"I trust your judgment, Angus. Let us go see Reverend Wiley."

Enoch looked up, annoyed, when he heard the knock. There were a thousand things to do, and never enough time to get them all done. And he had a meeting with Martin before lunch, over the land. Though he would never say it to anyone, not even Inez, he was beginning to feel that Donald Ogilvie's bequest was more trouble than it was worth. That thought brought with it guilt, at the anger towards a young man that, in some ways, had eased the pain of separation from his children left up-time, and the pain at seeing how his son Will had turned out. His irritation subsided a little when Angus Gunn opened the door. The man would not come if it weren't important. Then he saw the man standing behind Angus.

Though the robe was brown homespun, not factory-perfect black, and the monks of the Society of St.

John the Evangelist certainly did not wear their hair in such an outrageous fashion, it was enough to send a knife of anguish right through Enoch Wiley's heart. Though this stranger didn't look anything like his son, what got to Enoch was the similarity of manner between John and monk standing in front of him. They both had a sense of serenity that shone through from whatever inner reserve it sprung from. No doubt this new fellow was from yet another Roman Catholic holy order.

"Angus, this is a pleasant surprise. What can I do for you?"

"This is Brother Aidan. Bishop Aidan, actually. He's newly arrived in Grantville and needs a place to stay. He and three monks with him."

"Bishop?" Enoch looked at Aidan. He sure didn't look like a bishop. From what his down-time parishioners and people like Melissa Mailey had said, the higher Roman Catholic clergy in this time lived like princes-more than a few had the secular title to back up the lifestyle. This Aidan fellow certainly didn't look like a prince. And Aidan certainly wasn't a German name, it was Irish, if Enoch was recalling correctly. Maybe he'd been driven out of his bishopric locally, after being installed from Rome? Or was on the run from whatever was happening in England? Who knew?

"Are you returning from exile, Bishop Aidan? Perhaps you should talk to Father Kircher at St. Mary Magdalene's."

Aidan smiled, a little pained, Enoch thought.

"I generally prefer to go by Brother Aidan, as my church consists of only myself and only five other monks and nuns, so far as I know. A few people, like Angus here, have remembered our traditional prayers and hymns, but my hope, in time, is to build our church anew here in Grantville."

"So you're not Roman Catholic?"

"Well, I've never formally renounced Rome's authority over me, but I imagine the current pope would take a dim view of my beliefs. I, and the remaining brothers of my order, follow the mission started by Patrick and Columba, and their followers. We are of the Celtic mission."

"So what did you tell them?" Inez wanted to know after Enoch had related the episode over dinner.

"What could I tell them? I gave Aidan four cots and told them he and his friends could stay at the church.

Three of them have jobs anyway, and Aidan promised they wouldn't get in the way. He practically ordered me to give them work to do, to pay me back."

"This wasn't easy for you."

Enoch didn't answer. Inez continued, "They're not John, you know. You'll have to confront your feelings about his choice sooner or later. I've been telling you that for years, even before the Ring of Fire. You're going to have to face the fact that your son made a decision that made you uncomfortable. A decisionyou don't understand. This is eating you up inside, Enoch Wiley, and I'm afraid it's going to kill you one of these days."

He hugged his wife then, pretending not to notice how shiny her eyes were. Later, after she went to bed, Enoch went to his study. He looked at the box, and thought about opening it up, but sat down at his desk instead. He looked at the picture again, of himself, his son, and his wife.

Inez was right. He didn't understand his son's choice. A part of him wanted to blame Mary Kathryn Riddle, but he knew that was unfair. John had gone to youth group at St. Gregory's Episcopal in Fairmont at first because he had a crush on Mary Kathryn, but if Enoch was honest with himself, his son stayed with the Episcopal Church because it fed a spiritual need. It hurt his pride that he couldn't meet that need for his son.

He'd wanted to turn Angus down flat. He knew why Angus had come to him; he'd housed a Benedictine monk, Brother Johann, not long after the Ring of Fire. That had been different somehow. Maybe because in those chaotic months immediately following Grantville's trip back in time, Enoch could bury himself in work and not think about things. He was just as busy now, but with things much more stable than they'd been back in 1631 and '32, he couldn't deal with events the way he had when Brother Johann was a guest at the church.

He stood up, and turned out the light over his desk. No more self-pity, he told himself firmly. Besides, it was time to go to bed. Inez wouldn't like it if he were up too late.

