2.

WHEN HE RETURNED to the vestry after service he lifted the stole from around his collar folded it and placed it on his desk.

He sat down and smoothed the white surplice that he wore over a black cassock then gently patted his fine red hair down in place. He reached for his hand mirror and checked his reflection then patted it down again.

Tea had been made and left on his desk.

There was a knock at the door.

The Priest lifted the strainer from the pot and poured himself a cup. From his cassock pocket he lifted out a small decorative snuff box whose lid was inset with tortoiseshell and using his fingernail he scooped up a tiny amount of white power from it then tipped it into the tea. He stirred it and tapped the spoon on the edge of the cup.

Come in.

The door opened.

The Priest looked up. His face was pale and the colour of blotting paper. His eyes were rimmed red. Hinckley thought of the pelt of a fox.

He removed his hat.

I’m sorry to disturb you Father.

The calm or disturbance of our mind does not depend so much on what we regard as the more important things of life as in a judicious or injudicious arrangement of the little things of daily occurrence. Do you know who said that?

I’m not familiar Father. I’m sorry.

The thief is sorry that he is to be hanged said the Priest. Not that he is a thief. Uncredited proverb. Origin unknown. What do you want.

I need your help Father.

The Priest lifted his cup and saucer and blew on the tea. He saw a tiny amount of the powder’s residue still floating on the surface and felt a small flutter of excitement; a pleasant loosening deep in his bowels. He sipped the tea. There was a quarter segment of lemon on the saucer. He squeezed some juice into the tea then stirred again and blew again.

Sipped again.

Do you.

My bairn’s been taken.

The Priest replaced the cup and leaned back in his chair. He resisted the urge to check his hair in the hand mirror again by spreading his hands out on the desk before him. Hinckley saw that his fingernails were abnormally long and manicured. They shone with polish. They were not the fingernails of a man. The Priest caught him staring and he looked away.

By who?

By our help Father. A girl.

What girl?

One of yours.

From St Marys?

Yes.

Which one?

The mute.

The Bulmer girl.

Aye. The dummy.

The Priest said nothing. Something flickered across his eyes. A darkness or a sense of recognition. A rage quelled deep within.

When did this happen?

This morning. In the night.

Which?

In the night.

Tell me how.

She just went. On foot I’d reckon.

A hand moved up and reached to the crown of the Priest’s head. He slowly ran it down the back gently patting each hair in place then he picked up his tea cup and drank from it slowly. He felt a tightening in his jaw and around his temples. It was the powder demanding attention.

She’s not so dumb that she can’t get herself a job a bed and a bairn that isn’t hers though said the Priest.

Hinckley said nothing.

The Priest stared at him. He breathed in then slowly exhaled. He felt a new sense of sharpness. A cold clean hollowness. He tasted metal.

Hinckley thought he had never seen lips so thin. The Priest’s mouth was a gash in his face as if the flesh of his mouth had been pulled tight across his skull then slit with a knife. He wanted to leave the room as soon as he could. He looked away.

There are two things I’ll need to know. Why and where.

Hinckley shook his head.

I don’t know Father. I don’t know where. Most likely she’ll have taken to the fells. Anywhere.

She’ll have a head start then.

Aye. She could be anywhere.

There are only so many paths out of town and the hunted will always take the easiest exit. That doesn’t concern me. What concerns me is why. Why did she take the child.

Hinckley shook his head again.

I wouldn’t ask a favour if –

The Priest interrupted him.

You already have.

I’m not one for them normally.

It’s not a favour said the Priest.

I know said Hinckley.

It’s beyond that.

I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll pay.

The Priest snorted and that loosened something within because then he swallowed and said it’s not about money. Do you think money is worth anything in the kingdom of heaven? Doesn’t a shepherd tend his flock? The girl belongs to me.

And I just want the bairn back said Hinckley. I’ll give you owt you want.

Don’t let your mouth say anything stupid.

My wife –

Your wife let an imbecile take your child.

It wasn’t her fault.

Then it is your fault. It is your skewed judgement that brought you here to rapidly accrue a growing spiritual debt to the church with every passing minute.

Hinckley shook his head in confusion.

