Not In My Father's Footsteps by Terrence Rundle West

Author:Terrence Rundle West
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC014000FIC032000HIS027160FICTION / Historical / War & Military, HISTORY / Military / Canada
Publisher: General Store Publishing House
Published: 2012-03-16T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

June 1939, Montreal

DOLLARD BLINKED AT HIS WATCH, surprised he’d been at it for hours — collar up, head down, eyes peeled, looking for familiar faces. Strolling old haunts was turning out to be a good idea. He was making progress, and about time; Father Latendresse couldn’t look after him forever. Four months ago, trying to do this had sent him into panic. Even two months ago, the visit to the butcher shop had been a disaster. He was getting better. Soon he’d be able to face the Kellenbergers and make arrangements to see Connie.

Today had seen him zig-zag through Outremont, cross Laurier to the rag-trade district, and finally buck the teeming crowds on St. Laurent down to Ste. Catherine. Twice, seeing acquaintances from his old parish had forced him to avert his face, but he’d made it through undetected. His feet felt light, head, too, almost dizzy, as if he’d been dropping into the countless taverns lining his route. But if he felt drunk, it was from the excitement of pilgrimage. His discharge from Hôtel-Dieu into Father Latendresse’s care had seen him slowly come down off the hyper-tension wire. Not that he agreed with the doctors who said that recovery would only be achieved if he acknowledged his alcohol problem. Even his mother had never gone that far and, God knows, she was the real alky in the family. Besides, only he knew what drove him to drink in the first place. Once or twice he’d almost confided in Father Latendresse, but something had always held him back. Even though he trusted the man, he didn’t trust the Church. To bare his soul to Latendresse would have been like confiding in one’s rapist. Not that Pierre, or thousands of priests like him, had lifted a finger to harm him or anyone else. It was the institution they subscribed to that Dollard had fallen out with. Some day he’d have to exorcise that demon, maybe even with Father Latendresse’s help.

The walk down Shannon’s street had been the toughest. Approaching her duplex, his step had quickened, lest a parent, or one of her innumerable siblings, or worse, Shannon herself, appeared on the sidewalk. Abreast of her front steps, his gaze trained straight ahead, he felt rather than saw movement at the curtains. His spirits took instant flight, but no door had opened and no voice had called out. The surge of relief was quickly overpowered by disappointment. Wouldn’t catharsis come from a reunion, end the turmoil one way or another? He longed for Shannon, but had he chosen to walk in his father’s footsteps, shunning her for deficiencies in the pure laine department? If only she knew how he’d changed. But maybe there was someone new in her life. And if there wasn’t? … he scarcely dared hope. Glancing back at the duplex, a resolution formed in his mind. When he straightened himself out, he’d go to her. Starting life anew, even without her, called for absolution.

He smiled inwardly as he

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