Prologue
Bandera, Texas February 2, 1855
Two young men, in Roman clerical collars and black coats, descended from the stagecoach. Three others awaiting their arrival hurried up to them.
“Father Nowicki? Father Jankowski? I’m Thomas Mazurek. Allow me to introduce Franz Jureczki and Kaspar Kalka. Welcome to Bandera. We’re very pleased to have you here, since we’ve been anxious to start our parish. How was your trip?”
Mazurek was a sturdily built man who worked in the cypress shingle mill. He spoke in his native Polish.
“Thank you. We’re happy to have received this assignment,” Father Robert Nowicki answered, also in Polish. “Our journey was rather long and tiring. We would like to freshen up a bit.”
“Of course,” Mazurek replied. “We’ll get your luggage and take you to Maria Bish’s boarding house. You’ll be staying there until the rectory is completed.”
The priests climbed into Kalka’s waiting buckboard. Their belongings were retrieved from the stage and loaded into the wagon. Once that was completed, the parishioners joined them. Kalka picked up the reins and slapped them on the horses’ rumps, putting the team into a brisk walk.
“Have you chosen a name for the church, Thomas?” Father Stefan Jankowski queried.
“Yes, Father. It will be Ul. Stanislawa Kosciol. The bishop has already given his approval.”
“Saint Stanislaus Church,” Father Jankowski translated. “Excellent choice.”