Aidan hadn't been staying at Grantville Presbyterian very long-only two weeks-before he came to the conclusion that Reverend Wiley would be just as happy if they weren't there. He was far too polite to say so, of course. Enoch Wiley did his Christian duty, Aidan could tell, even if it pained him. And it was genuine. Aidan had been quietly observing the minister since coming to live in the church. Enoch Wiley seemed to be a man in conflict with himself.

He wanted to help the man, if he could. Regardless of the tolerant attitudes of up-timers in the Grantville area, not many people would offer hospitality to complete strangers, especially strangers of an alien faith.

And most especially when they really would rather not. On some level, the monk felt that it would be a way to repay his host for his kindness. If, that is, Reverend Wiley wanted to be helped in this way.

Aidan decided he needed to understand his host better. Even if all he accomplished was to make his and the other brothers' presence less painful, that would be worthwhile. He decided to start with Martin Riddle. The lawyer was a friendly young man who'd surprised Aidan with an interest in "Celtic spirituality," as Martin had termed it, and they'd had several conversations on the subject. Aidan decided to speak to him during the time local custom dictated for the midday meal. The "lunch break," as the English-speakers in Grantville termed it. Aidan found Martin outside his office with a woman holding onto a young child of not more than two years, while Martin himself cradled a newborn in his arms. In the hand not being clutched by the little boy, the woman carried a basket.

"Brother Aidan!" Martin said. "I'd wave, but I've got my hands full. This is my wife, Doria, and Charles-Chuckie. And my beautiful little girl Kathryn." The young man beamed with pride at his tiny daughter.

"I'd hoped we could talk, Mr. Riddle. Perhaps some other time." "Nonsense," said Doria in a tone that brooked no argument. "You'll join us. I've been wanting to meet you anyway, ever since Marty told me about you."

"And for the last time," Martin said, with mock severity, "It's Marty. Or Martin, if you must. 'Mr. Riddle'

is my dad."

For a time, they spent a pleasant late summer day eating the picnic lunch Doria had brought with her.

Martin's wife was a teacher, currently taking time off after the birth of little Kathryn. Doria was particularly amused when Aidan told her of the rumors concerning him and his fellow monks.

"Grantville wasn't what you'd call cosmopolitan before we all got thrown back to your time, Brother Aidan," she said. "It was a small town in the country. I'm not surprised someone thought you were Chinese. Whoever started that gem must have been watching too many kung fu flicks."

What "kung fu flicks" were remained a mystery. After they finished eating, Doria changed her son and fed her daughter. Aidan brought up the subject that had been on his mind.

"What you have to understand is that as a minister Enoch Wiley is a man of certainties," Martin said.

"People are totally depraved, and God either picks you for salvation, or He doesn't. You get my meaning."

Aidan smiled. "I don't believe I've ever heard Calvin summed up in quite that way before, Martin. I take it you don't much care for his particular beliefs."

"Not really. I have nothing but respect for Enoch Wiley. You won't find too many people that have served Grantville better, before or after the Ring of Fire, and he's never asked for a thing in return. My family's known him a long time, and he's someone I admire a lot. But you won't find me sitting in his church on Sundays.

"I guess it just comes down to the fact that I don't believe God can be figured out, not the way the Calvinists seem to think. It's enough for me to know that God's there for us, and he sent Jesus to save us, if we have sense to recognize that. The Nicene Creed pretty much sums it up for me. The rest? Well, let's just say I've got an awful long list of questions to ask, assuming I make it through the pearly gates."

"You're lucky we've only just met. I'd have made a monk out of you years ago, Martin Riddle."

"Him? A monk? Ha!" Doria looked up from nursing her infant and gave her husband a wicked smile.

Martin blushed.

"What I don't understand, though, is why Reverend Wiley seems so ill-at-ease around me and the other brothers."

"His son, probably," said Martin. "I don't know much about it, myself. I was in law school when everything happened. But I do know that Enoch was never happy that his son, John, became an Episcopalian. Ah, that's the branch of the Anglican Communion in the up-time United States. And he was serious, too. I remember when I left Grantville he was thinking really hard about ordination. My sister could tell you more about that than I could. They were good friends."

