Unshaken Faith: Faith, #2

By Cali Moore

Kane hadn't wanted life to change, but a bullet in the back took away any chance of it remaining the same. He might be an inner-city pastor, but he was also a street priest, and it was his ability to move among his flock that allowed him to get things done. Oh, he broke a few rules and had made his share of enemies within the church because if it, but his record spoke for itself. As did the esteem the kids he tried so hard to help held him in.

The impasse turned into a stalemate and by the time he was ready to leave rehab, the options presented to him by the church were unacceptable so he chose to take a leave of absence and accepted a temporary post at a small college three thousand miles away. He hoped his mobility would improve enough to force the church to reconsider. He wanted St. Mark's back and was not ready to give up.

Stephanie was not prepared for the reality of Father Kane. Actually, nobody was. Priests should not be the best-looking men around. The saving grace there was Kane's complete lack of vanity over it. His slow pace belied the sharp mind that rebelled against it and he slid into his roles as if born to them. He was a fascinating man and people were naturally drawn to him. She was no exception and even though she knew it was the worst thing to do, found herself falling in love.

It was all so much. The bullet and the decision he'd made preceding it. Taking on a role he found he enjoyed more than he wanted to. Stephanie. Never before had Kane felt lust and liking for a sole woman. One or the other, those were normal numbers for any man, but both? He thought he was stymied before, but that was nothing compared to now. Which vows were to God? Which to the church? Did he remain a priest when he knew he'd never been given a worthwhile role again or do he do what he never even considered? He only knew one thing; his faith in God was unshaken. Kane just wished He would talk to him.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cali Moore
• Release date: Dec 7, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215390832

Book preview

Chapter One

He supposed it was better than being put out to pasture.

But not by much.

Father Kane MacMaster regarded the tree-lined, brick-building laden campus he drove onto with equal parts of curiosity and dread. The curiosity was easy enough to understand.

For him, so was the dread.

My choice, he reminded himself. Not that he felt he’d had much of one. The bullet in his back had taken care of that. Over nine months had passed since that night. It felt more like nine centuries.

He glared into his rearview mirror at the kid tailing him through the campus streets. Or more accurately, tailgating. He’d always hated tailgaters and those who did so to a vehicle identified by handicapped plates really pissed him off. They were new for him. He’d only started driving again about six weeks ago and was lucky to have been granted a license at all. It was a restrictive license, but he wasn’t about to complain about that. Driving, he’d quickly realized after the shooting, was a privilege he would never again take for granted. He was restricted to daylight hours, no road above forty miles per hour and no more than a hundred miles a month.

Re-evaluation in one year.

All because his legs were a tad slower than they used to be.

Kane hadn’t driven across the country. United Airlines had transported him. His truck had come by rail. He followed the directions he’d been given and arrived at what he assumed was Risford Hall. His home for the next five months. After that, who knew? If God did, He wasn’t telling.

He sighed as he pulled up to the back door. The decision had been made and all that was left was to see it through.

Kane left his things in the bed of the truck and took the elevator to the main floor, which was the third, since the building sat on a hillside. He turned right and walked slowly to the front desk. His ski jacket hid the collar beneath. Two people smiled at him. May I help you? A boy of about twenty asked.

I’m Father Kane MacMaster. Did I end up at the right place?

Father, the second, older man greeted. We’ve been waiting for you. He extended his hand. I’m Tim Bowley, the house father at Hadley. I’ll show you the ropes. Where’s your stuff?

And so it began.

Father Kane MacMaster, parish priest, then pastor of St. Mark’s Catholic Church in East Los Angeles, became a temporary housefather in a dorm of a small, liberal arts college in Virginia. It wasn’t even Catholic. His status as a priest was, for all practical purposes, inactive. It would stay that way as long as it took him and the church to come to terms with his future.

Kane knew, in his gut, he would never say another mass at St. Mark’s or any other church like it. Too many people didn’t like the way he did business and his ability to fight them was gone.

Not one of the objectors had ever been a parishioner.

Finally alone, Kane surveyed his rooms behind the big desk. There were four of them: an eat-in kitchen, a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. They were all small, which didn’t faze him, what fazed him was that for the first time in his life, he had more than a bedroom to call his own. He had never lived alone. He’d gone from home to the seminary to St. Mark’s rectory, which in his reign had been a drop-in center for anyone who needed an ear. For the past nine months, he’d mostly been in the hospital or the convalescent center.

He had to remind himself he was in a dorm with over five hundred students in it.

Not exactly alone. All he had to do was open the door.

