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Apostate

Grantville

May, 1634

Caspar Bauhof sat in his room, meditating . . . or at least attempting to meditate. Not the silliness that the up-timers called meditation, of course. The idea of trying to empty his mind and find peace therein was ludicrous. How could emptiness be anything but waste?

No, he was attempting to meditate scripturally, taking a verse or passage from Scripture and considering it carefully, turning it around and around in his mind until he felt he had drawn every bit of meaning and wisdom out of it, and then applying it to his world and his life. Except that today, every time he began with his chosen passage, his mind very quickly wandered away from it. It was beginning to frustrate him.

Caspar closed his Bible and pushed it away to rest his chin on his fisted hands. He thought he knew why he couldn't focus. He needed to make a decision, and his conscience was not going to allow him to avoid it any longer. It was a dangerous decision, though—dangerous to him personally, dangerous to those who would follow him, and ultimately, dangerous to the rest of the world. That was one reason why he had put off dealing with it for so long. But he couldn't avoid it any longer. The time was now. The circumstances were in place.

Fine. He was ready . . . he thought.

He sat up straight in his chair. Marcion was right. There. Decision made. Even though Marcion had been considered a heretic during his life in the second century AD and for the over 1400 years since then, the books that had appeared with Grantville more than proved to Caspar's satisfaction that the being named God in the Old Testament was not the same being named God in the New Testament, which was the core tenet of the so-called Marcionite heresy. The Old Testament God was at best a demiurge, and at worst was more than likely the same being called Satan in the New Testament. If he had created the world, then the world was undoubtedly evil, and all that it contained. And that, Caspar decided, had major implications for Europe—indeed, for all of Christendom.

Caspar's religious background was . . . different. His family heritage had been Anabaptist at one time. His great-grandfather had, in fact, been involved in the Münster Rebellion carried out by radical Anabaptists in 1534. When the city fell to the troops of the archbishop in 1535, the family had escaped to Holland, where they remained for the next few generations. His grandfather had turned Calvinist in reaction and followed a particularly harsh branch of that sect. Caspar himself had attended a Calvinist school in Switzerland until a few years ago, when he had broken with them over doctrinal differences and become an itinerant Arminian pastor and preacher.

Marcion was neither the first to espouse those teachings, nor the last. Caspar was very aware of that from his studies in school before the Ring of Fire. In point of fact, southern Europe still echoed from four hundred years of struggles between the Catholic Church on one hand and the Cathars, Albigensians, Bogomils, and others who had held similar beliefs. None of them had ended well, either. The Inquisition had been founded to combat them, after all, and mention of the Albigensian Crusade would still raise hackles in certain parts of France, Spain, and Bavaria. Every teacher of the truth had ended poorly. The reactions of so-called orthodox Christianity had seen to that. The last of those struggles had barely settled when Luther nailed his theses to the Wittenberg cathedral door and began an even more intense struggle, the Reformation, which was still ongoing.

No, Marcion had not been the only teacher of those truths. He had, however, been the best—the purest. The others had all been tainted by the evil world they had professed to reject. The scraps that had survived to the future, only to be brought back in the miracle of the Ring of Fire, proved that. But what did that all mean? What did it portend?

Was Caspar the only down-timer to find those scraps, those precious truths? He seriously doubted it. The God he served would not be so niggardly as to allow only one man to receive this revelation, this enlightenment. So . . .

He considered Marcion's teachings. He agreed with Marcion's rejection of the Old Testament. But he thought that Marcion's selected canon from the New Testament, limited to the Gospel of Luke and only some of Paul's epistles, was perhaps too narrow. The Ring of Fire event made it clear that the teachings of the end times in other volumes would be needed. So, he needed to think on that.

Caspar's mind drifted to Luke chapter 8 and the parable that began in verse 4. Of course! The seed would be broadly sown, but only a small amount of it would fall on the equally small amount of available fertile soil. He nodded. As the Saviour Himself said, "He who has ears, let him hear."

God would make available to all, but only a few—perhaps a very few—would respond.

God would not find Caspar wanting. But at the same time, it would not serve God well if Caspar were to make the same mistakes as those who had gone before him. It would not serve God for Caspar to build a house of straw upon a foundation of sand. He must build a base, a foundation, of committed believers of the truth. Then he could build the New Jerusalem, the new kingdom of God in this world, that only the true believers would be a part of, and when that was done, even the Pope and the Lutherans and the Calvinists would have to step back in awe.

God would not find Caspar wanting.

Chin back on his fists, Caspar began to plan. He laid his thoughts out one by one, building the structure of the future, secure in the knowledge that he was God's chosen, that his will was God's will.

Grantville

May, 1636

Marike Gendt looked up at her brother Dirck as the SRG wagon pulled to a stop at the bus stop. He looked down at her and smiled. "Do good at school today, eh? I'll see you tonight."

She nodded, not saying anything. He patted her shoulder in encouragement and climbed up onto the wagon, settling into the seat beside the driver, who flicked his reins and clucked to the horse. Dirck looked back over his shoulder and smiled as the wagon started rolling.

Marike wrapped her arms tighter around her binder. She hoped the school bus got there soon. It was chilly out this morning. For all that she loved her brother dearly, she sometimes wished he wasn't quite so . . . protective was the right word, she thought. He was actually her half-brother, but he had always treated her as if they were full-blood kin. There were eight years between them, so he had been an adult figure in her life for almost half of it. But she was sixteen now, and he still treated her like she was eight most days. But considering everything they had been through recently, she guessed that shouldn't be too surprising.

They were the sole survivors of their family and had only recently arrived in the Grantville area after a long journey fraught with more risk than they had expected. They had left the town of Alkmaar in Holland some six months ago. Walking across the Rhineland and through much of Franconia had taken longer than they had hoped, especially after Marike had fallen and badly sprained her ankle. It had taken a couple of weeks for her to recover enough to be able to walk for very long or very far, and even now it twinged her occasionally.

There had been a couple of scary moments as well, when outsiders approached them in menacing manners. Fortunately, Dirck's pocket pistol had been enough to warn them off. He'd been a journeyman gunsmith in Alkmaar, and his master had allowed him to make a pistol for himself. He'd had to pay for the materials, of course, and it wasn't a work of art to match those his master had produced, but it worked reliably. Staring down the big bore of it had caused more than one thief to leave its vicinity rapidly.

That pistol had also provided a job for Dirck not long after they arrived in Grantville. When he approached the masters at Struve Reardon Gunworks and showed them the pistol when they asked for a sample of his work, they had hired him immediately. And that had given them the stability they had needed ever since Marike's parents had died. They had rooms in a rooming house outside the circle of the Ring of Fire along the road to Rudolstadt. And for the first time in a long time, Marike had enough food to eat.

Many of the workers in the businesses and manufactories of Grantville lived out that way. And Marike took some comfort that some of the people were Anabaptists. She and Dirck hadn't approached any of them yet, but they needed to. They needed to find fellow believers to worship with. Marike brushed her hand down the front of her worn skirt. She needed better clothes. So did Dirck. What little they had had survived their travels and was now not fit for much more than selling to the rag pickers for the paper makers. Maybe now that they were safe and Dirck was working again he would agree. She didn't want to appear at worship dressed so poorly. It would be . . . disrespectful.

The big yellow and black school bus rumbled up and halted at the bus stop. The doors swung open. Marike gathered her courage and stepped up into the bus. Another day at the school. It was so different.

✽✽✽

Marike settled at the table in the far corner of the school's lunch room. It still seemed strange to her to have such a large room just for the purpose of gathering the students to eat. In her previous schools, when she had been able to attend, students and teachers alike had eaten in whatever room they were in when it was noon. But then those schools had been much smaller, with only ten or twenty or so students, as opposed to the hundreds that attended Grantville High School.

She took her lunch out of her pocket, unfolding the napkin to reveal the slice of bread. She wasn't the only student who brought food from home. Dirck had said they couldn't afford the fees for the lunches provided by the school, and after looking at them, she wasn't sure she wanted to eat them anyway. Just looking at the mixture of up-time and down-time dishes sometimes made her stomach do flip-flops.

Marike sighed as she tore the corner off the piece of bread and put it in her mouth. Grantville was so strange, she thought as she chewed. The town might be a miracle from God, but it certainly wasn't Heaven. So many things were different from Alkmaar, and things like the buses were only the beginning . . . the mixture of clothing, the mixture of languages and dialects and accents, e-lec-tri-ci-ty—she sounded the word out carefully—how spread out the homes were. The up-timers kept calling Grantville a town, but it was larger than any city she had ever seen, even if it didn't have a wall around it.

