"What is it, exactly, that you're asking?"
"I guess...what I'm wondering...is how does the church look at these other religions? If I take on Hindu philosophies for my own, does that mean I'm, well, damned? What about Muslim, or Buddhist?
The Tao of Pooh
?"
What if I dance naked in the moonlight by the spring beneath the oak with my hair loose to the wind and flower petals scattered around?
"My faiths, the things I was taught here at this church, are a very deep part of me. They're
important
to me. But right now I'm also finding it important to look at other faiths." Pagan faiths, which she wasn't ready to say. Not when so many people equated pagan with evil. Brenna herself would have to visit the library to understand truly what fell into the definition of a pagan faith, and she wasn't even sure it mattered right now. Not with a veritable shrine to Mars Nodens in her back yard. "I guess I'm worried about crossing some sort of line. The kind you can't come back from."
"Ohh," Reverend Dayne said, a drawl easing into his voice. "There are very few of those, for someone in your position." He crossed his ankle over his knee and rested a hand on that leg, looking very much at home with himself. She hadn't shocked him, then. She hadn't said anything to worry him. She'd just been slotted into one of his past sermons. "Adult faith isn't stagnant, Brenna. An exploration and study of other faiths is an excellent way to confirm our own beliefs. The important thing is to make those explorations in a thoughtful way. Not—to use an extreme example—to dive into a cult situation just because we're trying to fulfil something lacking in our lives."
There wasn't anything lacking in my life when all
this
came up
, Brenna thought automatically, and then suddenly knew how wrong that internal commentary had been. There'd been plenty lacking in her life. Family support and interaction. Career satisfaction. Someone who liked dogs and the farm and movie nights as much as she did.
Someone with whom to share her baths.
She was just so used to dealing with those empty spots that she never saw them any more. But that wasn't the conversation she was having with him. Not this time. "So you don't think it's possible to
add
religions," she said. She found a dog treat in her vest pocket and worried it between her fingers. "To truly believe in more than one thing."
He regarded her for a moment, somber for the first time in the discussion. "Brenna, many of those outside Christianity believe that Jesus existed, and even that he was a great prophet. They just don't happen to believe that he's the
one
Son of God. Here, that's what we do. It may not be entirely expedient—how much easier it would be if we could mix and match religions, or decide what inconvenient part of our faith we'll simply set aside to suit our needs of the moment. No. Yahweh is the one God. And in our faith, the Holy Trinity comprises that God. That's what it is to be Christian."
Of course it was. Brenna suddenly didn't even know what she was doing here. What kind of answer had she
expected
? An arrangement to believe in God on the odd days and Mars Nodens on the even? No, it was a choice. One or the other.
And she had a feeling that the
other
had set up presence in her pasture.
"I'm sorry, Brenna," Reverend Dayne said. "I can see I haven't eased your mind particularly. Is there any other question? Some specifics, perhaps, that I can address for you?"
"No, thank you," she said, standing. The dog treat had disintegrated into annoying crumbs in her pocket sometime during his final comments. "I have some things to think about. I hope...I hope I'm welcome to call on you again."
"Anytime, Brenna," he said, warmly enough that she really believed him. He, too, stood, and held out his hand. She removed hers from her pocket, swiped it off on her jeans, and wondered what he thought about biscuit crumbs as she shook his hand. Then, a little too tired to be anything but hazy, her most focused thought relating more to the leftover peanut butter cookies in her truck than spiritual matters, she headed for the exit at the back of the sanctuary.
~~~
The next day at work Brenna posted
help wanted
signs on all the grooming area and store entrances, and stored a pile of applications beneath the grooming counter. She submitted an ad to Roger, who for once had goals that coincided with hers—get a new groomer, and get one fast. It would not, she knew, be as easy as he thought. They'd get applicants who thought that "likes to work with dogs," was adequate preparation for the exacting and demanding work of grooming, and far too few people who'd actually been through any sort of vocational schooling.
At least they had DaNise—short, round, cheerful smile, and the darkest skin Brenna had ever seen—five days a week, and she was picking up the details of her job quickly. She'd even made herself a small step stool so her elbows didn't bang the insides of the tub, which Brenna viewed as a relieving sign of both her initiative and her intent to stay with the work.
