Chapter 20
TWENTY
CALLAHAN
I’m about halfway through the dedication ceremony when it hits me.
“We all know the saying,” Father Mendez is saying into the microphone. “Life began in a garden.”
It’s spring, I think, as the audience murmurs a polite laugh at his opener. That’s why everything looks so different.
I guess in hindsight I’d been noticing all morning.
The winding roads out of Sarrasford and out of the mountains got gradually less and less white, then less and less gray-brown, until finally there was some sunshine, some clear sky, as I pushed the gas on the Volvo and glanced down at my phone to make sure I didn’t miss any turns.
When I parked in the lot by St. Ann’s, the air was so warm I left my coat in the car and walked around back in just my blazer and tie.
But now, seated here in the front row of white folding chairs, looking from Father Mendez at the podium to the backdrop of the green leaves and green vines and orange, red, yellow flowers and the bright blue of the sky, I feel it.
“…and that this memorial garden will grow as the community around it continues to flourish,” Father Mendez is saying, his words fading into the applause that swells from the audience, and I remember to bang my hands together, too, just a second or two late.
It’s nice. Really nice, what they did with the space: I was thinking it’d be one or two scraggly flowerbeds, some popsicle sticks painted by kids jammed in the dirt, maybe a tomato plant or something in the summer.
But this is a garden garden, with a pebble path and clipped box hedges and metal arches and little brass signs staked at the corners: this way to the pollinators, this way to the vegetables, that kind of thing.
You’d honestly never realize it used to be a weedy empty lot unless you’d been here long enough to remember the before. I barely do, even.
And benches. There’s benches, nice ones with wrought iron legs, including one right up front.
IN LOVING MEMORY
SEAN I haven’t had the years and years of experience the others have.
“I try to train really hard,” I say, by way of apology.
“But there’s only so much you can do to catch up, I guess, when the other guys have been fencing for—”
The brother shakes his head, brushing a white-gloved hand through the air. “Not only for the bladework. For all of it. The discipline.”
I sit very quietly.
If I don’t think about Lanz, then he’ll never be able to tell I’m thinking about Lanz.
But if I try not to think about him, I just think about him even more.
And that goes doubly true when I put Gwenna in the mix.
Damn.
I screw my eyes shut and quickly open them. My gaze fixes on the woodcut on the wall, of Noah’s Ark, the big wood boat and all the little lions and giraffes and zebras and birds.
Two by two. Male and female.
And the rainbow overhead. A token of God’s covenant.
Always used to be my favorite Bible story.
“There are certain tests we put to them, as oblates,” the brother continues. “Trials. Not of swordsmanship, but of fidelity. Of integrity.”
“Oh.” I nod tightly. Not sure what I’m supposed to say.
“We set them against each other. Planted secrets. To see where the greater loyalty lay: to each other, to the self, or to God.”
“Uh huh.” My voice cracks a little. I’m not sure where he’s going with this, but I don’t really like it.
“I think, Callahan Thomas, that had we put you through the same, you would have proven most steadfast of all.”
I flex and flatten my hands, again and again. “I guess so. Maybe.”
I’m loyal, sure. But I’m also not that obedient, am I?
Not to the brothers. Not to the vows. Maybe not even to God.
“We should not have to test you further,” he says. “Any of you. Should we? Now that your vows are consecrated.”
I shake my head. Wordless.
“It would be a shame, wouldn’t it, if we could no longer rely on our Knights. If we could no longer trust them as our worldly arm. If we could no longer do such good works as all this—”
Outside, a bunch of kids laughs and shrieks, footsteps pounding past the slightly open window.
“But that is the beauty of the sacrifice,” he finishes. “When our mission is brought to bear, no one will suffer any longer. No sins will be punished. All may live in accordance with God. Healed and whole.”
“Mhm.” I’m not looking at him, even though we wouldn’t make eye contact regardless. But from the corner of my eye, I see him turn to the window, like he’s looking out at something.
“I know there were those you could not save. But I believe God had greater plans for you, Callahan Thomas.”
I say nothing.
“I believe you came to our order for a reason. So that you might save many, many more. The sick.” He pauses. “And the dying.”
Lanz.
“I believe you, of all our Knights, most wish to do good in the world.”
I stare at the stupid ark again and realize I’m fighting back tears.
All I can do is nod.
“I give you this, Callahan Thomas.” With gloved fingers, he places something in my palm and wraps my hand firmly shut around it. “I trust that you will discern when it should be used.”