Disclaimers - See Part 1 for disclaimers.

Chapter Three

The interior of the vaulted nave resonated as the two men shuffled along each pew, straightening hymnals and the occasional Book of Common Prayer. David braced one hand against the back of the pew, stained dark walnut, as he reached down to raise the padded prayer bench back into position. He was barely in his mid-forties, but his knees had let him know long ago how appreciative they were for that small comfort.

Exiting the row, David reflexively dipped on one knee to acknowledge the cross hanging over the altar. Despite the generally shabby state of the facilities, kept running on chewing gum, baling wire and prayers, the church itself had been quite beautiful in its day. Built in the early 20th century, it was one of the oldest in the city's interior. David was never one to feel that holiness was to be found in a healthy building fund, but there was something inspiring about the warm stained glass in the chancel windows that cast the light in jewel tones across the altar.

Reaching the last pew, David glanced up to where his helper was finishing the opposite side, an involuntary smile crossing his lips. He remembered his first impression on meeting the church sexton when he'd arrived to take over his new assignment a few weeks before.

Well aware that Calgary's nickname was 'Cowtown,' David had expected a certain western ambience to the city, but he was startled to be met at the door of the rectory by an old man who looked like he'd just come in from the range. The man, hand outstretched in a friendly greeting, wore a dirty tan cowboy hat tilted back on his head, a plaid shirt rolled up to expose thick forearms, and jeans slung low on his hips under a small belly, held up by a belt with the largest buckle David had ever seen. The man's front pocket bulged with the telltale outline of a tin of snuff, and the new pastor couldn't resist looking down with a grin to see dusty, worn cowboy boots completing the man's attire.

David had found it hard to judge the man's years. Not tall to begin with, he was somewhat stooped and the stubble on his face was gray, as was what could be seen of his hair. The man's skin was leathery and criss-crossed with wrinkles, but his brown eyes were bright and alert, with none of age's rheum. After introducing himself as John Henry Tupp, but insisting that the new pastor call him Tupper-as everyone did-the cowboy picked up his suitcase, over David's objections, and with a slight hobble, led him into the rectory.

Tupper had proven invaluable as David adjusted to his new parish. Friendly and garrulous, he steered the new pastor gently until David felt he had his feet solidly under him. Tupper did everything around the church, from keeping the ancient furnace running to coaxing a few more miles from the cranky church van to caring for the grounds. As David found out, the man had actually been a cowboy for decades until an accident and age had made riding and range chores impossible. He'd been maintaining the church for a dozen years and knew the people and politics of the inner-city parish as well as he knew his own family.

"Hey, Tupper," David called, striding towards him. "I've been meaning to ask you about Mrs. Walker's niece."

"Little Anne? Where'd you meet her? I haven't seen her in church for a couple of years now," Tupper drawled.

David gestured to a front pew. "Got a moment?"

"Sure," the other man nodded amiably as he slid onto the hard wooden bench.

Taking a seat beside him, David considered the matter he'd been pondering for the last week. He had wanted to approach the sexton before now, but it had been a busy few days and he had hoped to find more answers on his own. But, as they said, it wasn't what you knew but who you knew, and Tupper knew everyone.

"I met her over at her aunt's house when I was doing visitation last week. She seemed…" -David paused, unsure how to express his unease. "Unhappy," he concluded lamely. It didn't begin to describe the way the young woman had affected him, but it was all he could come up with.

"Well, would you be happy if you spent ten years living with Hettie Walker?" Tupper observed with a wry grin. David couldn't help a small cough of agreement, even as he chastised himself for the uncharitable thought. Sobering, Tupper regarded him seriously. "Ya know, I was here when that little girl come to live with her auntie. I don't know that I've ever seen her with a real, face-splittin' grin. Never saw such a quiet kid. I useta try talkin' to her after services, but her aunt would always come and pull her away. Don't think she thought I was a good influence or some'-pin."

"Do you know why she stays with her aunt?" David asked curiously.

Tupper cocked his head and rubbed his grizzled cheek. "Seems like to me that the girl's parents died somehow, and then it didn't work out where she was with some other relatives, so the authorities asked Hettie to take her. Not real sure 'bout all the details, but I 'member Hettie makin' a big deal out of what a sacrifice it was, takin' the child in and all."

