God and Mary and Patrick be with you.
“It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Monaghan. God and Mary and Patrick be with you.” The new priest smiled down at Mira. He was very tall, young, and handsome, and he had the beautiful native Irish flair to his voice that filled her with thoughts of Killarney. He had presided over the English mass that morning, and she had attended to honor St. Patrick, patron saint of Ireland.
“And Patrick, yes! You are Irish?” Mira didn’t need to ask, but it at least brought the matter to the forefront of conversation.
“I am! And I guessed you were from the lilt of your English. But there is still French in it. Were you raised here or in Ireland?” The brightest green eyes she had ever seen danced with sunlight under his strong dark brow as he spoke, and his smile was warm and inviting.
“Here. Well, actually in the south, in Toulouse,” she answered. “My father’s father was from Killarney, and he insisted we learn English, which came out in his Irish accent. But I’m sorry to say I learned no Irish at all except certain holiday phrases.” Mira chuckled and smiled back, fascinated by this man who was still holding her hand as they spoke and seemed as intrigued by her as she was by him.
“Killarney! I have a mentor from a parish there, but I’m sorry to say I’m actually from Dublin. Raised in the busy town life and worked in the sea ports as a boy, hardly ever saw much of the countryside. My mother’s family was from Belfast and moved south, and she was the Catholic influence in my life. I only just came here to Paris in January, and this church has made me so welcome, my mentor Father Regina has been wonderful. I can’t imagine leaving anytime soon.”
Father D’Arcy held Mira’s hand and the two of them began to walk along together down the steps from the church. They spoke at length about their connections to Ireland, their challenges as Catholics, and the things that brought them to Paris. He was only a year younger than her, and it was hard for Mira to see him as a priest at all, especially when they two of them began to laugh together at amusing anecdotes from their past.
“But you said you wanted to speak to me about something?” Father D’Arcy said, bringing the conversation back around. “A question you had, prompted by my homily today?”
“Yes,” Mira quickly affirmed. “Not now, though. Perhaps I can meet with you privately next week. I have… many questions… and a few confessions, I’m afraid.”
Father D’Arcy placed his hand gently on Mira’s upturned face and chuckled. “Oh, don’t be afraid of confessions, Mrs. Monaghan. After all, it is part of my job, you know.”
“Of course!” Mira laughed. “Well, perhaps Monday? And please, call me Mira.”
“Yes, Monday is good. Come any time between two and five in the afternoon, and I’ll have tea served for us if you would like. And… in private of course… you may call me James.”
“And Patrick, yes! You are Irish?” Mira didn’t need to ask, but it at least brought the matter to the forefront of conversation.
“I am! And I guessed you were from the lilt of your English. But there is still French in it. Were you raised here or in Ireland?” The brightest green eyes she had ever seen danced with sunlight under his strong dark brow as he spoke, and his smile was warm and inviting.
“Here. Well, actually in the south, in Toulouse,” she answered. “My father’s father was from Killarney, and he insisted we learn English, which came out in his Irish accent. But I’m sorry to say I learned no Irish at all except certain holiday phrases.” Mira chuckled and smiled back, fascinated by this man who was still holding her hand as they spoke and seemed as intrigued by her as she was by him.
“Killarney! I have a mentor from a parish there, but I’m sorry to say I’m actually from Dublin. Raised in the busy town life and worked in the sea ports as a boy, hardly ever saw much of the countryside. My mother’s family was from Belfast and moved south, and she was the Catholic influence in my life. I only just came here to Paris in January, and this church has made me so welcome, my mentor Father Regina has been wonderful. I can’t imagine leaving anytime soon.”
Father D’Arcy held Mira’s hand and the two of them began to walk along together down the steps from the church. They spoke at length about their connections to Ireland, their challenges as Catholics, and the things that brought them to Paris. He was only a year younger than her, and it was hard for Mira to see him as a priest at all, especially when they two of them began to laugh together at amusing anecdotes from their past.
“But you said you wanted to speak to me about something?” Father D’Arcy said, bringing the conversation back around. “A question you had, prompted by my homily today?”
“Yes,” Mira quickly affirmed. “Not now, though. Perhaps I can meet with you privately next week. I have… many questions… and a few confessions, I’m afraid.”
Father D’Arcy placed his hand gently on Mira’s upturned face and chuckled. “Oh, don’t be afraid of confessions, Mrs. Monaghan. After all, it is part of my job, you know.”
“Of course!” Mira laughed. “Well, perhaps Monday? And please, call me Mira.”
“Yes, Monday is good. Come any time between two and five in the afternoon, and I’ll have tea served for us if you would like. And… in private of course… you may call me James.”