An Unholy Communion

by Donna Fletcher Crow

  In the winding house, a multimedia exhibition recreated the everyday life of the miner.

  “In the winter, men went to work in the dark, went down into the pit, came up in the dark. They only saw the sun one day a week.” The statistics flashed on the screen: “One miner dies every 6 hours. One is seriously injured every 2 minutes…”

  The images of disasters leapt at them—fireballs, flooding, explosion. All with actual photos.

  Maddoc led on to the lamp room, where they collected their safety lamps and helmets. “Right then, you’re ready now, are you?”

  Jared and Adam gave enthusiastic answers, but Kaylyn, standing next to Felicity, sounded less sure. “Ready for what?”

  Maddoc’s eyes glinted as he answered her. “Ready for the cage to the pit bottom, for your underground experience. You’ll be descending just like a working miner.” He opened the door of what appeared to be a rather tinny elevator. The pilgrims filed in, although Felicity could sense Kaylyn’s reluctance.

  The door closed. Maddoc turned to operate the control panel, then paused and turned back. “No one here pregnant? Or with a heart problem? Claustrophobia?” Kaylyn tensed and Felicity looked over to see how Antony felt about this. He wasn’t fond of inclosed spaces, but his attention seemed to be on something Colin was showing him. Distraction was probably best.

  “This winding engine generates 120 psi steam pressure, 2,500 horsepower, it descends to a depth of 434 meters at a speed of 30 a second,” the guide continued, and Felicity heard Kaylyn’s sharp intake of breath. “All right, then?” Maddoc asked, his hand hesitating over the lever.

  Felicity turned to the girl beside her. “You don’t have to do this.”

  She wasn’t sure what Kaylyn meant to communicate by her nod, but the tight, white face was enough for Felicity. “No. We’ll wait for you in the café.” She grabbed the girl’s ice-cold hand, and they fled through the door before their guide had it fully opened.

  Felicity led her to the café and secured two cups of tea. They sat at a small table next to a window. The lowering clouds seemed to push at the glass like an animal pressing to gain entrance. Kaylyn turned her back to the window, her coal-black hair stark against the gloom. “I’m only mildly claustrophobic. I only panicked the first time.”

  “First time for what?”

  The long jet hair covered Kaylyn’s face as she lowered her head. “The first time my ma locked me in a cupboard.”

  Felicity managed to suppress her gasp. She waited, sensing the girl would go on.

  “She didn’t want me wandering out, you see. I did once. I didn’t understand that her visitors were… business…”

  Felicity reached over and took her hand. “Kaylyn, it’s all right. There was no need to go down the mineshaft. Although, if it helps any, I think the ride was simulated. But don’t worry. No one is going to lock you in anywhere. You’re free.”

  The hand Felicity held started to relax when a growling roar filled the room and the building shook as if from a tremor. “No!” Kaylyn cried, her eyes wide with fright.

  “Kaylyn, don’t worry. It’s part of the exhibition. They’re starting up some of the antique mine equipment.” Felicity sounded more confident than she felt. But that must be the explanation. “I’m sure it sounded like this all the time here when the mine was operating.” She looked around. The waitress behind the counter calmly put a piece of cake on a plate and handed it to another visitor. “See, no one else is bothered at all.”

  Kaylyn shook her head insistently. “Can’t you feel it? We’re being oppressed.” Nonsense, Felicity wanted to say. That was what she kept repeating to herself, determined that it had to be rubbish. In spite of what Antony had said, she didn’t believe in demons. Well, not in that way. Not roaring like lions in a café in a green Welsh valley.

  “Through with your tea? Let’s walk around a bit. Take a look at what they have in the gift shop.” Anything to get our minds off that earthshaking roar. Fortunately it had silenced after the third bellow.

  They crossed the hall into the brightly lit shop, where a glass case of silver jewelry caught Kaylyn’s attention. Felicity was beginning to relax as well. She would buy a box of fudge for Antony—the funny pale gold kind that bore little resemblance to the dense chocolate confection Americans called fudge.

  She was paying for it when she noticed a card someone had dropped—or placed—on the counter by the cash register. She picked up the square, white rectangle and turned it over. Then dropped it as sharply as if the two-headed snake engraved there had bitten her.

