Chapter 2
CHAPTER TWO
PASTEUR
“Forgive me, Father – for I have sinned…”
Louis hesitated – and then chuckled nervously, waiting. He wasn’t catholic in the slightest but was fascinated with religion as a whole. Traveling the world, he’d seen many things, visited so many temples, synagogues, and other houses of worship, only to realize that the ultimate belief in something greater than yourself drove him and his faith: that and the pretty architecture of the locations where people chose to worship.
Right now, he was taking a moment for himself while the other pilots he was with were taking a much-needed restroom break. Fleet week was tough on the body – especially the kidneys, he thought and chuckled again.
“What have you done, my child?” came the voice, warm and comforting, causing Louis to pause in reverence once more as he sat there in the confessional, about to spill his guts in the worst way.
“Well, honestly, Father, I’m not catholic… and technically, I haven’t sinned yet, but I’m planning on it, hence my appearance here. I’m not exactly sure how this goes, but I saw it in a movie and could use all the help I could get.”
“That’s okay,” the man behind the screen laughed softly. “Something brought you here today, and I’m always happy to welcome a new lamb to the flock.”
“Oh, that’s good – do you mind if I use that phrase?”
“Are you a minister?”
“A pastor… on paper,” he shrugged, wishing he hadn’t drunk those three beers before coming here now. He’d like to have a genuine conversation with this person who seemed very open and giving. “I’m a pilot and in town for Fleet week. I saw the church and…”
“Did you feel a calling?”
“A curiosity,” Louis corrected, hesitating. “I guess you could call it a calling because I passed by and suddenly wanted to stop in.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“Why?”
“Why not?” the priest countered and Louis could hear the smile in his voice.
“That’s kinda what I thought,” Louis began again. “I thought if I could get a leg-up with the Big Guy, then maybe the next few hours wouldn’t stain my soul so badly, you know? I’m going out to party with the fellas and… well… I plan on imbibing quite a bit.”
“Just make sure you turn wine into water, too, my friend. It’s not all about the alcohol but rather the miracle that this life brings us.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not gonna run into a miracle anytime soon.”
“Why not?”
“Miracles are bestowed upon the penitent, the deserving…”
“Aren’t you deserving, child?”
“No,” Louis whispered softly, closing his eyes within the confines of the confessional as he felt something curl painfully within him. “I try. I wish that I was sometimes, but I’m flawed, just like any other man. I’m never going to be touched by a miracle, an angel, heck – at this rate, I’ll be lucky to pass through the pearly gates.”
“God loves all his children, remember?”
“I’m not sure if he loves me…”
“Are you so unworthy, my son?”
“Maybe?”
“Why?”
“I could be better, try harder, be a more dedicated pastor, and spread the word to my friends, but they would rather discuss girls, booze, and going out to party… so I join them.”
“Ahhh, to be so young.”
“And foolish. Don’t forget foolish, which is why I came here.”
“You know, belief and accepting God as your savior will get you into heaven…” and that struck a nerve in Louis as he interrupted the priest.
“I know it says that in the Bible – and I believe it – but why in the heck are so many people put in situations that they don’t deserve? The downtrodden are stepped upon and shoved in the mud. The innocent are led to slaughter by horrible people in this world. The rich get richer, while the poor struggle to put food on the table. Is that God’s will? Is that how you get into heaven— accepting that this is how God intended it?” His voice was trembling now as he raised it in bitter frustration thinking of his own impoverished upbringing. If he hadn’t made it into the Naval Academy, he wasn’t sure how his life would have ended up. He sent money home all the time to put food on his parents’ table so they didn’t have to work so hard. “Is that how God shows love by letting good people starve?”
“No, he gives them free will to make choices and…”
“People do not choose to starve,” he bit off again. “People do not choose to get shot in the streets. They don’t choose to get beaten by people, maimed in accidents, devastated by war, or…”
“It sounds like you have doubts in your own faith.”
“I have doubt in a lot of things, Father.”
“Is that because you doubt your own faith – or are you afraid to put yourself out there, to open up and share your faith with another? Are you afraid of rejection? Of love?”
“Yes…” he admitted painfully. “I’m scared to death to let down someone I love, to fail them…”
“You know, if you keep one person from falling – that is all that is required of you.”
“I think that would take a miracle because I’m not the greatest person.”
“You don’t have to be – we were saved by a lowly carpenter. Remember that.”