Aidan nodded. He didn't understand, at least not yet. But he would, in time. He left soon after that, thanking Doria for lunch. Martin invited him to evening prayer at his grandmother's house. Veleda Riddle, it seemed, was trying re-create the church she knew and loved before the Ring of Fire. None of its clergyhad been transported down-time and, given the current situation, Archbishop Laud was unlikely to send any.

Aidan accepted the invitation. As he walked back to Grantville Presbyterian, an image came to his mind, that of the Celtic knot. A complex thing that nonetheless formed a beautiful pattern. As the last bishop of a church that the world thought was long dead, Aidan had learned to be patient. He was determined to be patient now. Like the Celtic knot, the situation with Enoch Wiley would resolve itself into a complex, yet beautiful pattern.

Enoch had found out a while ago that old age and insomnia went hand in hand. The fact that he'd been so preoccupied lately wasn't helping. He found himself doing a lot of thinking, mostly about John.

Four years before the Ring of Fire, John had told his parents that he was feeling a call to ministry. Enoch was not pleased, but he was also not terribly surprised. John had gotten deeply involved in life at St.

Gregory's, so deeply in fact that he'd been hired as a part-time youth minister. Enoch had been expecting his son's announcement that he wanted to become an Episcopal priest for some time before John had called his family meeting.

It turned out that Enoch was wrong about his son's intentions. He didn't want to become an Episcopal priest. He wanted to become an Episcopal monk.

"I've been thinking about this for a while now," he'd said, "ever since St. Greg's sent us on that retreat at Newton House in Vermont. It felt so right, and I've been praying about it ever since. I feel like this is what I'm being called to do."

What followed was an argument, however calm and civil he and John had been when speaking to each other. John's tendency towards a more mystical faith had developed starting in his late teens, and it always made Enoch uncomfortable. But the thought of his son worshipping images (icons were aids to prayer, John had said, a window, nothing more) and worshipping Mary (the Angelus honored the ultimate leap of faith, John had said), revolted him. It all came out that night, all the disagreements he and his son had papered over through the years. It ended with Enoch telling John what he thought about John's personal theology, in no uncertain terms. And where John would end up, in equally uncertain terms.

"I'm sorry, Pop. I can't believe that if we're made in God's image, we're inherently evil. We're not perfect, and God demands perfection, but we're not 'totally depraved.' I can't accept that, I never could.

I hope one of these days you'll know how much I love and respect you. I wouldn't be who I am without you, Pop."

Superficially, at least, the two were back on good terms, but there was a distance there that neither Enoch nor John could bridge. John sent Enoch the Rule of the Society of St. John the Evangelist, the order he hoped to join, and other books in an attempt to get Enoch to understand the choice he'd made.

Enoch, for his part, privately hoped that something would happen, either during John's six-month postulancy or three-year novitiate, to make him leave the order before taking his life vows. But nothing had, and Enoch and Inez made the trip to Cambridge, Massachusetts, to see their son become a monk.

Restless, Enoch decided to walk to the church. He didn't have a clear idea of what he'd do there, but he'd think of something. If nothing else, he would sit in a pew with the Bible and pray. That always managed to bring him comfort. When he got to the church, he found it quiet, but he saw candle light flickering through the window of the sanctuary. He'd forgotten that Aidan and the other monks were finishing up their private worship. A little guiltily, Enoch knew that Aidan had been trying to speak to him, to ask permission, and that he'd actively been avoiding the monk. Finally, the request had come through Inez, and Wiley hadn't raised any objections. Where else could they go, anyway? They wouldn't be welcome at St. Mary's, and the Methodist church was on the other side of town from the Presbyterian church. The monks wouldn't have minded the walk, but Enoch refused to make them resort to that option.

He crept into the sanctuary of his church, to wait until the four men were done. He didn't know if they were wrapping up or not, not being at all familiar with their form of worship. The simple,a capella singing filled the austere chapel of Grantville Presbyterian. Aidan, in a clear tenor, sang a line. The other three monks, led by Oran's robust bass, sang a response.

"Night has fallen," sang Aidan.

"Night has fallen, Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping," came the response.

"Darkness now has come."

"Darkness now has come, Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping."

"We are with you, God."

"We are with you God. Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping."

"See your children, God."

"See your children, God. Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping."

"Keep us in your love."

"Keep us in your love, Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping."

"Now we go to rest."

"Now we go to rest. Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping."

"Gracious Spirit, guard us sleeping," they repeated several more times, and then silence fell.