  Felicity took a deep breath. It’s only a piece of paper, she told herself. But she remained unconvinced. She steadied her hand and picked it up again. The card announced a lecture the Orbis Astri was sponsoring in Cwmdare that night, wherever that was. “The Golden Dawn by Israel Regardie, the book that started the modern occult movement. The Third Level. Learn: initiation rituals, equinox ceremonies, consecration liturgy…”

  In spite of her reflex to look for a means of burning the invitation, Felicity forced herself to think calmly. The lecture it announced sounded perfectly respectable, she argued. Nutty, and bad theology, but respectable.

  Yet as she held the card, the snakes writhed. She saw herself picking the paper up not from a glass counter, but from Hwyl’s outstretched, lifeless hand. Why was he holding that symbol? What was he trying to tell her?

  “Ready to go?”

  Felicity jumped at Antony’s voice in her ear.

  “Sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you. Are you all right?”

  She shook her head and handed him the card. “Right.” He put it in his pocket. “Later. We need to get on now. Is Kaylyn all right?”

  Across the room, the girl was busy showing a red velor dragon to Evie. Felicity nodded.

  They drove back up the valley of the Afon Rhondda Fach to the village of Trecynon near Aberdare. The centerpiece of the small community was a vast, green, well-landscaped park, its colorful floral plantings gleaming even in the dim light of the gloomy evening. Michael pulled the van to a stop on a narrow street in front of a tall gray stucco church behind a stone and wrought iron fence. A wide, red-tile walkway led to the porch capped by three likewise red-tiled gables. Above that the second storey rose with three tall, narrow, round-arched windows below the words Ebenezer Capel ye Annibynwyr. “Ebenezer Independent Chapel,” Michael translated.

  A gray-haired lady walked toward them, the wind whipping her red raincoat. “Ah, that’s good. You’re here, then. I’m Enid. Afraid I’m your only greeter at the moment,” she told them in her lilting voice. “The caretaker left for Spain this morning, and the secretary is in Cardiff.”

  She led them through the iron gates, up the red-tile walk and around to the back. “There are only about a dozen of us now, but we’re the mother church of Congregationalism in this region. The Revival spread outwards from here, as you doubtless know. Evan Roberts preached here after the Moriah Chapel.”

  Felicity was trying to sort that out when their hostess drew a ring of keys from her pocket and opened the door to a vast church hall. “Oh, my goodness,” Felicity expressed her amazement at the size of the space.

  Enid smiled. “Huge, isn’t it? Built in the mid-1800s. The congregation filled it in those days. The sanctuary was built in 1826 and was enlarged many times. Now we do rather rattle round in it, I’m afraid. We have a choir, though.” She pointed to a poster on the wall. With another choir they would be performing Fauré’s “Requiem” the next week.

  “That’s wonderful. You Welsh certainly live up to your legendary choral tradition.” A rich aroma from the kitchen caught Felicity’s attention. “Mmm, that smells good.”

  “You’re getting cawl tonight.” Enid looked pleased at her announcement.

  Felicity looked blank.

  “Have you not had it?” Now Enid looked horrified. “Cawl is the national dish of Wales—a stew of bacon, lamb, cabbage and leeks. Sit you down,” she pointed to chairs set at a long t
able. “I’m sure it’s ready.”

  A few minutes later Felicity savored the tasty concoction filling the bowl in front of her, then considered their surroundings. This all seemed so out of character for her high church Antony. She hadn’t realized his ecumenism reached so wide. She finished her bite of potato, then turned to him. “What was she talking about? Revival?”

  Antony nodded. “That’s why we’re here. 1904 it was. An amazing story, but a long one. Dyfrig Griffiths, a local expert on the subject, will tell us all about it tomorrow.”

  “That will make quite a change from medieval saints.”

  Antony smiled. “It’s all part of the story.”

  They were just finishing the last of their meal when Chloe joined them. “Enid says the rehearsal hall for the male voice choir is just across the park. We can walk.”

  “Is everyone going?” Felicity asked.

  “I think so. You’re coming, aren’t you? When will we ever have another opportunity?”

  Felicity was torn. She loved Welsh male voice choirs, but she desperately needed to talk to Antony. “It sounds great, but I think I’ll give my blisters a rest.”

