The Faithful

California, 1870

Dominic looked over the writing on the page once more and nodded with satisfaction. Everything he wanted to say was written and he just hoped that the right person would answer his request. He folded the paper and slipped it into his jacket pocket. He rose from the chair on the porch and walked down the steps to the dusty yard below. He could see the cattle grazing out in the fields and he still found it hard to believe that he was here; in this place and away from everything he had known and experienced. He had seen and done so much in just five years. The war was at last over but the memories of his time there remained with him, as real and clear as the grass stretching out before him.

He’d often wondered why he had survived when so many others had not but he believed that there was a reason for him to be standing on this earth, breathing in the dry afternoon air and watching his cattle graze as the dogs bounded around them in circles.

He believed there was a purpose for him to be here, that God was not finished with him yet but he knew too that he needed help. He touched the paper folded in his pocket and then whistled for the dogs. He would round up the cattle for the day and then go to town. Help was something he desperately needed if this fledgling ranch were to survive and no more paid hands were necessary. The help of a woman was what he knew could sustain the life he had made for himself. He would go into town and attempt to place the add in a paper. He hoped through God’s grace that there was a woman who would answer him.

Boston, 1870

Thunder cracked violently and Gillian jolted awake, her heart pounding hard in her chest. Rain sprayed against the window of her room in a steady stream and lightening flashed, brightening the room for an instant or so. She let out a sigh and felt her heart begin to beat slower. The storm had woken her and she thanked the Lord it had not been some terrible dream. She was just about to lie back in her bed when another flash of lightening brightened the room again and in its glair she saw a small child peeking through the partially opened door. “Christina?” Gillian asked, giving the little girl a warm smile.

Gillian had been hired to work as a Governess in the home of the Spencer family of Boston. There were two children in her charge, Robert who was nearing the age of ten and his younger sister Christina, who had just reached the age of five. Gillian liked both of the children very much but Christina had become very attached to her and Gillian returned the girl’s affection.

The girl was lovely, with a head of golden hair and large, expressive brown eyes. She took a few timid steps into the room and Gillian lit her lamp to see the girl more clearly. Tears shimmered on the child’s face and she was trembling. “I… I’m scared Ms. Gillian,” she said, her voice a small, frightened whimper.

Gillian felt her heart melt in the face of such innocence and she opened her arms. Christina ran to her, clinging to her and crying as thunder cracked against the house once more. “I’m frightened of storms too at times,” Gillian whispered, rocking the girl and stroking her soft hair.

Christina looked up at her. “You are?”

“Yes, I am. This storm brought me right out of sleep and I was frightened at first,” she said.

Christina nodded, her face serious. “Me too. What do you do when you’re frightened?”

“Well, I usually say a prayer and that helps,” Gillian said, smiling down at the girl.

“Whom do you pray too?” Christina asked, snuggling closer to Gillian’s side as thunder rumbled outside.

“Sometimes I pray to Jesus but when I was a little child like you I would pray to Mary when storms would wake me. I still do when storms are like this and you can too,” she said, smiling.

“Why do you pray to Mary?”

Gillian smiled at the girl and began to speak. There could be no harm in showing the child that she could turn to Mary when she needed her.

“Well… I pray to her because she is there to help us when we need it.”

Christina looked confused. “But Papa says we should only pray to Baby Jesus because he’s the only one who can help us,”

Gillian nodded. “Yes he can help us but he isn’t the only one who can help us up in heaven.”

“I don’t understand Ms. Gillian,” Christina said, blinking up at her governess.

Gillian sighed, trying to think of a way to explain things to the girl in a way she could understand. “Christina, do you tell your mother that you love her and do you ask her for help?” she asked, gazing seriously at the small child.

“Yes,” the girl answered, smiling a little.

“And do you ask your father as well when you need help?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, that is exactly what I do when I pray to Mary. She is my heavenly mother and she loves us and asks her son Christ to hear our prayers because those prayers serve her son. Do you understand?”

“So, it’s all right that I talk to her when I’m scared?” Christina asked, giving a shudder as thunder rumbled again.

Gillian hugged the girl, kissing her smooth hair. “Of course it is.”

The child smiled. “I’m glad to know that Mary is up in heaven watching me,” she said, giving a yawn.

“Yes, and she will help you whenever you ask. There is a prayer I can teach you to say to her. Would you like to hear it?”

The girl smiled. “Yes.”

Gillian squeezed the girl’s hand and began. “Hail Mary, full of grace. The lord is with thee. Blessed are thou among women and blessed is the fruit of thy womb Jesus. Holy Mary, mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen,”

Christina smiled and asked if she could say the prayer. Gillian nodded and helped the girl with the words. They sat together in the room and Gillian watched as the child forgot her fear of the storm outside and drifted off to sleep with the Blessed Mother’s name on her lips.

The next day was Sunday and Gillian watched as the family climbed into the carriage to attend church. Christina and Robert both smiled at her as they passed her and their father, William, nodded politely at her and wished her a quiet good morning but the children’s mother, Martha, regarded Gillian with a silent and cold stare. She had never understood the woman’s attitude towards her but Martha hadn’t liked her from the moment William had asked her to come work for them. She watched as the carriage pulled away and wondered again what she could have possibly done to incur the woman’s hostility.

Gillian’s first clear memories were of the orphanage where she had lived. The sisters who had run it were wonderful women, always kind and warm and gently teaching Gillian the faith. She had considered the religious life herself when she’d reached the age of sixteen but through much prayer and talks with the sisters she’d eventually decided that a religious life was not what God was calling her to do. After that she’d decided she was of age to leave and make her own way through life and so with blessings, embraces and tears of farewell, Gillian had left the comfort and safety of the orphanage and had found a job as the governess in this house for the passed two years.