If I find the girl or the baby you will be indebted said the Priest. Deeply. Whether the child is dead or alive the debt will stand. If you renege or you disappear or you die the debt carries over.

I’ll do whatever I can to help.

It seems like you have done enough.

How do you mean?

The reason.

What?

There’s a reason the dummy took your baby said the Priest. You haven’t said why. There is always a reason. Did you have her?

Hinckley looked away. He shifted his feet and looked at the tea-pot then wondered if he could smoke in the vestry.

I told you: she’s not right. She’s built up all wrong.

The Priest smiled for the first time and when he did his thin lips drew back. His gums were large and almost blue in colour but his teeth were small and square. Set deep. Pegged like the milk teeth of children. He raised his tea cup and sipped. Smoothed his hair.

Did you touch her?

Not like that Father. No.

Why did you come to me?

You have the experience and the methods Father said Hinckley.

I am only here to serve my Lord. No-one else.

Yes. I understand.

So.

So.

So whatever happens happens between me and our Lord said the Priest.

He spread his hands on the desk again. Hinckley looked at his nails again. Long and clipped and gleaming like blades.

Are we not after all each and every one of us only answerable to Him?

Yes said Hinckley. I suppose so.

And all you want is the return of your child.

Of course.

Then the lame will leap like a deer and the mute tongue shout for joy said the Priest. Water will gush forth in the wilderness and streams will flow in the desert. I shall find your child Mr Hinckley. And I shall find the girl though in what state I can’t say. Whether they are alive or dead is God’s will.

Hinckley swallowed then cleared his throat.

Is that the Bible you’re quoting Father?

The Priest ignored him.

I’ll need help of course.

Will you require transport?

If she has gone on foot then I shall go on foot too said the Priest. The hunter must understand the hunted and follow in their tracks. It’s the most efficient way. God provides. The Poacher will be the best man in town for a job of this nature. You’ll need to fetch him now. You’ll find him in a ditch no doubt. And I’ll need a scent of course.

Scent?

Of the child or the girl on a garment. For the dogs.

Hinckley ran a finger along his jawline. He had not yet
shaved.

The girl. She has these rags.

Clothes?

No. Like knotted rags. Dirty tatty things they are. She’s never without one. She pretends that they are dolls – adopted like. I’ve caught her whispering to them. Silent whispers of course. Her mouth going but no words coming like.

The Priest drained the last of his tea.

A rag will be fine. And something from the child. Anything.

Margaret could find something. These dogs –

You should go said the Priest. Get the Poacher. Tell him what you told me.

What if he won’t come? He’s a selfish bastard.

Tell him he’ll be exonerated of all outstanding charges. He will be formally pardoned for past misdemeanours rewarded handsomely by the Church and looked upon favourably by our Father. And if he still won’t come tell him I’ll be paying him a visit when he least expects it.

Yes.

Go said the Priest. Now.

Hinckley turned away. The Priest tipped his head back and drained his cup.

WHEN SHE STIRRED again the fire had died down but the range was glowing.

The baby was asleep on one of the other chairs. It had woken once but the girl had rocked it back and forth and now it was asleep again; a tiny bundle bathed in an orange glow. Outside a strong wind whistled around the sharp corners of the house.

And the man was standing there looking at her. A breathing shadow. She could smell him. Sweat and soil and silage.

She recognised it; it was the smell of the bogs and animal pens. It was the smell of farming. It was the smell of her father; the one before the one who called himself that. His face she could not remember though she still recalled his boots and his breath and the way his big hands gripped her thin arms – and his smell. Definitely the smell. The girl realised after all these years that she still remembered the wet dog scent of the fell tops hanging from him. All the liquids of the world stirred together and dried down to the stain of him.

She closed her eyes again to wish the farmer away – to wish the memory of her father away – but when she had counted to ten he was still there his breathing long and deep and laboured as if he had just come in from the fell.

There was something wrong with the atmosphere of the room. The air was disturbed. She sensed a movement from him. His arm moving one way and then another. And then she thought she heard him sigh but she wasn’t sure.

She could smell him as he moved closer through the half-light. She felt coiled and cornered.