He was about to do just that when someone knocked. Come in, Kane called out and set the picture of his best friend and his family on an end table. John Whittaker entered and glanced at the picture. Not family. The men in the photo had blonde hair, the woman reddish brown. The Father’s was jet black.

Kane smiled. No. Better, since they were a choice. My best friend and his. You’ll meet them. They’re only a couple of hours away and Flash only promised me two weeks before he came to check up on me. I doubt Diane and Ben will let him leave them behind. He travels too much as it is. He’s a photographer.

John smiled back. I came to tell you I talked to the other RAs and they’ll all be here in an hour.

Fine. When John lingered, Kane set down a picture of his parents and siblings. Family, he said with a fond smile at the 8 x 10 print. Anything else?

I was wondering what to call you, the young man said.

I’m still a priest, Kane said ruefully. Father Kane will do.

And it was Father Kane who addressed the five young men an hour later. He had little to serve them but had found the vending machines and had gotten them each a Coke. It’s been a long time, boys, he began wryly. And seminary isn’t exactly college. My point is that I’m going to need you for a while. For those of you who haven’t figured it out yet, I’m Father Kane, your housefather for this term. You might want to warn the other students that I am rehabilitating and will often walk the halls as part of my therapy. He grinned. I doubt they’ll think much of that. Kane consulted his official list of rules for the dorm and recalled everything Tim had told him before he tested the waters. I may be a priest, but I do know that my generation indulged in large hall parties with kegs flowing and blenders roaring.

Someone snorted.

Kane arched a brow, but continued. I will tolerate it within reason.

Keg parties are not allowed.

Kane regarded the young man who had spoken. What’s your name, son?

Andy White, Father.

"Well, Andy White, I’ve always been known as a bit of a renegade. I even pay the price for that occasionally. Here are the rules for the hall parties I know you’ll have, legal or not. I am notified in advance. All female guests check in and they all check out. This is not a co-ed dorm and all girls will check out by two o’clock, as is school policy. You’ve all heard of designated drivers? Well, we’re going to do that, which is why I want notice. Our designated drivers will be walkers, and they will spend the evening with me. No lone girl leaves this dorm after dark at any time. They will be walked home by a sober male. During hall parties, all doors will remain open. At the first sign of drugs, I don’t even talk to you before I call the cops. I am a very tolerant man, but it does not extend to drug abuse.

It also doesn’t extend to alcoholism. I drink, all of my friends do. My best friend’s wife owns a bar. If I see signs of alcoholism, I will act upon them. I’m not saying you can’t get drunk occasionally. You’re going to and we all know that, but if I see anyone getting drunk every weekend, I will step in. No cops, but myself, parents, counselors. I’ve spent eighteen years among high-risk kids, gentlemen. I know the signs and I know how to deal with them. I will bend over backwards for you and your friends, whether you like it or not. You can think of me as your worst nightmare, or your savior. Cross the line, and I promise you, you will think of me. Pass that on to your residents.

Kane eyed them all, his dark eyes glittering with determination.

Jesus, one said, raking his hands through his hair.

I would prefer you not use the Lord’s name in vain in my presence, Kane said dryly. Whether you believe or not, I do. Keep that in mind, please. Do we understand each other? Kane waited for all the nods and ‘Yes, Fathers’, then he nodded. "Good. On a lighter note, I believe in an open-door policy and will talk to anyone at any time. Interrupted sleep is nothing new to me. If the door’s open, walk in. If it’s closed, knock. If I’m not in, leave a message at the desk. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m back. I will be gone more than most as I’m pulling double duty and will be taking over some of Professor Jamison’s classes this semester. No night classes and I won’t use her office. I’ll do my homework here.

Finally, don’t let the fact that I’m a priest intimidate you. I have often been told I’m not very priest-like. I’ve also been told that’s what makes me a good one. Like you, I sin, I struggle, I make mistakes. He smiled. Like most, I’m better at giving advice than taking it. He picked up the picture of Flash, Diane and Ben and stared at it. He slowly turned it around. See that man? His name is Flash Van Dillen. Some of you may have heard of him and even recognize him. That’s his wife and son. I just married them this fall. For over sixteen years he didn’t even know he had a son. He left home before Diane knew she was pregnant. A college like this was never in the cards for Flash. It’s nice to be lucky, but there’s much more value in overcoming a world that decided long before you had a choice, that you wouldn’t amount to anything. He set the picture down and finished with, Just because you’re all lucky and your parents can afford your education doesn’t make you any better than a kid who started life like Flash. You want points at the Pearly Gates? You remember that.

