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The Good Father	By : Mamacita Category: M through R > MASH > MASH Views: 30 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own MASH, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Good Father
- 1
I reported to the 4077th M*A*S*H unit near Seoul when their company clerk, one Radar O’Reilly, got sent home on a hardship discharge because his uncle, who helped Radar’s mother run their little farm, died unexpectedly, leaving only Edna O’Reilly to run the place and her health, so I heard, wasn’t the best.
Max Klinger was awarded the duty of company clerk for a short time, but he was even more uneducated, so in desperation Col. Potter asked ICORPS if they couldn’t find someone who knew the alphabet and knew how to file and keep things orderly, and they sent me.
The office was in a shambles when I reported. Klinger, who was relieved that he was about to be—well, relieved—showed me how to work the PA, introduced me by phone to Sparky at ICORPS who he said could be a big help to me in learning to navigate around the Army, and that was pretty much the extent of it. Col. Potter didn’t want him “teaching” me too much, because frankly the way Klinger did most things was bass-ackwards, as Col. Potter said, and he didn’t want me to have to unlearn half of it!
I’m a pretty organized person by nature, so I soon got accustomed to the way things ran and managed to tidy up the organizational mess first Radar, then Klinger, had left in their wake. Col. Potter was pretty happy with me after the first couple of weeks—reports submitted on time, everything in a logical place that even he could find if I wasn’t in the office to get it for him, and I seemed to be gaining a pretty good reputation with everyone in the outfit, right down to the priest, Father Francis John Patrick Mulcahy.
He’d gone on a week’s R&R not long after I arrived, so I didn’t really get a chance to talk to him much until about three weeks into my stay at the 4077th. We were in a lull, it was the middle of September and the weather had finally cooled down to a reasonable temperature (right before it took a dive into the miserably cold winter, sure, but at least it was nice for now), and I had lots of spare time on my hands.
Father Mulcahy came in asking if he could see the Colonel, and since I knew Col. Potter was just in there polishing his horseshoe collection I sent him on in. I could hear the murmur of their voices for a moment, then they both came back out into my office.
“Corporal,” the Colonel said, “Father Mulcahy has a project that I think you can help him with. Father, why don’t you sit down with Sarah here and explain it to her?” He got us all situated and then, happy that he’d successfully passed the buck, he went back into his office.
“What can I do for you, Father?” I asked.
“Well, I’m sorry to unload this onto you,” he said. “I really was only going to ask Col. Potter if I could borrow a typewriter—not the typist, too.”
“That’s okay,” I told him. “I don’t have much going on at the moment. What do you need typed up? Some letters?”
“No—a book, actually,” he said.
“Oh! That sounds interesting. What kind of book?”
“Well, I’ve been working on a sort of spiritual guidebook,” he said. “Cardinal Reardon put me onto the job. It will be a guide for military chaplains in war zones, basically.”
I laughed. “You mean there’s a manual the Army hasn’t already put out?”
He chuckled along with me. “I know, it’s hard to believe, isn’t it? But true.”
“Well, lay it on me, Father.” At his startled look I said, “Sorry, let me rephrase that.”
“I think you’d better.”
“I can get started any time you like. How much have you written so far?”
“About half, I think,” he said. He handed me the large envelope he’d been carrying when he came in. “I suppose you should see if you can read my handwriting first. I know it’s not very clear sometimes.”
“Okay.” I drew out the sheaf of papers—the very thick sheaf of papers—and took a look over it. “Father, your handwriting is beautiful! Tiny, but so neat and precise. It’s almost like art.” I marveled at the tiny, perfect letters that were so neat and uniform they looked like they’d been typed on a typewriter already.
“Ah, well, thank you,” he said shyly. “Shall I leave it with you, then?”
“You bet,” I said. “I’ll get started on it right away.”
“Thank you, Corporal. You don’t know how much this means to me.”
“No problem, Father. And please, call me Sarah. I can’t get used to being called Corporal. It doesn’t feel like me.”
“Very well—then perhaps you should call me John.”
“Not Francis?”
He shook his head. “I’m afraid that name wasn’t my choice but my mother’s. I much prefer John, of the three I have to choose from.”
I smiled. “Okay, John it is. John and Sarah.” I reached for the box of typing paper on the shelf next to the desk. “I’ll get going right now. I’ll let you know if I run into any problems, okay?”
“Definitely okay,” he said. “Thank you again, Corp—er, Sarah—very much!” He bowed his way out of the office, and amused, I settled down to type.
By the next evening I’d finished all that he’d given me. It amounted to roughly fifty pages of typed material. I’d proofread each page as I finished it, and it was perfect. I tapped it into a neat stack and put the typed pages in a clean envelope.
I glanced at the clock on my desk. It was a little after eight but I was sure John would still be up, so I picked up both envelopes and went out into the evening which was now almost completely dark with the turning of the seasons. I went around to John’s tent with its carefully lettered Chaplain sign and knocked on the door frame.
“Come in!” he called, and I opened the door.
“I hoped you’d still be up,” I said. “I’ve got your manuscript all done, as it stands so far.”
“You have!” he exclaimed in surprise. “My word, but you must type quickly! Let’s have a look.” I handed him the envelopes and he motioned me to a chair, then eagerly took the typed manuscript out and looked at it.
“Oh, this is very nice!” he said. “You’ve even formatted it specially, haven’t you? I like that very much. This looks professional, Sarah.”
“Well, I don’t know for sure how they’ll want it formatted,” I said, “but it seemed the most logical way to do it. At least it makes it easy to find everything.”
“Ah yes. I’ve noticed you have a very logical, ordered approach to your work,” he said, taking off his glasses and putting them down on his desk.
“Thank you, John. I find it’s easiest for someone else to be able to take over another person’s work if it’s all done neatly and in order,” I said. “People get transferred around so much—usually for no reason I can see other than that the Army likes to move them around—so I’ve always found it’s best to keep everything as orderly as I can, and it’s always nice to walk into a new job and find that the person before me did that too.”
He smiled. “Unlike here, you mean.”
“Well…yes.” I chuckled. “This place was about the worst I’ve ever seen it!”
“Yes, I’m afraid it was rather a case of the blind preceding the uneducated,” he said, shaking his head. “Klinger seems much happier now—as well as more suited to his job as an orderly. It’s a lucky thing you came along when you did! Lucky for me, certainly.”
I enjoyed listening to him talk. His voice was pleasant, and he was such a very nice man. Suddenly I wished there was more to discuss so I could stay a little longer.
“John,” I started, “if you don’t mind my asking….”
“Yes, Sarah, what is it?”
“How old were you when you decided to become a priest?”
“How old?” He looked puzzled as to why I might be asking, but he answered nonetheless. “I suppose I was about seventeen or so. Yes, it was toward the end of my schooling. I didn’t have any idea what I wanted to do; my parents were poor and couldn’t afford to send me to college, and I suppose they had some idea that I might follow my father into the cobbling business or something along those lines. But I got the call, and our parish priest helped me get into the seminary as soon as I graduated from high school.” He looked at me intently. “Why do you ask?”
I shrugged. “I don't know much about you—I didn't know you could write so well, for one thing. I just thought it would be nice to get to know you a little better. Some of the people here are kind of in-your-face, if you know what I mean. They force themselves on everyone, I don't have to try to get to know them. But you…you're kind of an enigma. You're not exactly shy and retiring, it’s just that I never hear you talk about your family or background much. And I assume even if you're a priest you do have a family, no?”
He laughed. “Well, of course I do! I just never thought my background was all that interesting to anybody.”
“Did you ever have a girlfriend, growing up?” I asked, and he looked taken aback.
“I—well, no, I didn't,” he said. “I got my call, I guess about the same time the other boys were starting to go out and such, so I mostly missed out on all that sort of thing.”
“Womanhood’s loss,” I said lightly, and he looked at me strangely as I got up to go. “I enjoy talking to you very much, John…but I don't want to be selfish with your time!”
“No no,” he assured me, “no such thing. I'm always glad to see you…Sarah.”
I left his tent, aware of a slight feeling of loss now that I wasn’t in his presence any longer. Odd.
A couple of days later he came to me with another ten pages to type. When I was finished I took them to his tent, as before, and knocked.
“Come in!” He sang out, and I entered to find him reading a letter at his desk.
“Got some mail, eh?” I asked. “You look happy. Is it good news?”
“The best!” he exclaimed. “Cardinal Reardon is coming for a visit! Just…mostly a social visit, from what I can tell. I'm tickled to death! What an honor—the Cardinal himself, visiting me!” He stood up and looked like he was about to start dancing.
“And why wouldn't he want to visit you?” I said staunchly. “I'll bet you're one of the best chaplains in the Army. He should feel honored that you have time for him!”
He laughed and flung his arms around me…then stopped abruptly and dropped them to his sides.
“Oh! I—I’m sorry, “ he said quickly. “I didn't mean to—”
“No no, quite all right, “ I said, but in that brief moment when his arms had gone around me I’d realized something for sure that until now I’d only suspected.
I was falling for Father Mulcahy.