David considered that a moment and then recalled another oddity. "Both you and her aunt call her Anne, but she insisted her name was Rhiannon. Is one short for the other?"

Tupper shrugged. "Dunno. I just went by what Hettie called her. Kid never said anythin' different to me."

About to ask another question, David halted at the frown that had descended over Tupper's amiable features.

"Ya know, far as I could see, that kid never gave Hettie a lick of trouble, but ta listen t'her and her crew, you'da thought Hettie Walker was a pure saint for takin' the child inta her home. I know it ain't Christian, Father, but I've got no time for folks making themselves out to be martyrs. She usta haul the little girl to all her church lady meetin's, and the kid would just sit in the corner drawing away 'til Hettie was done." Tupper shook his head reflectively. "Kid was the durndest thing for drawin'. I usta save the old leaflets and give 'em to her for scrap paper." His face darkening again, he added, "Saw Hettie whaling on the child for drawin' during a service one time. Hell, I don' blame the kid. We had Father Richard then, and his sermons could put the saints to sleep!"

Disturbed by the picture Tupper was painting, David asked, "Why do you think she stays with her aunt now that she's grown up? You'd think she'd leave as soon as she could."

Tupper looked at him shrewdly. "Well, could be home is home, even when home stinks, ya know?"

"Maybe," David murmured, unconvinced. His mind had begun to wander, pondering ways to reach out to someone who obviously had no interest in being reached when he heard Tupper grunt, "Speak of the devil."

Glancing up he saw Tupper point out the side window to the street beyond. He looked over his shoulder and saw Hettie and two of her cronies walking down the street.

"Goin' to their regular Saturday afternoon meetin'," Tupper asserted disdainfully. When David raised a questioning eyebrow, he continued, "They all go over to Miz Carter's house every Saturday for a 'prayer meetin'. I'm thinking there's more gossip than prayer but they love to tell folks how they're prayin' for the lost sheep of the world. Hell, if I wuz a lost sheep, I'd rather wait on Jesus than have them lookin' fer me."

David couldn't help a small grin at that, but at the same time an idea surfaced. "So how long do these meetings normally last?"

"Dunno 'zactly. I think they usually have dinner together. That's how they get away with callin' it fellowship. Gotta have food." The older man looked at him quizzically. "Why?"

An enigmatic smile lighting his homely face, David stood and said, "No particular reason, but Tupp, I do believe I'm going to find a little fellowship myself."

***************************************************

David ambled down Rhiannon's street, delighted to spy a figure sitting on the front stoop of Hettie Walker's house. He'd suspected that the combination of the brilliant spring day and her aunt's absence might draw the young woman out of her lair, though he'd been prepared to enter the little lioness' den should it come to that.

Pushing open the gate, he strolled up the pathway, ignoring the forbidding frown on the elfin face. He stifled a smile as he mused how she reminded him of a short, truculent Audrey Hepburn with her slight frame and appealingly boyish features. Knowing he'd never get an invitation to sit, he chose to simply plop down on the stoop beside the young woman who promptly drew away.

"My aunt's not here," she said bluntly.

David nodded amicably. "I know."

There were long moments of silence, and the pastor could almost feel the curiosity warring with hostility in the young woman beside him. He tilted his face back to absorb the welcome warmth of the sun. Feeling as if he were trying to coax a wild creature out of the bush, he waited her out quietly.

Finally she broke the stillness. "So what do you want, Ichabod? Out recruiting?"

He allowed himself a small internal smile. The grade school bullies had long ago inured him to every name under the sun, the mildest of which had been 'scarecrow.' Having been disabused of any illusions of physical beauty early in life, her nickname had no power to sting.

"No, I doubt your aunt would be interested in the work I do. There's a lot more walk and a lot less talk."

Rhi sniffed and he could feel her eyes probing him, searching for some other reason for his presence. After several more moments, she said, "Everyone wants something."

"Nope, not me. Just looking for a place to rest my weary feet." David waggled the extraordinarily long feet he'd crossed in front of him.

That elicited a full snort, but the pastor noticed she didn't retreat into the house or throw him out of the yard. Patiently, he waited.

"I'm not going to church, you know," she blurted defiantly. "Nothing you say can change my mind on that, Ichabod."

"Wasn't trying to," David replied, his voice as infuriatingly calm as ever. He chanced a small sidelong glance to see deep blue eyes staring at him suspiciously.

