I’m Father Jenkins
. That’s my tombstone you see there by the path in front of the old mission. You can barely read my name on it. The stone is leaning—may fall over some day in the gusty winds that haunt the area.
I always wondered why I was sent to this dusty old place in the newly formed New Mexico. Rattlesnakes, prairie dogs, and jack rabbits were the main inhabitants. At least that’s the way it was back then. Probably still is.
Sunday mass for my little congregation of ten—sometimes only three or four—was a sham. They never knew about my past. You see, I spoke of a loving God—a God that forgives. Only problem is, you have to ask God for forgiveness. I never did—until the night before I died.
What was my sin? I know you are wondering.
Well, I suppose I can tell you now. That was back in eighteen-forty-four. I was a seminary student in the newly founded Our Lady of Providence in Warwick, Rhode Island. Most classes were taught by highly respected nuns. Oh, I did have one male teacher. I think it was— Naw, I don’t remember what class that was. I probably didn’t do very well in his class.
The nuns, they were my favorite teachers. And no, in case you’re wondering, I didn’t have sex with any of them. But what I did do was equally unacceptable.
Market Square was the center of civic life back in my time. It was an election year, and politicians swarmed the square. I was young; thought politicians were all liars, looking out only for themselves—oh yeah… I guess I still do. Especially since I don’t see any of them have made it up here.
Okay, well, I’d go down between classes and sit on this big stone under a big autumn blaze red maple, listening to them. Some had big flowery talk; others were dumber than the rock I sat on.
But there was this dude named James, James Polk. I liked what he had to say, threatening war with the United Kingdom over which nation actually owned the Oregon Country. And then there was the issue of the annexation of Texas. Of course Mexico was against that. But as you know, Polk eventually won the presidency and led us in a sweeping victory in the Mexican-American War, giving us most of what is now known as our Southwest. So that turned out to be a honey of a deal, but history since hasn’t been so sweet. This country’s seen some looneys for Commanders in Chief—an embarrassment to the intelligence of the voting public.
So it was that upon graduation from Our Lady of Providence, I was sent to a desolate place smack in the middle of that newly acquired Southwest. I guess now they’re calling that forsaken block of real estate Tacos—or, no, maybe its Taos. Back then the only tacos you could find was at Mama Rosa’s Cantina, unless you made them yourself—which I never did.
Okay, I guess it’s confession time. I mean, I’ve been dead now for over a hundred years. I had told no one, not even Mama Rosa, even though I dined at her table most days. I loved that woman. She had a heart of gold—prospector gold. She was pretty rough looking on the outer layer, but the good stuff was on the inside. She also had a big mouth. I knew she’d tell everyone.
No, I couldn’t even have told Mama Rosa that I had once voted for a Democrat.
Author note: Just so I don’t have any Democrats angry at me, this could have just as easily been ended with “…I once voted for a Republican.”
Eldon Reed ©2015
Photo by Carl Soerens
602 words