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    The Monsignor's Garden
    The Monsignor's Garden
    The Monsignor's Garden
    Ebook123 pages1 hour

    The Monsignor's Garden

    By Rex Jacobs

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    About this ebook

    The Monsignor’s Garden is a story of abuse of power, denial of responsibility, and the final healing for a victim of a man of the cloth, and an awakening for another man of the cloth. There is good and bad in all walks of human existence, and sometimes one’s faith is severely challenged. Good men face the truth, others attempt to bury it. The truth in the end though, will eventually find a way forward.
    Any connection to persons either living or passed on is strictly coincidental. This is a work of fiction, written and compiled in acknowledgement of the many victims who have been denied justice over many years of such events.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRex Jacobs
    Release dateDec 6, 2016
    ISBN9781370438723
    The Monsignor's Garden
    Author

    Rex Jacobs

    Life is a wonderful, exciting, sometimes dangerous and often totally boring trip. I have certainly had a taste of all these slices of the human experience and thankfully have managed not to overdose in any particular compartment.I strive to write as honestly and openly as possible, but will never get drawn into discussing the source of inspiration for any particular tale. They are all true in some way. We all have our own truth. That is the way it is with mankind.My journey is seventy years young as of 2016, and if you don’t find me plonking away at a keyboard, I’ll be somewhere behind the lens of my faithful Nikon, tending my private garden or manipulating some beautiful pieces of glass into some form of art.I write for enjoyment, and always endeavour to capture that ‘I know where he’s coming from moment’. This is my first real attempt at the online publishing world, and would love to take the opportunity of thanking you for popping in to meet me.I hope you enjoy the read, and wish you every success in life. It is a wonderful trip.Rex Jacobs.

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      Book preview

      The Monsignor's Garden - Rex Jacobs

      The Monsignor’s Garden

      a story of stolen innocence misplaced guilt fractured lives innocent love, tragedy, self-denial, and a new journey

      by

      Rex Jacobs

      Smashwords Edition

      Copyright © Rex Jacobs 2007

      All Rights Reserved.

      Table of Contents

      Title Page

      Copyright

      The Monsignor’s Garden

      The Monsignor’s Garden

      Marley cried herself to sleep again that night; she should have been used to it by now, but the stigma and terror of that afternoon so long ago would remain locked within forever. There was nothing she could do that would ever set her free.

      She would never forget his grubby little hands, short and fat, just like his figure. He was a short fat little balding man with a flabby distended gut, belching flesh at her over his filthy tracksuit pants.

      The evil in his eyes haunted her, his foul stench had pervaded her room ever since. The bastard had destroyed her life and her parents’ as well. She felt so guilty. It was her fault that her father went into a rage every time it was mentioned, and spent so many hours staring at the bottom of another empty glass. He had been an occasional drinker before. Now it was booze and rage that controlled him and threatened to destroy the marriage and fracture the family.

      Her mother was her only haven. Without her she would probably have committed suicide by now. The thought had crossed her mind on more than one occasion. It would be so easy, and her pain would be over, her shame cleansed.

      It was all her fault. If she had not taken the short cut through the park, it would never have happened. And if she had kept on walking, things would be so much different.

      He was bent over in pain, or so she thought. She could still feel the strength in those evil hands as he grasped her wrist when she walked over to see if he was ok.

      He had lured her into his desperate perverted web, and flung her behind the bushes. She could never forget the sneer which creased his flabby cheeks, nor the strange hissing sound he emitted as he drenched her in spittle and clutched under her skirt, ripping her pants away. If the devil did exist, she met him that day.

      It had been ten years, countless counseling sessions and endless drinking bouts for her mother and her to endure, and many visits from so many well-meaning people. But how could they ever understand. There had been the snide remarks and the schoolyard taunting, especially from some of the boys. She hated boys.

      The worst moment was when the priest had turned up at the house. Marley had run screaming to her room, and locked herself in.

      Her father had threatened to ‘punch his lights’ out and her mother had wept openly as she tried to persuade her to open the bedroom door.

      There was confusion and confrontation on the outside, and terror within.

      The court case had been so traumatic that most of the details had been wiped from her memory, except for the evil figure that sat in a fat slump as the Judge’s voice sealed his fate.

      ‘I sentence you to fifteen years in prison, and if it weren’t for your dedicated service over many years to the church and community, it would be a lot longer.’

      His sullen eyes lifted momentarily as the sentence was announced and the stench of his evil glare reached out to claim her. The heavy scent of those bushes surrounded her. Victory was his.