And the libraries—sweet Jesu, the libraries! Even the fabled library of Alexandria must have paled in comparison. She had never seen so many books, about so many things. Even books that contained just made-up stories, for no other purpose than to treat the mind to wordplay and frothy ideas. Surely even the pope's library in far-off Rome would not have the like, much less the sheer mass of them. She thought there was surely more knowledge in Grantville than anywhere else in the world.

What was Marike, a small town girl from Holland, supposed to make of all this? She was sure she and Dirck were there for a reason, but for what? That thought rolled around and around in her mind as she mechanically chewed and swallowed her bread.

As she finished the last bit, a nearby conversation intruded in Marike's thinking.

"The Latin is Ecce Homo," a girl's voice said.

"Yes, it is, but that's not a primary text. We work from the Greek primary texts, right?" That was another girl. "That's Ide ho Anthropos."

"I know, but it's a useful touch point. It seems to support the English translators more than it would Martin Luther," the first girl replied.

Marike's ears perked up. What were they talking about?

"I just can't figure out how or why Luther translated that verse as 'Behold what a man this is!' That sense just isn't in the original texts, Barbara."

"I know, Kat. You've explained that to me before."

Barbara and Kat. Those names rang bells in Marike's mind. She didn't think she had any classes with them, but she thought she had seen them around. She glanced over her shoulder. Yes, she did know them—Barbara Kellarmännin and Katharina Meisnerin. She'd seen them around the halls of the school, and in assemblies. She didn't have any classes with either of them, though. At least, not yet. Every time she saw them, they were animated—eyes wide open, talking to each other or their other friends, smiling frequently.

Marike thought she'd been told they were both Anabaptist. She hoped so. It would be nice to know some other girls close to her age that she could also see at worship.

Katharina was a short girl, even for a down-timer, albeit a bit taller than Marike. Katharina's hair—or what Marike could see of it under her cap—was dark and thick. Certainly her eyebrows were. Her features were pleasant, although not striking, and for a down-timer her teeth weren't bad.

Barbara was a little taller than her friend, and somewhat stockier with dark blonde hair. Both girls wore plain conservative clothing, somewhat different from Marike's, but similar in color and general shape: ankle-length skirts in dark colors and undyed shirts under vests or short jackets.

"Gospel of John, chapter nineteen, verse five?" Marike said. The girls turned to look at her, and her hand flew to her mouth as she realized she'd spoken out loud.

Katharina grinned at her. "Yes. You know it?"

"My grandfather was an Anabaptist pastor," Marike managed to reply, lowering her hand, "and the Gospel of John was his favorite of all. He used to read me to sleep with it." She dropped her eyes. "I miss him."

Katharina moved closer and touched her shoulder. "Sorry. I know that feeling. You're Marike Gendt, aren't you?"

Before Marike could reply, Barbara said, "Marike Gendt, Anabaptist, new to Grantville, traveled quite a distance to get here, um, from the Netherlands, maybe near Amsterdam from your accent." She smiled shyly. "Did I get it right?"

"Uh, yes, I guess so," Marike replied. "But why . . . how . . . ?"

Katharina laughed. "Oh, Barbara tries to learn everything she can about people. She can tell a lot about folks just from looking at them." She thumped her companion on the shoulder. "Of course, to use the up-time phrase, she sometimes drives us nuts with it."

Marike looked to Barbara. "How . . .?"

Barbara held up a hand and started ticking off fingers. "First, you're new to Grantville because you haven't been attending school here very long. Second, you're Anabaptist because your clothing styles and colors match those of Anabaptists from the west. Third, from the Netherlands, again from your clothing styles and from your accent. Your Hochdeutsch is good—better than mine when I got here, actually—but you still sound like a Hollander. Fourth, you traveled a long way—partly because you're from the Netherlands, yes, but also because," she leaned forward and dropped her voice, "truthfully, your clothes and your shoes are worn." Marike flushed and started to look away, but both the other girls reached out to her. "We understand," Barbara said. "It's nothing to be ashamed for. My clothes were more mends and darns than woven material when my family arrived here."

"Mine as well," Katharina added. "My family had been running for so long that we only had what was on our backs, and none of it was in good shape. Once we were able to get new clothes, most of what we had went to the rag buyers. They didn't even make good cleaning rags."

"Really, you're doing better than most of the Anabaptists were when they got here," Barbara concluded. "With a little time and patience, you'll be able to improve your family's situation."

Marike looked down at where her hands rested on the table. She said nothing. After a moment, Katharina sat down beside her, followed by Barbara on the other side. "Look," Katharina said, "Barbara didn't mean anything by that. But she notices things about people. It's almost a gift. She does it with everybody now. She wasn't picking on you."

Barbara nodded. She didn't say anything, but she had the most plaintive look on her face.

Marike looked at them through slightly watery eyes, and nodded.

"Look, you'll be all right," Katharina said. She laid her hand atop Marike's. "Honestly. You're safe here in Grantville."

"I want to believe that," Marike whispered, "but it's hard."

"You'll be all right," Katharina said, patting Marike's hand. Marike turned her hand up, and Katharina grasped it firmly. "Honest."

After a moment, Marike looked up with a tremulous smile. "Do I really sound like a Hollander?"

Both girls smiled. "Yes," Barbara said. "It's a distinctive accent—it sounds a lot like a Plattdeutsch speaker, but a little different. Nothing wrong with that, of course." She giggled. "Not like some of the up-timers trying to speak Hochdeutsch. Some of them sound like they're trying to swallow their words, and some sound like they're gargling."

"Be fair," Kat said, even though she was smiling. "How well would you have done if you were pushed back to four hundred years ago Persia?"

"Oh, I know," said Barbara with another giggle. "But for all the tragedy and heartache it's caused them, it's still a bit funny."

Marike smiled back at them. She thought of a few of the up-timers she'd heard, and agreed with Barbara.

✽✽✽

It was three days later that Dirck came home from work with good news. "Marike!" he called out as he entered their rooms. "Marike!"

"I'm right here," she said, as she came out of her room.

"I met someone at work today who has clothes to give us," Dirck said with a broad smile.

Now Marike was confused. The day of her conversation with Katharina and Barbara, she had told Dirck in no uncertain terms that he needed to either get them some clothing or at least some new cloth for her to sew new clothes. She couldn't face going to worship in their worn clothing, she insisted. It was disrespectful to God and to the congregation. He hadn't acted happy about that, muttering that he didn't know where the money was going to come from. But now he seemed almost excited about it.

"But how . . . why . . .?" she started.

"He belongs to a group that tries to help people who are newly come to Grantville," Dirck explained with a bit of impatience. "Especially those like us who don't have much when they get here. He told me he'd meet us at their storeroom in half an hour. Get your coat on, we need to go if we're not going to be really late."

"But . . ." Marike still wasn't sure she understood.

"Come on!" Dirck said, frowning at her.

Marike stopped talking, got her coat, and walked through the open door where Dirck was waiting impatiently. She gave a small headshake, followed by a deep breath. Dirck had always been a bit impetuous.

Her brother led Marike at a fast walk to the building where the storeroom was, always two or three steps ahead of her and not heeding her calls for him to wait for her. It was growing chilly in the gloom of evening, and she shivered a bit.

Dirck pulled to a stop by a side door of a two-story building just as another man turned the corner at the other end of the building. "Ho, Dirck," the stranger called out. "You beat me here. You must have been running all the way."

"Nein, Johann," Dirck replied. "We just got here ourselves."

"Well, what matters is you're here. Let's go see what we can do to help you." He pulled open the door and waved them both inside.

Marike entered last and closed the door behind them. She looked around. The room was lined with shelves, some of which were laden with tools and hardware, some of which were holding sacks and boxes of what looked like grain and beans, and some of which had piles of cloth on them.

There was a man across the room from them moving some of the cloth on one of the shelves. He looked over his shoulder. "Ah, Brother Johann. It is good to see you."

"And it is good to see you, Brother Matthäus. This is Brother Dirck Gendt and his sister Marike, who are newly arrived in Grantville. He works with me at the gunworks. They arrived with not much more than you see with them, and I brought them to see if we had any clothing that might do."

"Of course, of course. Scripture says that we are to tend to the needs of the brothers and bear one another's burdens, after all." Matthäus looked Dirck up and down. "I feel certain we have something that can help you, Brother Dirck. I'm not so certain," he added with a glance at Marike, "about you, young Marike. We don't have much women's or girls' clothing at the moment. But let us see what we can see."

It didn't take very long. They found three shirts and two pairs of trousers that fit Dirck well enough. For Marike they only found one shirt. She suspected it was actually for a youth rather than a young woman, but she was small enough that it worked. There was one skirt, which was definitely made for someone who was both taller than Marike and broader as well, but she thought she could alter it to fit—or at least fit better. She dithered about it, but ultimately ended up taking it.

"So," Brother Matthäus said, as they bundled everything into an old sack, "it is good that we can help you. Will you be able to worship with us this Sunday?"

