The Late, Great Ebenezer Isles

He'd arrived in the world under protest, the product of a one night stand between a naive young waitress from Dalhousie and a lonely, long haul trucker - there'd been a full moon high in the October sky, his mother was to say and after a few romantic hours under its spell in a deserted hayloft, she'd never had another moment's peace.  She gave birth in a Halifax hospital, signed the adoption papers, and resolutely vowed to spend the rest of her life being a better person.  A conscience is a hard taskmaster, however, and in time she was overcome with guilt and finally sought refuge with the Sisters of Charity - eventually entering their order, taking her vows, and devoting herself to a life of chastity, poverty, and obedience.  She was sent to a small convent in Sri Lanka and spent the remainder of her earthly time in religious service.


I gave my Uncle Shad a suspicious look.  Sri Lanka?  I asked edgily, Really? Is any part of this actually true?


His eyes narrowed and he gave me a look that suggested my manners could use some improvement.  Reckon you could learn some respect for your elders, missy, he said tartly but then looked away, slightly shamefaced.  It's all true 'cept for the nuns and the Sri Lanka part.  Now don't interrupt.  And he resumed.


Ebenezer's time in the orphanage was brief - he was a cheerful and pretty little boy with blond curls and bright blue eyes and was soon adopted by a shopkeeper's assistant and his young and tender hearted wife, a good couple with room in their home and hearts and no other children.  They were untroubled by his background or his occasional faraway-ness and he came of age a clever and handsome young man, book learned, good natured and hard working with fine prospects for the the future.  All that was missing was his own wife and family and this, everyone was convinced, would come in time.  If fate were to step it, people liked to say, it would surely be on the side of the angels and it was easy to forget that fate has its own agenda and keeps its own timetable.  For his part, Ebenezer took everything in stride, asked few questions and showed no special interest in any of the half dozen pretty, young women competing for his affection - he preferred to spend his free time with the gentle nuns who had first taken him in, acting as an unofficial handyman and all around extra pair of hands, even attending mass on Sundays.  The faraway-ness that had not worried his adoptive parents became more noticeable - often he was so lost in thought that he didn't hear the shop bell, didn't notice his name being called.  On his 30th birthday, he quietly announced his plans to enroll in seminary school.  He intended, he said, to convert to Catholicism and become a priest and he calmly and steadfastly rejected every plea and argument to change his mind.  


Uncle Shad gave me a sideways glance, anticipating an objection I assumed.  If this ends with him being elected Pope.....I warned him but he just shrugged and paused to light his pipe.  More'n likely it bought him time to figure out the next part, I thought but didn't say.


So, he continued presently, Ebenezer felt the call and followed it all the way to ordination, becoming Father Isles and being assigned to a dismally dark and poverty stricken church in New Brunswick.  On the morning he said his first mass, a young and strung out junkie took communion and then produced a knife and thrust it into the new priest's side.  Coughing blood and holding his wounded side, Father Isles fell while his stunned but still outraged congregation tackled the assailant, disarmed him, and called for help - fellow priests packed the wound with his vestments and prayed desperately.  As one began the last rites, a stream of light came through the old church's only stained glass window and shone upon the fallen priest. 


A miracle, I suppose, I remarked dryly and Uncle Shad gave me a glare.


Mebbe, mebbe not, he said a little sharply, But Ebenezer survived when by rights he should'a died right there in that church instead of gettin' up and walkin' his self to the ambulance.  


So what happened? I asked with a sigh, How did it end?


Near dyin' can change a man's mind, he told me with a slight smile, he give up the cloth and started a chicken ranch somewheres round Dalhousie.  Lived another 50 years, never married, and died in his bed.  Leastways,
that's what folks say.  He tapped his pipe and stuck it in his pocket, adjusted the fasteners on his denim overalls and pulled his cap over his thinning hair.  It's a story, missy, and you can believe it or not.