Wolves Among Us
Authors: Ginger Garrett
What people are saying about …
Wolves Among Us
“Ginger Garrett’s new novel,
Wolves Among Us,
transported me to sixteenth-century Europe from the very first page with its stunningly beautiful language and masterful use of sensory material. The novel uncovers an important, thought-provoking topic. Quite a few times I wanted to stop and ponder a point made in the book, relating it to life today; I could not stop, however, as the novel itself compelled me to read on.”
Sandra Byrd,
author of
To Die For,
a novel of Anne Boleyn
“A palpable suspense keeps the pages turning in this tragic chapter of history where innocent women were condemned, false prophets reigned with fear and superstition, and those who fought to get the Word to the masses risked their very lives. More disturbing is that such wolves still lurk among us, but thanks to the sacrifices of saints before us, we readily have the Word to expose them.”
Linda Windsor,
author of
Healer,
Book One in the Brides of Alba series
“With heartrending characters caught in a battle between good and evil and a plot interwoven with false religion, deception, and a hunger for the truth,
Wolves Among Us
is a gripping novel with eternal implications that had me thinking about the current state of Christianity and my own heart long after the final page.”
MaryLu Tyndall,
Christy Award finalist and best-selling author of the Legacy of the King’s Pirates series
“A spellbinding journey into the heart of a village and the heart of a woman seeking truth. Garrett’s lovely storytelling binds us to our fellow women of the turbulent sixteenth century and reminds us that, even today, only the Ultimate Truth can set us free.”
T. L. Higley,
author of
Pompeii: City On Fire
“
Wolves Among Us
is a story that lingers in the heart, a story about the mysteries of the spiritual realm and the power of God to shine light on the darkness around us. Ginger Garrett is an excellent novelist.”
Hannah Alexander,
author of the Hideaway series and
A Killing Frost
“In
Wolves Among Us,
Ginger Garrett has created intriguing, true-to-life characters who face struggles that challenge their faith.”
Margaret Daley,
award-winning author of seventy-five books
WOLVES AMONG US
Published by David C Cook
4050 Lee Vance View
Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.
David C Cook Distribution Canada
55 Woodslee Avenue, Paris, Ontario, Canada N3L 3E5
David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications
Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England
David C Cook and the graphic circle C logo
are registered trademarks of Cook Communications Ministries.
All rights reserved.
The website addresses recommended throughout this book are offered as a resource to you. These websites are not intended in any way to be or imply an endorsement on the part of David C Cook, nor do we vouch for their content.
This story is a work of fiction. All characters and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is coincidental.
Unless otherwise noted, all Scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV®. Copyright © 1973, 1978, 1984 by Biblica, Inc™. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved worldwide. www.zondervan.com. Scripture quotations marked msg are taken from
THE MESSAGE
. Copyright © by Eugene H. Peterson 1993, 1994, 1995, 1996, 2000, 2001, 2002. Used by permission of NavPress Publishing Group. John 10:10–13 in chapter 23 is adapted from William Tyndale’s gospel of John.
LCCN 2011920857
ISBN 978-0-7814-4885-7
eISBN 978-1-4347-0374-3
© 2011 Ginger Garrett
The author is represented by MacGregor Literary.
The Team: Terry Behimer, Nicci Hubert, Amy Kiechlin, Sarah Schultz, Caitlyn York, Karen Athen
Cover Design: Kirk DouPonce, DogEared Design
Cover Photos: shutterstock_26035945; iStock_000000313735; iStock_000007332085
First Edition 2011
Contents
AfterWords
Acknowledgments
First, to the entire team at David C Cook: I owe you a debt of gratitude. The economy is rocky, the market is changing, and even when I get discouraged, you continue to believe in my books. Thank you more than I can say.
To Nicci Hubert, an editor who gave me plenty of work (or is it the other way around?): I owe you a debt of gratitude too. I had such peace about working on this book knowing you were my editor.