Anger suddenly overwhelming aversion, she spat, "If you got anything else in mind, you can forget that too!"

David couldn't help himself-he threw his head back and laughed until his eyes welled over. When he turned back, he saw that she had edged as far away from him as she could. Her gaze had turned from suspicion to outright bewilderment.

Carefully David sat forward, folding himself into a slightly smaller space, but careful not to make any sudden move in her direction. "Rhiannon," he said gently, "I have a daughter older than you. I assure you, I have no ulterior motive. I simply felt like sitting in the sunshine and chatting with a friend."

"I'm not your friend," she corrected him sharply.

The tall man noted that, despite her caustic words, her body had relaxed a fraction and she no longer looked poised to flee. "No," he agreed, "but you could be." He shifted his gangly body again, relaxing back on his arms, letting her take the next step.

Rhiannon composed herself before stating firmly, "Don't need any friends."

"You mean you don't need any 'more' friends?" he suggested. Out of the corner of his eye, David watched her refuse to look at him.

"Meant what I said."

"That's an unusual attitude," David observed, careful to keep his tone neutral.

A shrug from rigid shoulders was all the answer he got, and after another patient silence he went on, "What about your old school friends? Don't you see them anymore?"

"Good joke, Ichabod." There was an unmistakable bitterness underlying the words, but David knew better than to press any further. He waited quietly to see if she'd add anything to her cryptic comment. After long moments he heard a tiny sigh and Rhiannon continued, "I was one of the school freaks. There weren't many kids who'd even talk to me, unless they wanted me to draw something for them. Then they'd be nice, but only until I delivered. Took me a while to understand my role. At first I thought when I drew something for them, they'd be my friends afterwards. I learned better."

David summoned all his years of counseling to keep the pity from his voice. "Surely, there must have been someone who didn't go along with the crowd?"

Rhi glanced quickly his way but then looked away again. "Yeah, there was one- Patsy. They made her a pariah too because she was a native kid. We used to hang out some."

"Do you ever see her now?"

The young woman shook her head. "No, she dropped out of school in tenth grade. I think it just got to be too much for her. We were only school friends, so I never saw her outside. I always wondered what happened to her. The day she left, she gave me a dreamcatcher she'd made. I wish I'd known she wasn't coming back so I could've given her something too."

David gave himself time to let the lump in his throat subside. The wistful sadness in her voice had affected him deeply, but he suspected any sympathy he offered would be brusquely rejected and would only undermine any small gains he'd made. Instead, he turned the conversation to a safer track.

"So you just sitting out here working on your tan?" he asked lightly.

She shrugged, looking out across the street. "I was thinking about my new job."

Not wanting to break the fragile trust, he allowed a note of cautious interest into his voice. "Yeah? What do you do?"

"I'm a legal assistant. I'm still with the same firm, but I transferred over to an immigration lawyer this week."

David turned slightly to face Rhiannon, tucking one long leg under the other. He was pleased to see a lessening of the suspicion on her face, but he could also see that she was disturbed about something, that this time had nothing to do with him. "That's quite a switch," he agreed easily. "How's the new boss?"
"Not bad," Rhiannon shrugged. "Yeah, she's decent, as least so far. She pretty much tells me what she needs and leaves me alone to do it." It didn't take a psychic to see that being left alone was something the young woman prized highly.

"So what don't you like about the job?" David stifled a smile as she frowned at him. She was impossibly cute as her small face scrunched up in a scowl, but he knew she wouldn't appreciate the sentiment.

"Who said I don't like something?" she demanded. When he only raised one pale eyebrow, she rolled her eyes. "All right," she conceded grudgingly, as she grew thoughtful. "The work itself is really fascinating, a lot more so than the corporate work I was doing." Her voice trailed off, and the pastor watched with interest as she stared into the distance but focused on nothing.

"But…" David prompted.

Visibly pulling herself back from wherever her thoughts had taken her, Rhiannon turned to face him. Regarding him intently, she seemed to be trying to find something in his face. When she spoke at last, abruptly, David released a breath he hadn't known he was holding.

Finally she began again. "It's like this. My job is to dig up research and help my boss substantiate cases for immigrants requesting refugee status. A couple of days ago, the woman I'm replacing gave me this case to work on and I haven't been able to get it out of my head."