Louis’ eyes opened as he stared at the man behind the screen, silent in sudden awareness as his mind raced.
“Miracles, hope, and love are all around us if you aren’t afraid to find them,” the priest continued softly in a caring voice. “Sometimes we don’t see them because we are afraid or it’s simply not time. God never intends for anyone to suffer – ever – he loves his children, and though it might seem like horrible things are happening all around us, it’s because we are guided as part of a bigger picture that our minds cannot grasp. That is where faith comes in, and forgive me if I’m speaking out of turn, but I think that is where you are struggling.”
“I am,” he whispered hoarsely.
“It’s human nature to struggle because we are not the Divine,” the priest said softly. “Just breathe, Louis, keep strong in your faith because He’s always watching, and there are angels everywhere among us. Take a chance to open your mind, and you might be amazed at what happens to you. Now, have fun with your friends and be safe this evening, son.”
Louis nodded sagely, his head bent humbly as he breathed, feeling a little lighter in his soul. Maybe he was pushing himself too hard, and the priest was right – it would only take reaching one person to feel justified deep within himself, to feel like he was doing right, to be a bigger person, and maybe someday he would… wait.
Wait…
“How did you know my name was Louis?” he asked, stunned. “Hello? Hello? Father?”
Louis stood up in the confessional and pushed on the door, feeling it catch slightly before it opened. He glanced around the church and boldly opened the other panel where the priest should have been – and wasn’t.
There was no one else in the church.
He swallowed back tears, feeling choked with emotion of amazement as he looked around silently hoping for something to validate the thoughts racing through him in that moment… only for his eyes to touch on the crucifix at the front of the church.
If he needed a nudge – he just got shoved.
“My mind and heart are open… thank you.”
Louis stood there for several moments, pulling himself together and taking several deep breaths as he replayed everything in his mind – only to hear Shellac walk up behind him.
“Are you going to be here much longer, buddy? Trophy is practically foaming at the mouth to hit the bars, and it’s getting wild out there.”
Clearing his throat, Louis turned and smiled at his friend, nodding. He met the other man’s easy gaze and tugged down his crisp jacket as if to say, ‘I’m ready’ without offering up the words.
Shellac had removed his jacket at the last bar and had left it with Orion. Oh yes, they were planning on having a drunken evening while in port, maybe meeting a few girls, and he hadn’t been exaggerating when he said he was trying to get ahead of the evening he was hoping for… because he was lonely and struggling.
“Let’s go.”
“That’s my boy!”
An hour later, things were falling apart.
“Keep going! You got this!” Ohio was screaming beside him, hollering excitedly as Louis held the funnel, laughing wildly as Trophy was doing a keg stand in the middle of the bar, getting rip-roaring drunk as the night continued. Minutes later, Trophy did a somersault off the keg and looked like a trampoline artist in the Olympics – if they were sweaty, drunk, and three sheets to the wind.
“WHOOOOOO YEAH! Take that! Your boy’s got mad skills!” Trophy screamed wildly above the din of the crowd, letting out another wild shout as Louis and Ohio looked at each other, laughed, and returned to the bar to get another beer. Some other sucker rushed forward to do the next keg stand… as Louis turned and looked at the crowd, pausing.
He saw a woman with wavy blonde hair making her way through the crowd with a beer bottle in her hand, and couldn’t help but stare. She was beautiful… and completely drunk.
He could see it from here.
Turning back to the bar, he tipped his glass against Ohio’s once more, smiling and laughing at the scene unfolding around them. The night swirled like a fevered dream—laughter and shouting, the clinking of glasses, the hum of a thousand conversations rising into the rafters like smoke. He swayed slightly, feeling the weight of the moment pressing into him, though whether it was from the beer or something deeper, he wasn’t sure.
“Pasteur!”
The familiar call broke through the din, and Louis turned to see Trophy waving at him, his grin splitting the chaos like a beacon. Louis started to wave back, then paused, staring down at his hands. Two steins of beer. Where had they come from? And where had Ohio and Shellac disappeared to? The night blurred at the edges, yet something in the air felt sharp—like the hush before a storm.
“Hey, Pasteur!” Trophy hollered again.
Louis lifted one of the steins in salute, his balance wavering slightly. He took a deep sip, the cold bitterness grounding him.
“Hey—are you still licensed? And it’s current?”
Louis blinked at him, processing the words. “As a pastor? Yeah. Why?”
“I’m getting married—right now.”