She felt blessed to be here, in some place warm and safe and William had been nothing but kind to her. She couldn’t imagine Martha being jealous of the kindness he had shown her. She thought of him as something of a father and he had always been good to her. Gillian often wondered why his treatment of her was so unorthodox. He offered her a place at the table when the family sat down to supper and allowed her to ride one of his horses while the children were away at school. The greatest kindness he had shown her however was on the day he had found her rosary.

William and his family were good, Protestant Christians. Gillian was a devout Catholic however and the fear that they would punish her for her faith had kept her silent about her beliefs. When her rosary had slipped out of her bag and had landed at William’s feet she had felt her heart leap into her throat and begin to race. He had picked the rosary up, looking it over. The beads were carved from a lovely dark wood and were now polished from so much handling. The sisters had given it to her when she’d first come to live with them and they had said that she could take it with her when she left. It was her most precious possession and the thought of what he might do to it terrified her.

He handed it to her, telling her to take care of her possessions and then had said no more about it. Gillian would always be grateful that he had shown her such kindness. She knew very well that he could have banished her from their home. She wasn’t blind to the way people of her faith were viewed about town.

As grateful as she was for his leniency she still kept things hidden from him. One of those things now came walking up the road towards her. She went to meet the priest, hating to deceive her employer but unwilling to miss weekly Mass because she couldn’t go into town. She had written a letter to the local priest, asking him to come and let her receive the Eucharist each Sunday and he had agreed. Now they met and she wished him a good morning and he agreed, saying that God had given them a beautiful day.

An hour later the family’s carriage pulled into the yard. Gillian felt her heart begin to beat faster as she and the priest walked off the porch where they had been sitting. William climbed down from the carriage and moved towards them, a look of calm interest on his face, which Gillian was relieved to see.

“May I ask what you are doing here?” he asked, his gaze fixed on the father.

“I have only come to minister Sir,” the father replied, his voice quiet and respectful.

“Please leave immediately,” William said. The priest nodded and took a few steps forward.

The carriage door swung open and Martha stepped out, raising a gloved hand and pointing it at the priest. “Don’t ever come back,” she said. Gillian realized with both shock and dismay that Martha was trying valiantly to restrain rage.

William grimaced. “That’s enough Martha. The man has done nothing wrong,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding. He gripped Martha’s arm gently and she settled her hand over his, her face growing dark with fury.

“Martha…” the priest began, his voice soft, almost a plea.

“You heard my husband. We don’t want to ever see you here again. Stop coming here, no matter what your pack of blind sheep think they need. You lie to them as you lied to me so…”

“Martha calm yourself. You won’t be bothered any longer,” William said, his voice still commanding but also gentle, attempting to both soothe his wife and defuse the situation.

Gillian was frightened as she looked from one face to the other. Thoughts tumbled through her mind. What had gone on here and how would she avail herself of the precious sacraments now that the father was forbidden to come to her? Her gaze settled on the priest again. He wasn’t looking at her, instead his eyes rested on Martha with a sad, distressed compassion which made her own heart ache.

The priest crossed himself and Martha spat at his feet, glaring at him. “That’s enough Reverend. Please leave,” William said.

The priest nodded and hurried away with a last, pained look at the family.

William turned to Gillian, still holding his wife by the arm. “Gillian, tend to the children. I’ll see to Mrs. Spencer,” he said, leading the other woman towards the house.

Gillian went to the carriage, certain that the children would be frightened. The children weren’t frightened, only quiet. There faces were somber and they didn’t have many questions. She did however and her curiosity got the better of her as she looked down at Robert and asked gently, “Why was your mother so angry with the priest? May you tell me that?”

Robert looked up at her and nodded, his large eyes sad. “Mother used to talk to priests all the time but she had another baby after Christina. The baby died though… and she said she didn’t want to see the priests anymore,” he said, his small hand squeezing Gillian’s. Gillian nodded, leading the two children towards the house and feeling a heavy sadness slide over her heart.

After she had seen the children into the parlor with their bible she heard William calling for her. She left the children and found him in the front hall.

“Gillian, will you come out with me please?”

“Yes Sir,” she said and she followed him out to where he’d left the horses. She kept her gaze trained on the ground, afraid to look up at him. “Sir… I’m sorry for deceiving you. I…”

“There’s no need for apologies Gillian. However, now that the priest can not come to minister here, I’m afraid you’ll have to rely on the simplicity of faith rather than on it’s symbols and representatives,” he said.

Gillian dropped her eyes to the ground she walked over. William had not meant to be hurtful but pain still slashed through her chest. “I understand Sir,” she said quietly, blinking back the tears at the corners of her eyes. Her hand dropped into her pocket and wrapped about the rosary there. If she had nothing else physically to tie her to the Church, she still had what she held in her hand and the thought comforted her enough so that she was able to look up at her employer walking beside her. “Mr. Spensor, Robert told me some of what happened. I know it is not my place to know these things, but I am truly sorry for what befell you and Mrs. Spensor.”

William nodded, watching as a stable hand attended to the still harnessed horses. “Thank you for your concern Gillian. The children are frightened by that behavior and I’m sorry you had to witness it.”

Gillian nodded. “ Now Gillian understood why Mrs. Spencer had been so angry with the priest and she felt a swell of sympathy replacing her sadness. She resolved to say a prayer for the poor woman and hoped God would in time help her.