated men who spend their days saying Mass, presiding at baptisms, funerals, weddings, counseling parishioners, and many times work seven day a week. But before the fledgling, newly ordained, Father Stan, assumes the rigorous schedule of a parish priest, he spends an adventurous summer in the holy land where he is present for an archeological find dating from the first century that threatens some of the long standing dogma of the Catholic Church. He finds himself involved in a harrowing adventure fraught with danger, and a relationship with a beautiful woman that challenges his vow of celibacy.Please go to my website: www.mrcarol.netIf you go to the Reader's Comments section of 'Torn' you'll find that people like the novel. Some think it's as good as 'The DaVinci Code.' And, by the way, my books appeal to both women and men.With 'Torn' finished I moved on to 'Resolution.' Pull up the back cover of 'Resolution' and it will give you a synopsis of the book.I am currently self-published. However, I'm attempting to get a Literary Agent to sponsor my book to major publishers. Major publishers only deal with Literary Agents. I have begun sending copies of my books to Literary Agents. I ask them to review the Reader's Comments section on this website so they can learn that people like my writing. An interesting comment came from my biking buddy, Ali. After reading 'Torn,' he said, "I was surprised that an Engineer could write so well!" But enough babbling; I'm embarrassed to talk so much about myself, but, after all, this little piece is called, "About the Author."Thank you for taking the time to consider reading one of my novels. I truly hope it entertains you and, for a few delicious moments, sweeps you into the world of fiction where fantasy dances cheek to cheek with fact.Best regards,Mr. Carolwww.mrcarol.net

Book preview

Chapter 1

In the afternoon on the second week in April, 1958, twenty-six year-old Father Stan came out of the School of Education building on the Yakima University campus. He was headed for his studio apartment on the edge of the campus, when he heard the noise of the crowd gathered in Jackson Square. He looked toward State Street, only one block to the north, and noticed ten Olympia Police cars parked in front of the Washington State Capitol building.

Stan had been following the dispute in the Olympia Statesman newspaper. The black civil rights activist Reverend Park was in town demanding that the local garbage collection company pay their black workers the same wages as their white workers. Stan decided to join the crowd and get a first-hand look at the radical Reverend Park. He surveyed the crowd of around two hundred people and thought how university students are attracted to political issues like iron filings to a magnet.

He didn't wear his Catholic Roman collar while on campus. For the past eight years he had led a restricted, disciplined, almost cloistered existence at the Jesuit seminary in Olympia. He had been newly ordained the past August and was studying for a teaching credential. In the fall he would return to his home town to teach Logic-101 and a course on the Old Testament at Rockville Catholic College. Stan still faithfully followed his evening and morning routine of reciting the Rosary and doing his daily Bible readings, but the remainder of the time he was free to pursue the academic life. In one sense he thought he now knew what a man felt like after serving an eight-year prison sentence. In the seminary every hour of the day was regulated.

While the seminary was like an all man army, the university, on the other hand, was full of young women, many of them extremely attractive. The first few days were the toughest. How could I have forgotten how beautiful women really are up close, he wondered. He sat in the front of the classroom as far as possible from any female. This method worked out except that two of the graduate school professors were attractive women in their mid-thirties. The whole exposure to the messy real world, with all of its temptations and choices, was more difficult than he had imagined it would ever be.

When he arrived at Jackson Square, Reverend Park was in the middle of the crowd standing on a small platform, his white shirt slick with sweat. Into a bullhorn he ranted, raved and shouted in the Baptist minister's tradition invoking the name of Jesus Christ in every fourth sentence. Stan was amused at what he saw. From his view on the edge of the crowd, the good reverend looked like a funny little puppet attached to invisible strings. His arms swung, his head gyrated and he bounced around the platform erratically as he belted out his message. Reverend Park thrust his closed fist upward toward heaven. He chanted into the bullhorn, We want justice. He jumped off the platform and began moving double time through the crowd. The crowd took up the chant, We want justice, and followed Reverend Park onto State Street heading for the steps of the Washington State Capitol building.

