‘I can’t, Father. I have told you how it is.’
‘But your uncle and grandmother attend regularly when they come to town with their produce on Saturday.’
‘I know, Father.’
‘So, why don’t you come with them?’
‘I’m not allowed,’ Molly said. ‘I think it is something to do with the fact that my grandmother would not like me to have fun of any sort.’ She saw the sharp movement of the priest’s head behind the screen and said, ‘It’s true. Come and talk to her yourself, Father, if you don’t believe me. She sees sin in laughter and enjoyment. I can’t understand it. My mother was forever saying that God wouldn’t have given us the gift of laughter if he didn’t want us to use it.’
‘A wise woman,’ the priest said. ‘There is no harm at all in honest laughter and indeed, it lightens the load for many. I think it will be good for you to come to town and meet people, and I can’t see any sin at all in that. I will come and have a word with your grandmother.’
Molly knew that priests were a law unto themselves and they had immense power, so she smiled and said, ‘I’d say “best of luck”, but that’s not the thing to say, is it? Not in the confessional, at any rate.’
She heard the answering smile in the priest’s voice as he commented, ‘Let’s say that I will endeavour to change your grandmother’s mind with the help of God.’
You might need God and all the saints marshalled together, thought Molly later as she left the confessional box, and yet the priest had their immortal souls in the palm of his hand and even her grandmother listened to him.
As it was a fine evening, Tom was waiting for her outside, leaning against the wall, and he was amused by the large smile on Molly’s face as she left the church.
‘What’s up with you?’ he said. ‘You look like the cat that got the cream.’
‘What’s wrong with being happy?’
‘Nothing,’ Tom conceded. ‘It’s just that most people don’t come out of confession with a dirty great grin on their faces, but no one should be forced to share their thoughts if they don’t want to, so you keep yours to yourself and no harm done.’
Molly was glad her uncle didn’t press her. If the priest did what he said he would do and visited the house, then Tom and her grandmother would know soon enough and she resolved to think no more about it.
So when, just a few days later, Biddy opened the door to the priest, Tom caught sight of the look on Molly’s face as the man entered the room. He suddenly knew that the priest’s visit was linked in some way to what had been said to Molly at her last confession, which had put her in such good humour. Biddy was unsuspicious, for it wasn’t completely out of the way for the priest to call, though he would usually mention on Sunday morning that he might call around one evening that week. He hadn’t to be more specific than that, because the priest was the one person always sure of his welcome.
Biddy smiled as much as she was able, and bade the man come in and sit by the fire and rest himself. She helped the priest off with his coat as she spoke and then roared at Molly to put the kettle on to make the priest a cup of tea.
The priest did not broach the subject of confession straight away. He drank the tea Molly gave him and helped himself to a piece of barnbrack and another of oaten bread, which Biddy pressed on him. They talked of farming matters and the vagaries of the prices at the livestock market. Molly listened to the voices rise and fall as she waited in an agony of impatience, thinking maybe she had misinterpreted the reason for the priest’s visit and that any minute he would get to his feet, thank her for the refreshments and be gone.
‘Get Father Finlay another cup of tea,’ said Biddy, her strident voice cutting through Molly’s thoughts. ‘Where are your manners?’
It was as Molly handed the priest the cup that their eyes met and she felt he was saying that he hadn’t forgotten the reason for being there. Then Molly began to relax a little. The priest took a sip of the tea before saying, ‘I was glad to see young Molly at confession a few days ago.’
‘Oh, yes, Father, I make sure she goes,’ Biddy said self-righteously. ‘Packed full of sin, she is.’
The priest bent his head for a moment to hide the smile as he remembered the small misdemeanours that Molly had recounted to him. Packed full of sin was definitely not the way he would have described her, but it maybe worked to his advantage and he said, ‘That being the case, I am surprised that she doesn’t come more often.’
Biddy flushed. ‘It’s time, so it is, Father. Tom is busy and indeed so is Molly.’
‘I understand that,’ the priest went on soothingly. ‘And that is why I don’t know why she doesn’t come with you to Buncrana on Saturday as you and Tom do.’
‘Isn’t this what I have told you, Mammy, over and over?’ Tom cried.
Biddy ignored her son and instead said to the priest, ‘I don’t approve of the young ones in the town. I see them laughing together and carrying on, and I don’t want Molly up to any of that sort of caper.’
The priest remembered Molly’s word in the confessional and knew she had spoken the truth. He said, ‘There is nothing wrong with laughter, Biddy, nothing at all.’ Then, paraphrasing Molly, he continued, ‘Sure, if the Good Lord didn’t want us to laugh then surely he would have not given us the ability to do so. As for the carry-on, well, there was nothing I liked better when I was young. High spirits is all it is. There is no harm in the majority of young people in Buncrana.’
Biddy gave an impatient toss of her head. ‘Molly cannot be spared on Saturdays. She has duties at home.’
Father Finlay regarded Biddy gravely and shook his head as he said, ‘I don’t believe that I am hearing this. We are talking here of Molly’s Catholic duty. Would you have her immortal soul imperilled? Isn’t that why you removed the girl from Birmingham, to ensure she had a proper, Catholic upbringing?’
Tom saw that Molly was sitting with her head bent and he knew that was to prevent Biddy seeing her face, which he guessed would have a smile on it, for he was having a similar problem adjusting his own features. Once he had heard the expression ‘hoist with his own petard’, and it seemed to fit this situation very aptly indeed.
Biddy knew it too. ‘Yes, well, Father … you see, the thing is …’
Father Finlay took advantage of her confusion. ‘I will expect to see Molly at confession at least once a fortnight from now on,’ he said firmly. ‘How you arrange it is your business, but I think it would do Molly no harm at all – indeed, a great deal of good – to meet with young people of her own age. I feel I would be failing in my duty if I didn’t tell you this and if I allowed this situation to go on any longer.’
He got to his feet as he spoke. Biddy looked as if she was suffering from extreme shock, which was causing her mouth to open and close like a fish’s.
It was Tom who got up, shook the priest by the hand and said, ‘You have eased my mind, for this is what I wanted to happen from the beginning.’
‘Well, we all have to avail ourselves of the sacraments,’ Father Finlay said as Tom helped him with his coat. ‘They are, after all, the very backbone of the Catholic Church. Good night to you all.’
Biddy didn’t speak, but Molly said, ‘Good night, Father.’
Tom put in, ‘Wait, Father. I’ll get a torch and go along with you to the head of the lane, for it’s like pitch out there. I’d not want to find you in a ditch in the morning.’
Molly watched her grandmother’s malicious eyes swivel to meet hers and she wanted to beg Tom to stay in the cottage, to