Before she left the store, Brenna found a red marker and penned a bold reminder to all of them.
Get Customer Rabies Info!
it said, and she underlined it before taping it to the back edge of the counter where the customers couldn't see it.
And practice what you preach
, she told herself, locking up her equipment for the day. Far too easy to grab a walk-in nail clipping client without question, especially during the rush periods.
On the way home she pulled into the church parking lot, and stared at the church for a while. The day had turned balmy for early May—shirt-sleeve weather, with the interior of the truck too warm to sit in the sun for long. Just long enough to look at the unimposing exterior of the church—not even a bell-tower, and the stained-glass was at the back of the building—and decide against going in. The pastor might be there, and before she spoke to him again, she wanted to have found some answers of her own.
This wasn't the place to look for them.
The spring. That's where she'd go. Where she could think.
Of course she took Druid, and the rifle to boot. Gossip about the feral dogs was dying down, although at work today she'd heard more talk from people wanting to link them to the rabies despite the utter lack of evidence. Masera, she realized, was right—regardless of the warnings, regardless of what had happened to Sunny, no one had ever seen a member of the oft-discussed pack.
But something was out here.
Something
had ripped Sunny from her collar. And while Brenna was no longer certain it was anything that could be stopped by a rifle, she had a grim appreciation of the weapon's heft in her hand.
What did you
do
?
Masera had demanded, making it crystal clear that the darkness had touched him as well, that he recognized, somehow, something special about her place by the spring. The Mars Nodens place. The place of power.
What
had
she done? Nothing in that magazine article, so long ago, had hinted that Mars Nodens had a darker side. Maybe it was something else. Maybe her actions as a young girl had nothing to do with the things that were happening to her now.
Which brought her right back to where she'd started these thoughts, to why she felt so driven to visit the spring in the first place. How could she believe both in her one God and in the existence of Mars Nodens?
One thing she knew. She'd never figure out the nature of the darkness while she struggled over how to acknowledge its existence. Or
if
she even believed in anything other than her own internal faltering. Maybe she ought to be calling her doctor, not camping out by a spring.
But Masera felt it too
.
If she was crazy, then
he
was crazy.
Given how little she trusted him right now, she didn't find the thought particularly reassuring.
She sat with Druid on the side of the hill for a while, taking him up as close to the spring as she could without triggering him and enjoying the warmth of the lowering sun. Not particularly thinking about anything, but taking advantage of the way the babble of creek water filled her mind so she could
stop
thinking.
Early T-shirt weather, all right, despite the bright red hooded sweatshirt dumped carelessly on the ground beside her. And then, because it seemed right and because she so seldom did so, she pulled the hair bands off her doubled braid and finger-combed her hair so it settled over both her and Druid, a procedure he found interesting enough to take his mind off the close proximity of the spring. He sniffed it thoroughly and got strands of it caught in his whiskers, and ended up giving a mighty sneeze. When she laughed, he looked up with a doggy smile, panting as his black coat soaked up the sun, the corners of his mouth relaxed and happy. It was then she decided not to take him any closer to the spring. Not tonight. They both needed a happy moment, and they'd found one. No point in ruining it.
She took him downhill, instead, and tied him off to a tree so she could visit the spring herself. "I bet you'd do a grand sit-stay," she said at his affronted expression, "but I don't want to worry about you right now."
Back up the hill, as always, she paused by the grave site. "Hello, old hound," she said, still full of affection every time she spoke to his memory. "Watch for me these days, will you?" He would, if he were here. He'd be sitting at the crest of the hill, under the oak, scanning the pasture. "And you," she said to Sunny's collar, feeling a sudden fierce ache in her throat. "I miss you more than either of us would have expected, I think. I'm still not sure what happened, but I haven't given up trying to figure it out."
She turned to the spring, sweeping her hair around and into the lap she created by kneeling. "And
you
," she said, more quietly, all the tenderness gone from her voice. "I don't know what's going on here, but I wish you'd give me some clue.
Whoever
you are. There's no need to be so damn mysterious, pardon my language. I need all the help I can get—" Shoot, if it could even help her figure out
Masera
— "and right now, you're just making it worse." And then, deciding that maybe she'd gone over the line with that one, she added, "Well, it
feels
like you're making it worse. I suppose I should allow for some all-knowing plan."