Kane took his evening meal in the cafeteria. Never having cooked in his life, he suspected he’d be taking most meals in there. Tim Bowley carried his own tray over and asked, May I join you?

Sure, Kane replied as soon as he swallowed a bite of mystery meat. What am I eating?

They call it Salisbury steak, Tim replied with a grin and sat down.

Not like any I ever tasted.

Institutional food is institutional food. It all sucks. He blushed. Excuse me, Father.

Kane smiled. For what?

Swearing.

He shrugged. Swearing and blasphemy are not always the same thing and you can call me Kane.

Tim smiled back. Settling in, OK?

I will, eventually.

How’d you end up here?

Professor Jamison and my sister are old friends. The Church and I are having a little disagreement at the moment and I requested an inactive status. My sister suggested I take Becky’s classes for her while she’s on leave. The dean told me about the housefather leaving, one thing led to another, and before I knew it, I had a job and room and board for the next five months.

You’re going to teach too?

Ethics and Religion 101 and 102. Two classes each.

Tim grinned. Ought to be right up your alley.

Yeah, he agreed. Kane ate a piece of meat, trying not to think of how it tasted. I’m actually looking forward to it. The religion courses are viewed from an academic point of view, read that as skeptical. Not in all things, of course. Much of the bible is history, plain and simple. What makes it important, even to an atheist, is that it strives to teach more than history. I’ve spent most Sunday nights since I was twenty-two with a man who is skeptical. Our debates should prove quite useful now. I doubt these kids can throw anything at me Flash hasn’t already tried.

You’re going to try to convert them?

Kane laughed. No, Tim. I’m just going to try to make them see that there will always be things they can’t comprehend, understand, or explain. That doesn’t mean you deny them out of hand.

Like women? Tim teased.

Kane rolled his eyes. Perhaps. Personally, I’ve never found them any more difficult than teen-aged boys.

Touché, Tim agreed. You’re not very priest-like.

So I’ve been told. A million times.

Kane entered the small chapel at the northeast corner of the quad a little after ten that night. No one was in the structure that had been built well over a century ago. Though it showed its age, it also showed care. He could smell the lemon scented polish that had been used recently on the pews and wooden floor. There were no kneelers and the small altar was a stone slab set on a rectangle of oak. It was too dark to see what was depicted in the stained-glass window beyond the altar. The windows down the sides were plain glass, plaques depicting the Stations of the Cross between them. That surprised him as this was an interdenominational chapel. The wooden cross with Christ’s image hanging over the altar did not.

Kane walked down the dark aisle, knelt on the hardwood floor in front of the altar, and crossed himself before taking the rosary from his pocket and holding it tightly in his clasped hands. He didn’t say the expected prayers.

He rarely did outside of ritual.

It’s going to be an interesting few months, isn’t it? He began quietly. I wonder sometimes what You think about this church of ours. Your son would never have kept a man from doing what he was meant to do. Church law is not always Yours, is it?

He sighed. Ah, well, I don’t really expect You to answer that one. Just let me know if I really screw up, OK? And thanks. For everything. I’ll try not to let either of us down.

Stephanie stood just inside the door, transfixed by both the sight and the sound of the man in front of the altar. It was too dark to really see anything of him, and his voice was too quiet to tell anything more than he had a faint southern accent. She would never have stayed if she’d thought she could leave without disturbing him. Now that he seemed to be done, judging by the action of his right arm as he made the sign of the cross, she eased the door open to slip outside.

Don’t leave on my account, Kane said more loudly than he had prayed. There is always room for more in God’s house.

Stephanie frowned at the overt religious statement. She wasn’t really all that comfortable with religion. She had only come to say a quick prayer for her nephew, who had lost his girlfriend to a drunk driver and was struggling with the loss. She figured it wouldn’t hurt.

I hope I didn’t cut you short, she finally said.

No. I was done. Kane got to his feet slowly and turned to face her. Problems? Or do you make a habit of visiting here?

She shook her head. Neither. Not my problem, anyway. My nephew. His girlfriend died over the holidays. She was only seventeen.

Names?

What? She asked with a frown.

Your nephew and his girlfriend.

Oh. Brian and Susie.

Kane nodded and turned back to the altar. He crossed himself again. Father, accept Susie into Your loving arms, which by now, You have surely done. Few that young deserve anything but grace. For Brian, grant him the courage to accept his loss and the strength to overcome it so he can enjoy his memories. Amen.

He turned back and began his slow process to the door. Stephanie watched him curiously. His movements were precise, but there was no limp or other outward sign of a problem. It was as if she’d entered a time warp where everything moved in slow motion. It was a queer sensation and she felt it physically as much as mentally.