The words crashed into him like a tidal wave. The bar erupted in chaos, voices lifting in shock and exhilaration. Louis felt his chest tighten—not in disbelief, but in something much deeper. A flicker of hope? Maybe. If Trophy—a man who swore he’d never be tied down—had found love, then maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t as distant as Louis sometimes feared.
“Heck yeah!”
“That’s my boy!”
“Trophy is getting hitched?!”
“Drink up, boy-o! We’re celebrating!”
But then, a voice cut through the jubilation, a woman’s, hesitant and skeptical.
“Wait… He’s a pastor?” She gestured at Louis, her brows furrowed. “He’s completely trashed and drunker than a skunk. Is this even legal?”
Louis exhaled sharply, a flicker of amusement stirring in his chest.
“Pasteur, are you drunk?” Trophy asked, his tone teasing.
Louis tilted his head, the weight of the moment pressing into him again. “I’m drinking—yes. Are you asking if I am inebriated?”
Trophy chuckled, glancing at the woman beside him with a knowing look. “Yeah, I am. The man is a stickler for details. So, Pasteur, we need to know if you are inebriated?”
“Not in the slightest.” Louis straightened, lifting his stein like a knight lifting a chalice. “I’m of French-Canadian descent. We do nothing but drink and smoke in the wintertime because there’s nothing else to do during the heavy snows.”
Laughter rippled around them, the mood shifting once more. Yet Louis still felt that weight pressing into his ribs—the sense that something sacred was unfolding in the midst of the revelry.
The bar moved like the tide, bodies shifting, tables scraping, space being made. And for the briefest second, Louis saw her—his blonde angel. The sight of her stole his breath, something inside him tightening and twisting, but before he could move, she was gone again, slipping into the crowd like mist at dawn.
He swallowed hard, then downed the last of his beer. A deep breath, a straightening of his shoulders, and he turned back to face Trophy and the woman who gazed at him like he hung the moon.
Louis shook his head, exhaling in disbelief. Trophy had done a lot of reckless things, but this? This was something else entirely.
He squared his shoulders, something solemn settling over him. “Do you, Trophy, take the new Mrs. Trophy for your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold, for richer and poorer, in sickness and in health, for so long as you both shall live?”
His voice carried over the crowd, steady despite the storm within him.
“What’s your name and address, dumplin’?” he asked, turning to the bride.
“Stephanie Michelle Wood,” she whispered, her voice trembling slightly. “What’s that for?”
Louis met her gaze, something deep and reverent flickering in his own. “I take my blessings seriously—and being able to unite two people is a big deal to me. When I get back to my bunk, I’ll fill out the license and mail it to you.”
A breath hitched in her throat, her lips parting slightly in surprise.
“Oh.”
“Yup.” Louis beamed. “I don’t fool around. I think the Lord would be really upset if I didn’t take this seriously.”
The laughter around them softened, reverence settling over the moment like a hush before prayer.
“Trophy, you got anything you want to say in your vows?”
“Nope.” Trophy smirked. “I do this freely, without hesitation, and I’m gonna make sure my wife enjoys this and doesn’t regret it in the morning.”
The bar roared again, laughter and ribbing flying from every direction. Louis rolled his eyes. Yep. These were his boys.
“Do you, Stephanie Michelle Wood, A.K.A Mrs. Trophy, do you take ma’ boy to be your husband? He’s a great guy that can run his mouth with the best of them, but deep down, he’s a winner—even if he’s a loser on the outside.”
“Thanks, Pasteur,” Trophy groaned. “’Preciate the vote of confidence.”
Louis grinned, glancing around once more for his blonde angel, but she was gone. The moment swayed in his chest, something unspoken twisting inside him.
Trophy and Stephanie were murmuring to each other, their foreheads nearly touching, and Louis felt it again—the sharp ache of something slipping just beyond his grasp.
His stomach lurched.
Maybe it was the beer.
Maybe it was something else entirely.
“I now pronounce you husband and wife.” His voice felt heavy with meaning, thick with something unspoken.
He turned, shaking his pen. “Can someone get me an ink pen? I think this one dried up.” He lifted his stein again, voice lifting in celebration. “And another beer to celebrate my bro!—and can someone get me a trash can?”
Because yeah, if he was a betting man, he wouldn’t last another hour.
But deep in his soul, past the haze of alcohol and the raucous laughter of his brothers, he felt it—something real had happened here tonight.
And it left him hollow and full, all at once.