The Cardinal’s visit duly arrived. John was walking on air, I think, for about a week beforehand. He had finished his spiritual-guidelines manual and I’d typed up the rest of it so he could deliver the completed manuscript to the Cardinal when he came. Cardinal Reardon exclaimed over the quality of the typing and the organization I’d given to the manuscript, which John had talked up to him. He asked to meet me, and the three of us had a very enjoyable talk for an hour on one of the afternoons during the Cardinal’s stay.
John had gone to the mess tent to see if he could scrounge a pitcher of lemonade, and the Cardinal and I were sitting in the shade of a large tarp outside John’s tent while we waited for him to come back. On these hot summer days we took shade where we could find it, but when there was none to be found we made our own.
“The Father tells me you’ve been an incredible help in preparing his book,” the Cardinal said, and I laughed.
“I think I was born with typewriter keys for fingers, sir. Er…Cardinal? I’m sorry, I should have asked before you arrived—I’m not a Catholic and I don’t know what I should call you.”
“Cardinal is fine,” he said. “If I might ask, do you have some other religious background, or do you not attend church?”
“I was raised as a Methodist,” I said. “But I haven’t attended church for a long time. I have my Bible with me, and I read it fairly regularly, but I don’t go to church. I don’t think there’s one in all of Korea, and I’m doubtful about Japan.”
“Well, spirituality doesn’t require an edifice or a ritual,” he said kindly. “Services every so often can help to reinforce our faith, but I’ve known many a very spiritual person who never set foot inside any kind of church. I hear good things about you from the Father. He sings your praises quite…enthusiastically.”
I looked over at him and he had a quizzical look on his face.
“Why do I feel like you’re asking me a question?” I asked, suddenly feeling a little like I was under a microscope with those gentle dark eyes staring into my soul.
He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I hope I’m not giving offense by saying this, but the Father seems quite taken with you.”
“Cardinal, I believe in being direct. Can you please just say what’s worrying you?”
“Oh, I’m not worried, exactly. Just perhaps a bit concerned. I think the Father is a little…enamored, shall we say, of you. I’ve been watching the two of you and I notice both of you seem to have a difficult time looking anywhere but at each other. To put it plainly, my dear, since that’s what you prefer, it appears you only have eyes for each other. And that, I fear, is a problem.”
My eyes fell and I could feel tears prickling my eyelids. I brushed them away quickly, but those loving eyes saw everything.
“Oh, my dear. I don’t mean to be harsh. Believe me, I do understand—for both of you,” he said. “I think it’s entirely likely that this situation has been sent to test you both. And I happen to believe that both of you have the strength of character to resist the pull of physical attraction. I’ll speak to the Father separately, but I’d like to ask you to try your utmost to resist. I won’t speak of sin, but we must remember that the Father, at least, has taken a sacred vow consecrating himself, soul and body, to the Lord. It would be very remiss of me to not do whatever I can to keep that from happening.”
We sat there, me stiffly as I tried like anything to keep from crying in front of him, and the Cardinal patiently, waiting for my answer.
“I’ll certainly try, Cardinal,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve had a—a—but I didn’t know John was—”
“I don’t think it’s gone that far,” the Cardinal said reassuringly. “I’m merely asking for your help in ensuring that it doesn’t. Love is a wonderful thing—the most important thing in the world, I happen to believe. If the Father had not made this sacred vow to God, I wouldn’t think of interfering, even if you were—hem—indulging in relations outside of a marriage. But as it is, I hope he will remember why he’s here, and what he’s promised before, and to, God—and avoid even the appearance of evil.
“Because although I believe nothing has happened between you yet, I also have come to realize in the two days since I arrived that many of your co-workers here seem to think of you and the Father as a pair—the best of friends, certainly, but it’s all Sarah and the Father, or Father Mulcahy and Sarah. They see you as a unit, and I merely want to ensure that that doesn’t lead to any, shall we say, closer togetherness than should exist between a priest and a lay person. Do you understand? I’m not accusing you of anything, Sarah—merely asking that you examine your own heart and do what you can to assist the Father in honoring the vow he’s made to God and the Church.”
“I understand,” I said miserably.
“Good. I’ll be departing to return to Kimpo and fly to Tokyo tonight after dinner, so I wanted these few moments to talk with you alone. I thank you for listening, and for your help.
“Ah! Here comes the Father now. Good man,” the Cardinal said happily upon seeing the pitcher and glasses John was carrying. “My word, you managed to find ice, even! How delightful.” He poured the first glass and gave it to John. “For your troubles, my son.” The next was for me. “My dear, there you go.” He took the last glass for himself. “It seems like we should be drinking to something. What shall it be?”
“To friendship?” John suggested, and the Cardinal raised an eyebrow and looked at me.
“Of course. To friendship—as pure and fine a virtue as ever there was!” We raised our glasses and toasted, but the lemonade might as well have been water for all the flavor I found in it.
I made an excuse to leave soon after that, saying there was something the Colonel wanted me to do for him, and left John and the Cardinal talking quietly together. I went to Klinger’s tent, knowing he’d left for Seoul yesterday with a three-day pass and wouldn’t be around, and I cried until my eyes were swollen and felt like they were full of sand. I cried all the way through dinner and then just sat there sunk in misery, unaware that in the mean time John had been looking for me all over camp.
As it grew darker he realized the light was on in Klinger’s tent and came to investigate. He found me sitting on top of Klinger’s cot, my face stained with tears.
“Here you are!” he cried. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere! What are you doing in Klinger’s tent?”
“I needed some privacy,” I said. “Half the camp is in and out of ‘my’ room, and I can never be alone there. Klinger’s on R&R so I figured he wouldn’t mind if I just sat in here for a while.”
“Oh. The Cardinal was hoping to say goodbye—he had to leave right after dinner,” John said. He peered at me near-sightedly. “What—have you been crying? Why, Sarah, what’s the matter? Can I help you?”
I shook my head. “No,” I said faintly. “Apparently I’m pretty much beyond help. You probably shouldn’t even be in here with me…Father.”
He straightened up like he’d been slapped. “Father? What happened to John?”
I buried my face in my hands and started to cry again, but my eyes hurt so much it was torture.
John sat down beside me and gently pried my hands away from my face. “You’re liable to harm your eyes if you cry any more,” he said gently. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? What’s got you in such an unhappy state?”
“The Cardinal thinks I’m leading you astray!” I told him.
“He what?”
I nodded. “He asked me to remember the vow you’d made to God and the Church and help you to honor it. He th-thinks I’m end-dangering your holy vows. He said he’s overheard half the camp talking about you and me like we’re a couple, and he said he noticed we couldn’t take our eyes off each other the whole time we were sitting out there talking this afternoon. Well, I think he needs glasses—I didn’t see you staring at me—and I think I would have noticed, because he was half right: I couldn’t take my eyes off of you!” I buried my face in my hands yet again.
“Oh dear,” John said, sounding troubled. He pulled the chair over from Klinger’s sewing machine and sat down abruptly. “Oh dear. Oh my.” We sat there in silence for a moment, then he said, “Now listen here, Sarah. I can’t let you take all the blame. I have to confess, I do have a—a hard time not looking at you. I like looking at you. Very much. Too much, probably. To me, you are one of God’s finest creations; I could look at you all day! But I suppose I can see how that could easily be misconstrued.”
“He’s right, though, John. Father. I do have feelings for you. I have for a while now. It’s just—I thought I was hiding them, you see. But clearly I wasn’t fooling anybody. I can’t believe they’re all talking about us like that.”
“You—have feelings—for me?” he asked in amazement. “For me, Sarah? I…I don’t know what to say. I didn’t realize—”
“Of course you didn’t. You’re the purest person I’ve ever met!” I said. “I know perfectly well there’s no point in having these feelings, but I dare the Cardinal or the Pope or anyone else to try not to feel feelings when they have them! I haven’t acted on them, but I can’t help feeling them, can I? I’ve never done anything about them. I didn’t want to destroy our friendship or make you feel like you had to distance yourself from me.”
He sat there and stared at me incredulously, his face gradually turning a delicate shade of pink as the knowledge settled in. He took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, then put them back on. Took off his hat and fanned his face, and put it back on. He was adorable. I could have hugged him. I wanted to hug him. But I had to face that that was never going to happen.
“Look, John—I mean Father—I’ll—”
“Sarah, this is silly. Just call me John.” He paused, thinking about what he wanted to say. “We haven’t done anything wrong. I think if I speak to a couple of the more…influential members of the lower ranks, shall we say, and ask them to try to stem the tide of gossip, perhaps it will help. Igor, Zale, Goldman…Klinger, when he returns. I’m sure they don’t realize the harm they’re doing; if I put a word in the right ears it might help.”
He got up. “In any case, please don’t ruin your lovely eyes by crying any more. I’m sure the Cardinal didn’t mean to make you so unhappy. No doubt he was simply exercising an abundance of caution—yes, that’s it! I don’t think he sees me as a renegade priest, for heaven’s sake. Come along, now, dry your eyes, and let’s go round up some supper for you. You don’t want to go to bed on an empty stomach—especially when there’s such an excellent chance that breakfast will be a disappointment!” he finished ruefully.
I swung my legs over the side of the cot and stood up. I’d have to make sure I left everything in here as it had been, and maybe for good measure explain to Klinger when he returned that I’d borrowed his tent for a while. I was sure he would understand. He wasn’t so hot at being a clerk, but he had a good heart.