She chalked it up to the odd silence and darkness.

Even when he reached her, she saw little but a harshly planed face, short, wavy dark hair and dark eyes. He was roughly six feet tall and appeared to be fit, but it was hard to tell with his legs encased in jeans and his upper body enveloped in a ski jacket. A life free of pain doesn’t teach us much. He’s young. He’ll learn a few things an older man is more able to accept, but that too has value. If he realizes that, he’ll be all right.

Stephanie watched him leave, slowly and silently. When the door had closed behind him, she looked at the altar. The moon had risen and cast a shaft of light through the stained-glass window.

The window depicted the Virgin Mary with her baby, Jesus.

She stared at it a few minutes before offering up her own prayers for Brian and departing. The odd sensations didn’t disappear with her quitting the building. Stephanie paused at the edge of the quad and looked back at the small chapel. A cloud moved over the moon. When she turned further, she saw a slow-moving man disappearing down the hill that led to the men’s dorms.

That man was no student.

Kane, after hours of debate, showed up for his first class dressed in blue jeans, sneakers, black shirt and white collar. Just because this wasn’t a Catholic campus didn’t mean he had to deny who and what he was. The clergy was no longer required to wear the identifying garments of their calling but he had always worn the shirt and collar except for his Sunday nights with Flash or B-ball with the kids. The jeans of his youth usually covered his legs, even under his robes during mass. He purposely arrived early and was behind the desk by the time the first students arrived. Many stared at his collar, none commented on it. Stilted greetings were exchanged. The girls stared.

He was used to that. Women had stared at him his entire life.

Kane knew he didn’t look like a priest. He looked like the highland warriors his ancestors had been. Women liked the dark ruggedness that ran strong through the MacMaster genes and he knew it.

The bell rang and his eyes cast over the class that consisted of sixteen girls and fifteen boys. Technically they weren’t boys and girls. They were probably mostly between eighteen and twenty and working through their required gen-ed courses. Out of ten fields of study they had to have at least six credits in nine of them. The rest came from their majors. Religion, he knew, was what most opted out of, but this was Ethics and came under the sociology department. Pretty much every kid in the school took six credits in sociology.

This, Kane said holding up a book entitled, American Ethics, I’m told, is your text book. He dropped it into the trashcan.

No one moved. Kane wasn’t sure anyone breathed.

You’re a cop on a beat, ladies and gentlemen, he said in his strong, melodic voice. You get a call and respond to a possible B&E with a hostage situation. You’re tired, it’s your first night back on the night shift and it’s just before dawn. You’re the first to arrive at the scene and you hear a woman scream. Your adrenaline’s pumping. Years of training for just such a situation crowd your mind. Everything else fades. All you can think about is an innocent woman and a bastard who’s trying to hurt her. It seems hours pass and there’s still no back-up. You’re oblivious to the fact that it’s barely been two minutes. You go in and you kill. The smoking gun is in your hands and you can’t even be sure that he aimed his first when you busted down the door. The woman is still screaming, but now it’s at you.

Kane rose and moved to the front of the desk, leaning against it with crossed arms. You come to find out you killed her husband. They were partners in crime and the purpose of her screaming was to keep you outside while they got the goods. They had their out as long as they finished before the cops surrounded the building. They also had a rap sheet in six states and were wanted for murder.

What was their out? A girl in the second row asked.

Give me a break. This is hypothetical. Kane shrugged. I don’t know, maybe they were tightrope walkers and had already suspended a wire to the next building. Maybe there was a tunnel to the docks from bootlegging days.

I like that one, she said with a nod. Much better.

Gee, thanks. He shook his head. Name?

Sylvia.

The point here, Sylvia, he continued, gesturing with his hands. Is that the cop can’t prove self-defense and is brought up on charges. Forget the law, if any of you even know it. This is ethics. Morality. Was the cop wrong?

You’re a priest, a boy in back responded. He killed. That’s wrong.

Name?

Eric.

You’re getting into religion with that one, Eric, and we will touch a base or two with that, but not yet. This is man to man. Was the cop wrong?

No, another girl decided. Angie.

Kane smiled at her and demanded, Why not, Angie?

He thought the woman was in danger and it’s his job to protect. He did. Even though he was wrong about her, the man had killed and doesn’t sound like a candidate for rehabilitation.

But does the cop on the beat have the right to make that decision? He countered. Keep in mind what he didn’t know when he fired. Kane waited through several moments of silence. Tough one, isn’t it?

What do you think? I’m David.

