The Pious Few: into Weston

Dear Mary,

I was thankful to the One True God to take the second watch tonight, not because I wanted my sleep interrupted, but because I would have a few moments alone to write. With every dip of this quill into the ink, I look up imagining you will be across from me. Even though you are not there, just the act makes me feel closer. Just before I started this, I could almost smell the rosé water you used to use.

I imagine you want to find out what happened to the boy and it seems he has become an important part of this assignment.

I carried him what seemed a long ways, although my men seemed to be pleased with how close Weston had been. By the time we saw the gates, my arms had frozen in the same way a farmer's hand will sometime be stuck to the plow. It was if my body was prepared to always carrying the weight of him and any adjustment to the contrary hurt from the knuckles of my hands to my shoulders. I could imagine having to sleep on my back so my hands could be trust in the air, holding the ghost of him.

As you might imagine, I was incredibly happy to see the rough wall and the gate we would enter through and the men who stood watch seemed happy to have peacekeepers entering there. It could not have gone any smoother. I admit I was a little concerned we would not be so welcomed, being in the wild and all, but they were downright civilized. Additionally, they gave me quick directions to the church.

I carried the boy to the church knowing Father Domenus was my contact, but also knowing he might be able to assist the boy. I stopped before I stepped in, when I realized the boy had not stirred in my arms in quite a while. I was concerned he might have.., he hadn't. His breathing was as light as can be imagined and he was stone still, but he lived.

In the church, I lay the boy in the first pew I spotted, trying not to jostle him anymore than I had to. The motions to transfer him caused my arms to ache, but with the weight gone, I could begin regaining their use. As I tried to rub the pain out, I spotted two individuals at the front of the sanctuary. The first was a tall, thin, elderly man, who reminded me strongly of my grandfather. The good one. He wore glasses and smiled and talked with his hands. His teeth seemed to radiate from his tan skin and there was no aggression in this man at all. He was talking to what I guessed was an alter boy. A teen, who also looked friendly and maybe a little serious. Perhaps he was trying to impress the Father.

I assumed, wrongly, that this was Father Domenus, but upon introducing myself he made it clear he was Father Gonsalvas and the body he was training was Tobias, He then told Father Domenus was in his office and he pointed the way. I explained briefly about the boy and Winn and I headed into the office.

Father Domenus was nice enough, explained where we could spend the night, said he would have Father Gonsalvas take the boy to the children's hospital and then, almost bashfully, said the Father Gonsalvas was the reason we were there. He had called in on his fellow priest. He liked the man, said he did good work, but his "miracles" were splitting Weston. He had even gathered a bit of a cult following. Mary, I have to tell you, I understand why. I had only met the man a few minutes and, while it might be because of how he looks like my grandfather, I wanted to hug him.

We moved to the doorway of the office and looked back out across the church. Father Gonsalvas and Tobias stood by the pew where I had laid the boy. The rest of my men stood away. While they were getting instruction to take the boy to the hospital, I noticed their body language was wrong. They weren't looking at the unconscious boy in the pew. When they turned to Father Domenus's voice, I would see why. Tobias had the boy by the hand and the angle had made it so I couldn't see him standing there until they shifted positions. There he was, alert, maybe even active, and talking.

As the three of them walked out, I tried to fix in my mind what I had just seen and I realized I was still rubbing my arms and shoulders trying to get the stiffness out. I've never been good at letting go.

Your loving Husband,

Piermont