Free The Last Stand (Book 3) (The Repentant Demon Trilogy) by Samantha Johns Page B

in statuary, since that is where she had been browsing when he found her, the young man directed her to a whole series of figurines by the same artist who depicted fathers fishing with their sons, reading to them, teaching them to build things, and a whole array of domestic scenes.  They were beautifully crafted, and when Abigail learned they could be personalized with an engraved brass plate, she chose one.  It was of a black-haired man teaching his son to pray at the foot of his bed.  She loved it, and they said they could engrave the plate to say “Cal and Jonah” before the afternoon was over.  It would be ready to pick up by five.
     
    The day moved quickly as the women purchased gifts then stopped for lunch at a little cafe where Abigail received the call that Cal was already on his way back to the cabin with the repaired van.  So she didn't need to pick him up from the repair shop after all.
     
    “That was lucky,” said Abigail, “I didn't want him to see the package from the religious store.  Cal would have wanted to know what was in it.  He's probably feeling relieved for the same reason, although he could more easily hide a piece of jewelry inside a pocket.  Wait till you see what I got him.  This statue is fifteen inches tall.  Cal appreciates beautiful artwork, especially the religious kind.”
     
    “So you're both really into all this Catholic stuff,” commented Uma, with reservation, “I would think he might be turned off by religion with all that happened to him.”
     
    “What some people do in the name of religion is tragic,” explained Abigail, “but it's not the fault of the faith, rather of the followers, who probably aren't following their faith in the first place.  No religion—no legitimate religion—advocates sex with children.”
     
    “Really?  What about the priests who molested all those boys?” asked Uma, “I don't want to offend you, but I can't understand that.”
     
    “I'm glad you're telling me about what bothers you about my church,” she answered pleasantly.  “And I agree with you that those men should have gone to jail.  Some did.  It was wrong to try to cover it up.  Some misguided intention to protect the church itself from slander.  But they never should have protected the men who committed the crimes. That was a mistake, and I think the bishops realize that now.  The church survived and is still recovering from those horrible times.  You know, it all happened during the seventies.  The age of “do whatever feels good,” a cultural influence which infiltrated the very church itself.  It was wrong, and makes me angry, too.  But it wasn't the faith who should be blamed.  It was the people who committed those atrocities.”
     
    Uma stared thoughtfully into her cup of tea and nodded.  She seemed to accept that Abigail was making sense.
     
    “I've known nothing but good, decent priests all my life,” Abigail continued.  “It was less than one per cent of all the priests who were offenders, and there were plenty in other churches, too… and in scouting, and in sports.  A pedophile is going to go where the children are, regardless of where that might be.”
     
    “So you're all Catholics,” said Uma, “the whole bunch of you.  Well it looks like I'm going to have to just get used to it.  I’ve never really known any Catholic people, and of course, in the commune, we despised all organized religions.  I see that was wrong, so maybe God has got a lot more to teach me.  Looking back, that crazy belief system we had was sort of a religion.” 
     
    Although it might take more time for Uma to put aside all her reservations about the Catholic church, she seemed somewhat satisfied by Abigail’s explanations.  She was a woman who had put God way outside her life for many years, and though many in prison had found Jesus, she hadn't been one of them.  Her pain and suffering had blinded her to see the love of God in her world.  And in