"Yes," Dirck replied. "I'd like that."

"Good. Brother Johann will be able to tell you where we meet." With that, the older man turned back to the shelves and began rearranging things that had gotten disrupted during their search.

Johann was standing by the door, so Marike headed that direction as Dirck swung the sack up on his shoulder. They exited together.

"I am glad that we were able to find some things for you," Johann said. "Oh, and the meeting house is over there." He pointed to a building visible down the cross street.

"Indeed," Dirck responded. "Our thanks."

"See you tomorrow, then." Johann waved and turned away. Dirck headed toward their rooming house, and Marike scurried to catch up to him.

Neither one of them said anything as they walked back in the dark. Marike suppressed both a frown and a sigh, but felt her forehead crease as her brows drew down. The whole evening had been strange. But after a few more steps, she shrugged. They had a few more clothes, at any rate. And she had her mother's needles, so she should be able to adapt the skirt to fit her. That was good.

✽✽✽

The next Sunday Marike followed Dirck to worship with Johann and Matthäus. She wasn't too surprised when they ended up at a building that wasn't built like a regular church. All too often the persecution of Anabaptists had forced them to meet in out of the way places or buildings that weren't obvious places of worship. Even in Holland their worship had been done mostly in houses.

They were among the last to arrive. Johann had been waiting for them at the door, and he ushered them right inside. The room they found themselves in wasn't large, and there were several people already in it, but Dirck was able to find a spot for them to stand where they could see the front of the room. Brother Matthäus was standing there beside another man that Marike had never seen before.

Marike didn't see any kind of a signal, but suddenly one of the men at the front began singing a hymn. The others mostly joined in, although she saw one or two of them not singing. It wasn't a hymn that she knew, either the music or the words, so she listened with her head bowed. By the third verse, she could follow the melody well enough that she hummed it softly. When that hymn was over, another of the men began a different hymn, this time one that she knew. She sang along with it, but again softly. She was the only woman in the room. from what she could see. She didn't want to draw attention to herself.

After that came a time of prayer, where various of the men in the room alternated in praying aloud. Then, after a moment of silence, Brother Matthäus took a step forward. "Today's Scripture reading is from the Gospel of Matthew," he said, "chapter twenty-four, beginning with verse fifteen.

"When ye therefore shall see the abomination of desolation, spoken of by Daniel the prophet, stand in the holy place,

(whoso readeth, let him understand:)

Then let them which be in Judaea flee into the mountains:

Let him which is on the housetop not come down to take anything out of his house:

Neither let him which is in the field return back to take his cloak.

And woe unto them that are with child, and to them that give suck in those days!

But pray ye that your flight be not in the winter, neither on the Sabbath day:

For then shall be great tribulation, such as was not since the beginning of the world to this time, no, nor ever shall be.

And except those days should be shortened, there should no flesh be saved; but for the elect's sake those days shall be shortened.

Marike didn't quite frown, but her eyebrows did lower. That was a dark passage—not one that was often preached by Anabaptist pastors. She wondered what his homily would be for that passage.

"And now Brother Caspar will instruct us."

Matthäus took a step back, and the older man that stood beside him began to speak.

"Our Blessed Savior gave us this warning when He walked the face of the earth and wrestled with Satan. I come to you today to tell you that we are in these last days, that we are in the days where we must flee, leaving behind coats and friends and families to reach the safety of the hills of God. So many of you have already had to flee, and I sorrow for that necessity. Yet the times are growing even more dire."

This Brother Caspar was nothing special to look at, Marike thought. Not very tall, not very large, certainly not handsome with his bulbous nose and thinning hair. Yet his voice made you forget that.

When Caspar spoke, it was with a rich warm voice that filled the room with resonance and melody. It was a voice that drew a hearer in, that invited and enticed one to be part of its whole. It was mesmerizing. It made Marike feel like she was the only one in the room with Caspar, that they were having an intimate tête-à-tête, and that he was talking only to her. By the end of the first sentence she was drawn in, despite her initial reaction to his opening words. By the end of the second, she was awash in emotion, hanging on his every word, leaning forward slightly as if to hear his words even faster. Marike had heard many good pastors before, not least of which had been her grandfather, but this Brother Caspar was like no one she had ever heard.  She managed to look over to Dirck once, to see him nodding in agreement, but then Caspar's voice caught her up again.

Afterward, Marike didn't remember everything Caspar said that morning. But she did remember feeling accepted, being drawn into the group, feeling warm inside for the first time in a long time. That remained with her for a long time after the meeting was over and she and Dirck returned to their rooms.

✽✽✽

Brother Caspar remained at the front of the room and watched as those who had come to the worship left. "The tall one, that is the Hollander?" he murmured to Matthäus.

"Ja."

"Is he Sword or Staff? Schwertler Täufer or Stäbler Täufer?" In other words, would he fight if necessary?

"He's a gunsmith," Matthäus replied, "so he almost certainly is Sword. He works for Struve-Reardon Gunworks."

"Ah. As you say, then, almost certainly Sword. Keep track of him. He may be useful."

Caspar watched as the Hollander left, followed by . . .

"Was that his wife or his sister?"

"Younger sister is what he told us."

"She seemed . . . appropriate. Well-mannered." Caspar paused for a moment as the last of the men left. "Keep track of her as well."

Grantville

June, 1636

"Hi, Marike."

Marike looked up to see Katharina's smile as she dropped into a chair beside her in the lunchroom. "Hello," she responded.

"I haven't seen you the last few days," Katharina said. "I was starting to get worried you were sick or something."

Marike frowned a little. "No, I've been here at school every day except Saturday and the Sabbath."

Katharina shrugged, still smiling. "I must have just missed you when I came in, then. Anyway, I wanted to see if you would be interested in coming to a women's Bible study."

A women's Bible study? Marike hadn't heard of such a thing. She felt her frown deepen a little. "What would that be like?"

"It's led by one of the up-timer women, Frau Kathy Sue Burroughs. We meet at her house once a week. She teaches a lesson, and then we talk about it. It's fun, but I've learned a lot from her, too."

"So . . ." Marike was still trying to understand what Katharina was talking about. ". . . is this a church just for women? Like a convent, or something?"

Katharina laughed. Marike liked the sound of her laugh. It was almost like a silver bell ringing.

"No," Katharina said. "We're not a church. In fact, we come from several churches. Nona and I go to Mountain Top Baptist, Barbara Kellarmännin and Marta Engelsbergin go to the Stäbler congregation, and the other girls go to other churches. Reed and Kathy Sue Burroughs do host a church in their house on Sunday mornings, and sometimes some of us will visit that, but the Bible study is held on Sunday afternoons, and you don't have to go to the church to go to the Bible study."

Now Marike was very confused. "I thought you were Anabaptist, but you go to these other churches?"

"No, no," Katharina exclaimed. "I am Anabaptist, and so are Barbara and Marta and some of the others. Most of us were going to the First Baptist Church in downtown Grantville. We went there because they practice adult baptism."

Marike nodded at that. Any church that did that would attract Anabaptist attention. But . . .  "You say 'were going.' You're not now?"

"No. Many of us really liked the pastor, Dr. Al Green. He's a really well-educated man, and he knows more about the Bible than just about anybody. And he's a good pastor, too. But some of the deacons of the church—who are really elders, not like deacons as we think of them—got upset with him, and they eventually convinced enough of the church members to side with them and forced him to leave."

"They can do that?" Marike was stunned.

Katharina nodded, a most sober expression on her face. "They call it 'congregational governance.' The up-time Baptist churches didn't have bishops or governors. Each church decided who would be their pastors and leaders, and that included deciding that someone they had brought in would have to leave. So they told Brother Green that he would have to leave."

"But why did you leave?"

"Because one of the reasons they forced him to leave was because he was reaching out to the down-timers around them. Some of the deacons didn't like that, and they're just going to hold services in English now. So most of the Anabaptists who had been going there left with Brother Green. Some of us followed him to form this new Mountain Top Baptist Church, and some went to either the Stäbler or the Schwertler Anabaptist groups, who were happy to receive them, of course."

Marike shook her head. "It sounds like the up-timers aren't any better than our own neighbors."

"Oh, they are and they aren't," Katharina said with a bit of a smile. "They will all stand up and defend their ideal of 'freedom of religion,' even if they all have a slightly different idea of exactly what that means. But they are all men and women just like we are, and they have their own ideas of how things should be done, even at church. Up-timers in positions of leadership and authority can act just as badly as down-timers. As Marta's brother Joseph says, that's both disappointing and comforting."

"How does he mean that?" Marike asked.

"Disappointing because apparently in almost 400 years mankind hadn't significantly improved in some very basic ways, but comforting in that they still, for the most part, recognize that they need God just as much as we do."