Stan moved with the crowd. Although he had never given much thought to black civil rights, he was taken up by the energy of the mob and joined in the chant, We want justice. The dual emotions of defiance and freedom washed over him. He pushed through the crowd, anxious to be in front, to lead the charge. This was nothing like the Seminary! Exhilarated, he yelled and moved forward—unable to stop, a savage springing out from his soul.

Stan reached State Street one layer of people behind Reverend Park. Park didn't stop at the sidewalk. He locked arms with two other black men and marched into the middle of State Street. The rest of the mob locked arms and continued chanting, We want justice. Traffic halted as the screaming mob swelled into the street.

Police Chief Erickson stood on the Capitol building steps dressed in riot gear. He had his own bullhorn ready. Chief Erickson removed a smoldering cigar from his mouth and brought the bullhorn up, You must disperse. You must not block the street. Return to the campus immediately.

Stan stared out from the crowd at the twenty uniformed policemen who flanked Chief Erickson. Dressed in riot gear, with gas masks hanging around their necks, they looked like armored, alien robots. Chief Erickson bellowed out his warning to the mob again and the officers pulled out their batons, inching forward anxious to crack some liberal, commie student heads.

Through his bullhorn Reverend Park shouted, We are here seeking justice in the name of Jesus Christ. Then he sat down in the street and resumed the chant, We want justice. The mob sat down too. Stan joined arms with two undergraduate coeds. They were packed together sitting on the asphalt rhythmically chanting, We want justice.

The first tear gas canister landed to the left of the mob and the second to the right. Noxious fumes billowed forth at the periphery of the crowd. The gas immediately found its first victims who choked and screamed. The cops pulled gas masks over their faces, raised their batons and charged. It was pandemonium.

The chanting stopped and everyone scrambled to their feet. Only Reverend Park and his two black associates refused to move. Stan's eyes smarted. He had a hard time maintaining his balance because someone was gripping his right arm, screaming in his ear. Through the dense smoke he stared into the panic-stricken face of the short, white girl he had been sitting beside. Tears flowed from her blue eyes. She suddenly stopped screaming and began coughing.

Stan placed his arm around her waist and began moving with her through the crowd seeking clean, smoke-free air. He wiped at the tears steaming from his eyes and attempted to find a way through the chaos surrounding them.

Out of the smoke a baton-wielding cop emerged looking like a mutant fly behind his gas mask, with its huge oval clear plastic eyes above a pendulous breathing snout. He raised his baton. The girl screamed. Animal reflexes overtook Stan. He bent down and lunged into the cop's gut. The baton made a glancing blow against the girl’s raised arm. Stan and the cop sprawled onto the pavement.

Both men stood up simultaneously. The cop raised the baton and Stan kicked him hard between the legs. The cop pitched backward onto the pavement gripping his crotch in agony. Stan grabbed the girl by the arm and pulled her along. They stumbled through the crowd desperate to escape.

Chapter 2

Stan and the girl reached the large expanse of tree covered lawn at the edge of the campus and collapsed on the grass under a pair of tall Douglas fir trees. Lying side-by-side on their backs, they gasped for fresh air like fish pulled from a pond. Stan’s fighting instinct was replaced by the flight instinct. He had to move or be arrested.

He stood up and looked down at the girl lying on the grass. Her shoulder length, dark blond hair was splayed out on the grass and tendrils of it stuck to the sweat on her slender neck. The baton had left a red welt on her right arm. He stared down at her and she stared back up at him.

Miss, we need to get out of here, quick. Stan reached out his hand. She grabbed it and he pulled her upright. They took off across the campus with Stan in the lead headed for his apartment, a short distance across Bellevue Street on the south side of the campus.

Once in the elevator he slumped his muscular six feet tall frame back against the chrome bar on the back wall and ran his hand through his curly brown hair. The girl finally spoke in a soft voice, Thanks for saving me from that cop. I still can't believe those bastard police...and the tear gas. God my eyes and lungs sting!

Stan nodded and stared down at the floor. He felt almost too tired to talk. When the elevator doors opened onto the fourth floor he said, Come on, let's clean up.

Clean up where?