He moved towards her and reached out his hand and his eyes were stone and then his hand was on her sliding beneath her to grab at a breast and then he was massaging it and breathing heavily and the glow of the coals turned the room from dark orange to carmine.

She felt his thick dry fingers tugging and nipping at her tight skin and her breast hurt and her chest hurt and she didn’t dare draw breath but then suddenly he was drawing back and cursing. His hand rose up in front of his face and he sniffed his fingers and it was at that moment that she felt the spreading wetness of the lactation from her nipple. A milky mess; her own surrogate beastings. It was a miracle. It had to be.

God providing. God in action.

I have fed you with milk and not with meat she thought. For hitherto ye were not able to bear it; neither yet now are ye able.

The man turned and left and stumbled on the stairs.

She stood and checked on the baby. It was sleeping soundly its eyelids fluttering and its mouth clucking and chomping and working away on an imaginary teat. She uncovered her breast and leaned to it.

THE FARMER WAS UP before it was light.

He came and went and then he came again. The baby had soiled itself again so the girl took it out of the dog’s blanket and washed around its crotch and then found her blankets. They had been hung above the range and were warm and brittle to the touch.

The man came in with coal and logs. It wasn’t raining.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t look at her. He folded more kindling into the range and worked the stoppers until the wood took.

He had his back to her and didn’t look at her once.

I’ll do us a bowl of hasty he said. Then you’ll be gone.

He took a small sack of wheat flour and scooped some into a pan then added milk a fistful of oats and a pinch of salt. He set it down then made some tea.

The baby gurgled and a bubble formed on its lips.

They ate in silence: the girl in the chair and the farmer standing at the bench by the range and looking out the mullion windows into the yard where the sky had cleared. When he had finished he put his bowl on the bench then he came to the girl and picked up her bowl of hasty pudding even though she was still eating it.

She still held the spoon in her hand.

He stood in front of her just as he had in the early hours. He loomed over her and looked down with disdain. His eyes put a shiver through her. She saw for the first time that that they were as grey as the slate and the scree and the Cumbrian cairns that scratched at the sky.

I know what you are he said quietly. She looked down into her lap.

You’re a dummy.

As he said this his lips curled back into a sneer.

A dummy and a big lump of a heifer that’s good for nowt but milking.

She pressed herself straight against the back of the chair. She could smell him again. Strong and stale. It hung from him. Framed him. She couldn’t breathe.

He looked down to her chest then back up then sneered again. His mouth a slit in his face.

Thought my luck had turned when you fetched up.

He snorted.

Fat chance.

He looked into her eyes and she held her breath.

Just my luck to get a dummy. And a sow of a dummy at that.

He leaned down and she arched her back but then he straightened and pointed out to the yard.

Go he said.

Now he said.

Before I change me mind he said.

THE POACHER ARRIVED unshaven and unsteady in a long oilskin mac that gave off a strong waxy stench. Rank. His accent was thick the vowels swollen and cumbersome in his slack mouth. His eyes glassy. The Priest did not rise from his chair.

May I remind you where you are.

Father?

You are in a place of worship. Your hat. Remove it.

The Poacher lifted his cap and folded it into his pocket then ran his fingers through his thick dark hair. It stood like the hackles of a fell terrier that’s cornered a fox.

Hinckley sent us.

He’s told you of his dilemma.

The Poacher shrugged.

So you know time is of the essence said the Priest.

I don’t know nothing said the Poacher.

The Priest raised an eyebrow.

I don’t know nowt Father said the Poacher.

Your tracking and hunting skills are required immediately as is your knowledge of the fells.

Aye well. I gathered that. Tommo Hinckley said summat about payment.

You’ll be paid.

And me record.

Your record will be cleared.

How’s that like.

The Church has a lot of friends in town. I’m sure you know that. Clout. I’ll make sure of it.

What are we hunting anyway asked the Poacher.

Not what. Who.

Who?

Yes.

A person?

Yes. A girl.

We’re hunting a lass?

Yes. A young girl who has absconded with a child.

What’s absconded?

Run away.

With her bairn.

Not her child – no. Someone else’s.

Whose?