Marike thought about that for a moment, then nodded. "I think I understand that."

"So, have you found a group to worship with yet? If you haven't, please come to Mountain Top, or try Reed and Kathy Sue's house church. I think you'd like either one."

"Umm," Marike said slowly, "Dirck has been taking me to a group that helped us when we first got here with clothes and stuff." She was hesitant to say more.

"Which group was that?" Katharina said, just as the bell for the end of the lunch period rang. She sprang to her feet. "Oh, I've got to run. I have science class next. I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Okay." Marike intoned the still unfamiliar up-time word as Katharina spun and dashed out the nearest door.

✽✽✽

Marike set the last stitch and tied off the knot, then used her small penknife to cut the thread. "Finally," she said, holding the completed vest up before her. It looked good, she thought.

When Dirck had given her some money to buy cloth with, she hadn't expected to find anything like this dark green at a price she could think about. But the cloth seller told her that the up-timers had revolutionized the dye and cloth industries by producing deep rich hues from chemicals at a fraction of the price that the traditional plant-based dyes would have commanded. "And they wear well, too," she'd insisted.

This finally gave her a set of clothes for Sabbath worship that was . . . presentable, she thought. No one had said anything when they came to worship with Brother Caspar's followers, but she could tell that even for workmen's families she had been shabbily dressed, and that had bothered her. She knew that to God it wasn't important, but she wanted to be respectful of God, of the other people around her, and of her family, even though that was only Dirck at the moment, and he didn't care. Respectful and respectable, that was what she wanted. And that was hard enough to do and be when you were an Anabaptist in the Germanies, much less a fugitive from Holland.

Marike laid the vest on the table top and smoothed it out to give it one last scrutiny. She checked the seams—they were all straight. The toggle buttons were all sewn on straight. Even the button holes, always her worst details, were sewn well and tightly. So it was good. And the rich green would go well with the dark brown skirt, she thought with satisfaction. Just in time to wear it tomorrow.

And wear it Marike did. It was Sunday—the Sabbath. She laid out Dirck's best clothes early in the morning, then spent some time making sure that her hair was coiled neatly and tightly. She took some pride in her hair. Oh, she knew it was vain of her, but even the Apostle Paul had said that long hair was a woman's glory, and hers was long indeed, and thick and shiny compared to most other women's hair. So she took some little time to brush it out and then coil it before dressing.

Once Marike had finished dressing by donning her new vest, she smoothed her hands down her front, feeling the nap of the rich fabric crossing her palms as her hands moved. It was smooth . . . perhaps the smoothest fabric she'd ever felt. She began to understand why wealthy people could fixate on having rich clothes, if they felt that good or better all the time.

"Marike! Time to go!" Dirck called out from the front room. She grabbed her coat from the peg on the wall and swung it on as she stepped through the door into the front room. Dirck had the front door open already, so she just kept walking and led the way into the hall. In a matter of moments, they were outside.

Her brother was funny sometimes, Marike thought as they walked down the road. On the way to worship, he never talked. Any other day of the week, he'd be chattering away, telling her about the work that he was doing or what his plans for the future were, but not on Sunday. On Sunday, he might have been a dumb mute once they left their rooms. Not a word—not a syllable—would pass his lips until they arrived at the meeting place, no matter what she said to him. He'd always been that way, and she'd eventually given up trying to start a conversation. She had to admit that it wasn’t necessarily bad. It wasn't like he ignored her most of the time, and having the time to think and consider without interruption anything that was weighing on her mind, or matters of the Gospel, was actually kind of nice.

They arrived at the meeting place with a bit of time to spare. This was the third Sunday they would worship with the church that had helped them. Dirck found them a place to stand that was a little farther forward than where they had stood the first Sunday, nodding to the men who were already there. Marike stood beside him, hands folded before her. Others entered through the door behind them. She was able to see them if she turned her head a bit. She smiled a bit when an older couple came through the door with two children—a girl and a boy—who were close to her age, she thought. At least she wasn't the only female at the service this time. Maybe they could talk a bit after the service.

The worship followed this group's usual pattern: various men led the singing, seemingly choosing hymns and songs at random, some of which she didn't know and some of which she did. Although the older woman and the girl who was probably her daughter both sang out, Marike still sang softly when she knew a hymn well enough to join in.

The singing ended when Brother Matthäus stepped forward. She still hadn't figured out how he knew to do that, because every time they'd come the number of hymns they'd sung had been different.

"Today's reading is from the Apostle Paul's Second Epistle to the Thessalonians, chapter two, verses three through twelve.

"Let no man deceive you by any means: for that day shall not come, except there come a falling away first, and that man of sin be revealed, the son of perdition; who opposeth and exalteth himself above all that is called God, or that is worshipped; so that he as God sitteth in the temple of God, showing himself that he is God. Remember ye not, that, when I was yet with you, I told you these things? And now ye know what restraineth that he might be revealed in his time. For the mystery of wickedness doth already work: only he that now restraineth will do so, until he be taken out of the way. And then shall that wicked man be revealed, whom the Lord shall consume with the spirit of his mouth, and shall destroy with the brightness of his coming: whose coming is after the working of Satan with all power and signs and lying wonders, and with all deceivableness of unrighteousness in them that perish; because they received not the love of the truth, that they might be saved. And for this cause God shall send them strong delusion, that they should believe a lie: that they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness."

Brother Matthäus closed his Bible. "And now Brother Caspar will instruct us."

Marike managed to not shake her head. Another dark passage, another reading with portentousness. This was not what she was used to hearing in Anabaptist meetings. Their pastors, like her grandfather before he died, mostly preached from the Gospels. This, while she knew it was in the Bible, did not lend itself to the kind of messages her grandfather had preached.

Brother Caspar stepped forward. "A hard saying," he began. "A hard saying, indeed, for a dark time." Marike felt his voice sink into her, seeming to flow in and nestle against her bones. It was so odd, but after the barest of moments seemed so natural. "But we live in a dark time, brothers, do we not?"

There were murmurs of agreement and nods all around the room. Dirck shifted his feet, which caused Marike to glance up at him out of the corner of her eye to see his mouth working. Caspar was affecting even him, who had been immune to pastors in the past.

"A dark time," Caspar repeated, his warm voice filling the room with waves of tenor and timbre. "A saying that is a challenge to understand, for it prophesies the future, and how can a man understand the future?" Marike drifted on his voice. "But the Apostle Paul was given a revelation, and he had so told the Thessalonians. And today, in the shadow of Grantville and the Ring of Fire, we have our revelation, and I can reveal to you the mysteries that Paul spoke of. First and foremost, that we are living in the times Paul spoke of, and that the man of iniquity that he described walks the streets of Europe today, nay, the streets of Magdeburg . . . "

Brother Caspar continued in that vein for some time. Marike gradually began to understand that he was linking Emperor Gustavus to the man of iniquity set forth in the passage, but those words didn't make much sense to her. The men in the room continued to nod their heads and murmur affirmations. She simply rode the waves of his voice.

The worship ended with a concluding song, by the end of which Marike had settled into herself again. Afterward, the others began filing out, but for some reason Dirck lingered, so Marike was forced to wait on him. She began to be a bit uncertain when Brother Caspar began moving toward them.  "Brother Dirck Gendt, is it?" he asked, approaching Dirck directly.

"Yes." Marike looked up at Dirck in surprise. His voice was strained and hoarse, a tone she'd never heard from him before.

"I hear good things about you, young man," Brother Caspar said. His rich voice seemed to just flow over them, and brought a shiver to Marike's spine. She froze as the pastor's gaze moved to her. "And who is this?"

"My sister," Dirck replied, his tone smoothing a bit, "Marike Gendt."

Caspar clasped his hands behind his back and slowly walked around the two of them. Marike stood still, but she could feel his gaze on her back.

"Brother Dirck," the pastor said when he had finished his circuit, "I have heard good things about you. God has a plan for you, I believe, and once it is clear to us Brother Matthäus will undoubtedly call upon you."

The last of the other worshippers were gone. Marike and Dirck were alone in the room with the two elders. She swallowed as Brother Caspar's gaze focused on her again. "And you, young woman, are a credit to your family. You should be your parents' jewel, and their parents as well." Marike started. Caspar's eyes caught the slight movement. "Did I say something amiss?"

"No . . . no . . ." Marike stammered. "It's just that . . . that was my grandfather's pet name for me."

"A man of discernment, rare perception, and deep wisdom, then."

If possible, Caspar's voice became even warmer, and Marike just wanted to melt into it. "He was an Anabaptist pastor."

Caspar's eyebrows raised. "A paragon, indeed." He moved a bit closer. "So, a granddaughter of a pastor. Perhaps the daughter of one as well?"