In my apartment, just down the hall.

Stan stepped out of the elevator but the girl remained where she was. The doors started to close so Stan stuck his hand out and pushed them open. Exhausted, he leaned against one of the elevator doors and stared at her.

Look, you saved me from that cop's baton, but I just don't feel right going to a strange guy's apartment. Christ, I don't even know your name.

Stan blushed. Her insinuation of possible impropriety was unnecessary, though she couldn’t know. He felt like shouting I'm a priest, but held his tongue. He really hadn't been acting like a priest out there on State Street and he didn't want to go into lengthy explanations. He just wanted to wash the acrid aroma of tear gas from his face and body and put some eye drops in his burning eyes.

My name is Stan . I'm a grad student in the department of education. I'm getting my teaching credential. If you would rather go back, I understand, but personally I need to wash up and stay out of sight until the police finish arresting those other folks down there. You're welcome to come or go as you please. He stepped back, and the elevator doors began closing.

This time the girl stuck her hand against one of the doors to hold them open, Wait, okay, sure as hell I need to wash up, and I damn sure don't want to be out there right now with all those muscle headed cops. She stepped through the doors and announced, I'm Judy Tentazione, a grad student in the College of Law.

He wasn’t accustomed to hearing a woman swear, and while it bothered him, after what he’d just experienced on State Street, it seemed to be an annoyance hardly worth noticing.

Stan dug the key to the front door out of his pocket and let Judy in. He lived in a small studio apartment where the bed folded up into the wall. It was the kind of apartment where he had to move his dinky dining table into the small kitchen before he lowered the bed out of the wall. The apartment also had a reasonably sized bathroom that hosted a sink, toilet and shower. Stan opened the door to the bathroom, "Help yourself to some clean towels; they're on the bottom shelf of the right hand cupboard. There’s a lock on the door. Feel free to use it if it makes you more comfortable.

Judy said, Thanks, and stepped into the bathroom. Stan heard the little click as she set the lock from inside. Stan took four steps and stood before the kitchen sink. He grabbed a dish towel hanging off the handle of his refrigerator, wet it and pressed the towel to his eyes, then let out a sigh of relief and stood still, frozen in position for a few moments, letting the moisture from the towel drip down the front of his cotton shirt. He felt like a soldier who had just returned from battling a ferocious enemy. Quite a contrast to the scholastic, pseudo-priestly life he was supposed to be living. His bishop would have a royal fit if he ever learned of Stan's involvement in the protest.

The fourth floor apartment window looked north across the center of Yakima University. The view extended to the massive State Capitol Building with its golden statue of a pioneer, coat flung over one shoulder, an ax in the other hand, standing proudly at the very tip-top of the dome. It occurred to Stan that if the gold leafed pioneer statue could have shown emotion, he would have frowned at the debacle playing out below on State Street. Stan stared out the window where ten of the handcuffed demonstrators lay face down in the middle of State Street. Probably another thirty were lined up on the sidewalk also with their hands secured behind them, all of them coughing with tears streaming from their burning eyes. He was still gazing out the window, standing with the wet towel now draped over his head, five minutes later when Judy came out of the bathroom. She joined Stan at the window and said, Christ, two of those poor bastards lying on the street could have been us. Thanks for getting me out of there.

I acted on instinct, he said. You seemed sort of dazed.

Judy ignored the comment, You look a mess with that stupid wet towel over your head, dripping water on your shirt. Judy turned her head slightly back toward the open door of the bathroom, I'm done in there. Why don't you clean up and put on a dry shirt? Stan turned away from the window and took several steps over to the small closet next to his fold-down wall bed. He turned his back to Judy, stripped off his shirt and began picking through the miscellaneous collection of shirts and pants in the closet.

Judy's face lit up in a slight grin as she admired his lean six-foot frame with its broad shoulders and narrow waist. Stan finally selected a Hawaiian shirt, and a pair of Levis. I'll be out in five minutes. Help yourself to anything you want in the fridge.

I could use a cold beer.

There's some Blitz-Weinhard Lager in there.

