The Twins of Noremway Parish (4 page)

“
I think you’re being cynical.”

“
Maybe…but you’re too optimistic if you think you’ll get through to her. You know she’s had it out for Teret for years. Hell…sorry…ever since Teret earned the title of ‘parochial vicar’ ten years ago!”

“
Fifteen, actually,” Decon said.

“
Well, even more reason to conclude that Rita is never going to stop this crusade. We should just banish her––send her off to Bassingway.”

“
Talk to Tomias and Ghora.”

“
Or Go-Away Parish; ha, that’s a good one.” Decon smiled. “Seriously though, I’m talking to you.”

“
I have as much authority in that matter as you do; and judging by the fact that you haven’t banished her…are we seriously talking about this?”

“
I’m just angry,” Plague said.

“
So am I.”

“
Nora loves Teret. She’s the best teacher Noremway Parish has ever seen and Rita Morgan has some sort of score to settle. She thinks she can just attack public officials over any disagreement. I mean freedom of speech is one thing, but attempting to undermine the authority of the parochial vicar is something else entirely. That hurts us all and helps nobody.”

“
I couldn’t agree more, Bart, but Rita’s been with us for years; and will be for many more. Aye, she will be. I think we’d best be getting the bad thoughts behind us now before the gathering tonight, eh?”

“
Wouldn’t miss it. Nora’s been looking forward to the harvest gathering all summer.”

They walked out of the cathedral together, side-by-side, the feeling that he had forgotten something important eating at his mind like a pack of piranhas.

***

Inside the cathedral, a few hours later, Brother Decon began the service. He didn’t notice the mayor’s absence. The parish had nearly 10,000 residents according to the last census. He stood on a pulpit decorated with samples of the variety of crops harvested this year. There were of course apples, oranges, and walnuts from the Morgan Orchard. Some corn, wheat, and other grains as well from the various other farms. These dressed the stage front like an apron.

Peyton Morgan, brother of James, and the owner of the only pub in the parish (aptly named Peyton’s Pub) provided some of his famous apple beer as well, made straight from the apples grown in the Morgan Orchard.

But there was something missing, and
this
was what led Decon to notice that their esteemed mayor was not in attendance; but he ignored that fact for the moment. Several muscular men operated the window in the ceiling. The cathedral had a domed roof that was able to open like a shell with the pull of several thick ropes. This operation was only done once a year, at the time of the harvest, and during the late afternoon of the harvest gathering; the sun, although not directly overhead, would shine its brilliant light into the cathedral.

When this was complete and the sun shone through, lighting the cathedral with a heavenly brilliance, he stole a glance at Teret Finley, who stood in front of the pulpit. She was absolutely stunning, her red hair dazzling in the bright sunlight. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not just the beauty of her bright matching hair and eyes, which glowed with a faint red exuberance, but the shape of her body in that tight bodysuit…
God bless whoever said parochial vicars had to wear tight gowns
, Decon thought.
God bless them indeed!
He could feel a stirring in his groin…a yearning that was always there, but had never been satisfied. Despite the heat, he was thankful for the heavy cloak he wore.

He stooped down and invited the lovely parochial vicar up onto the stage. “Let them see you,” he said. “Everyone here loves you.” He waved his hand wide to indicate the large crowd.

She said, “I keep forgetting so many people live in Noremway Parish. They all show up for harvest, but never for service.”

“
About 10,000 at last count, and 9,999 of them absolutely adore you,” Decon said, and they both laughed.

“
You’re forgetting she has followers.”

“
True, but the number changes from day to day. By the way, I want to congratulate you on another successful year, Sister Teret,” he said with wink.

“
You haven’t been doing so bad yourself, Brother Decon,” she said and returned the wink, and actually went so far as to give him a quick hug. That was certainly most unexpected, and the incessant stirring in his groin continued. He mentally gave his thanks again to all in heaven that his nether region was sufficiently hidden.

“
Brother Decon and Sister Teret are flirting,” a little boy (Mangler thought he had to be the Bodkins boy) cried out from the second row of pews. “Shhh, Banks, shh,” responded the boy’s mother. Gasps exploded in the crowd, followed closely by relieved laughter as they saw that what the boy had said wasn’t true.

But was it? Decon
had been
a bit flirtatious, hadn’t he? And she was too. He glanced to his left and saw Teret’s face was a deeper shade of red than her hair. Having these forbidden feelings was one thing, but publicly displaying them was another, and dragging Teret down with him was quite another entirely. He had taken a celibacy oath when finishing the seminary: she when appointed parochial vicar. It was an archaic rule, to be sure, but an enforced tradition all the same.

“
Alright, listen up,” Decon shouted in the sternest possible voice he could muster. “Let’s be serious now. We’re gathered here for the annual harvest.” He looked at Teret who was still blushing and seemed a bit nervous. He eyed the crowd and saw Sheriff Franz Phoenix and Chancellor Ghora Urey standing in front of the first row, backs to the pulpit. He briefly wondered where Tomias Waterman was, but the thought fell away as quickly as it had come; yet that nagging in the back of his mind persisted. He brushed it away as one of those memories he would never recover. It was a large crowd and the mayor wasn’t scheduled to address them until much later in the evening. “We have a good harvest this year. You can see the variety we’ve been able to grow.” He saw Rita Morgan, front row center, gloating.
Why not feed it a little bit? Maybe she’ll leave Teret alone for a while
. “And thanks to Rita and James for the abundance of fruits and nuts from their orchard–couldn’t do it without you.” The crowd erupted into enormous applause, certainly more for the oranges, apples, and the variety of other items the Morgans had managed to grow this year than for the Morgans themselves.