Marike shook her head. "Grootpapa was my mother's father. My father was a weaver."

"Ah." Caspar almost seemed disappointed for a moment. "Still, a distinguished lineage, and one to whom you bring honor." He clasped his hands behind his back again. "Will you favor us by taking off your bonnet?"

Marike had been lulled by Caspar's voice. By the time the inappropriateness of the request penetrated her mind, she had untied the bonnet and was removing it from her head. She brought it down to her chest and clutched it in both hands, elbows tight to her sides. She wasn't sure, but it looked as if Caspar's eyes had widened a bit as her dark hair was revealed rolled and pinned on the back of her head.

The room was silent. No one spoke. Marike could barely breathe. Finally, Caspar broke the silence.

"Please," his tone was lowered, rich and dark, "would you loosen your hair?"

Marike flinched. She didn't think what he was asking was right, but he was a pastor. She looked up at Dirck. After a moment, he gave a single sharp nod. Marike sighed, reached up with both hands, and pulled out the two wooden pins that constrained her hair. As the weight of it fell free down her back and shoulders, she shook her head from side to side before bringing her hands back together before her chest.

Everyone in the room seemed to freeze in place, except Caspar. He stepped forward to face Marike, staring into her eyes. He raised one hand and reached toward her hair. She closed her eyes.

Caspar didn't touch her, but she could sense his hand hovering over the top of her head, then slowly moving to his right, her left. She could hear the rustle of his clothing as his hand passed down the side of her head, causing some of the freed hair strands to move about, then across her shoulder and down her arm. He never touched her, and after a long moment she sensed that he had dropped his hand. She opened her eyes when she heard him step away.

She was watching Caspar's back as he exited the room by the inner door. Brother Matthäus cleared his throat. "Brother Dirck, I will call upon you before long." He hesitated a moment, then added, "Your sister is a remarkable young woman—a commendable young woman." Then he turned and followed the pastor through the inner door.

Marike released her pent-up breath. They were alone. She stripped her coat off and thrust it and her bonnet at Dirck, then put the hair pins in her mouth and reached back to grab her hair and roll it into a rough ball and plunge the hair pins into it before cramming the bonnet back on her head and grabbing her coat back. She wrestled into it as she walked out the outside door.

Marike led the way home, setting a pace that Dirck had trouble keeping.

Nothing had happened. Nothing. But if that was true, why were her eyes burning and her stomach trying to climb out her mouth?

✽✽✽

Caspar looked up from where he sat at a table reading his Bible. "The work at Angelroda preparing the New Jerusalem progresses well," he said. Matthäus entered the room and closed the door behind him. "The village there in the west is ours. The folk have embraced the cause. I assume it does so here also?"

Matthäus nodded. "We have recruited as many Mighty Men as we had hoped for, and there are a few others beyond that count who could be brought into the fold."

"Good. If they are at all suitable, bring them in. We will need as many stalwarts as we can find. And the goods? I will be glad when we move everyone to Angelroda. The three days to travel there grow wearisome."

"Our men at the gunworks managed to bring another five rifles to us. But they say that will be the last for a long time. The owners are very concerned about how many shipments have been shorted and how many rifles have gone missing. They've changed their procedures, and it will be a lot harder to 'misdirect' rifles in the future."

Caspar nodded. "We could only hope for this primary phase to work for a short time, but that gives us, what, forty rifles now? It is enough to begin with. Do we have contacts in the army for the second phase?"

Matthäus smiled. "We do. Not brothers, not true believers, but there are some that worship gold who will help our cause with gunpowder and more rifles for their own reasons."

"Always the weakness of others will serve us," Caspar said. "Pay them well, but when we are done, remember who they are. They will receive their just reward then."

He waved a wand in dismissal, but Matthäus stood in place and said nothing, simply looked at him with one raised eyebrow. After a moment, Caspar nodded and said, "I find Sister Marike . . . suitable. She is quiet, modest, not given to unseemly talking . . . "

"Devout . . ." Matthäus added.

"Devout," Caspar agreed with a nod, "and of a good family, it appears." He was silent in an apparent moment of introspection, finger smoothing his wispy mustache as he did so. "See that she and Brother Dirck have what they need."

Matthäus nodded. Caspar looked back to his Bible as his associate left the room.

✽✽✽

"Hi, Marike!"

Marike didn't look up as Katharina plopped down on the chair beside her in the lunchroom. She was sure from the sound of the other girl's voice that there was a big smile on her face. Today that didn't get through to her, though. Today she just stared at her hands holding her unwrapped lunch.

"Marike?" Now Katharina's voice didn't sound like a smile. Soft, tentative, almost as delicate as the touch of her hand on Marike's left wrist. "Are you ill?"

"No," Marike whispered after a long silence. "Not ill. Just . . ." She couldn't continue.

Katharina waited, then finally said, "Just . . . what? Is something wrong?"

"I don't know," Marike continued in a whisper. "Just . . . "

"Has someone hurt you?" Katharina's tone remained low, but became more urgent. "Are you or your brother in trouble?"

"Hurt? No. Trouble?" Marike's whisper wavered, and she bit her lip.

"What is it?" Katharina's urgency increased.

"I . . . can't talk about it. Nothing has happened. Just . . . "

"Are you afraid of something?"

"Something?" Marike's voice was a bit stronger. "No."

"Someone, then?"

Another long silence. "Maybe." Marike's voice had returned to its whisper.

"Tell me what's happened." Katharina's tone had dropped to her own whisper, but it was intense enough to cut. "Please. I want to help. I can help. Please."

The depth of imploring in Katharina's voice almost broke Marike's control, but not quite.  She wouldn't involve her friends in her situation. They couldn't help, and could end up in trouble of their own. She raised her eyes to look at Katharina.

"Nothing's happened," Marike said in as close to a normal tone as she could manage. "Nothing's going to happen. I've just had some bad dreams, is all. But don't tell anyone, especially the teachers." If word got back to Brother Caspar . . .

Katharina still looked disturbed, but Marike kept her own gaze steady, and the other girl finally leaned back. "Well, if you're sure . . . "

"I am."

"Okay." She leaned forward again. "But if something happens or you need anything, even if it's just to talk, you find me, all right?"

"Yes."

The end of period bell rang.

"Rats!" from Katharina. That startled Marike, and she looked at her friend with furrowed brow. "What?" Katharina responded. "Oh, you mean rats. The apostles tell us not to be vulgar, but we still need words to release tension. I heard Dr. Green say that one day, and after I quit laughing at it, I decided to use it myself. Now I've got to run to science. You remember what I said, and find me or send for me if you need me, right?"

Marike nodded.

✽✽✽

Katharina usually lingered while taking her shower after last period gym class, enjoying the warm water sluicing over her body. It was such a contrast to the tepid baths she had at home. Today, however, she rushed through the experience because she wanted to be first out of the locker room so she could catch her friends. She achieved that goal, but then had to stand and wait for the others. At last Barbara appeared. Kat waved and beckoned her over, and just as she arrived Marta Engelsbergin appeared in the doorway, to likewise be flagged down. Katharina began talking as soon as Marta was close enough to hear her.

"Do either of you have a class with Marike Gendt?" Receiving headshakes from both of them, Kat frowned. "Rats. Do you know if anyone in our group does?"

"Amalia Ramsenthalerin might," Marta said. "Why?"

"I think she's either in trouble or got trouble." She gave them a rundown on her lunch conversation, concluding with, "I know she's quiet, but I've never seen her act like that before. She wouldn't say anything more than that. I think we need to try and watch over her, see if we can figure out what's really happening and if we can help."

"We can do that at school," Barbara said, "but none of us live near her, and I don't know where she's going to worship. Do you?"

"No," from Marta.

Kat shook her head, and said, "We've got to get her to come to the Bible study. Kathy Sue might be able to figure it out."

"We can't drag her," Marta said.

Kat shook her head again. "Maybe not, but there has to be something we can do. I'm sure she's scared, and I'm scared for her."

✽✽✽

Marike looked up as Dirck came in the door.

"Good, you're here," he said. Before she could ask why, he continued, "I was told today that Brother Matthäus would be stopping by tonight, and that he wanted to see both of us."

Marike's heart sank. She clasped her hands in her apron. "Wh . . . why?" she stammered.

"I don't know, but it must be pretty important for him to come here instead of making us come to him. So straighten things up and get yourself in order. I need to wash."

Marike looked around. There wasn't much out. She hadn't started their supper yet. She threw a towel over the bread and the cutting knives, straightened out the cushions on the chairs, and ran the broom around the front room and swept the sweepings into her sleeping room. She'd clear them away later. She closed her sleeping room door and swiftly unbuttoned her vest, throwing it on a wall peg and pulling down her good green one. It went okay with the skirt she was wearing, which she didn't have time to change. Just as she finished the last button on the vest, she heard a knock on their room door. She straightened her cap and ran her fingers through the loose wisps of hair, trying to tuck them behind her ears.