Hinckley’s.

He never even said. He’s a miserable bugger him.

He’s more miserable now said the Priest.

I didn’t know he had a bairn said the Poacher.

He might not for much longer.

Didn’t think his missus was capable.

That’s their business said the Priest.

Who’s this girl?

One of the fold.

One of your St Mary’s lot?

If you mean one of the young ladies from the orphanage then yes. One of the blighted.

What’s blighted? Like in potatoes?

Never mind.

What’s the family name? the Poacher asked.

What does it matter. She’s my responsibility.

Not much. Just making conversation.

I don’t need you for your conversational skills.

The Poacher paused. A minute passed.

Well where’s she got to he said.

That’s for us to find out said the Priest. Hinckley thinks the fells most likely. And so do I.

How will we find her?

With your knowledge said the Priest.

Knowledge. I like that. Rare’s the time anyone says I’ve got me some knowledge especially a man of the cloth like yourself.

With God’s guidance we’ll prevail.

And our Perses.

Who’s Perses?

Me hound. Named after some old God. He’ll sniff her out.

I’m aware of who Perses is. The God of Destruction.

Aye. That sounds about right.

You don’t strike me as a scholar of the classics.

I’m not a scholar of nothing but snaring and trapping Father. I’m no book learner. Bad for your eyesight and a lot more besides. No. This one was already named when I got him from a gadgie over Threlkeld way at eight week old. Rum type he was. Up from the city and fancied his chances with a farm. I gave him two year; he lasted less than one.

Then as an afterthought the Poacher said: they reckoned folk kept lifting his sheep.

How long before you can gather your dog and some provisions?

Don’t need no provisions.

We don’t know how long we’ll be gone.

She’ll have not got far. We’ll find her by tea time.

I admire your optimism.

I’m a glass half full fella me.

Strange. Because from here you smell like a glass entirely empty man.

The Poacher stiffened.

That’s as maybe. But nature’s my larder. I’ll just need a sit down for a little while first.

There’s no time for that.

I just need to check my eyelids for holes Father.

I’m assuming you’ve been drinking.

It’s a fair assumption.

How long for?

Well now. I started young so reckon it must be twenty-five year.

I mean how long this time.

Couple or three days. Don’t fully remember. Depends what day it is today.

You look a state said the Priest.

I always look like this.

I hope you’re not going to be a hindrance.

I said I’d help said the Poacher. And I will.

I don’t believe you did.

I’m saying it now.

Fine said the Priest. Then get your dog and meet me here in an hour.

An hour?

One hour.

Have I got time to –

No.

THE PRIEST HAD finished packing a bag and changed into a tweed overcoat when there was a scratching at the door.

He opened it to the Poacher and a dog straining on its lead so hard that it was standing on its two back legs with its front legs pawing at the space where the door had been. It was nearly as tall as the Priest. Flecks of foam gathered at the corners of its mouth.

You’re late.

Aye well said the Poacher. Like I said I’ve not had much kip this week.

Well you better get used to it. We’ve got a walk ahead of us.

Had to eat some duck eggs said the Poacher as he was pulled into the vestry by the dog. He was still unshaven and had not changed his clothes.

This here’s Perses. A bull mastiff. You’ve got old English bulldog mixed in with English mastiff. Call it the Gamekeeper’s Night Dog; bred for seeing off poachers like me they are. That’s why I’ve got him. To keep one step ahead in the game like. Know your enemy and that. Not that he comes with us everywhere. Can’t be scaring the creatures off else there’d be nothing left for my pantry.

Did Hinckley give you something for the scent?

Aye he gave us these.

The Poacher pulled a clutch of rags from his pocket and rubbed them in the dog’s face.

He’s not much used to the indoors is Persey.

Then we should get going. Where is your bag?

You just worry about yourself Father. You’re looking pale if you don’t mind my saying.

I do. I do mind.

Sorry.

Don’t be sorry. Just do what you’re here to do. Help me find the girl.

WHEN THE FARM dwellings had long disappeared behind her the girl crouched down behind a wall and rested a while.

