Andrew put the brick back where it had fallen, for the police officers, and went back out of the study to start a pot of coffee. He could hear the sirens, and wished that he had time to get dressed. In his collar, at least he looked like a man in control of his own life.
The police were not unsympathetic. “This is about the dog in the church, I assume?” one asked. Andrew nodded. “Too bad people feel like they need to attack you over this,” the other said. Andrew wondered if that meant that the police felt that violence would be more appropriately directed towards Lisa.
The officers took photos of the damage, and put the note and the brick in evidence bags. Andrew gave them the other threatening letters he’d received, and they put those in evidence bags, as well. “We’ll send someone around in the morning, to interview the neighbors,” one said. “They might have seen something.” They declined the offer of coffee.
Andrew poured himself a cup once the police officers had gone, then went to look at the study again. He’d have to clean up the glass before he could use the room again. He didn’t look forward to getting the splinters out of the carpet, and his favorite chair. And his ottoman. And the pillow he used to prop up his knees. His wave of anger and resentment took him by surprise. He slammed the door of the study hard enough to make the house shake, then let Caramel out of the basement.
Caramel followed him into the kitchen, flopping down at Andrew’s feet and thwacking Andrew’s calves with a long, skinny tail. Andrew put down his coffee and rested his forehead on his arms. He was tired of this. He missed his life. He’d taken controversial stands before, but nothing that people didn’t expect from a priest. Nothing that generated this sort of hostility towards him.
Andrew sat up and bowed his head to pray, and suddenly felt horribly guilty. As persecution went, this was pretty trivial. What kind of wimp complained so bitterly about a few harassing phone calls and a broken window? The realization only made him feel worse.
He finished his coffee and went upstairs to shower and shave. Of course, he got soap in his eyes while washing his face, and then he cut himself shaving. He discovered that his favorite shirt was missing a button, and when he started to tie his shoes, his shoelace broke.
He forced himself to say the Morning Office, though Lauds—Praise to God—were hardly what he was in the mood for right now. The psalm for the morning was a Prayer in Time of Trouble: “Come quickly and hear me, O Lord, for my spirit is weakening.” That was appropriate enough, but only made him feel more guilty for his whining.
When he’d finished the Office, he decided to check for e-mail from Leo before he started cleaning. There was glass all over his chair, so he dragged in a chair from the kitchen, promising himself that he would clean up the glass as soon as he was done checking his mail. No mail was waiting, so he poured out this latest misfortune into a letter, telling Leo about the brick, the glass all over everything, the hurried police officers, even cutting himself shaving.
I know that Christ said that we’re blessed when we’re persecuted in His name. But you know, this would be a lot easier if I know that I was putting up with all this in His name, you know? I told you about that wonderful serene feeling I got on Monday morning, but that could just as easily have been sleep deprivation as transcendence. I want to know that I’m doing the right thing. I could put up with anything, if I knew that.
To Andrew’s surprise, the terminal beeped just minutes after he sent his message off, with a reply. Leo must be at his own terminal right now. He opened the message quickly; it was very short.
Andrew, my poor persecuted friend. Of course you want to know that you’re doing the right thing. I know that the pure faith you felt at dawn on Monday seems so frail now, so fragile, but recall it as best as you can and trust in it. Most of the time we have to trust with so much less. And Andrew, don’t worry about whining to God. You whine to me, and you know that God is more sympathetic than I am.
Andrew finished cleaning up the study at around ten in the morning; his phone rang just as he was going to open the door and let Caramel in again. He answered the call; it was Lisa. Her face was distraught.
“Jessie found something in the south pasture,” she said. Her voice was shaking. “A leg-hold trap.”
It took a moment for Andrew to understand what she was talking about. “A trap. Like, to trap animals?”
Lisa held it up where he could see it on the screen. It was an ugly thing, like a jaw with metal spikes for teeth, to snap shut over a foot. “This could have killed one of the puppies. But it wasn’t set for them—it was set for Jasper. She goes running in that pasture, and anyone who watched this farm would know it.”
“Lisa, that’s terrible. You have to call the police—”
“I have. They came and took a report. I’m calling you because—if someone would do this to us, they may do something to you, too. I just wanted to tell you to be careful.”
Andrew grimaced. “I got a brick through my window in the early hours of the morning.”
“Do you know who did it?”
“No.” Andrew paused for a moment, distracted by a puppy squabble behind Lisa. “How’s Jasper?”
“As well as can be expected. She and the other adult dogs are out combing through the pastures, looking for any more surprises like this one. I don’t know if they’ve found any.” Lisa shook her head. “Father, could you come over today? I want to talk.”
Andrew saw the dogs out in the fields as he pulled up the driveway. Lisa and the puppies met him at the door of the farmhouse. The puppies were restless from being trapped inside the house on a sunny day; one of the living room chairs had been tipped over, and the puppies were using it as a fort.
Lisa pulled chicken salad out of the refrigerator for lunch and sat down across from Andrew. Two puppies tore past them and up the stairs, shrieking insults at each other. Another trotted over to the table, standing up with his hands on Andrew’s knee. “Can I have some of your chicken salad, mister?”