  The others spread out their bedrolls in case the rehearsal ran late, then departed, leaving Felicity and Antony in blessed quiet. Felicity attached the battery pump and inflated her air mattress, then made a cozy nest with her pillow and pack as she leaned against the wall.

  Antony sat beside her. “All right. Now, tell me what happened with you and Kaylyn this afternoon. You looked like you’d seen a ghost when I found you.”

  She told him the best she could about the roar, howl, growl, she wasn’t sure how to describe it. “Were you the only ones who heard it?”

  “I didn’t ask. I told Kaylyn no one else was reacting because it was part of the exhibit.”

  “Did you believe that?”

  “I wanted to.”

  “Did Kaylyn believe it?”

  Felicity shook her head. “She said it was oppression. I sort of shrugged it off because I didn’t know what to say.”

  “It sounds like a rather good description of what’s been going on. Deliverance ministers often use the term ‘negativity.’”

  “Which means?”

  “Evil influence—headaches, animosities, bad dreams…”

  “Strange noises?”

  “A rather common occurrence in the case of demonic activity, I’m afraid.”

  Felicity shuddered. “We talked about being possessed before. Are you talking about that now? Like casting out demons in the Bible?”

  “Not that extreme. Oppression involves demonic attack from time to time, causing fear, stress, conflict…” His voice was calm and even. Almost matter-of-fact.

  “So what’s the cure?”

  Again Antony’s voice was prosaic, as if they were discussing a routine, rational matter. “Prayer, fasting, the sacraments— especially confession and communion—living a Christian life.”

  Felicity considered. “That’s something I really don’t understand. If Hwyl wasn’t pushed—if he jumped off that tower because he was under some demonic control—oppression— how could it be? He was a priest. He did everything you just said regularly, surely.”

  Antony nodded gravely. “I intend to find out when we get to St David’s.”

  Felicity was sleeping lightly when the others returned, chatting about the concert. “Mair was amazing. I didn’t realize she was the director,” Ryan spoke above the others.

  Nancy laughed. “Could you believe that little woman could sing over the entire fifty-voice choir—and keep them all in strict order?”

  “‘Sunrise, Sunset’ was really beautiful,” Evie added. “Wasn’t it, Jared?”

  But Jared seemed preoccupied.

  Felicity sat up and looked around the room as the others settled into their bedrolls. Then she realized not everyone had returned, “Where are Michael and Lydia?”

  No one seemed to have noticed they weren’t with them. Finally Adam spoke up. “I don’t know. Lyds and Michael went off in the other direction when we crossed the park.” His voice indicated he was glad enough to be free of his supervisor.

  “Did they enjoy the concert?” Felicity wasn’t sure why she asked that, but something didn’t seem right.

  “Never showed up, did they? Probably got, er—sidetracked.” Adam showed a typical disdain of an older sibling’s amours.

  Felicity resisted the impulse to tuck him in bed. Instead she just said a casual, “Goodnight.” And turned away. She had a terrible, niggling suspicion. Too vague even to voice it.

  Chloe, the last to return from the ladies’ room and snuggle into her sleeping bag, had turned out the overhead light, so Felicity dug in her pack for her torch before taking out the map she had carried all the days of the walking trip. She was quite certain the last page extended from Penrhys to Aberdare.

  The pool of yellow light illuminated the red line running up the valley. There, in the center of Aberdare was Trecynon with its open expanse of park. And on the far side was what she feared, but expected. Cwmdare.

  She crossed the room to Antony. She was as certain as if she had been told from their own lips. “Michael and Lydia went to the Orbis Astri lecture,” she said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Chapter 18

  Pentecost Sunday

  Aberdare

  Antony felt someone shaking him. It was still dark and all around him sounded the heavy breathing of youthful sleep. He struggled to sit up. What now? What had gone wrong that couldn’t wait until morning? He ran his hand over his eyes. “Jared? What is it? Is it Michael and Lydia?”

  “Huh? Oh, no. They came in right after you went to sleep. Said they had a brilliant evening.” Jared whispered close to his ear. “But I just remembered—I thought I ought to tell you.”

  Antony was fully awake now. “Go on, then.”

  Jared continued at a whisper. “Last night, I saw someone. I’m not sure… But it looked like him, and it made me think.”