“That’s okay, Fa—John. You get back to whatever you were doing. I’ll go see what I can scrounge up in the mess tent,” I said. “I’m sure I can get Sal to give me a sandwich or something.”
“Well…all right, if you’re sure,” he said, hovering like he was reluctant to leave me to my own devices.
“I’m sure. I think he has a soft spot for me.”
“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” John said as I turned out the light and we exited the tent. “Most everyone here holds you in great affection, Sarah, in case you weren’t aware of it.”
Unfortunately, a couple of those “most everyones” were just coming out of the officers’ club across the way, and clearly they saw us come out of Klinger’s unoccupied tent together. My heart sank; now we were in the soup for sure.
But John waved to them, even as their heads bent together, no doubt speculating on what we’d been doing in there, and he called out jovially, “Goldman! Reichert! Just the ones I wanted to see.” He walked up between them and, with a hand on each man’s shoulder, he steered them back into the O-club, saying he wanted to buy them each a drink, and ask them a favor. I smiled. Anyone who could turn him down had to have a heart of stone.
I turned toward the mess tent. It was always possible there were leftovers from dinner still out, although if there were they probably wouldn’t be too appetizing. But when I looked inside, there were only a couple of nurses sitting there in their surgical gowns, sipping coffee while they were on a break. The mess line had already been cleared. Sighing, I stuck my head into the kitchen, but the only person there was Igor. I hesitated. Maybe I could help John out since Igor was one of the movers and shakers among the enlisted men.
“Hey, Igor,” I said, walking into the kitchen, and he turned from where he was scrubbing out a pot from dinner.
“Oh, hey, Sarah,” he said. “What are you doing in here?” Once I was standing right next to him he took a closer look at my face and said, “Man, you look awful!” I gave him a wry look and he quickly added, “I mean, you look like you feel awful. What’s up? You missed dinner, didn’t you? Father Mulcahy was looking everywhere for you.”
“I did miss dinner,” I said. “I saw that you already got the line cleared out, so I thought I’d come see if there were any leftovers I could pilfer.”
“I don’t think you’d want ’em,” he said ruefully. “They weren’t that great the first time around. I could make you a bologna sandwich, though. And we’ve got a couple bags of apples. Sal’s making a Brown Betty tomorrow, but a couple apples more or less won’t make any difference.”
“Thanks, Igor. That’s really nice of you. I’d sure appreciate it,” I said. Right then my stomach growled, right on cue, and he laughed. “I can take a hint. Here, let me make you that sandwich. Pot scrubbing can wait.”
“How about you make me a sandwich, and I’ll scrub for you?” I offered, and he handed over the steel wool.
“I’ll never say no to an offer like that.” He busied himself getting out bread, mayonnaise, mustard, and the giant roll of bologna. He also took out Sal’s carefully hoarded block of cheddar cheese. And while he constructed the king of bologna sandwiches I scrubbed the pot clean, rinsed it, and dried it off, then stashed it under the counter with its fellows.
“Thanks, Sarah, that’s real nice of you,” Igor said. He held up a plate with two luscious-looking sandwiches on it. “All ready for you. You can bring the plate back tomorrow if you want. I won’t rat on you.”
“Or I could just eat it here…if you don’t mind?” I suggested, and I hopped up on the counter next to him as he put the food away and prepared to wash the rest of the stack of pans that was waiting for him.
“Heck no, I don’t mind. It’s kind of nice to have company while I’m working,” he said. “Most people never even come back here.”
“Well, maybe someone else will get put on KP and then you’ll have a helper,” I said, and he snorted.
“No way. I mean, Zale should have been put on KP any number of times, but he’s pretty careless with a knife—on purpose, I’m sure—so they decided he shouldn’t be anywhere near the kitchen. And he’s not much fun to talk to anyway. He’s always complaining about something or other. I like talking to you, though.”
“Thank you! Same goes.” I took a huge bite of the first sandwich. “Mmm. Man, is that good! Thanks, Igor. This really hits the spot.”
“You bet. Anything for you, Sarah.”
“Well…since you mention it, Igor, there is something I’d like to talk to you about.” He looked over at me inquiringly. “It’s about me and Father Mulcahy.”
He got a knowing look on his face. “Ah. What, you want me to arrange a special meal for you guys or something? A picnic, maybe?”
“What? No!” I exclaimed, and noting his startled look at my emphatic tone, I dialed it down a little and tried again. “The thing is, I’ve been hearing a lot of whispers about me and the Father. You know what I mean—rumors that there’s something romantic going on between us.” At the mere thought of it, tears came to my eyes again, and this wasn’t lost on Igor. He looked quite uncomfortable but didn’t say anything. “I know you have a lot of influence among the enlisted men, Igor. The nurses, too, if I’m not mistaken.” A little smile curled the ends of his lips and I laughed. “See? I have eyes in my head, Igor. So here’s the thing—there isn’t anything between us, and the fact that everybody’s talking about it, probably making things up if I know the folks around here, well, it’s hurting Father Mulcahy’s reputation.”
Igor looked at me, clearly startled by this notion. “His reputation? How do you mean?”
“I mean, both of us got a talking-to by the Cardinal when he was here. He was only here for three days, and even he was hearing people talk! Little hints, innuendo, or outright speculating on the affair everyone seems to think we’re having. The Cardinal is worried that I’m leading the Father astray from his holy vows. Are you Catholic, Igor?”
He shook his head. “Nope. Jewish, but only sort of. Mostly just my parents.”
“Ah. Well, maybe you don’t realize how big a deal this is. For a priest to break his vow of chastity is….” I shook my head. “It’s considered sinful at best, a mortal sin at worst. An insult to God and the entire Catholic church, because the whole priesthood is built on chastity. And if one priest here, and another priest there, choose to break their vows and have affairs with women, it starts to break down the whole structure of the Church. It’s not something they excuse or take lightly.”
“Geez, I guess not,” he said.
“So you can see how important it is that rumors about the Father—whether they involve me or someone else—can hurt him. He could be defrocked—” when Igor looked puzzled, I clarified, “thrown out of the priesthood. Or even excommunicated, so that he could no longer even be a practicing Catholic. I think that would destroy him, Igor. He’s such a good man; he tries so hard to look after all of us, and the orphans—! Look how much he does for them. He’s so selfless, always working for everyone else. He truly is the best man I know.”
Igor paused and leaned against the sink for a minute as he shot me a piercing look. “I don’t know, Sarah, it sure sounds like you’re in love with him.”
The tears spilled over then. I couldn’t keep them in any longer. Predictably, Igor panicked.
“Oh geez, I’m sorry, Sarah! Look, I’m only kidding, I—”
“No.” I held up a hand to stem the flow of babble. “You’re right, Igor. I am in love with him. And I thought I’d been hiding it, because I never wanted anyone to know. He doesn’t feel that way about me—it’s strictly one-way. He’s a man of honor. He would never—just—well, he never would.”
“Huh. So the two of you have never….” He made a crude gesture with his hand and I felt my face flame.
“God, no. But I think people think we have…or that we’re headed in that direction. It’s so unfair to the Father, Igor, you know? Here he is, living a holy life, doing everything for everybody, and people are acting like this stupid thing that isn’t even happening is funny, even, like wink wink, the Father’s talking to Sarah, they must be planning their next rendezvous. Or, oh, wink wink, I see the Father’s going into the supply tent, he must be meeting Sarah for a little you-know-what.” My shoulders slumped in defeat. “I didn’t realize it had even gotten that far until the Cardinal told me he’d been hearing it. And I just don’t know what to do. I want the gossip to stop, but I don’t have the power to stop it. And if it keeps up, the Father’s liable to be recalled, defrocked, and disgraced in front of everyone he knows and cares about.”
“No, he won’t,” Igor said, sounding determined. “Maybe you can’t stop it, but I can.”
“You can?” I said, sounding amazed. I’d been pretty sure he could at least make a big dent in the gossip if he was so inclined…I just had to get him on my side so he’d be inclined.
“Sure. I know just who to talk to. I’ll put a few bugs in a few ears and pretty soon they might be saying it’s too bad you and the Father don’t have a thing going, because everybody thinks you two would be good together, but they won’t be saying you do have a thing going.”
“Really? You’d do that for me?” I asked, wiping my tears away with the back of my hand.
“Oh heck, I’d do more than that for you, Sarah. You’re aces. You’re always doing nice things for all of us. You had your friend send you those jars of spices so we could bake spice cake for Christmas last year. You gave Nurse Carmichael your spare pair of binoculars because she was so keen on birdwatching—even though I know you ordered ’em special from the Monkey Ward catalog because I remember when Radar brought you the package. You built a real nice bench for all the doctors to sit on in the changing room because Major Winchester kept complaining about the boards on the old one pinching his rear, and you found actual coathooks to hang their clothes on so they wouldn’t have to use nails. You’re always doing for other people, the Father, too. And nobody ever does for you.
“Don’t you worry, Sarah. I’ll make sure the rumors stop.”