To Chip MacGregor, literary agent extraordinaire: Thank you for being willing to walk with Mitch and me on this road.
To my novelist friends whom I treasure: India Edghill, Siri Mitchell, Kimberly Stuart, Sandra Byrd, the girls on the bean loop, and the writers of the Silver Arrow critique group: Thank you for keeping me sane and always laughing.
To my readers: I love your emails more than I can say! Please keep them coming. I love to know what is on your minds and hearts.
And lastly, to my family—I love you all.
Watch out for false prophets. They come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ferocious wolves.
—Jesus
Chapter One
Germany, 1538
Dinfoil Village at the southeastern edge of the Black Forest
Weeks had gone by since winter had lost her blinding white beauty. Cold gray mud at Father Stefan’s feet and dull clouds above him were all that remained of her icy pageant. He waved his hand at the low clouds, willing them to be gone. The hopeful golden sun of spring was overdue. He longed for its warmth to awaken new life in his little village.
The good Lord had other plans for the morning, however. The sun remained shrouded, and the air kept its chill after a midnight rain. Father Stefan could see his breath when he exhaled, a small wonder that still fascinated him even in these, the middle years of his life.
Each wet stone on the cobblestone streets of Dinfoil was packed so close to the next that the market lane looked like the side of an enormous, glistening brown fish. The lane was as slippery as a fish too, and Father Stefan was careful as he walked. If he slipped and broke a leg, he would be of no use to anyone—not as a spiritual father or as the town physician.
The sky may have refused any promise of warmth, but the new day still brought its own comforts. Bread baking in ovens and the crisp hints of spring’s first greens teased his nose as life burst out into the lanes everywhere he looked. Last night the great lashes of lightning had driven everyone inside early. Now no one wasted a moment starting the new day: Shutters were being opened as he walked, children ran through the leaves torn from trees by the winds, and merchants dashed with their carts along the bumpy stone lanes, anxious to reclaim yesterday’s lost business. When winter’s ice melted away, travelers appeared from many villages, eager to spend their money at the market and meet new people. Fresh tales were as coveted as fresh supplies in those first weeks of spring.
Father Stefan walked through the town square, where children played prancing ponies, skipping in wide circles. One boy slipped, catching himself on his palms. He winced and muttered a curse under his breath. When he caught Father Stefan watching him, he blushed and looked away.
Stefan suppressed a frown and looked around. The boy’s mother had done penance for her coarse language not a week ago, and here her boy was, repeating her sin.
“Mothers, mind your children,” he called out, hoping the village’s women could hear him through their open windows. “The stones are treacherous this morning.” He shook a finger at a boy. “No more of that,” he said.
Father Stefan walked along, greeting his parishioners, nodding at the shopkeepers and housemaids who were still opening shutters. The wealthier the family, the closer they lived inside the square, and the more housemaids he saw at work.
As was usual for this hour, no one appeared in the windows of those expensive homes except maids and dogs. After maids opened the shutters, several dogs popped their heads into the windows, looking down with great interest at the people in the square. Father Stefan particularly liked seeing the yellow mastiff that often sat, solemn as a magistrate, in a window, his jowls set in judgment. Another dog across the lane watched with bulging eyes and a little black mouth. That dog, outraged at the activity below him, barked and yapped at each passerby.
Marie, the young daughter of a parishioner in Father Stefan’s church, pranced past, chasing after her little brother. She ran into Father Stefan, knocking him onto his rear. She looked horrified.
“Father Stefan. Forgive me,” she said.
He held his side with one hand and used the other to push himself back up.
“No need for forgiveness, Marie. It was an accident, after all.”
Her face looked ashen. Her chin began to tremble. She was one good breath away from a loud wail. Stefan reached out and tapped her on the nose, startling her.
“How is your mother’s new baby girl?” he asked, looking down to wiggle his eyebrows at the young boy who now stood at the girl’s side. The boy giggled, and Marie glanced at him before she smiled too.