The pitter-patter of my ballet flats echoed quietly as I walked through the labyrinth of our church's basement. I was here to see Father Finnegan; I'd requested confession after the events that unfolded between me and my stepfather since my mother's passing a month ago. Father Finnegan suggested we meet in his personal office rather than the confessional chamber, and in my naïveté I didn't recognize the trap he was laying.
"Hello, Gracie," he soothed when I walked in the door. "Come, come, have a seat."
I tip-toed nervously to the bench against the wall on which Father Finnegan was sitting. I thought it odd that he wasn't in his usual chair, but figured he wanted us to both be on the bench so I would be comforted while confessing my sins. I smoothed the back of my short, pleated skirt before sitting, but the cold wood still chilled my bare thighs.
"Gracie, what a lovely girl you are."
Father Finnegan had been watching me intently since I'd stepped inside. As a 20-year-old, petite blonde, male attention wasn't anything new, but getting it from someone who had vowed chastity to God made me feel queasy. I was glad, though, that I'd come to see Father Finnegan rather than one of the geriatric clergymen like Father Callahan. In all honesty, some of my nerves probably came from my hidden attraction to our church's newest priest.
When Father Finnegan delivered his first sermon a year ago, you could almost smell the collective musk permeating from the horny snatches of our female church-goers. Many of the women thought that the handsome 35-year-old might finally usher our conservative church into the 21st century. Instead, he wowed all the men when he roared a fiery diatribe on bringing back tradition. Soon after his appointment, women were no longer allowed to wear pants during mass. Small changes followed as his sermons focused myopically on the roles of men and women, of which he held a Victorian standards.
"So I tell you men: keep your women home! Keep them under your watchful eye. You are their head, as Christ is yours!"
The various patriarchs sitting in the pews would nod and huff in agreement while their ladies shivered and shook.
"Thank you, Father Finnegan," I replied back. I'm sure my anxiety was palpable, but his warm smile lowered my guard.
"Of course, my girl. It's not every day I get to be in the presence of such a beauty."
He put his right hand on my exposed thigh and I pulled back slightly, but he left it there. I couldn't scoot to the side since the bench was against the wall, so I was forced to endure his grip.
"So tell me, Gracie, what's on your mind?"
His hand was now rubbing up and down just above my knee and it was hard for me to think straight. I was terribly uncomfortable with his inappropriate behavior, but also noticed a warmth spreading from my nether regions. I could barely look into his piercing eyes as I tried to explain my predicament.
"Umm, Father... well... you know my stepdad, right?" It was a silly question since my stepdad worked part-time as a deacon.
"Of course, of course. Mr. O'Neill is very respectable gentleman; one of the finest in our ministry. Why, just last week at our Patriarch's Assembly I was telling the others that he's a great example of the Godly men we'd like to see in this church. So devout and unmoving, garnering so much authority; as a man should. So what did you want to tell me about him, girl?"
I didn't realize Father Finnegan held my stepdad in such high regard; this wasn't going to be easy.
"Well... since my mother's passing..."
"I'm so sorry about that, Gracie," Father consoled.
"Thank you... but... since she passed, well, my stepdad's been acting... differently around me..."
"Well how do you mean, girl?"
"He's been doing... weird things..."
"Are you accusing one of my ecclesiastical brethren of behaving with impropriety?"
Father Finnegan's hand hadn't stopped rubbing my smooth thigh, and he'd turned his body slightly so I was even more trapped. He switched the hand that was on my leg to my arm, and replaced that one with his left. I was seriously nervous now, scooching further and further into the corner with no escape.
"No... Ummm... since Mom died my stepdad's sort of been making me do what she used to do. At first it was just cleaning up around the house and cooking meals..."
"Well that makes sense, don't you think? Did you expect Mr. O'Neill to come home from work to a messy home and no food?"
"No... it's just-"
"It's just what, girl? A man like your stepdad will not be subjected to women's work! With your mother out of the house the onus is on you keep your father's home tidy, and his belly full. It's the least you can do for him for still keeping you around."
The grip around my thin arm and leg tightened and was getting painful. His gentle smile turned to a grimace and his thick beard made him look like a beast. I was also sort of hurt that he'd brought up my stepdad leaving, which I guess he had the right to do since my Mom died. I'm an adult, and I'm not his daughter; he doesn't owe me anything...
"I'm sorry, Father..."
"You should be, girl. Complaining about your duty as a woman when you're lucky enough to have a man like your stepfather take care of you. It's disgraceful!"
"But, Father! It's not just that!"
I quickly covered my mouth after, realizing that I'd now have to tell my darkest secret. Father Finnegan's grip lightened and he gave me another sympathetic look. It was exhausting trying to keep up with his mercurial swings.