"Marike!" Dirck hissed outside her door. She opened it and stepped through. Dirck said nothing more, just stepped to the main door and opened it. She saw a drop of water fall from his hair, so he must have had a hurried wash.

"Brother Matthäus," Dirck said. "Please, come in." He pulled the door wide and stepped aside.

Matthäus entered the room, nodding to them both. "Peace to you, Brother Dirck, and to you, Sister Marike."

"Peace," they responded in unison, Dirck's voice louder than Marike's. She fought to keep her hands from instinctively clenching, instead pressing them flat on the front of her thighs. She felt the rough weave of the fabric against her cold palms.

Another man followed Matthäus into their room, carrying a couple of large packages. He said nothing, simply stepped to one side. Matthäus motioned to Dirck to close the door.

"Brother Dirck," Matthäus began, "I am here in Brother Caspar's place. He is aware of your faithfulness, and of your stern resolve, and he has accordingly sent me to ask you to join his band of Mighty Men."

"Mighty Men?" Dirck asked in a wondering tone.

"Yes. They are named after the Mighty Men named in 2 Samuel chapter 23, who stood with King David in defense of his throne and God's Ark."

"And what will Brother Caspar's Mighty Men do?" Dirck asked.

"Stand to defend Brother Caspar and the truth," Matthäus replied.

Marike's stomach was in knots. She wasn't sure she liked where this was going. Her right hand was clenched in the fabric of her skirt, but she managed to keep her face calm.

"Am I not too young, or too new, to be considered for such an honor?" Dirck asked.

Matthäus shook his head. "Brother Caspar knows that, but feels that you are worthy. Will you accept his wisdom and judgment?"

Dirck bowed his head. Marike prayed that he would refuse, but her heart fell when her brother looked up again and said, "I will."

Matthäus smiled and took one of the packages from his companion, removing from it a coat. "Then accept this coat of the Mighty Men, so that all may know you are a part of them. All of the Mighty Men have received these recently." He held it up and open, inviting Dirck to put it on. Dirck put one arm down a sleeve, then the other, shrugging the shoulders on. Matthäus turned him around and fastened the buttons, then turned him again to face Marike. "There. Does Brother Dirck not look worthy, Sister Marike?"

She had to admit that the black frock coat with the dark gray facings looked well on her brother. And she could see from the smile on his face that he was pleased with what had happened. So she mustered a smile and said, "Yes, he does." The others didn't seem to notice that her smile faded quickly and the tone of her voice was thin and thready.

Matthäus turned Dirck a quarter turn, and said, "You should wear this to worship, Brother Dirck, and you must wear it whenever you are called out to face our foes."

"I will," Dirck replied in a determined tone.

Matthäus' gaze moved to Marike, and her heart sank even more. He smiled, a smile that for all that Marike was sure he thought was warm and friendly, looked to her to be assured and calculating. "And Brother Caspar has not forgotten you, Sister Marike. In honor of your brother's attainment, he has sent this for you as well."

The still unnamed companion held out the other package. Matthäus drew out first a skirt of deepest blue, which he draped across the back of one of the chairs, followed by a matching jacket with silver embroidery and button froggings across the breast of it which he laid atop the skirt.

"These are for you, Sister Marike," Matthäus said. "In honor of your brother, and in honor of your family and your faithfulness. Please accept them, so that I can report to Brother Caspar that his gifts found favor in your sight."

Marike swallowed. She didn't really want to do this, but she saw the pride and pleasure on Dirck's face as he nodded at her. She couldn't disappoint him. She stepped forward and ran her hand down the front of the jacket. The fabric was fine—the finest she had ever touched. And the blue was so beautiful. She had never seen a hue so rich. Not even on the few trips to Amsterdam she had taken when younger.

She sighed, her hand still resting on the jacket, and looked up at Brother Matthäus. "Please tell Brother Caspar thank you for his gift."

The smile appeared on Matthäus' face again, a bit sharper this time. "The only thanks he needs is to see you wearing his gift to worship."

Marike gulped again and nodded.

✽✽✽

The next several days were frustrating to Katharina. She and her friends were able to keep an eye on Marike at school and even on the school bus, as one of the girls lived out the same road as Marike. But so far nothing had become apparent to them as a cause for Marike's fear. Katharina was getting worried, because Marike was still in her very withdrawn mode, not talking any more than necessary in class and not at all in the halls or the lunch room.

It wasn't until the next Monday that they got their first clue as to what might be going on. Marta came up to her that morning dragging Amalia Ramsenthalerin by the arm.

"Kat!" Marta exclaimed. "Amalia has news for us."

Katharina turned to the other girl. "Amalia?"

Amalia shook her head a bit. "I don't know if it's important or not, but yesterday I saw—I thought I saw—Marike Gendt with her brother going into the place where those men of Brother Caspar's worship. I thought it was her, but I couldn't tell for sure. Whoever it was was wearing nice clothes, though . . . nicer than anything I've seen Marike wear. So it may not have been her."

"Oh." Katharina was taken aback by that thought. "I never would have guessed that. I mean, they're Anabaptists. Why would they go there?"

"They're new, Kat," Marta said. "They wouldn't have found out where else they could go unless they joined one of our groups. If they connected with the Casparites first, they could be drawn in. But maybe she's seen or heard something . . . "

"We have got to get her to come to the Bible study so Kathy Sue can talk to her," Katharina said firmly.

The others nodded in agreement.

✽✽✽

The Bibelgesellschaft meeting came to its usual conclusion, and Katharina, Barbara, and Marta lingered as the others all gathered their stuff and left. Dr. Green looked up from where he was sitting and raised his eyebrows in surprise to see them gathering in front of him. "What's up, girls?"

"You've talked before that Brother Caspar is probably forming a cult," Katharina said. "Can you tell us more what to look for to know if we're talking to someone who might be involved in one?"

The pastor leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers across his middle. "Why? You all think you know someone who's getting mixed up in it? Someone besides the ones we've seen already?" All three girls nodded, and his expression turned grim.

Dr. Green said nothing for a moment, then sighed and began with, "There are some theological distinctives of most cults, and some social distinctives as well. All cults will show some of them. Contrariwise, if a group shows more than one or two of them, there's a high probability they're a cult, even if they seem to be good people doing good work.

"Theologically, every cult that I know of both historically and in the up-time always disagreed with orthodox doctrine in at least one of two ways. The first way is they either disputed the nature of God, usually in denying some aspect of the Trinity, but sometimes also in denying the common identity of God the Father between the Old Testament and the New Testament."

"Is that last one the so-called Marcionite heresy?" Barbara asked. "The one that said that the God of the Old Testament was a demon and the Old Testament itself was full of lies?"

"Yes, although he was not the only one to teach that. But most cults attack the divinity of Jesus. He's an easier target, you might say."

Dr. Green paused again, apparently gathering his thoughts. After a moment, he said, "Socially, the issues are a little more nebulous, but there are some common patterns. One is they tend to try and involve people who are new to a community, who are lonely, who don't fit in, or who want or need authority—someone who wants someone to tell them what to do." The girls looked at each other. He caught that, and his brows lowered. "Does that fit with what you're seeing?"

"Kind of," Katharina said. "She's new to Grantville, and they don’t know many people yet."

Green nodded. "A real candidate, then. Another common problem is they try to isolate their people from the rest of society, dictating who they work for, where they shop, and what schools they attend. They will eventually try to take over their finances, getting them to give all their money to the cult and then turning around and giving some of it back, which weirdly enough has the effect of making the person grateful to the cult, even though they're only getting back a fraction of the money they gave. In really bad cases, the cult will make them move to a new town or a new country just to increase their control, and in some extreme cases the cult led them to drink poison on command, just to demonstrate their control."

The girls shared horrified looks. Green continued, "You said 'she.' Is it a girl you're concerned about?"

"Yes," Katharina said. "She and her older brother are Dutch Anabaptists who arrived here a few weeks ago. They have no family, but I think that he is working for Struve-Reardon Gunworks. She is in school with us."

"Do I know her?"

"I don't think so. They haven't been here long."

"Schwertler Täufer, then," the pastor said. "What did she say?"

"Only that she was afraid, that she had bad dreams, and that she didn't want us to tell anyone," Katharina said.

"Okay, I won't pry any further, but stay close to her," Green said. "Try to get her to come worship with you or to your Bible study."

"We've tried."

"Keep on trying. It's important."

Grantville

July, 1636

Kathy Sue Burroughs opened her front door to see Press Richards, Grantville's police chief, standing on her front porch. She opened the screen door. "Come on in, Press," she said. "Brother Al is already here."