She unwrapped the baby and lifted it out from its blanket and removed the corner wedge of ham from beneath its back that she had torn from one of the cured sides hanging in the scullery and the large potato that had been by the baby’s feet. It felt heavy in her hand. She put it in her pocket along with the meat and a spoon that she had also slipped up her sleeve. The farmer’s debt.

As she held the baby in front of her it emitted a stream of urine. She tried to move out of the way but some of it caught her hand and she was surprised by how warm it felt. Hot even. It was golden. The baby was thirsty. Short on fluids. Draining remnants.

She wiped her hand off on the grass then wrapped the child back up in its blankets.

She had a sheet too. She’d taken it from the farmer’s clothes line.

He must have hung it first thing and now she was folding it and fashioning it to form a crude pouch with which to hold the child tight across her back. The first attempt failed as the baby squirmed and she couldn’t tie the knot right. She tried again by lying the bairn on the sheet on the ground and then leaning back on it to make sure it was held flat against her with its legs spread-eagled then she tied the sheet tighter this time with a front knot down by her left hip. Then she slowly stood. The baby was held firm across her back now.

The girl leaned against the dry stone wall for a moment and then started walking again. It felt much easier. The weight was more evenly spread and her broad hips and legs shared some of the burden and her hands were free. She felt less vulnerable walking across uneven ground where rocks lurked in the long grass.

The baby gurgled in her ear. It wore the same clothes she had taken it in; the clothes Hinckley’s wages had bought.

He had answered shirtless that very first day down in the town. Her memory of him would always be of that first moment: his white chest concave and not at all fleshy and rounded like hers. He had been in the middle of washing himself and had a towel rolled around his neck. She could see his ribs and the wisp of hair at the centre of his chest and around two tiny nipples. His belly button was an ugly nub. The stump of something cut and cauterized.

Sister had gasped and a hand fluttered to her mouth and then she regained herself.

Mr Hinckley.

Aye.

We’ve come from St Mary’s.

Eh?

St Mary’s.

Is it the wife you’re wanting?

It’s about the girl.

Sister had her by the elbow again. Her case at her feet.

The girl had looked at the man’s bare torso. The man looked from Sister to the girl then back again.

Eh?

She’s the help.

Hold on a minute.

He turned and went back into the house and the door gently closed itself behind him. Sister tutted and ran a finger around the rim of her tight collar.

Stop slouching she hissed even though the girl wasn’t.

Then she muttered something to herself. A piece of scripture: the turning away of the simple shall slay them and the prosperity of fools shall destroy them she said.

She was always doing that was Sister. Muttering quotes from The Book. She had ones for every occasion. The girls were encouraged to do the same. They were drilled into them. Taught by rote as most could not read.

The man returned wearing a shirt this time but still open at the chest. The girl noticed shaving soap on the lobe of one of his ears. She looked at his Adam’s apple bulbous in his taut lathered throat. Those ridiculous nipples dark and flat and tiny.

What is it you’re after?

It has been arranged for you to receive some help about the place Mr. Hinckley. From the girl. I believe your wife is sick.

She’s sick alright. Coughing up the black stuff half the night. And there’s the wean to look after an all. It might be that she mentioned it a couple or three weeks back. I can’t say it all goes in. She’s asleep now but.

Sister didn’t say anything to this.

This is the lass then he said.

Yes.

The man wiped the foam from his ear and considered the girl.

Well what’s she got to say for herself.

Nothing.

Nothing?

She’s the silent type.

Well what’s that supposed to mean?

She’s a mute said the Sister her hand still at the girl’s elbow. Never speaks a word.

The man stared at the girl until he broke her gaze and she looked away.

She’ll hear you alright though said Sister. She might act like she’s not heard you but she will have. It gets through eventually.

Well what’s wrong with her the man asked as the girl watched his scrawny throat pulse and bulge like that of a chicken on a block then she looked past him into the darkness of the terraced house. I bet I could make her talk. Here – watch.

He leaned over with his hands on his thighs.

Go on then girl – say summat. There’s a present for you if you do.

She pursed her lips and said nothing.

Go on. Just give us a word.

She looked away.

One word. Even a squeak.