  “Looked like him who?”

  “Joe. I didn’t want to upset Chloe, so I didn’t say anything— just kept thinking. Then I woke up and I knew.” In spite of having wakened Antony in the middle of the night to tell his story, Jared now appeared reluctant to continue. He seemed frightened.

  “Go on. You can tell me. You saw Joe at the choir rehearsal?” It seemed an unlikely place for the paraglider to show up. Unless he was still following Chloe.

  “No, in the park. It was dark, so I’m not sure, but that’s what made me remember.”

  Antony resisted the urge to pry the story out of him more quickly. He knew that in cases like this, one had to let the teller do it their own way. “Joe was in the park?”

  “Or someone that looked enough like him to jog my memory. It was the setting, you see, behind the bushes in the dark. Anyway, I think I know him. From Cardiff.” Jared was quiet. Antony waited. “I’m pretty sure he was a supplier.” Quiet again. “I used to be into that. Nothing hard, but cannabis; well, a little ecstasy, too. I don’t do that any more, man, you’ve got to believe me.”

  Antony just nodded. It was all in the report he had been given.

  “You won’t put that on my report, will you?”

  “I don’t see there’s anything to report. But Joe was a dealer?”

  “Supplier. He supplied the dealers, I think. It’s just that I saw them once in the park—”

  “This guy that looked like Joe?”

  Jared nodded. “Only kind of different. He wasn’t so blond then. But he was with the guy that I bought from a few times. I don’t think he saw me. You know, if he’s recognized me…”

  Antony nodded. “I see the problem. I don’t think you have anything to worry about, but we’ll keep a sharp eye out.”

  His story off his chest, Jared crawled back to bed and was soon breathing evenly. Antony, however, was awake until dawn. He would contact the local police. He wondered if Chloe knew Joe’s full name. Unlikely that even the “Joe” wa
s for real, though.

  And perhaps he should ring Nosterfield as well. Could the activities of a drug ring explain what was going on? Many occult groups did use hallucinogenic drugs with their rites. But if Hwyl had found out something like that, why not just contact his local police rather than travel more than 300 miles to see him? If, indeed, that was what Hwyl was doing in Kirkthorpe.

  Then Antony wondered about the incident with the Welsh cake. Was that the random attack of an enemy against the pilgrimage, as he had assumed? Or was it aimed more specifically at Jared and the wrong young male pilgrim took up the offer?

  Almost two weeks left. He would, indeed, be vigilant as he promised Jared, but could he protect them all when he didn’t know who or what he was fighting? And what of Felicity’s information last night? Did it matter if Michael and Lydia had gone to the Orbis Astri lecture? They were adults. Still…

  Antony finally dozed lightly until Enid and her husband, George, bustled in with their breakfast. And Antony realized it was Pentecost Sunday; one of his favorites in the church year. All through the commotion of the morning routine he was recalling Pentecost services of his past. His favorite was the often-used entrance canticle that began with a solo voice, “Veni Sanctus Spiritus.” Then another voice joined in, “Veni Sanctus Spiritus.” Then another, “Veni Sanctus Spiritus.” Until at last the entire congregation was expressing that heartfelt longing of the disciples waiting in the upper room, “Come, Holy Spirit.”

  The “Birthday of the Church.” Often the Acts 2 account of the Holy Spirit coming upon the church was read in multiple languages, sometimes all at once to give a real sense of what that first Pentecost Sunday must have been like.

  And then, a particular, vivid memory from the usually stodgy church Aunt Beryl and Uncle Edward had reared Antony and his sister in. Even at that young age, his sister, so different from himself, had shown little inclination for churchy things, but the day of her confirmation had been an exception. A dozen children, the girls in white dresses, the boys in white shirts, their hands filled with long, flame-colored streamers of red, gold, orange.

  He could see Gwendolyn now, standing at the back of the long aisle of the stone church, morning light streaming through the stained glass, matching the ribbons she held aloft. The congregation sang, “Holy Spirit, rushing, burning wind and flame of Pentecost…” The ad hoc liturgical dance group ran, skipped and hopped up, down and around the aisles, clapping their hands and swirling their streamers of Pentecostal flame. And none with more enthusiasm than his sister.