"Thanks, Kathy Sue." Press took off his cap and stepped through the doorway.

Kathy Sue closed the door and led the way to the living room. "You want something to drink? I think I may still have some instant coffee in the cabinet."

"Just some water would be fine," Press responded, knowing she probably didn't have any coffee and didn't need to waste it on him if she did. "I've had my morning cup of coffee already. Morning, Brother Al." Press nodded to his pastor where he sat on the sofa before he settled into an easy chair set at right angles to the sofa.

"Good morning, Chief." Al Green smiled and nodded in return.

Kathy Sue came out of the kitchen with a glass of ice water, which she handed to Press before she resumed her seat at the other end of the sofa. Press took a drink, savoring the chill. Even sitting in Germany in 1636, Grantville in July was warm enough to appreciate a cool drink. He lowered the glass and looked at the pastor.

"You called this meeting, Brother Al. What's up?"

The pastor took another sip of his own water, then set his cup on the coffee table and sighed. "You remember that conversation you and I had some time back about how Brother Caspar and his followers are a cult, and might be a dangerous one?"

Press grimaced. "Yeah. So far I haven't seen anything since that first couple rounds of guys wanting to rough up folks who didn't agree with Caspar."

"Me, neither," Kathy Sue said. "And I've been keeping my eyes open, for sure."

"I don't blame you," Al Green said. "And for that matter, so have I. But until recently, I hadn't seen or heard anything else."

"Recently?" Press said. "So something has come up?"

"Maybe. I'm getting this third-hand, and it doesn't sound like anything definitive has occurred, but what I've heard hints at some serious trouble."

Press frowned. "So what have you heard?"

Green leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and letting his hands dangle between them. "Have you heard of child grooming?"

Press frowned and nodded, while Kathy Sue looked confused and shook her head. Press said, "Yes, I was briefed on that in one of the FBI classes I took." He looked at Kathy Sue. "That's a term that came into use several years before we came back in the ROF. It refers to children, usually girls, being trained to be sex objects. It happens a lot in international settings, and it happens more often than you would have wanted to know in religious settings, both non-Christian and Christian."

"Yuck!" Kathy Sue said with a frown of her own. "I never heard about anything like that."

"That's because in backwater Grantville the worst we saw was two teenagers in the back seat of a '79 Chevy, and the girl getting pregnant." Press looked back to Al Green. "So you think it's possible that's happening here?"

"Possible, yes. Probable?" The pastor shook his head. "I just don't know. Like I said, I heard this third-hand, so I may be reading things into what I heard that won't prove to be there, but enough signs are there that it's possible."

"So what have you heard?" Press asked.

"Three of the girls in the Bibelgesellschaft are concerned about one of their school classmates who may have gotten involved in Brother Caspar's organization. She reportedly said he approached her, complimented her, didn't touch her, but now she's scared. They said she was always quiet, but now she says nothing. And he may have given her new clothes."

"Shit!" Press said. A moment later, "Sorry."

"I've heard the word before," Green replied with a small smile. "And I agree that strong language may be justified just now."

"Okay, tell me what that means," Kathy Sue interjected, "because I don't get it."

Press grimaced. "First of all, a significant behavior change, especially withdrawing from people, is a common symptom of being groomed or being taken advantage of sexually. Second, gifts, especially expensive ones, are a way of making the person feel connected and obligated to the giver. Together, that's the beginning of a strong circumstantial case that there's something going on. How old is this girl? And who told you about this, anyway?"

"Katharina Meisnerin, Barbara Kellarmännin, and Marta Engelsbergin. They wouldn't tell me her name, but she's close to their age."

"So that's going to make her in the sixteen to eighteen age bracket," Kathy Sue said. "And they're all in my Sunday Bible study and come to our house church sometimes, so that's why you wanted me here. I was wondering."

"Right," Green said. "They all agreed that the girl said nothing had happened, but they also said they think she's definitely scared. They said they're going to watch over her at school, but they want to know if something can be done when she's not at school."

"In the absence of criminal evidence, probably not." Press' tone was sour. "The most we could do is send a patroller by their residence periodically, depending on where they live. If they live far enough out, we couldn't even do that."

Green's face was as sour as Press' voice. "I was afraid of that. Until she says something more, there's nothing you can do. And that's a pretty common problem with these cases, I understand."

"Yep."

The pastor sighed. "I was trying to keep the sexual angle muted from the other girls, but that's probably a forlorn hope."

Press quirked his mouth. "Did you say Barbara Kellarmännin is involved in this?"

"Yes."

Press shook his head. "She's studying to be a profiler, so she's read most of the Crime Classification Manual. She's probably already figured that out, and if she has . . ."

"The other girls will know it," Kathy Sue said.

"Yep."

Green sighed again. "Definitely a forlorn hope." He looked over at Kathy Sue. "This may come up in your Bible study, so I wanted you to be prepared if it does. And they say they've been trying to get the girl to come to the Bible study."

Kathy Sue took a deep breath. "Right. I'll deal with it."

Press looked first at Green and then at Kathy Sue. "Both of you, stress to those girls that people who do these kinds of things are not normal, even if they are religious, and they are not at all averse to hurting or killing someone who gets in their way. Tell them to not take any chances. I don't want to have to explain anything to their parents."

✽✽✽

Marike came out of her room after changing out of what she thought of as "Brother Caspar's worship clothes." This morning was the first time that Brother Caspar had been back in Grantville after a few weeks away. The sermon had been drawn from the book of Jude, and had been more of Brother Caspar's teaching about how they were living in the last times. Those all left Marike feeling uncomfortable, especially when he called the emperor the Antichrist.

Dirck turned toward her, and she saw that he was still wearing his Mighty Men coat. "I have another meeting this afternoon," he said. "I don't know when I'll be home."

"Again?" Marike said. "This is the second Sabbath in a row. I don't like when you leave me here alone."

"I'm sorry," Dirck said, and he did sound regretful. She reminded herself that her brother did love her. "But Brother Caspar has asked to see all of us today. It's the first time he has been back to Grantville in almost a month, and I really need to be there."

"All of you? How many is that?"

Dirck pursed his lips for a moment. "Thirty? Maybe thirty-five? Just here in Grantville, mind you. I think there are some more somewhere else from what they've said."

Marike shook her head. "All right. Go on. I'll find something to do."

Dirck stepped to her and threw an arm around her shoulders. "I'll make it up to you, Marike. Honest."

She leaned into him for a moment, then pushed him away. "Get going, or you'll be late."

Dirck left. Marike turned and picked up her mending box, then sat down in her chair. She found Dirck's sock that she was darning, pulled out the needle from where it had been thrust into the knit weave, and bent over her task. "If he thinks I'm going to sit here every Sabbath while he runs off to his meetings . . ." A thought crossed her mind. "Kat keeps asking me to come to that women's Bible study. Maybe I should."

That thought rolled around and around in her mind as she worked.

✽✽✽

It was Saturday afternoon. Marike looked at the napkins lying flat on the bread and cheese boards.

"Dirck?"

"Mmm?"

She looked over to where he was running a brush over his boots, trying to clean the mud off of them from where he had walked home after his half work-day. "I need a few dollars. We have no bread, no cheese, no nothing to eat."

He didn't look up, but his brushing got a little more strenuous. "Can't."

"We can't?" Marike wasn't sure she had heard clearly. "Why not? Didn't you get paid yesterday?"

"Yes, but . . ."

"But what?" Marike was confused, but starting to get angry. It wasn't like Dirck to waste his money or to not speak directly.

The brush stopped, and he looked toward the door, not at her. "I . . . gave the money to Brother Matthäus, to use to help other families in the church."

"You what?" Marike didn't believe what she was hearing. "But what are we supposed to do? What will we eat? How will we pay the rent on the room this week?"

Dirck continued to avoid her gaze. "It . . . is expected of me. The Mighty Men are supposed to be exemplars of charity and ministry."

"Fine." Marike put her hands on her hips. "But did you have to give it all? Now we're going to need charity ourselves."

He finally looked at her. "It . . . is expected. And it's important to me, Mari." His mouth moved for a moment, then he said, "I can borrow some money from friends at work on Monday."

"You just remember that come Monday morning when you're three days without food—you just remember how important this is to you." Marike stomped her foot and went to her bedroom where she threw herself on her bed and stared hot-eyed at the ceiling. She didn't understand what had gotten into Dirck. He had never been less than painfully frugal in the past. How could he have done that? And why would Brother Caspar want these Mighty Men to be giving everything to him? That made no sense. Her grandfather would never have done something like that. But then, her grandfather would never have preached the sermons Brother Caspar was preaching, would he?

