Read Online No Safeguards by H. Nigel Thomas - Free Book Online

Father Henderson what I believe. He was surprised and never expected “such sophistication from a ah ah ah — you know what I mean — country girl.” The country girl knew what he meant, and translated “ah ah ah” to mean Negro. Father Henderson could never use the word black except he was describing sin.
    â€œYou know, Cynthia” — when Kirton was alive, Father Henderson always called me Sister Kirton — “we have two sets of beliefs, one for the priests and one for the flock.”
    â€œYou don’t say, Father Henderson!”
    â€œWell, it’s complicated. Ordinary people can’t understand the scriptures. We have to adapt theology to the needs of humble folk. Minister to their needs. Christ himself did that. And as Paul says in one of his epistles, some people can only digest milk; it’s wrong to feed them meat.”
    I wanted none of his milk. “Didn’t I hear a British archbishop quoted on the radio saying hell is an imaginary place, and that Mary, if she existed at all, was an out-of-wedlock mother?”
    Father Henderson’s face looked as if it had been dunked in boiling water, his eyebrows went half-way up his forehead, his grey eyes narrowed, and his hand went to his throat as if his collar had begun to choke him.
    â€œAre you alright, Father?” I looked at the whisky bottle on the coffee table, ready to pour him another .
    He took a deep breath and a calming pause and said: “Let’s just say, many of us would like to modernize theology. But, Sister Kirton, the human soul is old and needs no modernizing. Christian beliefs and rituals have been good for thousands of years; they have stood the test of millennia.”
    â€œIs that why you continue to preach about mansions in the sky for some and eternal hellfire for others? There are people inside your church . . . There’s an Anglican minister — can’t remember his name — who doubts that Christ actually lived.”
    â€œVincentians must not be exposed to such opinions. We’re careful what books the Diocesan Bookstore stocks, and we check the libraries for subversive materials.”
    â€œSuch opinions can be heard on the BBC, Father Henderson.”
    â€œAlas! We have no way to block it. The British have become a godless people.” He swallowed and smoothed his hair while searching for a response. “Don’t knock it, Sister Kirton, don’t. The fear of hell keeps many a sinner from straying further into sin.”
    â€œThat includes you too, I suppose, Father?”
    He winced.
    He no longer visits, but singles me out for chit-chat when he meets me at funerals, wakes, and socials.
    JULY 14, 1962
    I wonder what sort of life I would be leading if Kirton were alive. Kirton! I still won’t use his first name. I was afraid of him. I know that now. Obsessed with wealth. At Anna’s birth, he made his will and left it with his lawyer so I wouldn’t get to know what was in it.
    â€œTo Cynthia Kirton nee Williams, hereinafter called my wife, I bequeath the benefit of all my immoveables for as long as she shall live, with the following conditions: I grant my wife the authority to liquidate fifty percent (50%) of all my investments, should circumstances warrant. At age 65, should my wife’s economic circumstances warrant, she is authorized to dispose of another ten (10) percent of all that remains. Upon my wife’s decease all my remaining property goes to my daughter Anna and her children, should she have children. I leave it up to my wife to determine the proportions. Should Anna predecease my wife, all property remaining after my wife’s death goes to her children. Should Anna be childless, it goes to the Anglican Church.”
    What a cold-blooded lizard! Seems I signed a pact with Lucifer himself. Kirton, bits of your lectures — boasts are more like it; that’s what our “conversations” were: