Free Winter Palace by T. Davis Bunn

worse?”
    â€œConditions, as you say, are chaotic. Robberies and violent crimes are skyrocketing. Most people who have to be out at night have bought the sort of dogs who walk their owners, rather than the other way around.”
    â€œSo why don’t you stay?” Jeffrey tried to keep the pleadingfrom his voice. “Especially with everything that’s happening, we’d love to have you here.”
    Gregor was silent for a time before replying, “Philippi was the apostle Paul’s first church in Macedonia. For that and other reasons it held a very special place in his heart. When he was imprisoned in Rome, distant and powerless, frustrated that he could not continue his work, he remained utterly certain that the bonds between him and that church remained strong. No matter that he could not see his friends, no matter that he could not hear of their progress or be a part of it. Always he was sure the church was growing stronger day by day.”
    â€œThis sounds distinctly like a ‘no’ to me,” Jeffrey said glumly. “Nicely put, but still no.”
    Gregor smiled and continued, “Such confidence comes from a sharing of the key experiences of life, bonded through shared faith. We yearn for one another in the heart of Jesus Christ. He is the divine link which held Paul together with his distant brethren then, and He will do the same for us now, my young friend. What is more, He will unite us all on His glorious day. What we feel now for one another will then be made perfect in His glory.
    â€œOur fragile strands of feeling are but slender threads constantly snared by the myriad of things left undone, strained by doubt and pulled by earthly hardship. They remain but a hint of what God promises to bring to completion. And this completion is not an end to itself. Not at all. It shall be for us, for those risen above all endings through their love of man’s only Savior, just the beginning of all eternity.”
    Gregor held him with eyes that saw far beyond their earthly confines. “On that day, my dear young friend, at the dawn of our eternal day, we shall rise with the morning star, and with the angels together we will sing our endless, boundless joy.”

Chapter 9
    Jeffrey returned from the airport, stopped by the antique shop to check over the day’s proceeds, and read Katya’s note to meet her at the church around the corner. He did that often, but he still did so with reluctance.
    Katya had been making a widening inspection of the neighborhood that was soon to be her home. In the process she had discovered a church that she pronounced delightful. It served many of the local immigrant communities and held weekly masses in several Eastern European languages. Between masses, the rows were filled with kerchiefed women and old men bowed over canes, murmuring their prayers in a soft tide of foreign tongues.
    Upon the great pillars flanking the embossed altar frieze hung two of the largest icons Jeffrey had ever seen. One of the paintings was of a Christ figure painted in the flat two-dimensional style of ancient Byzantium, the other depicted Mary and the holy Child. Both were embedded within frame after frame after hand-etched silver frame. The outermost frames were shaped as peaked medieval doorways and stood a full fourteen feet high.
    Beside each of them rose ranks of flickering candles. Often when entering the church Jeffrey’s eyes stung from the cloying blanket of incense, and his sense of proper worship felt offended by the sight of old women making exaggerated signs of the cross and then bowing before the icons. Masses were announced by the solemn intoning of great brass chimes hung above the main entrance.
    On Sundays he and Katya attended a very evangelical Anglican church in Kensington, and Jeffrey truly felt at home among that congregation. But almost every day Katya insisted on entering this strange world of foreign rituals. She settled herself in