      The last time she’d seen a priest in the cloth was in that court room. There were two of them present, obviously struggling to contemplate how one of their own could commit such an evil act. Their embarrassment was starkly evident as the stares and hushed whispers stalked them from every corner.

      Marley had watched them walk from the room that day, heads bowed in shame and confusion, silently melting toward the exit, two black robes retreating through the carved cedar doors.

      --------------------

      Eighteen was a wonderful age for most young people, but for Marley it merely signified that she’d survived another year of a desperately confused and tormented existence.

      Not for her the endless dates and phone calls from boys, nor the laughter and fun enjoyed by her peers. Hers was a world of distrust and guilt.

      No matter how patient her mother was, the guilt was always there, silently gnawing at her.

      ‘The bookstore has a vacancy.’ her mother had enthused.

      ‘Mr. Sanders is a lovely man, and Mrs. Sanders is always there. I told them you would go down to see them.’

      The step through that doorway was the biggest Marley had ever taken, and to sit across the office table from Roger Sanders was the bravest thing she had done in ten long years.

      ‘Your mother tells me you like books Marley.’

      ‘Yes Mr. Sanders, I love to read.’

      Love to read she did. Books had been her main contact with reality. Inside a book she couldn’t be reached, couldn’t be hurt, and if anybody from the pages within got too close, she could shut them out with a snap of the cover. With books, she was in total control.

      ‘Well young lady, the job is yours if you wish. I’m sure you and Bernadette will get along fine, and Mrs Sanders is here most days. I come and go between both stores; you two girls and my wife will be in charge here.’

      Marley had no idea that her mother had confided in Roger Sanders, nor of the carefully manipulated interview that had been planned with her help.

      The first day had gone well, and Bernadette did seem a nice girl, yet she still found herself in tears that night. When would the torture end?

      Tonight’s tears had an extra sting though, a realisation that she would probably never be able to function normally. Bernadette was prettier, smarter, and infinitely more confident and had a glow about her that drew people, male and female alike.

      She did not want to go back to the bookshop; maybe it was a bad idea. She felt so inadequate and ugly alongside her new workmate. Tomorrow she would resign, and ask them to take her back at the fast food place.

      Exhaustion finally forced her to sleep, into a world punctuated by violent dreams and desperate tragedy.

      -------------------

      Dawn brought with it warm rays of filtered light drifting through the window, but the coldness and detachment remained locked within. She had become quite adept at hiding her depression, but this morning was a real struggle. The mirror reflected an ugly unwanted waif, a complete waste of anyone’s time or attention.

      She wanted to hide, but there was nowhere to go. No way forward, and no way back. She was trapped in a hopeless shell.

      ‘Marley dear, I’ll cook you some eggs while you get ready. You can’t go to work on an empty stomach.’

      Her mother’s words edged her thoughts aside momentarily. She said nothing, just walked to the bathroom, dropped her gown to the floor and stepped under the shower. The warm water wrapped around her and drifted downward, spiraling soap suds in a whirl.

      She wanted to follow them through the circular grid, to a place where no one would ever find her.

      Her father’s impatient banging on the bathroom door snapped her back to reality.

      ‘Your eggs are ready young lady! And I need a shit!’ he bellowed.

      The toilet was through the bathroom, and her father at least would always give her complete privacy when she showered.

      Crudeness was an integral part of his humour, but this morning she found nothing funny in his pathetic attempt to snap her into action.

      She did manage a smile to herself, and mouthed silently…

      ‘Go crap in a bucket you pathetic old drunk! Adding aloud.

      ‘Sorry Dad. Won’t be long!’

      She nipped the taps too hard. She wanted to lash out, break out and run.

      Her father really must have had an urgent need, because he was standing at the door with a contorted look of impatience as she emerged.

      Mornings were never good for him either, not that the drunken evenings were any better.

      He ruffled her wet hair as they passed, and she felt like clobbering him. He knew she hated that, but it never stopped him.

      ‘How’s my mermaid this morning?’ he jollied her.

      ‘Get stuffed!’ she thought… ‘Ok Dad’ she said.

      He hurried through, and she went to her room, shutting the door forcefully. The eggs could go cold. She was in no mood to hurry.

      ---------------------

      Not only were the eggs cold, but the toast as well.

      Kath had become very adept at negotiating Marley’s moods, and chose wisely not to say a word. Pushing her this morning would only make things worse. She had sensed it was going to be a struggle to get her to work. She had

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