“Teddy, you’ve already had your lunch,” Lisa said. “Go play.”
“But I didn’t get chicken salad,” Teddy protested.
“You got chicken, just without mayonnaise. Mayonnaise isn’t good for you.”
Teddy turned back to Andrew. “Please?” he said, tipping his head to the side to lean it against Andrew’s arm. “Pretty please with sugar on top? And whipped cream and a cherry?”
“If Lisa says no,” Andrew said reluctantly, “then I don’t think I’d better.”
Lisa rolled her eyes. “Teddy, go play.”
Pouting, Teddy trotted off to join the others playing under the overturned chair.
“So was there anything specific you wanted to talk about?” Andrew asked, when they’d finished their lunch.
“I guess . . . I’ve started worrying,” Lisa said. “Taking Jasper to church seemed like such a fine, bold idea. A good statement. Now—well, at least so far no one’s been hurt. Maybe I should drop this.”
“How does Jasper feel about it?” Andrew asked.
“She wants to keep going,” Lisa said. “She likes you. She believes in this. But—I think I could talk her out of it.”
“Do you think that would be right?” Andrew asked.
“I don’t know.” Lisa stared down at the floor. “You know, to be perfectly honest, the main reason I wanted to bring Jasper to church, to make a big deal out of it, was to draw attention to the cause of enslaved animals. I mean—you know, if we could get the Catholic Church to say that enhanced animals have souls, then it would be very difficult for people to continue to pretend that enslaving an enhanced dog is no different than keeping a plain dog as a pet.”
Andrew shrugged. “You’re probably right about that.”
“I don’t want you to think that was Jasper’s motive, though,” Lisa said. “She honestly does want to be baptized. She’s totally sincere.”
“But you aren’t.”
“It depends on what you mean by sincerity.”
Andrew sighed. “This will be harder for you if you don’t feel that you can trust in God,” he said.
“Then you think we should keep on with this?”
“I think that Jasper has an immortal soul, just as you and I do. And that if she wants to be baptized and to receive the sacraments, then it would be a terrible injustice not to permit her that.”
Lisa looked up again, meeting his eyes; for a moment, she stared into them deeply. “In that case, I won’t give up,” she said.
Lisa walked Andrew to his car. The dogs were returning; they didn’t seem to have found any more traps. Hopefully they hadn’t missed any. “Lisa, you know, the Church’s doors are as open to you as they are to Jasper.”
“I know,” Lisa said. “Thank you.”
***
“THE ENEMY OF the human race, who opposes all good deeds in order to bring men to destruction, beholding and envying this, invented a means never before heard of, by which he might hinder the preaching of God’s word of Salvation to the people: he inspired his satellites who, to please him, have not hesitated to publish abroad that the Indians of the West and the South, and other people of whom We have recent knowledge should be treated as dumb brutes created for our service, pretending that they are incapable of receiving the Catholic faith.” Pope Paul III wrote that, Leo, shortly after the discovery of the Americas. That was the hard position to take then, and this will be hard now. But it’s the right thing to do. —Andrew
Andrew, my friend, there are rumors flying in Rome about “that priest in America with the canine catechumen.” Your bishop has consulted Rome, but I fear that others may not see it as you do. The Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith will take into account not only the good of your friend Jasper, but the good of all the faithful. If we accept a dog, we will be mocked across the globe—you know that. There will be people who leave the Church in disgust—you know that, too. The Holy Father can overrule the CDF, but he won’t—we both know that. So, where does that leave you? —Leo
Twisting in the wind, Andrew thought, reading the letter. Leo was right. In all likelihood the CDF would recommend against Jasper’s baptism, though they were unlikely to ban her from the church. This past Sunday had been the craziest yet. There had been protestors outside the church—some objecting to Jasper’s presence, others defending her right to be there. Three quarters of the people waving signs weren’t Catholic, and nearly all of them were from out of town. The police had been there, but several fights had broken out anyway. The story had been broadcast on TV stations as far away as Chicago, though most were treating it as a joke.
At least it didn’t sound like Rome was laughing.
Andrew typed in a quick reply:
Leo—You talk about the good of all the faithful. Does it serve the faithful to allow them to continue in evil and sin? If the Church denies that enhanced dogs have immortal souls, this legitimizes those Catholics who participate in the enslavement of the enhanced dogs. This cannot be right. —Andrew
Andrew sent the message and had started to turn on the ten o’clock news, to see if they’d done another story about Jasper, when the phone rang. It was Lisa; her face was stark, and she was not calling from home. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Teddy’s been poisoned,” Lisa said. “Someone left poisoned meat out in our yard.”
“Oh my God,” Andrew said. “Is he—”
“We’re at the vet hospital.”
“I’m on my way.”
The veterinary hospital was on the edge of town; it had a new wing for enhanced animals with beds instead of cages. Lisa was in the waiting room, her entire clan of dogs with her, scattered across the vinyl chairs and chipped white tables. “Teddy will eat just about anything,” Lisa said. Her face was white, but she wasn’t crying. “The vet thinks he’ll be all right.”