She’s tapped said Sister. Bad breeding is what has done it. Bad breeding and a families’ devilish ways. You’ll not get a peep out of her. Trust me. I doubt she could form a sentence even if her mouth let her.

He shook his head.

I’ll get a word out of her. You just give me time.

Well said Sister. She’s a good little worker I’ll give her that.

She’s not that little. Bet she eats a lot.

Just enough to get by.

Hinckley sniffed.

Diseases?

None that we know about.

What about law breaking? I’ll not tolerate thieving.

No. She’s been with us since she was a wean. Brought up the Godly way. The right way.

Aye well said Hinckley.

She might not read or write but she can cook and clean and scrub like no-one. She could recite the scriptures if she had a tongue in her head. She’s had years of practice. Builds a good fire too.

If she’s so handy about the place he said why is it you’re wanting rid of her?

She’s come of age Mr Hinckley. They cannot stay forever. None of them. We need the beds. Your wife said it would be agreeable. Said she’d be a help with the young one.

Aye. Didn’t know it was today though.

He looked at the girl’s face again.

She’s helped raise some of the babies that have come through said the Sister. She’s trained in the ways. Weaning and washing feeding and fetching. All of that.

Hinckley had said nothing.

And she’s Christianly said the Sister.

He nodded.

Aye you said. Another thing I cannot abide is noise me. Specially in the mornings. So she’s got that in her favour. Don’t know if I can feed another mouth though what with the bairn.

I understand. That is why St Mary’s is happy to provide a small stipend.

He sniffed again then gently ran his finger over his flat stomach idly rubbing it.

Is that right?

Yes though of course the greater reward comes from up above.

Aye said the man. Up above.

The reward is great in heaven.

What’s the family name?

Bulmer.

I don’t believe I know it.

You’d be best not to said Sister. Rum lot. Bad breeding if you know what I mean.

From the town?

Up top. One of the farms.

The girl felt for her dolly rag in her pocket and squeezed it.

Which one? I’ve done a bit of work up there. Walling and that.

I don’t know Mr Hinckley. She came to St Mary’s a long time ago. She is our longest standing resident.

Why?

Why?

Aye – why did she come to you? Must have been something up.

I believe there were some problems at home.

What problems.

I don’t know. Impropriety. Her people were incapable.

I bet they were. What do they call her?

Isabelle. Bell.

Isabelle Bell?

Isabelle. Bell for short.

The man touched his face again.

Well she could do with some help could Margaret what with all her coughing. No doubt about that – the amount of nappies the bairn gets through. And there’s the housework. She’d have to go in the nursery though. On the floor like.

You wouldn’t mind that said the Sister. Would you?

She squeezed the girl’s elbow. The girl flinched and pulled her arm away. Sister took it again and held it harder and tighter than ever.

She’d be grateful of any roof Mr Hinckley. A roof and food and a floor and a good day’s work. That’s all she needs. He will provide the rest.

Who will?

He will Mr Hinckley.

Oh aye. Him.

Like I said neither you or your wife should have any problems out of this one. She’s stubborn when she wants to be alright and she’s on the shelf for good but she’s not like some of the others with their cursing and their carousing and their wickedness. She’s well disciplined and if she steps out of line you be sure to let me or the Father know about it.

Oh Hinckley said and then scrutinised the girl with renewed interest. One of Father’s girls is she?

Sister nodded. She ran her finger around her collar again.

And this stipend he said.

It’s a monthly payment – in cash. Modest but it’ll help with food and fuel. A false balance is an abomination to the Lord but a just weight is His delight.

Well then.

A hand was at the girl’s back again. Sister’s hand. It gave a push. The girl stepped forward. She was close to the man. She could smell cigarettes on him. Cigarettes and shaving. Behind him the house smelled of boiled onions and sweat. Milk on the turn.

You best come in then he said.

The girl hadn’t moved. Couldn’t move. He stepped aside. Sister shoved her forward. She stumbled and fell into the house. Sister slid her suitcase in behind her.

Hinckley closed the door.

THE DOG PICKED up the scent at the end of Hinckley‘s street and took them to the nearest mud track out of town. It was an obscure grassy rut that rose sharply up the hill that sat behind the town hall and which lead to the lower slopes of the Eastern fells.

