“I’ve been invited to a religious retreat with the Women of Faith Foundation,” Barb said. “I’ll be gone for about a week. And I may be going somewhere afterwards, I don’t know how long that will be.”
“Uh, huh,” Mark said. “I can’t believe they didn’t score that as a foul, would you look at that?”
“Mark,” Barbara said, with just a hint of impatience. “Did you hear me?”
“Uh…” Mark said, finally turning to look at her. “No?”
“I’m going to a religious retreat,” Barb repeated. “For a week. Then maybe somewhere after that, I don’t know how long.”
“A week?” Mark snapped. “Who’s paying for it?”
“The Foundation,” Barbara sighed. “And my plane fare.”
“Why?” he asked.
“It’s through the church,” Barbara replied, only half lying.
“Who’s going to… ?” Mark said, pausing.
“Cook? Clean? Do the laundry? Pick up the kids from school?” Barb asked. “Shop?”
“Yeah,” Mark replied. “I’ve got a job!”
“Brandon and Brook can stay in the after-school program. I’ll get someone to cart Allison to cheerleading. For the evening things, like karate and dance, you’ll have to do it. I’ll leave a list of chores for the kids and premade food for some of the nights. Then there’s take out and delivery. You’ll survive, I’m sure.”
“You don’t have to be sarcastic,” Mark said, sighing. “Why do you have to go I guess is what I mean.”
“A foundation is paying for me to meet with other women of faith in a dialogue on the nature of faith,” Barbara replied, admitting that it was only half of the truth. “It’s important, to me, to our church and to God. I’d hoped to get your blessings on it, not resistance.”
“Whatever,” Mark said as the game started up again. “Like you said, we’ll survive.”
“Thank you,” Barb said, but she knew darned well he hadn’t heard it.
The “religious retreat” was at a small facility in western North Carolina. Barbara could have driven, but the foundation had provided plane tickets to the Asheville airport so she found herself negotiating her carry-on through the small crowd and wondering who was going to be meeting her.
As she exited the restricted area she saw a short, plump, older woman with a face full of wrinkles and wearing a paisley dress who was holding up a sign that said: “Barbara Everette.” The woman’s silver hair was pinned up on her head with silver pins and she wore what, to Barb’s eyes, was an enormous number of necklaces, most of them silver and bearing both cabalistic symbols and other “fantasy” motifs. The centerpiece was a massive dragon’s head cast in silver that seemed to be roaring defiance. Her makeup was also… outré in Barbara’s opinion, heavily applied and very extreme, the eyeliner working up almost to the edge of her hair and making her look somewhat elfish.
Barb, who had dressed in a cream silk shirt, light maroon washed silk jacket, a matching skirt and heels and was wearing only a pearl necklace and her wedding ring felt that she was either over dressed or underdressed but that, certainly, they were going to make an odd pair. However, she approached the woman, holding out her hand.
“I’m Barbara,” she said, smiling. “Please call me Barb.”
“Sharice Rickels,” the woman said, lowering the sign and taking her hand. “Glad you could make it. I’m looking forward to talking.”
“It… should be interesting,” Barbara said, uneasily. “I have to pick up some checked baggage.”
“Not a problem,” Sharice said, depositing the card in the nearest trash and leading her over to the baggage claim area. “I heard, many of us have heard, how you were chosen to attend the Foundation meetings. We were, to say the least, impressed. Also impressed that a Christian would both be able to do what you did and not find the Foundation odd or impossible.”
“You’re not a Christian?” Barb asked, curiously.
“Oh, Lady, no,” the woman said, laughing merrily. “You’ll find few among our ranks. There are some Catholics, a few, but you’re the first Protestant I’ve met. Most of us are what you would term pagans. I’m a Wiccan, reformist — mind you, I don’t have the body for sky clad. Well, not anymore,” she added with a grin. “I had my days, lovey. But most of us are pagan. Wiccan, Hindu, Asatru, got a lot of Asatru…”
“I don’t even know what any of those are,” Barbara said, curiously. “And they’re all… members of the Foundation?”
“Yes,” Sharice said, shrugging. “There are… oh, I suppose you could use the term ‘politics’ even in the foundation. More like… theatrics, if you don’t mind the pun,” she added, grinning. “Power is a function of followers and interest on the part of the deity. Asatru is gaining in strength, not only in the foundation but in the world. They’re worshippers of the Norse Gods, by the way. Thus they’re increasing in power and that’s good. Of course, there’s the sub-branch that follows the chaotic tenets of the Jester and that’s a pain in the butt, as you can imagine. Hindus, of course, have great power, but it’s dispersed what with one thing or another. You think we have problems here, you have no idea how bad it is in India or other regions where Hindus are prevalent. We’ve been hoping for more Christians. America is an essentially Christian country and the power levels available to ardent Christians are just amazing. But the faith is so…” She paused and looked embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I was on a hobby horse.”
“I think you were about to say something like ‘closed minded,’ “ Barb said, shrugging. “I suppose it is.”
“But we do what we can with the power available to us,” Sharice said, brightly. “Really, the… other side is as crippled as we are. They have many worshippers in secret, but they can’t coordinate like we can.”
“There’s my bags,” Barbara said. “Could you maybe get a skycap? I’ve… got a few.”
“A few” turned out to be five, including her carry-on, which she added to the stack.
“I think we can get all of these in my car,” Sharice said, nervously. “I hadn’t realized you’d be bringing so many.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t have,” Barb admitted. “But I didn’t know what the meetings would be like, what to wear, and the last time I traveled I traveled so light I didn’t have the right clothes at all. So I sort of brought… everything I might need.”
“I’ll go get the car.”
Sharice’s car was a three-year-old Malibu, light green and… cluttered. The back seat was covered with books, bags and implements, some of which, like the skull-headed mace, made Barbara question if she was meeting the right person. The front seat held a large bag with a black knife handle and some candles peeking out, while the floor was filled with magazines, most of them with demons, dragons or fairies on the cover.
“I suppose I should have cleaned it out,” Sharice said, embarrassedly. “But I like to have clutter around me. It’s what’s called comfort clutter,” she added, hoisting her obviously heavy bag into the back. “And… I’ve learned to have my tools with me at all times.”
Between packing the trunk and the back seat they got all the bags in the car. Barb tipped the skycap, then got in the car, kicking the magazines aside to get some floor space for her feet.
“I understand you pack,” Sharice said as they pulled out of the front entrance.
“Yes,” Barbara said, unhappily. She’d left her .45 in the Honda at Birmingham Airport and had felt half naked ever since.
“Glove compartment,” was all Sharice said.