“Igor, if you can do that, I—” I looked him straight in the eye— “I will personally owe you a favor—any favor you want to name—to be repaid at the time of your choosing. Any favor. And I know you know what I mean.” Igor had been trying for over a year to get me to go out with him, which was shorthand for “sleep with him.” He had an undeniable goofy charm, and if I’d been of a mind to sleep around I wouldn’t have minded dipping my toe in those waters. But my feelings for John had come along first, and now it was hard to think of doing with anyone else what I dreamed of doing with John, even though I knew those dreams would never come true.
Igor looked at me speculatively, then chuckled and waved a hand at me. “Aw, no, Sarah, you don’t owe me anything. And I’d never ask you to do that in repayment of a favor. I do have some principles.”
“Thank you, Igor,” I said softly, seeing him through new eyes. “I’m sorry if I implied otherwise.”
“No worries. Just leave it with me. I’ll take care of it,” he said.
“Well, if nothing else you have my gratitude,” I told him. I slid off the counter. “It’s a lovely night and I think I’ll go for a little walk. Thank you so much for the sandwich, Igor. I’m full, so I think I’ll pass on the apple—but I look forward to the Brown Betty. It’s been a long time since I had that.”
“Good night—and hey, thanks for the company.”
“Good night, Igor.”
I went back outside and stood there for a moment looking up at the sky. It was crystal-clear out and there were a million stars up there. The air still held plenty of heat from the day, so it was perfect for a nighttime stroll. I decided to go down to the creek, which was more of a dry creekbed this time of year except for one deep hole that some of the guys liked to fish in. It was the size of a good-sized pond, and as the rest of the creek dried up all the fish nearby congregated in this one limited area, so the fishing in late summer was very good. More than once Sal had bribed a few of the enlisted men, put them on a detail if you will, to catch enough fish for a fish-and-chips dinner, so the pond was treated carefully. One visiting munitions man had eagerly suggested throwing sticks of dynamite in there to get all the fish to float to the top at once, and the very idea had caused such an outrage that he’d been lucky to escape with all his limbs intact.
Since there was no water flowing through the fishing hole this late in the summer the surface was mirror-like on this still night; I sat on a flat rock overlooking the pond and didn’t even have to tire my neck looking upward in order to see the stars, which were strewn generously over the surface of the water as if sown by some celestial hand. It was breathtaking, and in spite of my mental turmoil over the gossip about John and me, I felt a deep gratitude for a Creator who could provide his children with such vivid proof of his existence.
“Thank you, God,” I said into the night. “I know we haven’t talked for a while, but I’m grateful to you for providing beauty like this in the midst of all the turmoil we have here. It restores my faith that you really are there, loving us. And about that turmoil, God. The gossip about me and John is harming one of your most beautiful souls, even though it’s baseless; he loves and honors you faithfully. Please don’t make him pay for my transgression in loving him. He’s never swerved from his duty to you, not even for a minute. Punish me if you have to, but see John for the humble, obedient servant he is. If you could deliver me from this desire I feel for him, I’d be grateful. The pain of loving and not being able to be loved in return is beyond anything I ever imagined. Maybe I’m supposed to learn something from it, but if that’s the case I wish you’d show me what it is.” I snorted. “But then, if you didn’t let Jesus off the hook, I don’t expect you’re about to let me off either.”
I sighed.
“Tell me what to do, God, and I’ll do it. Please, please show me the way, because right now all I can see is John, and I don’t think that’s where you want me to go. Please….”
I trailed off, feeling a little silly for talking out loud to God. He knew what was in my heart, but sometimes it helped to say it out loud—at least it helped me to get my thoughts in order.
There was some rustling in the bushes behind me, and I whirled around, suddenly realizing I shouldn’t be way out here unarmed and unaccompanied. But the rustling stopped and I heard the angry chitter of a woken-up squirrel further off in the woods, so it was probably just some animal wandering around hoping to catch a fish if only the stupid human would go back to HumanLand and leave the pool to the wild nighttime residents.
I decided to take that hint, at least, and got up to return to camp. I went into the office and got ready for bed, then dropped the cloth down in front of my cot for some privacy. Klinger had given me a large batiked cloth his mother had sent him from home and I’d tacked one edge to the ceiling at the outer limit of my cot. During the day I hiked the whole thing up and hung it over a large nail on the wall above the end of my cot, but at night Col. Potter had agreed to let me have it down, creating a private little space where I could sleep. Fortunately he was willing to give in to the privacy argument in my case, since I was female, where with Radar and Klinger he insisted they didn’t need privacy. In the summertime it got kind of hot inside my little enclosure, but the privacy made it worth a little extra sweat.
I turned out the light and lay there thinking—about John, of course; about Igor; about the Cardinal; about the stars reflected in the pond. But in the end my thoughts returned, as always, to John, and I fell asleep thinking of his gentle laughter and his warm eyes. If my dreams allowed me to explore further than the reality of daytime did, well, no one had to know. My dreams couldn’t hurt John.

He saw her leave the kitchen and head for the creek, and after a moment of dithering he followed her. It wasn’t always safe to be outside the boundaries of camp, even this close by, without being armed, especially at night. Of course he wouldn’t be much help to her if anything were to happen since he didn’t even own a gun, much less carry one with him all the time. But he went anyway, trying not to acknowledge the desire he felt for her. He wasn’t doing any harm by looking, was he? And as he’d told her to her face—had he really done that? It was hard to believe he’d been so forward—he could spend days looking at her. She was such a lovely person, inside where it counted, that it showed on the outside too. Sometimes he wished there was a way—some way, any way at all—he could be like other men, allowed to love a woman. Or at least allowed to show her he loved her, because he knew he already did feel it.
He was surprised to hear her prayer; enlightened, and touched that she thought him so pure and good when here he was in love with her like any other man might be. He was no better, no purer—he snorted at the thought—and maybe the Cardinal was right. Maybe he wasn’t fit to be a priest. He’d been so sure his call was a true one, though, so why was he being tested like this now? Love was the greatest gift God had given his children; why would he use it as a test, waving it in front of his faithful servant’s eyes like a shining beacon only to yank it away and say he wasn’t allowed to have it? It didn’t make any sense. God didn’t torture his children…but to love Sarah and not be able to tell her, to be chastised for even feeling this emotion, was the keenest torture he could imagine. He was too honest to tell himself he only loved her as a child of God, like he would any other member of his flock; he willingly admitted, to himself and God, that he loved her as a man loves a woman.
He sighed. There seemed to be no answer to this conundrum, or at least God hadn’t yet shown it to him. Did God merely want him to suffer before showing him the way forward? If so, then he would suffer…but like Sarah, he wished he knew what the point was, what the lesson was that he was to learn from all of this.

About a week after the Cardinal’s visit Col. Potter called me into his office. A moment later there was a knock on his door and John stuck his head in. When he saw me he started.
“Oh! I’m sorry, Colonel, I thought you wanted to see me.”
“I do, Father. Come in, please, and sit down.” John came in and took the chair next to mine that stood in front of the Colonel’s desk.
“We have something of a situation here that the two of you are uniquely fit to deal with,” he began. “We’ve been offered the opportunity—you might say a heaven sent opportunity,” he added, smiling at John, “to retrieve some wounded soldiers from an enemy hospital. Their wounds are such that the North Koreans there don’t have the know-how or supplies to treat them properly, so they will allow us to come get them. In exchange, we have three North Korean patients here, as you know, who are doing just fine but we have been authorized to hand them over to the North Korean hospital for the remainder of their convalescence rather than being sent to a prisoner of war camp.
“The North Koreans have specified that we can take the bus to pick them up—two of them are on stretchers that can lie in the hammocks at the back of the bus, the rest are ambulatory and can sit in the seats, and we can deliver our North Korean customers to them at the same time. They’ll see that they get returned wherever it is they belong.
“Now—the important points here are that, first, only two people are allowed to go, and second, the hospital is about fifteen miles inside of enemy territory. You can’t be armed. Any sign of arms and they’re liable to shoot you and keep our wounded boys, and that would spell disaster for their survival. ICORPS has explained the route you need to take, and it’s over some pretty bad roads all the way. The reason I’m pulling you two for the job is that they have a great respect for men of the cloth, and they know of your work with the poor and the orphans, Father, so they’d like to meet you. And Sarah, I think it’s far less likely that they’ll be suspicious of you, as a woman, than they would be of some of our enlisted men. So what do you say—will you do it?”
We both spoke at once. “Of course, Colonel,” John said, and I chimed in, “I’d be happy to!”
“Good! I knew I could count on you. Oh, one other thing. It will take you a good day to get there, and I don’t want you driving back over those roads in enemy territory at night, so you’ll stay at their camp for the evening and return the next day. The camp is full of doctors and nurses and patients, so you’ll be, uh, well chaperoned—” he aimed his eagle eye at at us, and I wondered how much he knew about Cardinal Reardon’s concerns in that regard— “so I have no worries on that score.”
I caught John’s eye, and although he looked away quickly, I thought Col. Potter was probably the only one without any worries on that score.
“Of course we’ll send along some crates of supplies for you to leave with their hospital. I know they have a lot of difficulty scraping up medicines and other supplies, including blood, and it’s quiet here right now with no fighting in our immediate area, so ICORPS has authorized us to send a fair amount of stuff. Rizzo has the bus all gassed up and ready to go, with extra cans of gas to see you all the way back home. You leave tomorrow morning, right after breakfast. We’ll get the North Korean wounded on the bus and off you go. We’ve had an interpreter explain all of this to them, and they’re mighty thankful to be avoiding the POW camp, so they’ll cooperate.”
