“Just a second, please, Nina,” he implored as gently as he could, knowing how she was when confronted. “I have a favor to ask.”
Nina raised an eyebrow. “Father, I'm not going back into the house for this. I just went through a gauntlet of troubles getting the bloody key…”
“No, no,” he smiled, holding up an open palm in polite protest, “you don't have to go back in the house. I shall be brief.”
She folded her arms and sighed, waiting for him to state his business. The wind rearranged the strands of hair she could not tuck in under her beanie, irritating her eyes with the whipping ends. Her incessant blinking made her appear even more irate than she was.
“I know you don't see eye to eye with the church anymore, but we were hoping that you could attend this coming Sunday. Mrs. Langley has fallen ill suddenly and we need an organist,” he said hastily, as if delivering the request faster would more likely lighten the blow. “And, well, you being the only person I know who can play well enough…” The clergyman humbly folded his strong hands across his abdomen, trying to look her in the eye. He’d run out of fitting words with which to ask and just waited, while Nina did the same. For a small eternity, the two of them simply stood staring at one another.
Father Harper could feel her dismissal on his skin and waited for something like 'when Hell freezes over.' In turn, the historian was bewildered, to say the least. It showed in the deepening scowl forming between her eyes. In truth, she was a little flattered that this stuck-up community of Catholics would even condescend to ask her, the black sheep of the land. Now would be the perfect time to get back at them with equal disdain, with similar deference as they’d shown her when she’d first moved into the historical residence she now occupied. They’d been just a few pitchforks short of a mob and now they needed her help?
“Are you serious?” was all she could utter without thinking. It left her old schoolmaster much in the way he’d expected — disappointed.
“Aye, but if you have other things to do we’ll, of course, understand,” he shrugged and started down the steps with a polite wave. “I'll try Henry over on Cruachan!” he hollered through the wailing wind, his voice arrested by its low howl as he walked away.
Inside, though, Nina Gould was honestly considering it. Her more civilized decorum came to the fore, forcing her to choose the path of humility — a far more humiliating punishment for her detractors. Not long after she found herself going over her weekend plans in her head, actually checking if she had time to accommodate them.
“Father Harper!” she shouted after him, instantly seizing his attention as if he’d been hoping for her summons. He turned, seemingly unperturbed by the wild gusts that rampaged through the seam-tongues and lapels of his blazer and pants. Father Harper was huge by comparison to the average man, like a Scottish lumberjack with Jesus-eyes. Nina could clearly see the hope shining on his docile face and for a moment she almost felt sorry for him.
“Hang on!” she called, collecting her car keys and walking towards the place where he stood like a raven beacon in the fog. “Let me drive you back to the church and we can talk.”
“I'm not going to the church, Nina,” he explained. “I was heading for Kimberly Atkins' home. She’s very ill and couldn’t find anyone to take care of her daughter this morning.”
“Alright, then. I'll drive you to her house,” Nina offered as she made for her car, “before the bloody wind carries me off to sea!”
“That would be very Christian of you,” he replied, dreading his involuntary words as he spoke them. “I mean, that would be great. Thanks, Nina.”
Father Harper knew well that his margin for pushing Dr. Nina Gould away was non-existent. Her lack of faith was not the problem. To him, the problem was what she put her faith in. What little he could gather about the relatively well-known woman who’d grown up right in front of him was that she’d abandoned her Christian upbringing as many others did. But the murky part of the strange river he was paddling down was what exactly she meant when she said she believed, but not in the way he did.
“Next road left, correct?” she asked.
“Aye, next one,” he replied gratefully, ducking his head somewhat under the roof of her car. The Tucson was quite a beast of a car, even more so with petite Nina behind the wheel. But it only proved why Father Harper walked or used his motorcycle to get between points. They drove up to the sick congregant's house, a small and modest little place. The garden looked recently neglected, with the grass of the lawn just a little too long and the little green gate swinging away from its lock and slamming back into the posts.
“Many thanks, Dr. Gould,” Father Harper said as he opened the door to get out. “Will you give it some thought, then?”
“Aye, I’ll let you know by tomorrow,” she nodded cordially, smiling, to his surprise.
“Good! Good,” he muttered as he gathered his blazer and held it taut to get through the flailing gate. Nina let the car idle while she waited for him to get to the front door, as courtesy dictated. He looked at something quite acutely, away from the house he was visiting. Even as he progressed, the preacher faced something past the boundary of the residence, as if his attention was utterly engaged by it. As the lace curtain of one of the front windows twitched, Father Harper held up his hand to the occupant, gesturing for them to wait a moment.
He turned and fiddled about in his pockets, pretending to have misplaced something in Nina's car. A lady opened the front door of the house, while the preacher cried back to her, “Be there in just a moment, Kim!”
“What the hell?” Nina asked to herself as he opened the door, looking befuddled.
“What did you lose, Father?” she asked as he leaned in.
Under his breath he replied sincerely, “I don't want to alarm you, my dear child, but… just take heed.”
“Of what?” she frowned.
He sighed laboriously. “I could be wrong and I hope to God I am, but I think you’re being watched. Nina, I think someone might be following you.”
Chapter 4 — Miss Earle's Bus Ride
Joanne hated these mornings. Much as she adored the children she educated, having to leave her classroom made her feel like a hermit crab after a vicious current. She felt exposed and homesick for the comforts of that which she loved. This was precisely why she’d become a teacher. As far as she was concerned, staying in one solitary class room suited her just fine.
Just adorning her wooden throne in the front of the class, speaking her wisdom and being appeased by young peasants with sacrifices of flash drives and cheap bead bracelets was just dandy. And no, in junior high there were no such gifts as apples on her desk. First off, those were reserved for primary school teachers — a lesser species — and secondly, the only apple she was interested in was one she used to surf the Net with at night.
“Miss Earle?” a shrill voice called from her door while she arranged her desk neatly in the empty classroom.
“Tell them I'm sick,” she mumbled without looking at her skinny colleague and friend, Miss Parsons from down the hallway. The gaunt woman with the messy ponytail entered, pursing her lips playfully as she moved towards her reclusive friend.
“How can you not enjoy road trips? I think it's great to get out of this correctional facility for a while, don't you?” she nudged Joanne. “What's keeping you here?”