House of the Angels

That Sunday, the residents of Angel Manor woke bright and early to make themselves presentable. Everyone showered, dressed, shaved and prepared accordingly and when all were ready, they headed out the door.

The day was pleasantly cooler and less humid than it had been in recent days but it was still oddly warm. St. Augustine Street was somewhat empty but no less lively than it usually was. Sybilla and Anne walked side by side with the others behind them, making their way to St. Charles Church just on the corner near Rue de Solei.

St. Charles Church was the biggest church in all of Bayou St. Therese, built from rust red bricks and the sticky mortar that held it all together. It had been built by a French priest by the name of Pere’ Marceau who had come over with the colonists and had a great reputation as a healer and a trusted friend to the lowest of the low. He worked in the prisons, in hospitals and in the poorhouses…..places that many feared to go in those days. Many of the priests and nuns at the church had started religious groups dedicated to following in Marceau’s footsteps, some of which Anne charitably took part in once a year.

The group entered the church, crossing themselves with holy water before taking a place in the rows of pews and kneeling to pray for those who needed their help.

“I’ll be down after Mass.” Rachel whispered to Dylan before he took his place in the pews next to Joseph and Caleb.

“I’ll be up in front.” Dylan said.

Rachel turned and headed up the hidden staircase to the choir loft, leaving everyone else behind. Dylan knelt and said a silent prayer for all the people he had helped over the years, hoping in some way that God would help him to ease the burden of his life’s purpose.

When Mass began, the voices of the choir echoed all throughout the church, as though heaven itself had come down from on high to sing God’s praise. The faces of various saints’ statues were illuminated by the shafts of bright early morning sunshine that shone in through the stained glass windows depicting the many scenes from the life of Jesus.

On the walls were plaster casts of the Stations of the Cross, each carefully hung upon the walls in order with a small description underneath their frames. A statue of the Madonna stood in an alcove at the front of the church, wearing the crown of heaven and robed in all shades of blue.

Father Kelley, the deacon and two lectors entered the church and made their way towards the altar. The young children who had volunteered as altar servers were at the front, carrying the cross and carefully placing it in its holder closely behind the altar. Those who were up on the second level would have to stand the whole way through, seeing as there was no seating in the upper levels of the church.

Dylan cracked a smile when he heard Rachel’s sweet voice from the choir loft. When she sang it brought him more happiness than being able to travel to and from home. When she sang, so too did his heart.

“Good morning.” Father Kelley greeted the congregation, his voice like a low roll of thunder echoing when the choir had fallen silent.

“Good morning Father.” Responded the people in one collective voice.

“It brings me great joy to see all of you here this morning.” Father Kelley continued. “Today is a joyous day seeing as it is the feat day of St. Justin. We remember him not just as a martyr but as one of many men and women who gave their lives to the church….”

The hour and a half long Mass continued without any troubles or incidents that rarely arose. Sybilla returned to the pews and knelt to pray as soon as she had returned from communion, offering her good intentions on behalf of the four dead children and all who came to see her.

When she shut her eyes, Sybilla was suddenly overcome with powerful visions. The justice seeking spirits she had unleashed appeared to her as bright flickering flame, burning with their glowing orange light and fiery spirits. Sybilla’s thoughts yearned to know what they had seen or found.

Spirits of God and of heaven….reveal to me the one whom you have found….

The fiery ones whispered to her the name of the evildoer. Their voices sounded like hissing snakes.

Go forth and let God’s justice be done….Sybilla answered.

She was suddenly snapped out of her reverie as a wave of panic washed over her like the sea. The deed had been done. The seven days for the murderer were up.

“Sybilla?” Joseph whispered. “What is it?”

“It is done.” She replied quietly.

Joseph needn’t say anymore. He only nodded and turned his attention back to his own thoughts.