“Thank you, Colonel, for this opportunity,” John said enthusiastically. “We’ll do you proud, won’t we, Sarah?”
“You bet,” I said. “I’ll drive, Father. You can man the map and be my navigator, tell me where to go, okay?”
“Certainly!”
“Thank you, both of you,” Col. Potter said. “I hope you have a safe trip. We’ll be waiting to see you by dinner time the day after tomorrow.”
John and I went out, and I pulled my ditty bag out from the box under my cot. “Guess I’d better fill my canteen,” I said. “And maybe borrow a few extras for the wounded.”
“I’ll go see the cook about taking along some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches,” John said. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep us going.” He paused for a moment. “Sarah…are you certain you’re okay with this? It’ll mean the two of us have to spend a couple of days together; we’ll basically be alone, since the wounded will probably be sleeping for most of the journey.”
“Of course, John.” I smiled. “We’ll be fine. If nothing else, we’ll have more than enough time to get all talked out, won’t we?”
He gave me a relieved grin. “That we will!” He went to see about his own preparations, and I went to find Major Houlihan and see that the supplies were loaded onto the bus as well as whatever blankets we could find for the wounded, to make them more comfortable.
The next morning I pulled the bus up in front of Post-Op and the three North Korean wounded men were loaded on. They all smiled and nodded to me and John as we greeted them. One spoke rudimentary English, but the other two spoke only Korean; still, it was clear that they were grateful to be returning home, and Ling Ha, the one who spoke English, said he would be sure to tell the North Korean officers who were overseeing the exchange how good we had been to them. We got them settled in their seats, put blankets next to each man even though they didn’t need them for now as it was already getting hot, and gave each a canteen of water and let Ling Ha know we would have lunch part way through the day. Then, off we went.
The first part of the journey was over roads that were at least a little familiar. We passed the Battalion Aid Station and they all came out to watch our passage, solemn and silent, knowing we were headed into enemy territory for the exchange. North Korea was a lovely place, and as with most lands, the countryside was the most beautiful part of it, so it was a pleasant drive. We didn’t come across any enemy checkpoints; the North Koreans had communicated the purpose for our transit to their troops stationed along the way to hopefully ensure that we would be unmolested.
We stopped by a stream for lunch and got out of the truck to stretch our legs, helping the wounded get comfortable on blankets on the ground. Their wounds weren’t too serious—Ling Ha had a broken collarbone that was healing nicely, one of the men had a broken tibia that was also on the mend, and one of the men had been found by the side of the road, a victim of snakebite, and was mostly fine but Col. Potter had been reluctant to turn him over to the POW camp so he was still with us and had been included in the prisoner exchange.
After a while we loaded everyone back into the bus and continued toward the camp. We arrived around four o’clock: a journey that at home, on paved roads, could have been accomplished in less than an hour had taken us nearly seven on roads that were barely even roads in some places. But we were here, safe, and the North Koreans were for the most part friendly and thanked us for agreeing to the exchange. When they saw the supplies, especially the blood which we’d had on ice that was by now mostly melted, they were very excited and it was carried off with much ceremony to be refrigerated for their own use.
Col. Park, the head of the hospital unit, met with John and me as we were helping to unload the boxes we’d brought for them.
“I would like to thank you for coming all this way,” he said. “It was rather a novel idea for your people to come into enemy territory for such a purpose and we were not sure you would agree. Your wounded are very grateful too, because they need more care than we are able to provide. If they had been sent to a prisoner of war camp some of them might have died of their wounds. We thank you also for delivering our wounded comrades back to us. They have told us of your many kindnesses to them. I think you are…good people.”
“Thank you, Colonel Park,” John said quietly.
“If you will come with me, I will show you to your own wounded so you may decide how best to fit them into your vehicle tomorrow,” the Colonel continued. “And then I would be honored if you would join me for the evening meal. I will have one of my men show you to your guest quarters where you will stay the night. I—er—did not realize one of you would be a female, so I apologize for the fact that we have but a single room for you to share. I hope this will not be inconvenient.”
John hesitated, but I said, “Of course not, Col. Park. If we’re putting someone out of his room we would be just as happy to sleep on the bus, if that’s easier for you.”
“No no.” He smiled. “We are not quite that badly off. It is not the Ritz, mind you, but it is a decent room that we keep for visiting dignitaries. I think you will find it satisfactory.”
“Very good. Thank you,” I said again. “Shall we go see what we have to deal with for wounded tomorrow?”
Col. Park nodded and bowed, then strode off with John and me following. Our wounded were very glad to see us; like their North Korean counterparts, they were relieved not to have to spend time in a POW camp. We left them with assurances that we would see them in the morning, then Col. Park had an aide show us to the room where we would stay, and told us in crisp English that he would fetch us in approximately half an hour for dinner with the Colonel.
After he had gone, we looked around. The room was spartan but fairly clean, tidy of course, but there was one glaring item that we both couldn’t stop staring at.
There was only one bed.
The room was, as we had expected, set up in traditional Korean style, with a small table, a chair, and a desk…and a Korean-style bed, meaning a pallet on the floor. It did have two pillows, and a quilt was folded up at the foot of the pallet, which was big enough for two—which made sense if it was normally used for visiting dignitaries. The larger than usual size of the bed was no doubt intended as a luxury, and for a field hospital it would have seemed luxurious indeed. But there was no getting around the fact that there was one bed and there were two of us. It would have been rude beyond belief to complain; even for one of us to go sleep in the bus would have been cause for comment and question, and would have made it appear that they hadn’t provided sufficiently for their guests. So we would have to make the best of it.
“Good thing Cardinal Reardon can’t see us now,” I joked weakly, and John looked at me.
“Indeed. I fear he would be….” Words for how the Cardinal would feel escaped him, and he just stood there and looked at the bed.
“John.” I put a hand on his arm.
“Hmm?” He looked at me rather abstractedly.
“It will be okay,” I said firmly. “I know you haven’t just been waiting for a chance to…do something. And hopefully you know the same thing about me. We’re adults. Two rational adults. I think we can be trusted to act like it, don’t you?”
“Why, certainly!” he exclaimed, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically (to convince himself, maybe?) but the sentiment was there.
“Just because we’re presented with an opportunity for—for—doesn’t mean we have to—um—ah—”
“Exactly,” I said gently. “When we come back after dinner, maybe we can just…I don’t know, get ready for bed and talk for a while. Then we’ll go to sleep. No harm done. Okay?”
“Okay. Of course. That’s what we’ll do, then.”
There was a knock at the door and John opened it to see the aide standing there.
“Colonel Park wishes to know if you would like to use the shower the men have set up to refresh yourselves after your long journey over dusty roads,” he said.
“Oh, that would be wonderful!” I exclaimed. “But…I’m afraid we didn’t know that would be a possibility, so we didn’t bring towels or anything.”
“We can provide what you need,” the aide said. “Would you like to come with me now? There is just time before dinner, if you hurry.”
So hurry we did. They had water piped in from the nearby river, much larger than our creek and not dried up even in the hot weather, and a three-sided bamboo enclosure to shower in. I was none too sure about that fourth side, but I decided I didn’t care. If a bunch of soldiers starved for female company saw me showering, it wasn’t going to kill me. John let me go first, and sat outside on a nearby rock with his back determinedly turned to me, scanning the woods across the river while I hurriedly washed my hair and rinsed the grime off me from the dusty bus trip. Then I sat down on his rock while he showered, and I combed my hair out so it could dry.
When John was done he stepped out of the shower and said, “Ready to go back?” so I stood up from the rock and my borrowed towel, which I’d wrapped around me and tucked in over my breasts to hold it closed, came undone and fluttered to the ground. I gasped and bent to pick it up immediately, but when I glanced over at John he was staring unabashedly at my very naked self.
I refastened the towel and he visibly shook himself out of his stupor, and we walked in silence back to the guest room, where we turned our backs on each other and dressed, still in silence. I combed my hair out again and put it up in a bun to keep it out of the way during dinner, but I could feel John’s eyes on me all through the interminable meal. I certainly wasn’t sorry he’d seen me, but I worried that he might be feeling guilty about it. However, there was nothing I could do about it at the moment, so I tried to forget about it and enjoy dinner. It was plain food but plentiful, and the Colonel offered both of us a drink of Korean whiskey afterward, which we refused with thanks.
Finally the dinner was over, and the Colonel thanked us graciously for our company and had his aide walk us back to our room. On the way, he pointed out the outhouses that had been built, and said if we needed to use them in the night he would like us to call for him as we shouldn’t walk around the camp unaccompanied. He stressed that it was for our own safety, although everyone there knew we were there and the nature of our visit. Still, I knew Col. Park wanted to ensure that there were no unexpected “incidents” on his watch, and we agreed we would ask. The aide’s room was directly across from ours, so he wouldn’t be far away.