The young woman fidgeted uncomfortably, clearly unused to confiding in anyone. "It was the case of a Roma man, you know, a Gypsy?" David nodded, remembering a Romanian family from his posting in Fort St. John. "His name is Marius and he's in his mid-thirties. He had a pretty rough time growing up a Gypsy in Romania. His father was a political prisoner for a few years and his uncle was executed. Even after his Dad came home, he had to report in every month to the Romanian Secret Service. Anyway, he grows up, gets married, and even has a couple of kids. After the revolution in '89, he thinks things are going to get better, but they don't. He loses his job because he's Roma and because of his family's dissident history."

Rhiannon had slipped into her narrative so completely that she ventured unconsciously to rest one hand against David's knee for a moment. He schooled himself not to disrupt the spell of the tale that had so wholly captured her attention.

"Finally, Marius has had enough. He joins the Roma Party with his brother, and they're assigned to go around to the Gypsy communities telling them of their rights and teaching them how to vote. Immediately, the authorities start harassing the brothers. They're stopped, beaten, arbitrarily arrested, but still they keep up their political work."

"Sounds like he and his brother were very committed to their cause," David offered. She instantly stiffened and drew back her hand.

"You're not getting the whole picture. Marius wasn't the only one to suffer. The police went to his parents' house looking for him, and when his mother tried to stop them from ransacking the place, they beat her too. At the hospital, the doctor told Marius' father that it wouldn't be any loss if a Gypsy woman died. By four in the morning, she was having trouble breathing, but the nurse wouldn't do anything without a doctor's authorization. She died an hour later."

"That's terrible," David said quietly. "No wonder he immigrated."

Rhiannon snorted. "Hell, Ichabod, that's not the worst of it. After the autopsy showed his mother died of a clot on the brain, her husband was sent to prison for 'beating his wife to death.' Sometime after that, Marius and his family were walking home from a Roma Party meeting when four men came up and forced them into a car. They were taken to a fenced in yard where they beat him and raped his wife in front of their children, while they cried and begged for mercy. When they were thrown back out on the street, they realized they'd been in the backyard of a Secret Service building."

David had encountered any number of things in his years in the ministry that still haunted him years later, but they were offset by more acts of immense human kindness that had reinforced his iron faith. Even so, Rhiannon's story left his whole face numb, which was just as well since he didn't think that any polite murmurings would be well received. She seemed the sort likely to toss the tea as well as the sympathy back at him. "What happened then?" seemed the only safe question.

"I guess it was the last straw. Marius bought a fake Hungarian passport on the black market and a contact smuggled him out across the Hungarian border. Everyone figured that with him out of the country, his family would be safe, but the police came looking for him and when they didn't find him, they beat his wife up and raped her again. She hid out all summer until her family could get enough money to get her and the children out of the country."

"So now they're together…here?" David asked gently.

"Yeah." Then Rhiannon shook her head in frustration. "But don't you see? He failed them. If it was just him, on his own, giving everything for his political beliefs, then I could understand. But what he did hurt his family. His mother died, his father was put in prison, his wife raped and his kids terrorized, but he didn't stop. All he cared about was his little crusade. What kind of man puts that ahead of his family?"

Sensing that they were nearly at the heart of what was bothering the young woman, David tentatively offered, "Maybe he felt he was doing what was best for them in the long run. You know, working for a better future where things like that wouldn't happen. Maybe he felt the price was worth it."

Abruptly Rhiannon stood and paced in front of the small stoop. "Did he ever ask them if they were willing to pay the price? Or did he just make that decision for them?"

"I don't think we can second guess what happened, not knowing him or the circumstances, but I'd assume that at least he and his wife talked it over and decided the cause was worth the risk."

When Rhiannon stopped and turned back on him, David was struck by the anger in her eyes. "And what about the little kids? Who was looking out for them? They were the parents! They're supposed to be doing what's best for their children!"

Her passionate declaration seemed to drain her, and she sank down again next to David. He regarded her with concern but before he could say anything, she mumbled, "It never does any good anyway. One man can't stand against the tyrants."

"I don't believe that," David said firmly. "One man can stop a line of tanks."

Rhiannon looked up at him wearily. "Only if the tanks choose to stop for him. Otherwise they keep on rolling and squash him into a puddle of nothing. Then what good is his noble gesture?"