The Priest let the animal take the lead. He noticed the Poacher dragging his foot.

After nearly two hours of walking the Poacher stopped and urinated where he stood.

They were high along the ridge of the valley.

We’re on the right track Father he said without turning round. Persey as good as says so. He’s pulled us along all the way. We’ll find this girl of yours in no time. Mark my words.

You’re limping said the Priest. Are you tired already?

Nope.

The Poacher shook himself off then reached into a pocket and pulled out a greaseproof parcel. The paper was soaked through with oil. He opened it and broke off a piece of flapjack. He wedged it into his cheek. Then as an afterthought he offered the open parcel to the Priest.

He shook his head.

Suit yourself.

The Poacher threw a scrap to the dog then folded the parcel away. He untied the rope from the dog’s neck and let it roam free. It wandered away and then squatted. It bent double – a crude question mark against the landscape. The Priest smelled its evacuation on the breeze.

What’ll you do when you find her said the Poacher.

I’ll return the child.

What about the girl?

The Priest shrugged.

I thought you said she belonged to you.

She belongs to God said the Priest. And I am an envoy of God. It’s His will. He’ll decide her fate.

How will you know?

How will I know what?

What that fate is said the Poacher.

Because that eventuality will reveal itself in time.

What if she’s harmed the bairn though.

It’s God’s judgement.

And you believe all that do you Father?

All that.

Fate and God’s will. All that stuff.

All that stuff is the foundation of my belief system and the core of my existence. Yes of course I believe that.

And you believe that God controls everything.

That’s a very simple way of seeing it said the Priest. But yes in a manner of speaking.

And He made all this. The mountains and valleys.

The Ice Age made the mountains and valleys.

So not God.

God froze the water to make the glaciers then God melted the glaciers that made the mountains and valleys.

And that’s in The Bible.

No it’s not in The Bible said the Priest.

So how do you know?

How do I know.

Yes.

How does one know anything said the Priest. I know because I believe in Him. I place my faith in Him and I know that His guidance is all I need. Every decision I make is with His hand on my shoulder. Jesus said if you have faith and don’t doubt then you can even say to a mountain may God lift you up and throw you into the sea and it will happen. We should carry on walking. Look – the dog is getting ahead of us.

Now that I’d like to see.

The Priest’s face was tight with impatience.

What? he said.

Can you lift mountains Father?

Don’t be idiotic.

Could Jesus?

Jesus was a humble man.

So it’s God who can throw mountains into the sea.

If you like.

The Poacher paused.

I’m not sure I believe that he said.

Have you ever seen a rock fall? A landslide?

No Father.

But you’ve seen evidence of them. You believe them to be true.

No reason not to.

And you’ve heard of earthquakes.

Not round these parts.

But you’ve heard of them.

Yes. In other lands.

And volcanoes. And great tidal waves.

Yes.

You’ve heard of Pompeii.

Don’t believe I have.

But you accept as fact that oak trees grow from acorns.

Everyone knows that.

Well then. That’s God’s capability.

The Poacher fell silent and they continued to climb. After a few minutes he spoke again.

Is it true what they say about you Father?

It depends who they are and what they say.

Around the town like.

How could I possibly know what they say.

That there’s more to you than meets the eye said the Poacher.

I hope so.

There are stories Father.

I’m sure there are.

Scandalous stuff. I’m sure it’s all lies. Hearsay like.

Well I can’t refute them if you don’t share them.

I’m not sure I could repeat them Father.

Well shut up and keep walking.

Some of the people said the Poacher with caution. They’re scared of you.

Then they can’t be believers. Because believers do not fear. The people in my congregation do not feel fear. Or if any do it is a fear of God weighing judgment on them for their secret sins. Nothing more. Mainly though they know only the love of Jesus Christ.

Is that right.

Yes.

So as a believer you’re not afraid of owt.

No said the Priest. Nothing.

Nothing?

Nothing.

Maybe it is true what they say then said the Poacher.

And that is?

I’m not sure I can say Father. Ungodly things.

Then stop talking and keep walking. We’re wasting time.