We went into our room and closed the door, and I sighed and took off my heavy boots and socks. “I wish we could just go barefoot all the time,” I said wistfully. John just grunted and didn’t say anything. I took off my jacket, which I’d worn to dinner as a gesture of the only formality I could provide to the Colonel to honor the occasion, and laid it on the floor next to one side of the bed. I reached under my t-shirt and removed my bra, which I put next to it, then removed my belt. I looked at John.
“If it won’t make you too uncomfortable I’d kind of like to take off my trousers,” I said. “I couldn’t wear shorts to come here, and these pants are so darn hot I can hardly stand it. I’ll keep my underwear on, of course, and my shirt. Will that be okay?”
“Oh, certainly, certainly,” he said, and he removed his own shoes, socks, and jacket. He took off his belt but kept his t-shirt and pants on. I lay down on the woven mat; it was too hot for a blanket. In a moment John lay down next to me—neither as close as I wished for nor as far from me as he probably wanted to be. He tossed and turned for a moment, then sat up.
“Damn,” he said quietly, and I heard him unzip his trousers and remove them. “I’m sorry, Sarah. It’s just…too hot.”
“Tell me about it,” I chuckled, determined to draw his thoughts away from our situation. “Did I hear you grew up in Philly, John?”
“Yes, I did, actually.”
“Then you’re probably used to some pretty hot weather, I’ll bet. Hot and humid.”
“Why yes, it is usually quite hot there in summer. Late summer, especially. Where are you from?”
“Seattle, Washington. It’s kind of hot in summer, but we have the breeze from Puget Sound that keeps it from being too bad. Eastern Washington, on the other side of the Cascade Mountains, is horrible, though. They get all the extremes—sweltering in summer, and so cold in winter you can’t believe it. Eastern Washington is a lot like here, actually.”
“It’s a lot like Philadelphia, too,” he said. “If it wasn’t so very foreign and we weren’t here in the middle of a war, it might almost feel like home, in a way.”
“It sure is a pretty country,” I mused. “I loved the drive up here. I mean, it was a little bit nervy—you know, knowing we were in enemy territory and all. But it was good that they were able to put the word out to the North Korean units, and after all, nobody bothered us. It went pretty smoothly, fortunately.”
“It did indeed, and I hope the return trip goes just as smoothly,” he said. “It was very courageous of you to agree to come, Sarah. Advance notice or not, I’ve heard some truly terrible things about how the Chinese, especially, treat female prisoners.”
I chuckled. “How could I be afraid, John, with you and God along for the ride?”
He was silent for a moment, then he said, “I hope you won’t be angry with me, Sarah, but I have a confession to make.” He hesitated, and I wasn’t sure if he was waiting to see what I would say or was just gathering his thoughts, so I figured I would reassure him.
“I don’t think I have it in me to be angry with you, John. So just tell me.”
“I—I was there at the creek a few nights ago, when you were praying. I wanted to make sure you were safe, that’s all—truly, Sarah. I saw you head down there by yourself and I knew you weren’t armed. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, and I left before you knew I was even there.”
So it hadn’t just been a woodland critter after all. I thought back to what I’d talked to God about and cringed.
“Ah. So you know everything, then, I guess.”
“I…yes. I know.”
I turned over to face him, and he was facing me; in the dim light from the window I could barely make out his features. He’d removed his glasses, and his eyes were just dark pools in his face.
“I’m sorry, John. I haven’t been a very good friend. Or very honest, although I don’t truly know how I could have said anything to you. It’s not your problem, it’s mine. I don’t want your reputation to be harmed by anything so foolish.”
“Don’t berate yourself, Sarah. It isn’t foolish. Love is one of the most precious gifts God has given us, after all. And…I do understand, you know. I’ve already told you, even though I shouldn’t have, that I think you’re beautiful. Your goodness shines out of you. I don’t think I’d be human if I didn’t love you for that. It hurt me to see you suffering so. I wish I could do something to help you; I just—I just don’t know what that would be. You’re one of my flock, and I do care about you, Sarah—so very much. You’re…very precious to me.”
Tears came quickly, as they did these days whenever I thought about how my love couldn’t be returned. He might not have noticed the tears, but along with them came a runny nose, and he definitely did notice the giant sniff I gave to control it.
“Oh, Sarah—Sarah, please don’t cry. It cuts me to the quick when you cry, you’ve no idea.”
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, unable to stop.
He reached for my face and wiped the tears from my cheeks with the heels of his hands. “There now,” he said softly. “Don’t make those beautiful eyes of yours swell up any more.” His hand still rested on my cheek, all but caressing it, and I put my hand over it.
“John.”
He lasted another moment longer, then he murmured, “May God forgive me,” and he kissed me. And I have to say, for someone who had gotten the call just at the point in puberty when he was about to start having a social life that involved girls, but interrupted that pathway to go down one where women were forbidden, the man certainly had a God-given talent for kissing. He brushed his lips over mine gently, then deepened the kiss. I was the one who introduced tongues, but he was a fast learner.
I reached over and laid my hand on his stubbly cheek, then kissed him again before he pulled back and just looked at me.
“My god,” he murmured. “I never knew, Sarah…I never knew.”
“Now you know,” I said. “I’m going to tell you right now, if I never do again. John, I love you so very much. You’re very precious to me, too.”
His hand drifted down to my shoulder and I moved closer, not wanting to scare him away but needing to be as close as we could get…or as close as he would let me get.
“Did you ever wonder what it was like to be in love?” I asked, trying to let him know that if all he wanted to do was talk, I would do that.
“I—well, of course I wondered,” he said. “But I knew what I was giving up. Or I thought I knew. I was so young when I got my call. Only seventeen….”
I nodded. “It’s a lot to give up. I’ve often wondered why the Episcopal Church—which was part of the Catholic Church to begin with, after all—changed the rules so their priests could marry, but the Catholics never have.”
“That’s a very good question,” he said. “I’m afraid I—I don’t know the answer.”
I traced the line of his lips with my thumb. “John…kiss me again?”
I didn’t have to ask twice. He pulled me close and wrapped his arm around me, and I was in heaven, feeling his mouth on mine and knowing his heart was pounding at least as hard as mine was.
When we stopped to catch our breath, he murmured, “I think this is as close to heaven as I ever expect to get. I thought I was content to just look at you…but that was before I knew what it was to kiss you.” He propped himself above me on one elbow and I rolled onto my back. He touched my hair, running it through his fingers. “It’s as soft as I always thought it would be,” he said, sounding incredulous.
Unable to stand the wait any longer, I gently took his hand and pressed it to my breast. He gasped, then very gently smoothed it over the top of my shirt, feeling both of my breasts with their nipples erect with expectation. I moaned softly and he froze.
“John…oh god, please, John. I need you.”
“Wh-what do you need?” he stammered—but he didn’t say no.
“Touch me. Under my shirt. Please, John.”
His breathing loud in the darkness, he slid one hand tentatively under the edge of my shirt, where it met with my hot skin, and I heard him hiss in a long, shivering breath. He found my breast and ran his hand over it, pinching my nipple lightly, and I jolted and whimpered deep in my throat. He did it again, and I bucked my hips a little, unable to help myself. I knew I was gushing with heat down there, and I wanted his hand—and anything else he was willing to give me—on me so badly.
“John—oh, John…” I moaned. “Suck me, my breasts are aching to feel your mouth on them.” He pulled my shirt up to reveal my breasts, and for a moment I think it was all he could do lie there and stare at them. I had to remind myself this was all a first for him; he’d never seen a naked breast before, other than perhaps in a painting.
He ran his thumb over one nipple, then bent and licked it. From there it was only a moment until he had it in his mouth and was sucking and flicking it with his tongue like he’d been doing it all his life. I squirmed under him, and he instinctively threw a leg over mine, holding me there so he could ravage my breasts with his mouth. He moved to the other one and sucked there, too, until both nipples were hard and erect.
“My god, but you’re beautiful,” he whispered. “I never imagined, Sarah.” He stroked my stomach, and his hand inched lower, along the waistband of my panties. I moved my hips and he backed off a little.
“Feel how hot I am, John,” I begged, and I moved his hand down to my crotch. “I need you so badly. Touch me—please touch me.” His hand crept down between my legs and he murmured something—I thought it might be “Oh dear lord”—as he felt the heat my pussy was cranking out. But I needed more.
“Inside,” I panted, and I held the waistband of my panties up a little above my skin to show him. He hesitated, then slid it inside my panties, his middle finger sliding down until it met my clit, which was hot and wet and throbbing even though he’d only just touched it.
“Oh god,” I whispered. “Touch me, John. Move your hand.”
He did, and again I think it must have been instinct taking over because he was rubbing my clit ever so gently and I was almost on the point of coming.
Suddenly he withdrew his hand and just hovered above me, I’m sure having all kinds of guilt and regrets.
“Don’t abandon me now, John. I need you. Please,” I begged. I didn’t feel guilty—all I was capable of feeling right then was a burning need to have him inside of me. He was hard enough—I’d been feeling his erect cock pushing against me for the last ten minutes.
I pulled off my t-shirt over my head and my panties down over my feet, where I kicked them off to land who knows where. Then I pulled him to me, unresisting, and I put my own hand down his shorts and found his cock weeping and ready for me.
“John, please don’t leave me like this,” I begged. “If you love me, show me. Be with me. Please!”
