"Doubly indebted to you, Deputy," I say, handing over the mule's lead rope. In truth, it would probably take a gunshot to dissuade the mule from following obediently along, rope or no rope. But I've learned over the years that rapport is built as much from what gestures I accept as those I offer, and being on a lawman's good side is worth the time.
I'm surprised when he mentions the Jesuits. Most of those who remember our sister order on this side of the ocean are in the Spanish-speaking regions. I beam a smile up at him, but make a note not to underestimate him, genial colloquialisms or no. "A lot like them, once. Long ago, Jesuits and Franciscans were the intellectual backbone of the Church. Dominicans, too. Our missions were all different, though. They focused on education. We focused on living close to nature. For a while, anyway." I'm not having trouble keeping up with his long strides, though whether it is due to practiced consideration or simply his unhurried nature I could not say.
He questions me further, asking what I had meant about faith. Memory yanks me to a brief halt in the road. "It's... Some types of faith are defined not by their relation to belief, but to doubt. The painful gulf that separates what you intuit from what you can touch with sense or reason." I glance up, to read his expression. "When the end came, some said that it proved all along that we were right. Others said it didn't. It didn't matter, really. It didn't work out the way anyone expected. We're all still here."
I finally get her moving again. Had the deputy not been present, I would have applied force in short order, but that's hardly the first impression I want to give. "And so long as we're still here, there's work to do."
We're nearing the town, then, and he begins to speak of it. I nod as he speaks, committing it to memory. Rapid growth. Electric power. Markets. He mentions the Abbey and I give him a curious glance, but he clarifies, and I shrug. "Decent will serve. It's hard enough to find in trying times." In truth, I'm just happy that they aren't likely to know me. I've been recognized by agents of the Church only twice in all these years, and the resulting confrontations were exceedingly ugly.
"I will present myself at the Abbey, but should that not work out... Who would I speak to about renting a room, and stabling my horses? And should I present myself to anyone, as a new arrival?" It's become a sensible question to ask when I arrive anywhere. Particularly in the more suspicious or inhospitable regions. Some take a dim view of strangers.
no subject
I'm surprised when he mentions the Jesuits. Most of those who remember our sister order on this side of the ocean are in the Spanish-speaking regions. I beam a smile up at him, but make a note not to underestimate him, genial colloquialisms or no. "A lot like them, once. Long ago, Jesuits and Franciscans were the intellectual backbone of the Church. Dominicans, too. Our missions were all different, though. They focused on education. We focused on living close to nature. For a while, anyway." I'm not having trouble keeping up with his long strides, though whether it is due to practiced consideration or simply his unhurried nature I could not say.
He questions me further, asking what I had meant about faith. Memory yanks me to a brief halt in the road. "It's... Some types of faith are defined not by their relation to belief, but to doubt. The painful gulf that separates what you intuit from what you can touch with sense or reason." I glance up, to read his expression. "When the end came, some said that it proved all along that we were right. Others said it didn't. It didn't matter, really. It didn't work out the way anyone expected. We're all still here."
I finally get her moving again. Had the deputy not been present, I would have applied force in short order, but that's hardly the first impression I want to give. "And so long as we're still here, there's work to do."
We're nearing the town, then, and he begins to speak of it. I nod as he speaks, committing it to memory. Rapid growth. Electric power. Markets. He mentions the Abbey and I give him a curious glance, but he clarifies, and I shrug. "Decent will serve. It's hard enough to find in trying times." In truth, I'm just happy that they aren't likely to know me. I've been recognized by agents of the Church only twice in all these years, and the resulting confrontations were exceedingly ugly.
"I will present myself at the Abbey, but should that not work out... Who would I speak to about renting a room, and stabling my horses? And should I present myself to anyone, as a new arrival?" It's become a sensible question to ask when I arrive anywhere. Particularly in the more suspicious or inhospitable regions. Some take a dim view of strangers.