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THE DRAW CORD CONTINUED WHIPPING THE WALL with an annoying tap-tap-tap, but the bursts of cool air that came through Roland’s bedroom window refreshed him. Inspired him. Leg bouncing, he sat hunched over the saint book and jotted down notes.
Saint Nicholas Pieck. This was the martyr for him. For whatever reason, this one spoke to him.
He was born in Holland. Where is that? West of Germany, right?
While images of windmills and tulips and wooden shoes popped into his mind, Roland glanced up at the world map he’d pinned to the wall next to his desk. He found the Netherlands, not Holland, west of Germany. Maybe it was renamed like Sri Lanka and Cambodia and Iran.
Back to the biography. Nicholas’s parents, both strong in their faith, sent him to some famous college in some unpronounceable town. There he received the habit of the Friars Minor. Wait—
Running a finger down the page, Roland skimmed the biography. He was a Franciscan Friar?
He lived about three hundred years before Saint Conrad of Parzham, Roland’s favorite saint, who was also a Franciscan.
Nicholas lived during the time of the upheaval of the Protestant Reformation. Passionate about his faith and undaunted by those who opposed it, he spoke out with humility and clarity, combating heresy everywhere. And when the threat came close to home, he exhorted the townspeople to cling to their Catholic faith no matter the cost.
The upheaval and rebellion against the Faith in Holland grew intense. Calvinists sent mercenary sailors called the “Sea Beggars” to ravage the coast. Aware of the threat, Father Nicholas delivered several speeches to his fellow townsmen, warning against the errors of Calvinism.
Then Calvinist pirates took over the town of Gorkum, where Nicholas lived. They rounded up the local Catholic clergy—nineteen priests and brothers—and threw them into a foul dungeon. During the night, the Calvinists vented their rage against them, singling out Father Nicholas for the cruelest treatment. They choked him with his own cord that he wore around his waist and then touched a burning torch to his face, ears, and tongue. Then the marauders forced the priests and brothers to parade through town reciting litanies to make people laugh.
Roland huffed, disgusted.
Once Father Pieck’s family learned of the kidnapping, they tried to get him released, but he refused unless the others would be released with him.
The Calvinists said they would release them all if only they would deny their Catholic faith. All nineteen swiftly rejected the offer and instead confirmed their belief in the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the authority of the Pope. Father Pieck spoke for them all when he said, “I would rather endure death for the honor of God than swerve even a hair’s breadth from the Catholic faith.”
By this time, the townspeople and local magistrates, even the Calvinist Prince William, had taken the side of the prisoners. Still, their captors wouldn’t let them go. By cover of night, they led them to an abandoned monastery and made nineteen nooses. They strung up the nineteen priests and brothers. And left them to hang until dead.
Roland shuddered. Disturbed at some deep level but also impressed by the courage of these men, he slouched back and rubbed his neck.
Why did the people of that generation care what others believed? Why use violence to try to change someone’s mind or to silence them? Why can’t people disagree and still respect each other?
Something nudged his thoughts, trying to move to the front of his mind. Something Caitlyn said? Something about the vandals?
“It might have been someone we don’t suspect and for a reason we don’t suspect.”
Wait . . .
What made the kids who threw the rock into Caitlyn’s house think he was her boyfriend? It must’ve been someone who saw them together at school, maybe the day he’d grabbed her hand to drag her away from Jarret on lunch break. If so, the culprits shared their lunch break. The neighbors wouldn’t have known.
Then again . . . if the neighbor’s son had seen Caitlyn peeking in their mailbox, he and his friends could’ve followed and spied on her. When Roland stopped over two days ago, they might’ve assumed he was her boyfriend. They could’ve seen him knocking on doors in the neighborhood too. But he hadn’t done that alone. Why would the message attached to the rock have been directed only at him?
Tell your boyfriend to stop snooping.
Maybe the person who threw the rock didn’t know about all their investigative work. They only knew his part—
Seized with realization, he looked up from his desk. His gaze fell on the window, but his mind took him somewhere else. He knew who the vandals were. But what was their motive? No, it couldn’t be them.
The curtain billowed out just then, the draw cord tapping the wall, and his phone rang. A burst of air cooled his face as he lifted his phone to his ear, increasing his excitement to share his theory with Caitlyn.
“Hey, Caitlyn.”
“Uh, no. Don’t you check your caller ID?” Peter said with snark in his tone.
“Oh.” Peter’s voice grounded him. But then he picked up background noises, maybe rain tapping on glass.
“Hey, man, I need your help,” Peter shouted over the noise.
“What’s wrong? Where are you?”
“The battery in the Durango died, and I need you to find a way to get the new battery out to me.”
“Out where?”
“Uh . . . just a bit north of Rapid City.”
Roland stood and went to the window. Storm clouds hung over the shadowy woods that edged their deep front lawn. Branches swayed and leaves fluttered in the wind. It might’ve been sprinkling, but he couldn’t tell from his window. Then a tiny drop sailed through the screen and landed on his cheek.
“Rapid City is an hour away,” Roland said, not sure how he could possibly help Peter no matter where his car had broken down. “What’re you doing out there?”