He ripped off his shirt and shorts, and suddenly he was on top of me. I spread my legs, cradling him there. “Please, love?”
He reached down and guided himself to where I was the hottest, and pushed.
“God, yes! Harder, John. Harder—I need more.”
He pulled out again and then stroked back in, and I whimpered. “Yes! Oh yes. Just like that. More, John—more!” he began to pump into me, peppering my chest and neck with kisses, and grunting with exertion as he brought me closer and closer to the edge.
I didn’t think he would last very long as it was his first time, so I reached down between us and rubbed my clit a couple of times until I felt myself tightening inside, and the next time he drove into me I exploded, my pussy fluttering and then clenching him hard so that he lay gasping atop me, nearly insensible with the intensity of the experience.
As he came back down, he suddenly became aware that he was lying on top of me and moved off to the side, and although I turned too his cock slid out of me. I was sorry to lose it, to have the experience end, but so very thankful it had happened at all.
I lay there for a moment, then I pulled him close so his chest was against my breasts, and I kissed him until I could feel his cock rising again. I had no intention of forcing him to do anything more; if he wanted it, he would have to do the pursuing, and I hoped he would. But I refused to be wholly responsible for his guilt.
“So that’s what it’s all about,” he said quietly after a moment. “Now I understand why it’s referred to as the highest physical expression of love. When I was…inside of you, and you clutched at me inside like that—” He paused, and I could hear him swallow hard. “I knew where I belonged, Sarah. And it wasn’t in the pulpit of a church, but wherever you are. I’m sorry for not seeing it before. I do love you, and I simply can’t imagine ever denying that again. I’m sorry to have hurt you so badly, my precious, precious dear one.” He stroked my hair.
“What will you do?” I asked him at length.
“Well, of course I will have to confess to Cardinal Reardon,” he said. “Oh my; that won’t be easy, after denying what I feel for you. But it’s the right thing to do—the only thing.”
“Do you want me to be there?” I asked. “I feel like I should bear my share of the guilt for not doing better to not tempt you.”
He thought about it. “No. I don’t see us as having sinned. I see myself as having made a mistake, back when I was seventeen. Having grown up in the Catholic church, of course I only thought of becoming a Catholic priest. But I believe I could become an Episcopal priest and be allowed to marry. That will be my very first question to the Cardinal after I express my apologies for misleading him, and going against my vows.” He stroked my face. “What do you think—could you be the wife of a priest?”
“If you were the priest, I could,” I said. “I’m not an Episcopalian, but I could become one.”
“It would probably help,” he said frankly. “We can talk about it to someone who will know.”
We lay there contentedly, touching, kissing, and at length I became aware that he was still rigidly erect. He was lying back on his pillow and it was my turn to prop myself up now. He looked over at me.
“What is it?”
I put my hand down on his erection. “It looks like you need a little help getting to the point where you can fall asleep comfortably,” I said. “If you’ll allow me, I can help you with that.”
“Oh! Would you like to—ah, ahem—again?” he asked eagerly.
“I would, except it’s so darn hot. How about another way? Maybe you’ve heard of it, but I think you’ve probably never experienced it,” I said. “I’m not exactly a slut, John, but I have to confess I’m not as pure as the driven snow. I know a few things. Let me take care of you, hmm?”
“Oh—all right, if you ins—oh! Oh…Sarah….”
I closed my mouth around the head of his cock and sucked gently, flicking around the glans with my tongue and pumping my hand up and down at the same time. He wasn’t so big that I couldn’t probably fit most of his length into my mouth, although he would be aimed part way down my throat. Still…I knew what I wanted to do.
I moved him in and out of my mouth, flicking and swirling my tongue around the head every time he came most of the way out, and he lay there jolting with the shock of it every time I did that. Eventually I picked up his balls and rolled them gently in my hand, tugging on them a little, and he whimpered a little himself at how good it felt.
Finally I deep-throated him, swallowing on the head of his cock, and I felt him grab the sides of my head in a panic and knew he was about to come. I stopped and shook my head and made a “hm-mm” noise to indicate that he wasn’t to try to stop me, and his hands relaxed just as he came hard, shooting down my throat as I continued to swallow on him a couple more times. I stopped sucking and just enjoyed the feel of his cock jumping in my mouth, then pulled off him slowly, licking and sucking on the head to clean as much cum off him as I could since we wouldn’t get another shower until we got back to the 4077th.
He lay there, evidently speechless, and I came back up to lie beside him.
“Did…you like that?” I asked when a couple of minutes passed and he hadn’t said anything.
“Did I—did I like it?!” he exclaimed, then remembered to lower his voice. “I think I’ve just found my second most favorite thing in the world to do.”
I started to laugh, and he clutched at my arm. “Sarah—is it ever…do women usually…I mean, is it acceptable for a man to do that…to a woman?”
“Acceptable? Oh, John, I have so much to teach you. Yes, definitely. It’s not only acceptable but very desirable. A man who enjoys giving oral sex is a rare gem. A lot of men are fairly selfish when it comes to sex; I’ve heard so many women complain that they take but rarely give. It definitely is not only possible but very much appreciated when a man does that for a woman. I don’t recommend it at the moment unless you think you’d also enjoy the taste of your own semen, though, because there’s no way to clean up until we get home. There are a lot of things lovers can share to make each other happy.”
“Ah.” I could tell he was thinking about that, maybe wondering what some of those things were. “I can’t wait to share them with you, Sarah, my precious love.” He reached for my hand and kissed it, and we fell asleep like that, our limbs tangled together and holding hands.
In the morning I woke because it felt rather cool, and I realized to my great joy that it was raining.
“John,” I whispered, sitting up. “John!”
He woke, startled, and looked over at me. “What is it?” he asked. “Is something—” Then he heard it too, rattling among the dry leaves as it fell. “Is that rain?”
“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful?” I said, and we got up and went over to look out the small window.
When I turned away it was to see John looking at me with his mouth open in surprise. I looked down to see that I was still naked, as was he. I smiled slowly and he finally did too, and he reached for me with wondering, eager hands.
“I was afraid it was just a dream,” he said.
“No dream. Are you still glad it happened?” I asked. I found my panties and put them on quickly, and he took the hint and started getting dressed too. It looked early out, but it was light and they would be coming for us soon.
“Glad?” He reached for me. “Glad doesn’t begin to express how I feel. But yes, I most certainly am glad. I feel like I could gambol with the lambs over the hillsides!”
I laughed. “Better get your socks on, Mr. Lamb, before they come to get us.” We had a race to see who could get yesterday’s socks and our heavy boots on first, and I won, although I cheated a little as I already had one sock on and John wasn’t too steady on his feet, completely ignoring the chair at the desk he could have used.
There was a knock at the door and it was Col. Park's aide. “Ah! I see you are ready.” He smiled. “I thought I would have to wake you. Please come with me. You will want to eat something before you start your journey back.”
We picked up our few belongings and hung our borrowed towels belatedly over the back of the chair to dry, then followed him to a room where several solders were talking and eating breakfast. There was an abrupt hush when we walked in, but the aide said something in a sharp voice and the conversation quietly resumed, although most of them were sneaking peeks at us if they weren’t staring outright.
“Do not pay attention to them,” the aide said. “They gossip like old women.”
It occurred to me to wonder briefly where they all slept…and whether anyone had heard us last night. But it was a little late to worry about that now. The aide helped us to bowls of rice and a hot soup that tasted good. The rain wasn’t cold, probably, but the idea of it made soup for breakfast sound like a nice idea. It was mostly broth with a few scraps of egg floating in it, but it was hot and with the rice it was filling. We expressed our gratitude and the aide nodded and indicated that we should follow him to Col. Park’s office. He knocked and opened the door, and Col. Park rose from his desk.
“Ah! Good morning,” he said. “You have an auspicious start to your trip back to your camp. We have needed this rain for many weeks.”
“Definitely,” John said. “The farmers around here must be very glad to see it.”
“As you say. Come—my men will help you to get the American prisoners aboard your bus and you can be on your way.”
We proceeded to the ward where our wounded were waiting. I saw Ling Ha and the other two North Korean wounded we’d brought with us a little further down the ward, and I went over to shake their hands and wish them well, which Ling Ha translated for me.
“It is honor to know you,” he said solemnly. “We will not forget the care with which you treated us, even though we are enemies.”
“No, Ling Ha,” I said. “You aren’t my enemies. None of you are. And I hope this war ends soon so you can go home to your families.”
The three of them bowed and we went back down to where a handful of orderlies were helping the ambulatory Americans out to the bus first, and last we loaded the two aboard who had to lie down. There were a couple of shelves, sort of like hammocks except firmer, one on each side at the back of the bus; we buckled them in so they couldn’t roll off if the ride got bumpy, then closed the back doors.
“Thank you for your cooperation,” Col. Park said. “I wish we might have met under different circumstances, but I am glad you are the ones who were sent. And I am grateful for the supplies you have shared with us.”
John glanced at me and said, “We’re glad to meet you too. It was an honor, Colonel. Thank you for your care of our wounded.”
