Free Firebird (The Flint Hills Novels) by Janice Graham Page A

answered that letter, perhaps this guilt wouldn't be bothering him now.
    Looking up at the grand stairs and majestic portico, he longed to believe that there was something beyond those doors that could help him with the weight of the wrongness of his life, and so he got out of his truck and followed the sidewalk to the entrance.
    The old familiar ritual seized him as soon as he entered, and as he dipped his fingers into the marble font of cool water and touched his forehead, he felt a stillness invade him. He genuflected, slipped into a row and kneeled, folding his hands in prayer the way he had done thousands of times as a child. As a boy he had often wondered how to pray in those silences. He used to drive one thought after another from his head because it was too selfish or not what he thought God wanted, until his mind had become tired with chasing away all those bad thoughts and he had given up and fallen into the cant, which always made it so much easier for him. But now there was no cant, no priest telling him what to pray, no words for him to climb up to heaven on, and he sat in the bright, sun-gloried silence, and let the calm steal into his mind.
    He wasn't expecting answers, just a little peace, and he found it in those few moments on his knees in submission to something he didn't understand despite all his schooling. After a while, he said a little prayer of thanks and rose to leave. As he did so, a woman who had been kneeling at the front stood also. When she turned and came toward him, he recognized Annette Zeldin. She saw him and smiled warmly.
    "Mr. Brown," she said as she approached.
    "Mrs. Zeldin."
    "Don't forget your hat," she said, smiling, and took it from the pew where he had left it.
    "Thank you, ma'am."
    Then she did an extraordinary thing. Instead of going on her way, she took his arm and gently leaned on him as they walked silently together down the long aisle toward the door.
    Outside, at the top of the steps, they paused. She released his arm and Ethan turned to her and asked, "What's the daughter of a Methodist minister doing in a Catholic church?"
    "I converted right after Eliana was born."
    "Why'd you do that?"
    "To annoy my father."
    At first he thought she was serious, she had a dead-sober look on her face, then she broke into laughter. It was the first time he had seen her laugh.
    She quickly changed the subject, asking him questions about his house and the wedding plans. She said she was in town to do some Christmas shopping and run some errands, but she was having trouble finding the repair shop where she had left her violin last week.
    "I forgot to bring the address with me. I thought I could find it again."
    "What's the name of the place?"
    "Goldman's Antiques."
    He led her to his truck and pulled out a chewed up telephone directory from underneath the seat. He flipped through the pages.
    "Here it is. Three-twelve North Ellis."
    "That's it."
    "Hop in. I'll drive you. It's not far."
    Annette couldn't make it into the truck with her tight skirt, and she laughed as Ethan hoisted her up.
    "I'm just not made for this kind of life," she said as he closed the door for her.
    "Sure you are," he answered as he got in. "The clothes are the problem. Not the lady."
    * * *
    A bell tinkled over the door as they entered the antiques shop and a voice from the back called out, "Be with you in a minute. I'm working with some glue right now. Can't leave it."
    It wasn't really much of an antiques shop. There was very little furniture, only a buffet and a few worthless tables and chairs. Everything in the shop was covered with dust. Along the back wall were shelves filled with violin cases.
    After a moment a very thin and grizzled old man with bent shoulders, whose skin and clothing were covered with the same gray dust that covered his shop, appeared from the back.
    "Mrs. Zeldin!" he cried, and came toward her, wiping his hands on his apron. He spoke to her in a language that sounded to Ethan a little like