From such sombre thoughts as these Ian was roused by a call from his sister Alison. Roscoe Childers, a family friend they had all known during an overseas appointment some years earlier, had contacted her. He had written to George, his former supervisor, but had not had an answer from him, and wondered if all was well. He had been in touch with Alison several times, and Alison had learned that Roscoe was gay, something George had apparently known at the time. Roscoe had long since had an amicable separation from his wife, made easier by their childless state, but had written to Alison to reveal to her and her siblings how ‘great’ their father was. George had refused to follow an order from his own superiors to fire Roscoe, who had been unmasked as homosexual. They wanted George to do for them the uncomfortable work of ridding themselves of potential embarrassment. The unspecified indiscretion, intimacy with another male, had not taken place on company time or property, but in those days, the scandal would have been disastrous for Roscoe, his wife, his employer, and his own community standing. George had courageously told his superiors they would have to fire him first, as Roscoe’s behaviour had had nothing to do with his work performance, which was exemplary. In a recent telephone conversation, Roscoe had told Alison, “Your dad is a private man, and he would never tell you what he did for me. But he saved my life, and I thought you kids should know about it. I am at peace with it now.”
A short time after this revelation, Ian received another shock. His mother had died suddenly but peacefully in her sleep. By the time he reached home, his father had been rushed to hospital with a suspected heart attack, from which he was recovering. Against his doctor’s advice, George discharged himself and went to the funeral before being reluctantly re-admitted as a day patient after the interment. Evelyn’s death was mourned, but it had been a release for her from the torment that had made her life and those of family members difficult. Near the end, she had asked to see a clergyman, and had made her confession to him, the details of which Ian never learned, although George, in a rare moment of disclosure to him at his bedside, intimated her distress had, after all, been spiritual in nature, as Ian had suspected.
“You know, Ian, your duty in life is not to please your parents or seek their approval, because– even they are fallible. I know you have had a high opinion of me– no, don’t deny it; I’ve known you a long time. I don’t deserve it, as I am not perfect. You do not need to pattern your life on anyone’s, but to forge your own path. We are different people, you and I, even if apples don’t fall far from the tree. I should have said this to you years ago. I had a series of visits from a friend of yours some time ago who oddly enough brought this home to me, albeit without his knowledge. Barney Saint-Jean, your former scoutmaster. Your mother trusted him. He admires you.” George paused, and swallowed, thwarted by Ian’s startled expression and by his distrust of his own emotions.