A pause. “Brice needed a ride. So, look, are you gonna try? My dad’s out for the night or I’d ask him, and Mom can’t leave the B & B for that long.”
“Who am I going to ask? My father’s out, too, and Keefe’s on that retreat.”
“Yeah, I know. But what about . . . I almost hate to even say his name.”
“You mean Jarret? He’s on a date.” Roland bristled at the thought of asking Jarret to do a favor for Peter.
“Come on, man, I need your help. He’ll do anything for you, lately, it seems.”
“All right. I’ll figure something out.” Roland grabbed his black hiking boots from his walk-in closet and sat on the end of his bed.
“Great. Thanks, man. The battery’s on the back workbench. And grab the blue toolbox next to it. And call me if you don’t find a way, but I’m countin’ on you.”
Roland ended the call and shoved his foot into a boot. Would Jarret do this for him? Peter was right: he’d been helping Roland in every possible way ever since Roland broke his leg.
He pulled up Jarret’s number and stared at it for a second. Then he called Keefe. The phone rang a few times while Roland tied the laces on his hiking boots. Keefe finally answered the call.
“Hey, Keefe, it’s Roland.” Roland grabbed his black waterproof jacket from the closet and stepped into the hallway.
“Roland, what’s up?” Keefe spoke fast, sounding a bit anxious. The hum in the background said he was still on the road. Shouldn’t he have made it to the Franciscans’ place by now?
“I need a favor. I need you to talk Jarret into helping me. It’s kind of an emergency.” He hurried down the stairs.
“I’m in Minnesota. You should probably ask him yourself. You know he’d do anything for you.”
Roland explained the situation on his way through the house. Jarret would probably help Roland, but Peter was the last person on earth he would do a favor for. And Keefe had always stood the greatest chance of convincing him to do anything.
“Okay, let me pull over and I’ll call him.”
“Thanks, Keefe.”
Roland stuffed his phone into a pocket and stepped into the dimly-lit garage. Gray light seeped in through narrow windows in the garage door, showing an empty four-car garage. Jarret had gone out in his red Chrysler. Keefe had taken Papa’s truck. Papa had the Lexus and even Mr. Digby had gone somewhere.
If Jarret said no, who else could he call? He grabbed his bike from where it hung on the wall and rolled it out the side door of the garage. A cool breeze greeted him, feeling good on his neck and face, despite the humidity in the air. Intensely aware that he hadn’t ridden his bike since he’d broken his leg, he mounted it and took off.
Dropping from the paved driveway to the gravel, a jolt of pain shot through his leg but it passed quickly. He tightened his grip on the handlebars and pressed onward. He could do this. It’d be good exercise. Besides, Peter had no one else to help him.
Raindrops sprinkled his face as he rode toward the path that ran parallel to the long gravel driveway. Under the canopy of leaves, the light rainfall could no longer reach him.
If Jarret said no, he’d ask Leo, a kid from school who had given him a ride in the past. He’d have to pay him. But no big deal. He had a few bucks in his wallet.
Halfway to the Brandts’ house, Roland’s phone rang. He stopped his bike and yanked out his phone.
“Hey, Roland,” Keefe said, “I think you ought to call Jarret yourself. He didn’t really answer me, and I gotta get back on the road.”
“Okay, well, thanks for trying.” He’d half-expected Jarret to say no. Heart racing from having pedaled so hard, Roland ended the call and flipped through names in his phone. None of his friends had their license, much less a car.
He stopped on Leo’s number. Might as well try.
After a resounding “no” from Leo—he’d temporarily lost his driving privilege for reasons he chose not to disclose—Roland pulled up Jarret’s number.
He took a few deep breaths and braced himself.
“Hey, Roland.” Jarret’s low confident voice came over the phone. “Can’t talk. I’m on a date right now.”
“Yeah, hi, Jarret. I know.” He paused to take another breath. “And if I could think of any other way, I wouldn’t bother you.” Guilt teased him. He didn’t want to take advantage of Jarret’s recent streak of kindness, but he didn’t know what else to do and this was important.
So Roland begged.
And after a few simple exchanges, Jarret actually said, “So what exactly do you need me to do?”
“Really? You’ll help?” Roland couldn’t believe it.
“I don’t know. Tell me what you need.”
“I’m on my way to Peter’s.” Roland glanced up to see if he could see the pink neon B & B sign between leaves. No, not close enough. “His car broke down an hour north of here, and he just needs the battery in his garage.”
“Wait. Peter has a car? He’s not even sixteen.”
“Yes, he is. He turned sixteen last month.”
“Okay, so I’m supposed to drive you and a battery out to Peter? Then I leave?” Jarret actually seemed to be considering it.
“Yeah, then you can leave.” Roland felt a glimmer of hope. “Peter can get his car going, no problem. I’ll ride home with him.”
Jarret gave no reply, but he must’ve been thinking about it.
“Okay, well, I’m gonna get going,” Roland said. “I’m five minutes from Peter’s. I’ll wait there for ten minutes, but then I’ll ask Peter’s aunt if she can do it. Or someone. I’ll find someone. I shouldn’t have bothered you. I knew you were on a date. Bye.”
With a prayer that Jarret would help him and that the rain would hold up for a little longer, Roland pushed forward.
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