Jessie was keeping the rest of the puppies from wandering out of the waiting room. “Why would anyone do this?” she asked Andrew. “How could a human be so cruel?” There was genuine bewilderment in her voice. Nanny-dogs were designed to love and trust humans; as much as Jessie had been through with her old family, this was the worst betrayal yet.
Jasper sat in a chair in the corner, her eyes closed. Dogs couldn’t cry; they could howl, but a howling dog would have been asked to leave the hospital waiting room. A strand of Rosary beads hung limp from Jasper’s hand. Andrew sat down beside her. “This is all my fault,” Jasper said.
There was a general chorus of denials from the other dogs, and from Lisa. Andrew took Jasper’s almost-human hand gently and stroked the fur of her wrist. “You didn’t set the poison out, did you? Then this isn’t your fault, Jasper; this is the fault of a horrible, evil human.”
“If I hadn’t come to St. Mary’s—”
“You had every right to come to St. Mary’s. You have every right to ask for baptism. Jasper, do you know anything about the early Christians?”
Jasper shook her head.
“For hundreds of years, Christianity was illegal and anyone who asked for baptism could be persecuted if they were caught. Sometimes their families suffered, as well. That doesn’t mean that those Christians were wrong for seeking baptism.” Jasper was silent. “You have the courage of one of those early Christians, Jasper,” Andrew said. “Most of us never have to.” Andrew touched the silky fur on her shoulder. “Trust in God.”
Jasper nodded and closed her eyes again. The Rosary beads twitched in her hand.
One of the vets came out to the waiting room. “Lisa?” she said nervously. Lisa leapt to her feet; everyone else fell silent, turning to look at the vet. “Your puppy—um, Teddy—he’ll be okay. We’re going to hold him overnight just to be sure, but he should be fine.”
The dogs, other than Jasper, were jubilant; Jasper and Lisa were just deeply relieved. Lisa signed some papers and paid for Teddy’s stay. Outside, the dogs piled into Lisa’s van. Lisa watched them pile in, then looked at Andrew.
“Father—I want to reconcile. I want to return to the church.”
Andrew paused. “Now?”
“As soon as possible. Now, I guess. I—um, I promised God, in the waiting room, that if he spared Teddy I’d return.”
Andrew sat down on the bumper of the van. “Well, I hear confessions on Saturday afternoons, or by appointment. This counts as an appointment, if you want to do it face-to-face.”
Lisa shrugged. “It’s not like you wouldn’t know it was me in the confessional. Everyone tells me that they can smell dog the minute I walk into a room.”
Andrew laughed at that. “I honestly hadn’t noticed.”
“Well.” Lisa made the Sign of the Cross. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, Amen.” She looked at Andrew. He nodded encouragingly. “Bless me Father, for I have sinned. My last confession was five years ago.” She paused again. “So, that’s five Lenten seasons that I haven’t gone to confession, and five years that I haven’t gone to Mass, and five years that I haven’t taken communion. I’ve got some other sins, too, but that’s the big stuff.”
“Do you know why you left the Church?” Andrew asked.
“I guess I lost my faith,” Lisa said. “Sometime early on in college. I kept going to church for a while, but I was just going through the motions. I still don’t know if I believe in God or not.”
“But you didn’t let that stop you from praying for Teddy,” Andrew said.
“Yeah, and I got what I asked for, didn’t I? You’d think that would remove all my doubts, wouldn’t you.”
Andrew leaned back against the van, looking up at the sky. The stars were obscured by the floodlights of the parking lot. “At sunrise, the morning after I took Phoenix to the safe house, I had this one moment of perfect clarity, where I knew that I was doing the right thing. Then it passed. Since then—whenever I’ve had doubts, I’ve tried to remember that moment, but it doesn’t always help.”
“But I’ve never had a moment like that,” Lisa said. “If I had, I woul
dn’t have doubts.”
“Yes, you would,” Andrew said. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. God doesn’t always knock you off your horse and shout at you to make a point. Usually, God whispers to us, and it’s up to us to sort out God’s voice from the static of everyday life.”
Lisa was silent for a moment. Then she said, “So I guess I don’t get to come back to the church, since I still don’t fully believe.”
“No,” Andrew said. “You believed enough in God to make the bargain—and to keep it. God loves you, doubts and all; He rejoices in every step you take towards Him, no matter how small it is. You get to come back to the church, if you want to come back.”
Lisa didn’t answer; after a moment, Andrew looked at her face, and realized that she was struggling not to cry.
“In lieu of a prayer of contrition,” Andrew said, “Why don’t you go ahead and let yourself cry.” He handed Lisa a tissue. She took it and burst into silent, wracking sobs. He pulled her head gently against his shoulder, letting her lean against him. When she had cried herself out, he steadied her, then cupped his hands around her head. “I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He made the Sign of the Cross. “Amen.”
“Amen,” Lisa whispered.
“Go in peace,” Andrew said. “But call me tomorrow and let me know how Teddy’s doing.”
Back at the Rectory, Andrew logged on to check for mail from Leo. He had a letter, but it was very short.
Andrew—Sorry, something’s come up. I really can’t discuss Jasper’s situation right now. We’ll talk later. —Leo
Gift of the Winter King and Other Stories Page 4