Prologue to Dance With The Wind
Visions of death.
Father Brown shook his head. He couldn’t get the dream he’d had last night out of his head. Sometimes death was the end
. . . it could also mean a beginning.
So what meaning did his dream hold?
Once again, a loud knock echoed in the hallway of Saint Charles Parsonage, bringing his thoughts back to reality.
"Patience, my child, patience," Father Brown mumbled, more or less to himself, because whoever was knocking couldn’t possibly hear him through the eight-inch thick, oak doors. The ten-foot doors had provided good protection for those who resided within. If his visitor had not rung the bell first, he might not have heard them knock at all.
Just as he reached the front, the knocking stopped.
Had he been mistaken? He frowned, knowing that was impossible, but he opened the peephole anyway to see who stood on the other side.
"Who's there?" he shouted. Receiving no response, he raised up on tiptoes and looked as far as the small hole would allow. Strange, he couldn't see anyone. Perhaps his visitor had grown impatient and left. He shook his head and started to shut the peephole, when he heard a faint cry. Or was it merely the whisper of the wind?
"Mama," a child's voice wailed.
Father Brown's drew bushy, gray brows together in a frown. He could have sworn there was no one there. Unlocking one side of the double, wooden doors, he listened as it creaked and groaned much like his old bones. A small child stood on the porch, clutching a tattered, dirty blanket. She raised huge violet eyes filled with tears as she sniffed and wiped her tear-streaked cheeks. Her face was framed with the rarest, chestnut-colored hair that hung to her waist. One small hand rested on a huge wooden trunk at her side.
He lowered himself to one knee and hauled a handkerchief out of his vestments to wipe her face. He smiled, hoping to gain her confidence.
Shyly, she studied him with haunting eyes. At that very moment, he lost his heart to the child. She could be no more than five years old and she was all alone. Even for one so young, she possessed uncommon beauty like none he'd ever seen before. She appeared lost and so forlorn. He wanted to scoop her up in his arms and comfort her.
"Why do you cry, my child?"
"Because I'm frightened," she responded in a quiet voice.
"Where is your mother?"
"She's gone." The child answered as her gaze shifted to her feet.
"Why didn't she take you with her?"
"Mother said I couldn't go because it wouldn't be safe. She told me to stay here with you until she comes back for me. W--will you keep me safe, Father?"
He smiled at the divine child in front of him. "Yes, God and I will protect you, my child. But protect you from what?"
She shrugged her tiny shoulders. "From the men who killed my father."
"Killed your father!" Father Brown jerked back astonished at how matter-of-fact she seemed about her father's death. The child had to be in shock.
"Did you see it happen?"
New tears sprang to her violet eyes. She bobbed her head and lowered the blanket she'd held clutched to her chest. For the first time he noticed that splattered blood streaked her once beautiful silk dress.
"Oh, my Lord!" What had this youngster been through? What had she witnessed? Unable to help himself, he gathered her in his arms and hugged her to him. Had this been the death that he’d glimpsed in his dream last night? "Everything will be fine now," he said in what he hoped was a soothing voice. "Come inside, my child." He patted her tiny back and gave her a push through the door before dragging in the heavy chest that had been left on the stoop. Turning, he closed the great wooden doors and bared them.
"Let's get you cleaned up." He took her hand and led her across the courtyard. "What's your name?"
"Brandy."
"What is your last name, Brandy?"
"I don't know, Father. I've always been called Brandy."
"That's an odd name, child."
"Mother said it was because my hair was the color of fine brandy. She said no one else has hair like mine."
"Your mother was right," Father Brown agreed as he made a silent vow that no harm would ever come to this child as long as he kept her behind the parsonage doors.
She was truly a blessing.
And he knew that his dream had told of a new beginning for Brandy.
