Faces of the Wind

Chapter 13

Maverick sat very close to Irene on a bench facing a large statue of Jesus Christ. It towered over the two tormented souls that sat conversing in the pit of the small chapel. Christ's eyes stared skyward as if to communicate his agony to the Utmost Mercy.

"Before I became a man of God, I was a scoundrel and lived in sin," Maverick giggled as he recalled the memory, his eyes fixed on Christ's feet, "most girls in my town loved me and I couldn't resist the temptation."

Irene raised her brownish brows, puckering her pale forehead, and let out a quick shriek as she smiled widely. "I cannot imagine you being anything but the pious man you are!" Her tone was high-pitched.

"Believe it," he turned to look at her with his small, shallow eyes that seemed to blend with the rest of his face, "and I trust that had I not been so depraved, I would not have found God."

"And how exactly has your depravity led you to God?"

"I always encourage young folks to try all sins so that once they repent, they feel satisfied for having seen and tried everything," he replied, "I have fulfilled my body's needs, and now they won't nag me when I have devoted the rest of my life to answer to the needs of my soul."

Irene's jolly expression faltered and was replaced by a grim one. The reverend, too, lost his happy expression and looked cross as a reaction to her change of spirit. "What's amiss?" He asked.

"I just... d-don't think what you said is always true." She looked down at her frock.

"And why do you think that?" He asked in a flat tone, trying to mask his indignation.

"If there is anything I regret of my romantic entanglement with Adrian, it is that I allowed him a few carnal liberties." Her voice was brittle.

Maverick got up vigorously and left Irene's side. "I think we are done for the day," he said in a flat tone and without looking at her.

"Why? Have I done anything wrong?"

"I thought we've come to an agreement that we are to leave the past in the past and surrender to our Creator's plans." He still wouldn't turn to look at her. He linked his hands behind his back and looked up at Christ. "Now, leave, my child," his tone was now colder.

She slowly rose from her seat like a child who has just been thrashed and wishes to reach her room fast and bury her embarrassment under the quilt. Her chaperone and carriage no longer dropped and collected her. Instead, she often rode her mare alone.

***

Arden stood fidgeting and fiddling with her glove outside the House of Commons, and when she caught a glimpse of George, her heart began to race, her breath became shallow and her body was ready to jump any minute. Nevertheless, she maintained her composure until he was close enough and alone. The instant he saw her, he pretended he did not recognize her and started to walk briskly. She hurried after him, a scowl cutting through his forehead.

"I've been so worried about you," she panted and he continued to stride as if he could not see nor hear her.

There were men, plenty of them, staring at her, but she could not see them. There was no one besides the two of them in this whole world. They were alone despite all the meddling eyes that were now scrutinizing and, most likely, judging her.

"Why won't you reply to my letters? I hope they've reached you. They have, I'm sure of it." She was panting, "There must be a reason. Have you been ill? Have I crossed you? Has anyone poisoned you against me?" She felt the venomous bite of humiliation with every words, but they served her higher purpose, so she had to endure them. She could not lose him.