We walked around to the door and John took the front passenger seat while I got in the driver’s seat once again and started up the bus. The staff had refilled our tank, which would be more than we needed to get home, so we left the two additional jerry-cans with them as we knew their army didn’t supply them very well and they could no doubt use the fuel for their generator.
We waved, as did the Colonel and his aide and a couple of the orderlies, and I headed carefully along the grassy verge next to the river until we met up with the road leading away from the water and into the woods.
The ride home was quiet. We stopped around eleven for sandwiches and apples, and to check on the injuries as best we could without a doctor present, but everyone was eager to press on and get clear of enemy territory, so after passing out peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, which the soldiers were delighted to taste after days or weeks of “rice-and,” we ate on the road and kept on driving.
As on the day before, if there were troops in the area they’d been ordered to stay clear of us and we didn’t see anyone other than a couple of farmers who looked at us in wonder as we drove slowly by in our bus with the big red cross on it, and when we waved they waved back. I felt bad for them, these poor people who had no power to change anything that was happening in their country, who could barely feed themselves but were so friendly and willing to share what little they had.
It didn’t take quite as long getting back; just after two-thirty we passed Battalion Aid, its denizens cheering and waving as we drove past, and we were home shortly after three. I honked the horn to alert them that we were back, and people poured out of Post-Op and their tents to welcome the “rescued” wounded and get them into Post-Op or the O.R., whichever was needed. Rizzo came to claim his bus back and take it away to check up on it, and John and I followed Col. Potter into his office for a debriefing.
He listened without interrupting as we described what had happened and passed along Col. Park’s thanks for the supplies and the swap. Col. Potter nodded thoughtfully.
“I’d be happy if more of this kind of trade could take place,” he said. “Darn fool idea, shutting people up in POW camps for months on end—nothing to do, no use to anybody, bored out of their skulls. But I guess if they were all returned to their units maybe the war would never end.”
Then he smiled. “But you two—darned if you didn’t do a great job! I knew you were the right ones to send.” He looked at us closely. “You know, I had to really think about that. I’ve been hearing things that—well, I guess it doesn’t pay to listen to rumors, does it?”
“Well…” John said, and he gave me a quick look as if to ask my permission. I got up.
“If we’re done here, Colonel, I’ll excuse myself. I need a shower in the worst way. We got pretty dusty the first day, and today mud was our middle name.”
“You’ve earned it,” he chuckled. “Dismissed.”
I smiled at John and went out, but from my office I could hear him talking.
“Colonel, I wonder if I might have a moment or two of your time. There’s something we need to discuss.”

Our new chaplain, Capt. Tennant, was no Francis John Patrick Mulcahy, but he was a good sort. An avid birdwatcher, he could often be found comparing life lists with Nurse Carmichael over meals in the mess tent. He was a Lutheran, not a Catholic, and he was unmarried. I had to smile at that; I wondered how long it would be before his and Carmichael’s common interest might bring them together.
I missed John terribly during those last nine months of the war, but we had agreed that I would remain at the 4077th and he would go to the Cardinal, take his punishment—whatever it might be—and pursue a change to the Episcopal church. As difficult as it would be, we would avoid any communication until he was at least somewhat settled in his new path. I would miss him, and felt I could have provided some encouragement along the way, but I knew the temptation to be together would be too strong, and we felt the least we could do to prove our good intentions was to not let it happen again until it was wholly right.
John had my address at the 4077th, of course, and he also knew where to find me in Seattle should our paths not cross again in Korea. The long awaited cease-fire finally arrived, and I went home and stayed with my parents while I thought about what I wanted to do next. I told them everything, and although they were a little doubtful about how things would work out because of the religious difference, I was quite old enough to do what I felt was right for me, and really all they wanted was for me to be happy.
I was thinking of accepting an offer of part-time work at a small hospital in north Seattle, near my parents’ home, just for something to keep me busy, and in the mean time I was helping out around the house and yard as my folks were getting older. It was midsummer and the days were getting hotter.
My folks were relaxing on the back patio and I had just finished making a large pitcher of lemonade when there was a knock at the front door. “I’ll get it,” I called out, and I went to open the door. There stood John, looking slightly out of place and unfamiliar in a gray suit and carrying a bouquet of pink roses.
“John!” I was in his arms at once, and he kissed me like he’d been lost in the desert for a week and I was a drink of cool water.
Finally, laughing, we broke apart and looked at each other. “I’ve never seen you in real clothes before,” I said, and he laughed.
“They’re not Army green, that’s for sure,” he said. “I kind of like them.”
“Me too! You look great,” I said, bringing him inside and closing the door. “Come on in and tell me everything.” He handed me the roses and nodded at something behind me. “Perhaps you’d introduce me?”
I turned to see my parents standing there tentatively, watching our reunion.
“Oh gosh! Mom, Dad, this is Francis John Patrick Mulcahy,” I said, grinning. “I just call him John. John, these are my parents—Carolyn and Richard Thomas.”
He shook hands with both of them. “It’s very good to meet you,” he said. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“And we’ve heard a lot about you, too,” Mom said. “Maybe you wouldn’t mind if we listened in—we’d kind of like to know where things stand with the two of you.”
“Of course, of course,” he said, and Mom led us out to the back patio, where we drank lemonade and listened to John tell us of his meeting with the Cardinal, who he said had told him he’d known it was only a matter of time before that very thing happened. We hadn’t fooled him, it seemed, even if we had for a time managed to fool ourselves.
“He referred me to a friend who’s a Bishop—my Bishop, now—in the Episcopal church,” John said. “I learned it’s not a very difficult process for a Catholic priest to change to an Episcopal priest. I’m still in the process, but within a month or so I should be confirmed. There’s been talk of assigning me right here in Seattle—they’re looking for a new priest at St. Mark’s on Capitol Hill. And the Bishop has given me to understand that a married priest would probably seem very desirable to the interview committee…even if my wife was not yet a member of the Episcopal church.”
“Actually,” I said, “I’ve been attending classes—I’m being baptized this coming Sunday.”
“You—you are?” The delight shining in his face was the best gift anyone could have given me.

Just over a month later, John was confirmed as the new priest of St. Mark’s, Seattle. We were engaged, and with my parents I’d put together a somewhat hasty wedding that was to take place a month after his confirmation. Under the circumstances—John being so newly confirmed and me a brand-new just-baptized Episcopalian, we decided to invite not only our family and friends but the entire congregation of St. Mark’s to attend our wedding, and the Bishop himself married us. Cardinal Reardon gave us the high honor of his presence, and as we walked back up the aisle after the ceremony John stopped where the Cardinal sat on the aisle, both of them beaming, and they exchanged a heartfelt hug. The Cardinal rested a fatherly hand on my shoulder for a moment, his eyes smiling warmly down into mine, and then nodded us on our way. Clearly he had forgiven John, if indeed forgiveness was needed, for not knowing to make a different choice all those years ago when it came to accepting his calling, and it seemed he felt we were both on the right path.
We had invited Hawkeye and Col. Potter, although of course we didn't expect they would actually travel clear across the country just for our wedding. But Col. Potter had talked it over with Mildred and the two of them had decided to come out after all; and after the wedding they would fly to San Francisco and visit B.J. and Peg Hunnicutt for a couple of days. Hawkeye, knowing of John’s fondness for Carl Sandburg’s poetry, sent a little framed watercolor seascape in pastel colors over which had been lettered Sandburg's poem Explanations of Love, accompanied by a little note that we kept glued to the back of the picture. All it said was, Never were any two so right for each other as you. May you always have each other’s love as you will ours, and he had somehow obtained not only Dr. Winchester’s but also B.J.’s signature—all the denizens of the Swamp. How we missed them!
John and I drove down to Seaside, a little town on the Oregon coast, for our honeymoon and spent a delightful week at the ocean in the summer sun. Believe me when I say he came home knowing a lot more about marital relations than he had when we’d set out! On a couple of days we spent the entire time in bed, only coming up for air—and dinner—in the evening so we’d have strength to go back to our motel and start another round of lovemaking. John was a star pupil, a fast learner, and very motivated. By the time we headed for home at the end of the week we were existing in a rosy glow of love and togetherness.

It’s five years on now, and our anniversary is tomorrow. The council has procured a supply priest for a week so that John and I can take our first vacation since our honeymoon—an anniversary trip back to Seaside, a gift given to us by his fond parishioners. At St. Mark’s, as back at the 4077th, John has consistently won the hearts of his flock and they can’t do enough for him.
I have a particularly lovely piece of news to impart to him tonight once we’ve had dinner and perhaps a walk on the beach, and have gone to our motel room for some wonderful time alone together. I doubt he’ll need any help to get into a romantic mood, but if he did, my news would certainly do it.
I found out just yesterday that we will be blessed, roughly seven months from now, with an addition to our family! I know John will be thrilled; he adores children. He was so sad to leave all of “his” orphans behind in Korea when he was discharged from the Army, but he’d been ordered to report to the Chief of Chaplains in Philadelphia for debriefing so he hadn’t had any choice in the matter. I know any child of John’s will grow up with a strong and sturdy character, like his or her father, guided by John’s unswerving faith and his devotion to truth and kindness. Thinking of his likely reaction when I tell him fills me with shivers of delight.
I hear John starting up the car; it’s time to start the next chapter of our life.
THE END
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The Good Father