Another tough one, David, Kane said ruefully. As a man, I honestly don’t know. I spent sixteen years as an active priest in the sort of hell you all read about in the papers. East LA. It doesn’t get much worse than that in this country and that’s where this sort of thing happens. It’s easy to lose perspective in a place like that. If I sat on his jury, I would do my best to follow the letter of the law. As a society, it’s all we’ve got. A cop can not operate as a vigilante. Nor can we tie his hands to the point that he can’t, as Angie said, protect. There is a trend toward that in the cities. Most of these guys aren’t the bad cops depicted in the movies with a sheriff gone haywire with power. They’re men that were boys like you. He said that last sentence, each word emphasized by his fists. He ended with them palms up, looking every inch the priest he was. Maybe they have wives and children. Every time they put on that uniform, they know it might be the last the last time they see them. They still do it, most of them, because they believe in serving and protecting.

He set his hands on the desk behind him. I didn’t give you enough information to reach an intelligent conclusion on purpose. The cop in that scenario didn’t have it either. What he had was a situation and a choice. My point, folks, is that ethics isn’t a science. It evolves with man and civilizations. What is true for Americans, isn’t true everywhere else. It would be much simpler if it was, but it isn’t. You can’t really write a text book about such a thing. He held one hand out as if holding a ball in his palm. Morality is a bit simpler, but ethics goes further than just good and evil. It encompasses and reflects the times and mores of the people in a certain area or time period. In other words, it changes more than morality. He again crossed his arms on his chest. Many of our states have the death penalty today, but do we really have that right? The right to tell a man he will die for his crimes? Ethically, yes, because most have accepted it. Morally, no, because most of us wouldn’t flip the switch, open the trap, or administer the injection.

And as a priest? Eric persisted.

Are you Catholic?

No.

Do you understand the sacrament of confession?

I know you can’t repeat anything you hear there.

True, Kane agreed. Confession, Eric, is about responsibility as much as forgiveness. The sacrament is actually called, Reconciliation. If that cop came to me and confessed, it would be up to me to decide whether or not he was sincere. If I believed he was, I would absolve him.

And if you didn’t?

I wouldn’t. I would ask him to come back in six months and then we would see. In the end, it is up to God, and none of us will really know if we’ve been forgiven until we die. Catholic doctrine teaches that if a man is truly sorry and repents, he will be forgiven. I think most of us believe that because we need to. I believe it because I understand that God isn’t a master chessman. He’s a spectator at the big game. He gives us life and waits to see what we do with it. I don’t think He expects perfection as much as he hopes we seek it.

Then why pray?

Kane smiled. Because the better He knows us, the harder it is to stay mad at us.

You’re a lousy priest, Eric grumbled.

Kane chuckled. Actually, I’m a very good one. Ask anyone but my superiors.

They don’t like you?

They like me, they just don’t like my style.

I do, Angie said with a grin. Can I return my text book?

You might want to read it. Over the summer. You won’t be using it this semester.

Hot damn!

Kane grinned at her. Maybe this wasn’t going to be so bad after all. These kids may not be needy, or in crisis, but he could still give them something. Now he had to figure out how to make religion interesting for kids who were taking it only because they couldn’t stomach the thought of dealing with rats in Psych 101.

Chapter Two

Kane’s first weekend as housefather brought the first keg party. He’d been given about twenty hours notice and had solicited volunteers to make sure there were responsible people to walk the girls home. He had planned on using that task as punishment, but he’d had no reason to discipline yet. The dorm had been relatively quiet while everyone oriented themselves with the new semester.

Since they were volunteers, he thought he should make the duty seem pleasant and planned a poker game. He knew he was getting the nerds, a breed he’d never dealt with in his life. It took intelligent, solvent parents and exposure to more than violence and drugs to become a nerd.

That was probably unfair, but the few kids he’d known with the brains for the title had done their best to hide it behind a veneer of toughness and cynicism. Most had never even seen a college campus. Or expected to.

He pulled his kitchen table into his living room and left the door open. He’d had to go to town for chips and cards. While he was there, he’d picked up snacks, dips, and sodas. He fixed his rye old fashioned in a huge thermal cup. The kids didn’t need to know he wasn’t staying dry.

The boys arrived promptly at eight. The kid at the desk was readying his log for the onslaught. He had girls from his classes at the fire doors, not to stop anybody from opening them from within, but to record numbers and names, if they knew them. Kane figured they could give it up at ten. He had every intention of patrolling the floors at two. If anyone slipped through, he’d catch them then. If not, more power to them. He knew he couldn’t stop everything, he just wanted to keep temptation away from the kids that sat on the edge. He’d