Enoch Wiley never had much use for things like this. He'd viewed the Sunday services of Catholics, Episcopalians, and some Lutherans as a lot of fancy and useless ritual. Even now, a part of him recoiled at the words of this hymn, which seemed to reach back to a time of pagan beliefs. But the greater part of him recognized the holiness of this moment, and the humble piety of the four men holding this simple service.

"Wherever two or three are gathered in my name, there am I also," he murmured to himself. Enoch left the sanctuary as quietly as he'd entered it. Sleep was no closer at hand by the time he returned home than it was when he left. But he knew what he had to do. He went into the study and settled down into his reading chair with a book, George MacLeod'sThe Whole Earth Cries Glory .

Even if I can't make peace with John, thought Enoch, I can try to understand him.

The invitation to join Enoch and Inez Wiley for lunch after Sunday services came as a pleasant surprise to Aidan. Oran, Dunstan and Colman were overjoyed. Years of solitary monastic living had made the four of them passable cooks, but they'd been thoroughly converted to West Virginia country cuisine by Inez Wiley. Their mouth was already watering at the prospect of fried chicken, gravy and biscuits. Even monks, Aidan reasoned, were entitled to feast occasionally.

Inez's spread surpassed their expectations, and the conversation was equally good. Enoch didn't say a great deal-though he seemed much more at ease with them on this day-but he became quite animated when talking about the Ring of Fire. The Wileys had been witnesses to the event, having just celebrated the wedding of the sister of the USE's current prime minister, Mike Stearns.

"Ruffled some feathers with my sermon that day, I can tell you," said Enoch, with a flash of mischievous humor. "The groom's parents were big-city Episcopalians. I don't think they were ready for a 'yahoo preacher' in a 'yahoo shack.'" Aidan gathered the term referred to Wiley's rustic origins.

"The Riddles didn't strike me as being like that, particularly," Aidan said, with a smile of his own. He hoped that this day would mark a turning point in his relationship with the Presbyterian minister. Everyone Aidan had talked to about Enoch Wiley had confirmed the monk's belief that Wiley was a genuinely godly and pious man. Grantville's mayor was quite vociferous on the subject, and had filled Aidan's ears with many stories of how Enoch and Inez had ministered to people in need.

Wiley chuckled. "Well, the Riddles are a little different. I don't have a lot of use for Episcopalians. They strike me as kind of wish-washy, though I'd never let Veleda hear me say that! But the Riddles are good Grantville people. The Simpsons came from a whole different world."

After they finished dessert, Inez withdrew, taking Dunstan, Oran and Colman with her. She told them she wanted to hear some of their songs, though everyone knew that the real reason was to give Aidan and Enoch privacy.

When they were alone, Enoch spent a few moments studying his tea, then looked at Aidan.

"I feel, Brother Aidan, that I owe you an apology."

"For what, Reverend Wiley?"

Enoch sighed. "I haven't been hospitable to you. I've avoided talking to you, or having much to do with you and the other brothers at all. That was uncalled for."

"I will accept that in the spirit in which you offer it, Reverend Wiley-"

"Enoch, please."

Aidan inclined his head. "Enoch. You say you have not been hospitable, yet you let four strangers stay in your church. You never asked for anything in return. And this despite the fact that our presence hasclearly pained you. You will pardon me if I suggest you have nothing to apologize for."

"I was hungry and you fed me. I was naked and you clothed me," Wiley quoted. "I could not have done otherwise. But even if you feel I don't owe you an apology, I do you an explanation. We have three children, two of whom were left up-time. My son John was always something of a mystery to me, I confess. He made me proud, but when he started going to the Episcopal church in Fairmont-that was a town near Grantville before the Ring of Fire-it made me angry. Though now that I think about it, I think it was more that it hurt my pride."

"Your son did not follow your religious beliefs," said Aidan. "It is a natural enough feeling. I don't have to tell you what disputes over religion can bring."

"No. But I always thought I was better than that. And when John decided to become a monk . . ."

The final piece fell into place. The pattern at last became clear.

"I can imagine. My own parents were quite violently opposed to my own decision. I trust that you didn't view John as a heretic."

"Maybe not," said Enoch. "But the idea offended me. I didn't understand it. I didn't understand John's beliefs, and I didn't understand that life. It all seemed like a lot of useless ritual to me, practically idolatry."

"We will have many interesting discussions on that topic, I'm sure. But that's not at the heart of this."