"It matters, Rhi, it matters." Unconsciously, he took the familiarity as he struggled to reach her. Her disillusionment sat painfully at odds with her youthful passion. "It matters because one man stood, and if he can, then more will stand after him, until so many stand up that the tanks can't possibly run over them all."

A tiny unwilling smile quirked the young woman's lips and she cocked her head as she regarded her lanky companion. "You're okay, Ichabod. You're wrong, but you're okay."

Startled, David found himself smiling back. "Ah, you're not so bad yourself, for a baby cynic."

"Who're you calling a baby?" Rhiannon growled, but there was no heat behind it. He was about to tease her in return when her shoulders stiffened and she turned her head to stare down the street. Curiously, David followed her gaze and saw a motorcycle coming towards them. The young woman watched it intensely and relaxed only as it continued past them and up the street.

"Problem?"

Rhi shook her head. "No, I just thought it might be my neighbours coming back early. They're usually gone all day on Saturdays."

"Not your favourite people, I take it?" He had the uneasy feeling she'd been prepared to bolt when the bike's roar came into earshot.

"Not anyone's favourite people around here," Rhiannon assured him with a frown. "I had a bit of a run-in with them earlier this week, and I've been trying to avoid them ever since. I changed my route coming home and so far they haven't seen me."

David hoisted himself upright from the casual sprawl he had adopted. "If you're really afraid of them, then maybe we should call the police or something."

The young woman looked at him wryly. "We? You really are new around here. Trust me, there's nothing the police can do. Pike and Eddie are very good at covering their tracks, and they always have alibis."

"Well we can't sit still and allow this to go on," David insisted. "Maybe I should call a neighbourhood meeting to deal with the issue."

"God, Ichabod! You're such an innocent. Believe me, the people around here are too cowed to stand up to the King brothers. You call a meeting, and no one will come. You go to the police and maybe they'll run a patrol car through here once a night, but they can't do anything until a crime is committed. We don't fork over a lot of taxes around this area, so it's not like they're going to pay a whole lot of attention to a couple of neighbourhood bullyboys. You just don't get how it works down here."

"This isn't the first inner city parish I've been assigned to," he argued, feeling his stubborn Scots heritage begin to make itself known. "Nothing worth having ever came easily, but that's what it's going to take. Do you really want to live like this for the rest of your life, scared of every street sound?"

She looked at him sidelong, a glint of defiance resurrected in her eyes.
"Not going to be living like this the rest of my life. A year from now, I'm going to be a million miles away from the King brothers."

"And your family?"

"Especially my family."

David's every instinct wanted to pursue the remark, but something about
Rhiannon had shifted and withdrawn. He sighed as the window of inquiry firmly closed and slid the latch, but consoled himself that at least she was still talking to him, which was a victory of sorts.

"What about your family?" she asked casually. "You said you had a daughter."

David was caught off guard momentarily, but shook his head at last. "They're all back east in Nova Scotia."

"Why aren't they with you?"

The blunt question disconcerted him, but David decided to answer honestly, to repay the trust she had given him, however limited. "Because my wife took my daughter and son with him when she left me ten years ago to move back to her home in Halifax."

"Huh. So why she'd leave?"

A little exasperated, David glanced over to see a small smirk on the young face-she knew how to interrogate just as well as he did. "She didn't like the assignments I was given. She got tired of raising our children in rundown neighbourhoods and decided to take them home to her folks."

"Couldn't you have asked for better locations?"

She was genuinely curious now, eyes alight and interest pricked, but it didn't make answering any easier. "No one else was willing to take those postings. Yes, I suppose I could've asked, but I felt the work I was doing was worth a few broken windows and stripped down cars."

"Worth more than your family?"

There it was-the question he'd asked himself a thousand times in the intervening years. When he didn't answer, Rhiannon snorted.

"You're no better than Marius." She shook her head in disgust and stood up in a single, sharp motion. "I've got work to do."

With that, she turned and went into the house, closing the door behind her before he had a chance to get another word in. David stared after her for a long moment, not really expecting the door to re-open, before he stood and walked back down the path to the sidewalk. Pulling the gate closed behind him, he started along the sidewalk, muttering, "Well, that went well."
Behind him, a curtain fell back into place and a young woman climbed a narrow set of stairs to her room.

Continued in Chapter 4