“
Aye, we say thankya, Brother,” Rita said, clapping her own hands wildly. More cheers erupted throughout the cathedral. Rita beamed, assuming the cheers were for her, but a chant ensued that proved otherwise: “
DECON! DECON! DECON!
”

The gathering continued in like fashion with the parishioners of Noremway Parish congratulating themselves on their own work. Decon smiled, as did Teret Finley. It wasn’t long before Physician Bartholomew Plague, Sheriff Franz Phoenix, and Chancellor Ghora Urey came up to the pulpit to speak about their hopes for the future. Plague spoke about his daughter Nora, who was Teret’s star student. Rita scowled during the speech. Was it because she was estranged from her own daughter? Did that give her a right to be bitter toward Plague? Aye, she had a right to be bitter, as did anyone who made a mistake they regretted…but Rita’s bitterness was not a result of regret, for she didn’t think she had done anything wrong.

James Morgan stood by his wife, although more in the physical sense than ideologically. He may not have agreed with her constant crusade against Teret Finley, but he never argued with her–he knew better. He was devastated by his daughter’s lack of contact with the family, although he maintained a somewhat limited correspondence with her—correspondences that she made him promise to keep secret. He knew that she had grown into a beautiful young woman who had even considered becoming a parochial vicar herself, but decided to work in the sciences just like Plague’s daughter: so much for the “traditional” education.

Then she became mayor of Bassingway Parish, taking up the call for the end to the patriarchal government found all over the Inner-Crescent. James was silently proud. Rita was completely oblivious.

This past summer came a wedding announcement with an invitation by messenger, but James burned it. Abigail was offering a truce. She would invite them to the wedding in Bassingway Parish and resume normal relations with her parents if “Mother will allow me to live my own life and have my own beliefs.”
Better not reopen that wound
, James had thought.

As he stood next to Rita at the harvest gathering, hearing her scoff throughout Plague’s speech, listening to her jeers during every other speech, he knew he had made the right choice in keeping the relations distant.

James smiled. Despite his true feelings—anger, regret, remorse—he always carried on like everything was alright. “What are
you
so happy about?” Rita snapped.
Oh right…can’t smile when she’s in one of her moods
, he thought as the smile disappeared.

Brother Decon was in the process of introducing “Mayor Tomias Waterman!” The cheers intensified, and at first no one noticed that Waterman wasn’t even there. Even after the cheers ended, only one person—Teret Finley—thought Waterman’s absence was even worth mentioning…at first, anyway.

She leaned in close to Decon and cupped a hand over his ear. “Tomias and Lynn aren’t here,” was all she said. That was all she needed to say. The nagging at the back of his mind, the memory that he had inexplicably forgotten, suddenly came forth with the power of a large explosive.
The vision! How did I forget the vision! Waterman is in trouble!

A worried look betrayed the thoughts now running through his head, but he made an attempt to make light of it when addressing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen, we may have to postpone the feast. The Watermans appear to be running late. I assure you the Watermans are fine.” Worried looks spread among the parishioners despite the friar’s attempts to minimize it. Everyone knew two things: the Waterman’s were never late, and if they were going to be, they would have sent word.

“
Maybe the missus is having her child, the Waterman heir,” came cries from the crowd. “Aye, must be so,” came the replies.

Plague scoffed. “You think I’d be here if she was having her child? I would have received word. Tomias would have either brought Lynn to me, or called for a messenger to come get me. Neither has happened.” The crowd erupted in frightened conversation:
What if something bad had happened? I hear the wolves are out and they are hungrier than ever! And they can shape shift and go through walls. The great wall can’t even hold them out. Will this be the last year of the harvest? Are we doomed to die in drought? We’re done for.

***

While these conversations were going on, Decon’s eyes met Rita’s. This better not affect my harvest, those eyes said. The Morgans were certainly the most domineering couple in town, often accused of bullying, but everyone seemed to give in to them. They often claimed the righteousness of tradition as their calling—which was something no one wanted to argue against (James always seemed to be the type to go along with whatever tirade Rita was currently launching, but never the force behind it). Even as the friar and spiritual leader of Noremway Parish, Decon found himself intimidated on occasion.

He shouted out to all: “Now, people, there is no reason to panic. I’m sure the mayor is fine. And so are Lynn and the baby.” He didn’t really believe this. In fact, he knew it wasn’t the case. But even during—or maybe
especially during
—potentially tragic events, it is always important to consider the politics of the situation. If he said what he really thought and that stirred more panic–a panic that could hardly be tamed–Chancellor Urey would have his head on a pike.

But something about that left him feeling hollow. He glanced at Teret. The look in her eyes made him decide that he needed to be honest with the people, damn the consequences, and damn the politics. “We’ve heard the howl of the wolves lately throughout the long days, which is a sign of the harvest season. Wolves are ancient predators that show no mercy.” The parishioners looked to one another and murmured agreement, which was good, very good, because they were calm. Some patted the front of their cloaks to make sure they had their knives, just in case: again, good. They felt they were in control…at least in some way. “The path that Ragas took to give us a good life was a trying one. It took
resilience
. It is time to pray so we too can have the resilience and resolve of the great Ragas so we can survive in this world.” Then Teret took over the speech. Even though it was Decon’s moment of improvisation, she seemed to be feeding from the same wavelength. “We will be ever grateful to the great Ragas and his strength. Now let us pray for health and hope.”

As others around them prayed for strength, Rita Morgan looked around, condemning those who were going along with this impromptu speech. She looked to her husband, who was praying. “
What are you doing?!
” He quickly stopped, looking sheepish, unsure of what he had done to anger his wife.

The service was quickly over without feast, without many of the common prayers, and without the mayor’s harvest address. As the people started to leave, Decon left them with a message of hope: “Now is the time for us to seek the mayor and his wife. Bart, Ghora, Franz–you with me?”