In the kitchen Judy removed a six-pack of beer, opened one and took a long drink. She stepped over to the window to review the situation out on State Street. Twilight had descended on the scene and handcuffed people were lined up by the steps of an official looking bus that was painted gray, had bars on the window and a big five-star badge tattooed on its sides. A uniformed cop was helping each prisoner up the steps into the bus. She chug-a-lugged her beer and stepped back from the window. Bastards.

When Stan came out of the bathroom, Judy was on her second beer. Stan sat down at the small table and took a good look at his visitor. He was happy to see she was relaxed. Except for the fact that she’d lost her cool out there in the street, she seemed like a pretty mellow person. He admired her slender build and her full lips. Judy was wearing a white, sleeveless T-shirt with two thin straps snaking over each shoulder. Stan gazed at her breasts, held up by a white bra. She stood up and walked over to the window. Stan admired the smooth, feminine curvature of her hips and buttocks for a long moment. The guilt made him move his gaze to a spot just above the back of her head. He took a sip of the beer and reminded himself that he is a celibate priest.

Judy, beer in hand, stood before the window with her back to Stan, Well, they 're just about done hauling the last of the poor bastards away.

Stan drank half of his beer and gazed out the window, Reverend Park really has a talent for whipping an audience into a frenzy. I was even caught up in it.

I need to go home but I should get some chow under my belt. I've had enough beer that I shouldn't drive just yet.

There's a comfortable little Italian place a block from here. You like Italian?

Sure. Seeing as how you saved my ass down there in the street, I'm buying.

Stan didn't argue. His small allowance from the Jesuits didn't allow for eating out very often. He picked up both of their glasses and stepped into the kitchen.

You're one neat guy. I saw how organized your refrigerator is. Most bachelors I know are slobs when it comes to their apartments.

Stan ran tap water into the glasses and replied, Guess my mom trained me well; she always said cleanliness is next to Godliness. He wondered just how many other men’s apartments Judy had frequented.

Chapter 3

Judy walked into her apartment and found her roommate Bernice studying at the kitchen table. Bernice put her pencil down. How’d the protest rally go?

It turned into a riot with cops, tear gas, the whole nine yards, Judy said. A nice guy saved me from spending a night in the frigging Olympia jail, and then we had dinner together."

Girl, sounds like you met Prince Charming.

Believe me you don’t ever want to inhale tear gas. Jesus! My nose and lungs still feel the effects even four hours later.

Wow, you’re lucky you didn’t get hurt.

Judy pointed to the welt on her right arm, I did come away with a little souvenir, though.

Looks bad. Does it hurt a lot?

Nah, nothing a few beers doesn’t fix, but it’s a reminder to stay out of riots.

So tell me more about Prince Charming.

"In a word, 'Adonis'. You know, the perfectly sculpted face, the Roman nose with its high distinctive bridge. Jesus! He even has naturally curly, reddish brown hair. Rosita, my mom's maid would describe him as 'Guapo'."

Wow, lucky girl. That handsome, huh?

Right, he’s— The phone rang. Judy picked it up and said, Hello.

Judy frowned, God damn it Jeff! I told you it’s over!

Judy slammed the receiver down, That two-timing creep!

Hey, what’s that all about?

He’s cheating on me.

How’d you find that out?

Last weekend Jeff said he couldn’t see me because he had to work. Betty saw him and another woman having dinner in an Olympia restaurant. I’ll be damned if he’s going to play me for the fool. Stupid me, I was even starting to think I love him. Judy’s bottom lip curled inward suppressing the urge to cry.

Well don’t let him get under your skin. Shake it off. Go back to what you were going to tell me about Prince Charming before Jeff called. What's he like?

Judy perked up, He stands at about six-one and besides the curly hair has a good physique. He's getting his teaching credential. Says he grew up in Rockville. I guess some sort of a farm boy.

So he's on campus. You'll have to watch for him. Maybe he's worth getting to know better.

Judy took a bottle of beer out of the refrigerator, popped off the cap with an opener, held the beer up toward Bernice and said, Yeah, to hell with Jeff. I’ll show him. Think I’ll check out this Stan guy.

