different when the police come to their door at three in the morning. Overstreet needs his warrant. While he gets it, I’ll be out here, making sure nobody goes in that shed and nobody comes out of it.” Then he said something loving but futile. “Baby, if you can’t get some sleep, will you at least lie down and rest? I’ll call you if anything changes.”
She snorted. He had heard her snort before. He thought the sound was adorable. “I’d rather eat dirt than lay here and think of what Glynis might be suffering. Father Domingo’s journal will keep me company.”
Joe didn’t even argue with her.
“And Joe…” Faye sounded oddly like a little girl, not like herself at all. “Would it be safe for you to go over to the shed and talk to her? Maybe she can hear you through the door, even if she can’t talk back. Can you go tell her that we’re getting her some help and that you’re there, waiting with her?”
Yes, he certainly could do that, and he was ashamed that he hadn’t already thought of it. So, though he’d seen no sign of anyone watching, Joe had used all his woods skills to creep silently from shadow to shadow until he sat here, with the shed shielding him from even the moon’s faint light.
He’d tapped lightly on the shed’s wooden siding and murmured Glynis’ name quietly, getting no response. He did that periodically, adding comforting words like, “The police are coming to help me get you out,” or sometimes just, “It’s going to be okay, Glynis.”
He leaned his head on the siding and kept it there, knowing that he could sense faint vibrations through his skull that he’d never hear with his ears. He heard nothing. He felt nothing.
If she was in there, she wasn’t talking. Or she couldn’t.
***
The baby was so active inside her that Faye knew she wouldn’t have slept this night, even if she’d known Glynis was safe. Joe was outside, hoping to help bring the missing woman home, but that meant that his side of the bed was empty. This fact, too, would have robbed Faye of a good night’s sleep.
How fortunate it was that Father Domingo had written his thoughts down, all those centuries ago, and left a piece of himself to keep Faye company through this dark night. And how appropriate it was that Father Domingo had written stories that left Faye in no doubt that he had spent many lonely, dark nights himself.
From the journal of Father Domingo Sanz de la Fuente
Translated from the Spanish by
Faye Longchamp-Mantooth, Ph.D.,
and Magda Stockard-McKenzie, Ph.D.
The natives who foolishly tempted my countrymen with gold were anxious to feast us. They urged us to pass the night with them, but our leader declined, as he was anxious to deliver the good news of treasure found.
When our Captain-General and Admiral, Don Pedro, saw the two tiny golden prizes, he rose from his seat and made a plan to go ashore immediately. He himself led a party of men to the village, taking with him a goodly quantity of linen and knives and other little things of that sort. These gifts bought him the location of the French settlement, a piece of knowledge that would cost many Frenchmen their lives.
While we were in transit, the natives had fetched one of their number who had traded with the French and thus spoke some of their language. I was able to communicate with him, to a degree, and thus added a sin to my soul so large that it challenges my faith in our Savior’s ability to forgive it. I learned that a party of the French remained five leagues behind us, at the precise spot where God conducted us on the day we first sighted land. Hundreds of men died because I passed that information to Don Pedro.
God help me, but I never once considered the consequences of those words as they crossed my lips. Or, if I did, I excused myself with the knowledge that we Spaniards serve the Lord with so much more purity of spirit than the French ever could. How ironic it was that the French flagship was named the
She snorted. He had heard her snort before. He thought the sound was adorable. “I’d rather eat dirt than lay here and think of what Glynis might be suffering. Father Domingo’s journal will keep me company.”
Joe didn’t even argue with her.
“And Joe…” Faye sounded oddly like a little girl, not like herself at all. “Would it be safe for you to go over to the shed and talk to her? Maybe she can hear you through the door, even if she can’t talk back. Can you go tell her that we’re getting her some help and that you’re there, waiting with her?”
Yes, he certainly could do that, and he was ashamed that he hadn’t already thought of it. So, though he’d seen no sign of anyone watching, Joe had used all his woods skills to creep silently from shadow to shadow until he sat here, with the shed shielding him from even the moon’s faint light.
He’d tapped lightly on the shed’s wooden siding and murmured Glynis’ name quietly, getting no response. He did that periodically, adding comforting words like, “The police are coming to help me get you out,” or sometimes just, “It’s going to be okay, Glynis.”
He leaned his head on the siding and kept it there, knowing that he could sense faint vibrations through his skull that he’d never hear with his ears. He heard nothing. He felt nothing.
If she was in there, she wasn’t talking. Or she couldn’t.
***
The baby was so active inside her that Faye knew she wouldn’t have slept this night, even if she’d known Glynis was safe. Joe was outside, hoping to help bring the missing woman home, but that meant that his side of the bed was empty. This fact, too, would have robbed Faye of a good night’s sleep.
How fortunate it was that Father Domingo had written his thoughts down, all those centuries ago, and left a piece of himself to keep Faye company through this dark night. And how appropriate it was that Father Domingo had written stories that left Faye in no doubt that he had spent many lonely, dark nights himself.
From the journal of Father Domingo Sanz de la Fuente
Translated from the Spanish by
Faye Longchamp-Mantooth, Ph.D.,
and Magda Stockard-McKenzie, Ph.D.
The natives who foolishly tempted my countrymen with gold were anxious to feast us. They urged us to pass the night with them, but our leader declined, as he was anxious to deliver the good news of treasure found.
When our Captain-General and Admiral, Don Pedro, saw the two tiny golden prizes, he rose from his seat and made a plan to go ashore immediately. He himself led a party of men to the village, taking with him a goodly quantity of linen and knives and other little things of that sort. These gifts bought him the location of the French settlement, a piece of knowledge that would cost many Frenchmen their lives.
While we were in transit, the natives had fetched one of their number who had traded with the French and thus spoke some of their language. I was able to communicate with him, to a degree, and thus added a sin to my soul so large that it challenges my faith in our Savior’s ability to forgive it. I learned that a party of the French remained five leagues behind us, at the precise spot where God conducted us on the day we first sighted land. Hundreds of men died because I passed that information to Don Pedro.
God help me, but I never once considered the consequences of those words as they crossed my lips. Or, if I did, I excused myself with the knowledge that we Spaniards serve the Lord with so much more purity of spirit than the French ever could. How ironic it was that the French flagship was named the
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