The next morning Judy walked into the kitchen in her pajamas just as Bernice was getting ready to leave.

Well, good morning sleepy head. I'll catch up with you before we head out for 'Contracts'.

Bernice opened the apartment door and then turned back, So did you have sweet dreams about your latest Prince Charming?

It was too early for Judy to laugh but she managed a cheery, I don’t bother with dreams. When I see what I want, I take it. Screw the dreams, I’ll show that two-timing bastard Jeff that two can play the same game.

Bernice chuckled, You know, with an attitude like that, a girl could end up in trouble.

Judy grabbed a hot pad off the stove and flung it across the room at Bernice— Scram!

By 8:30 Judy was heading for Yakima University in her new Cadillac, a twenty-fourth birthday gift from her parents. She entered the Olympia city limits doing sixty miles per hour in a 35-mile-per-hour zone. She approached an intersection showing a yellow light, pushed the gas peddle to the floor and flew through at 70- miles-per-hour. The police cruiser sitting at the intersection hit his siren and peeled rubber around the corner in pursuit.

Son of a bitch, she bellowed. For an instant she thought about trying to lose the cop, but then realized how stupid that would be. She pulled over to the curb and waited for her ticket.

Chapter 4

At lunch time Judy went to Goudy Commons where she was surprised to see Stan sitting alone at a table.

Thump, she dropped her backpack on his table, Hey Teach, how's it hangin' ?

He laughed, Do you greet all your friends that way?

Nope, only good looking hunks like you, boy. Mind if this future kick-ass lawyer joins you?

Stan smiled, "Looks like it is a fait accompli. Sure, I'll guard your undoubtedly valuable back-pack while you go through the cafeteria line."

Okay-dokey, I'll be back in a flash, Teach.

Stan suddenly felt like a man in the early stages of a virus. His temperature rose and perspiration gathered on his forehead as he watched her walk toward the cafeteria line looking deliciously sexy in her tank top and jeans. Her blond hair was tied back by a yellow ribbon in a ponytail that swung from side to side in rhythm with the sway of her attractive butt.

Stan closed his eyes. She is simply a creature of God; treat her like any other friend. He opened his eyes and turned back to his textbook pretending to focus, but it was impossible to concentrate with her so near.

Judy returned with a cup of black coffee and a small turkey sandwich.

So, how's that arm of yours?

Hurts like hell. Seems like these Olympia cops have it in for me lately. Got a speeding ticket on the way over here this morning.

Oh, sorry to hear that, but they say that bad luck comes in threes, so you only have one to go.

Threes huh? You’re probably right. My number three challenge this week is that every damned law professor wants a thesis on some subtle point of litigation.

Litigation seems to be the topic of the day from what I read in the newspaper this morning. There must have been at least ten individual lawsuits and a class action lawsuit filed against Chief Erickson.

And rightly so. If I'd ended up in the pokey with those other poor slobs or worse— in the hospital, I would've sued the bastard myself. Thank God you pulled me out of that mess.

But you have to admit, we were blocking the street.

Yeah sure, but you have to also admit that excessive force was used. Then she giggled, And I'm sure that cop you dropped would agree.

Stan wanted to forget about his spontaneous act of violence. Jesus preached non-violence, and to turn the other cheek. He was haunted by the fact that buried within him was a primordial animal capable of kicking a policeman.

Stan redirected the conversation. What are you planning to do on the Easter break?

Gonna drive up to the Crystal Mountain ski area. We're lucky this year, the snow is still pretty decent at the higher altitudes. I'll be on the slopes Sunday. Do you ski?

I never got around to trying it.

Well there is a first time for everything, she winked, gave him a mischievous smile and added, if you take my meaning.

Pink flashed over his face.

Hey, Teach, you're blushing big time. Damn, boy, are you still a virgin? Then she gave out a lascivious laugh. Stan wanted to get up and run out of the building.

He tried to salvage the situation. Counselor, I refuse to answer that question on the grounds it may incriminate me. His reply brought even more laughter.

They were interrupted when Bernice came up to the table. "Judy,