Thinking of Grootpapa helped Marike relax. She sat up on the edge of the bed and wiped her hands across her face. She stared at the wall as she remembered her grandfather, almost feeling his hand on her shoulder, almost hearing his gravelly voice speaking words of comfort. After a while, she picked up her Bible from the small shelf where it lay and hugged it to her chest. Grootpapa had always been her guide in the past. Maybe he would be so in the future.

✽✽✽

The next morning Marike said nothing to Dirck, simply donned her fine clothes and swept out the door when he held it open. She didn't look at him when he walked beside her to the meeting place in his fancy Mighty Men coat. And once there, she stood beside him during the worship, head held high, without a glance in his direction.

Brother Caspar was there that day, and after Brother Matthäus read from Revelation chapter 13, he spoke in his wonderful voice about the lawless man, the Antichrist, and how the end times were upon them. Somehow when he spoke, voice flowing, it all made sense, and Marike found herself again caught up in it.

The attendance was light that day. Most of the Mighty Men Marike had seen before weren't there. She wondered if they had been sent to do some work somewhere; maybe acts of charity or ministry, since that seemed to be such a major issue with them. By the time she finished that thought, the meeting room was almost empty, and Brother Caspar and Brother Matthäus were approaching them.

"Good day to you, Brother Dirck. It is good to see you here at worship. And you, Sister Marike," Brother Caspar's voice in private had even more impact, if that were possible. Marike was drawn to him even more strongly. "It is very good to see you today as well."

Marike's stomach chose that exact moment to emit an almost thunderous growl. As her cheeks heated with embarrassment, Brother Caspar's expression shifted to one of alarm. "Are you ill, Sister Marike? Come, be seated and take a bit of wine."

She found herself being drawn along by Caspar's hand under her elbow, matching the way his voice seemed to hold her mind. Before she could utter a word, she found herself in an inner room, being guided to a chair. "Sit, child, sit," Caspar urged. "Matthäus, wine, now." That short command was not warm. It was hard and carried an edge. The pastor's companion was already at a sideboard pouring from a decanter into a silver cup. A moment later it was in Caspar's hand, and he was holding it to Marike's lips. She took a sip, two, then held her hands up and pushed the cup away gently. She swallowed the wine, then took a deep breath and relaxed against the back of the chair, resting her hands on the arms. Caspar . . . hovered over Marike, was the only way to think of it. "Are you ill, child?"

"No," she said. "Just . . . hungry."

Now Caspar looked confused. "Why?"

She didn't look at Dirck. "My brother gave all his pay to . . ." She waved her hand toward Matthäus. "We have no food, and the rent is due tomorrow."

Caspar straightened, a stern look coming upon his face. "Brother Dirck, while God loves a cheerful giver, he does not expect you to become penurious. The scriptural tithe is thirty percent, no more. You will not give more than that. And Brother Matthäus," he turned to his companion, "whatever Brother Dirck gives will be credited to him for the full offering, but you will return half of it to him immediately. He must see to the care and support of his sister, so we will allow for a reduction of his burden. Is that understood? Both of you?" He looked at both men.

"Yes, Brother Caspar." Matthäus' response was echoed by Dirck.

"When did you last eat, child?" The fulsome warmth returned to Caspar's voice as he turned again to Marike.

"Friday." Her voice trembled a little, which increased her shame.

Caspar passed the cup to Matthäus and went to the sideboard himself, where he picked up a silver plate covered with a napkin and returned to set it before Marike. He whisked the napkin off to reveal a meat pie. "Eat, child. You shall not leave until you've eaten it all. I will not have it said that we allowed one of our own to go hungry." She hesitated, and he nudged the plate toward her. "Eat, child." His voice was softer, and so warm, so soothing . . . she picked up the pie in both hands and bit a corner off it. The gravy and the bits of meat and carrots tasted so good.

Marike tried to not devour the pie, but she was aware that she was eating it pretty quickly. She caught a glimpse of Brother Matthäus passing some silver coins to Dirck, who took them almost with a bow.

It wasn't long before Marike swallowed the last of the pie and sat back with a repleted sigh.

"Do you feel better now, child?"

Brother Caspar wasn't quite hovering, but his expression was still one of concern.

"I do. Please forgive me for my foolishness," she said, her face heating a bit at the memory of what had just happened.

"There is nothing to forgive, Sister Marike," Caspar said with a smile. "And I am glad that we were able to help."

Marike pushed her hands down on the arms of the chair, and stood. "Thank you for your kindness. I'm sure I can make it home, now."

"You are welcome to stay longer," Caspar protested.

"No, we should go home and not take more of your time, Brother Caspar. But . . . thank you."

With those words, Marike led her brother out of the inner room, followed by the two men. She didn't look back as she crossed the meeting room and exited to the street outside. Dirck hastened before her to open the door, and closed it behind them as they left. Because she didn't look behind, she didn't see Brother Caspar turn to look at Matthäus; nor did she see the slow nod Matthäus gave.

✽✽✽

It came as no great surprise the next Sunday after worship when Dirck told Marike he had another meeting to attend. She didn't argue with him about it, but once he left, wearing his Mighty Men coat, she looked through her school bag until she found the scrap of paper which had the address for the Bible study group that Katharina had given her. After a moment looking at it, she put on her coat, picked up her grandfather's Bible, and left their room.

As it happened, Marike thought she knew where the street in the address was in Grantville. She was pretty sure her school bus crossed it when taking her to school. So she shouldn't be more than a couple of miles from it, maybe a half more than that. But she had plenty of time to walk that far before three o'clock, and it was a nice day.

It turned out Marike's memory was, if not perfect, at least reasonably accurate, and it was less than an hour before she stood on the front porch of the house number on the address that Katharina had given her. She took a deep breath—this made her a bit nervous—and knocked on the front door. After a moment, she heard the door knob rattle as it was turned, and the door opened, revealing Barbara Kellarmännin in the doorway.

Barbara looked surprised for a moment, then gave a wide smile. "Marike! Come in, please. We weren't expecting you."

"Dirck had a meeting this afternoon, and I'm tired of sitting in our rooms by myself," Marike said as she stepped through the doorway. "Dirck had a meeting this afternoon, and I'm tired of sitting in our rooms by myself. "So I decided to come and see what your Bible study is all about."

"We're so glad you did," Barbara said, closing the door and leading Marike down the hall into a sitting room that, while not overly large, had a sofa, a couple of upholstered chairs, and a couple of wooden chairs from a dining set at the other end of the room—enough seats to hold half a dozen or more people. Most of the seats were filled with young women.

Katharina jumped up from her chair. "Marike! It's so good to see you. You didn't tell us you were coming."

"I didn't know myself until today," Marike said, holding her Bible in front of her. She repeated the same explanation she'd given Barbara: "Dirck had a meeting."

Well, we're glad you came," Katharina replied. "You know the girls, of course." Marike nodded at Marta Engelsbergin and Alicia Rice. "This," Katharina gestured to an older up-timer woman seated in one of the easy chairs, "is Kathy Sue Burroughs, our teacher."

Kathy Sue stood, shifting her Bible to her left hand so she could hold out her right. "I'm very glad to get to meet you, Marike. Thank you for coming today."

Marike bobbed her head as she tentatively shook Kathy Sue's hand. "Thank you for letting me come."

Katharina pointed to two younger women sitting to one side of Kathy Sue. "These are Rosina and Magdalena. They room here with Frau Burroughs. They're Lutheran. And this," Katharina concluded with a smile, "is our friend Astrid Schäubin. She works for Neustatter's European Security Services. Her brother Hjalmar is dating Eva Želivský, who's usually here but couldn't make it today."

Astrid held her hand out as well. Marike took it, while studying her a bit. Her face was thin, her long uncovered hair was blonde, and the hair along with the style of her blouse and skirt were all evidence that this down-time woman had adopted a lot of Grantville's up-time culture.

"Are you at the school?" Marike asked.

"No," Astrid said with a smile. "I work for Neustatter full-time, but I know a lot of the people there."

"So, now that you know everyone, come sit with Barbara and me," Katharina said, pulling Marike over to the sofa and plopping her down between the two girls.

The others resumed their places as well.

"You got here just in time, Marike," Kathy Sue said. "We're just getting started. We're looking at the Gospel of Luke chapter ten, verses thirty-eight through forty-two."

Marike opened her grandfather's Bible and found that passage quickly. She was pretty sure she knew what that story would be, and as soon as her fingers found the page and she found the first verse, she nodded in confirmation to herself.

"Barbara, would you read that, please?"

Barbara lifted her Bible from her lap and held it up so she could read it but speak forward, rather than down.

"Now it came to pass, as they went, that he entered into a certain village: and a certain woman named Martha received him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, which also sat at Jesus' feet, and heard his word. But Martha was cumbered about much serving, and came to him, and said, "Lord, dost thou not care that my sister hath left me to serve alone? Bid her therefore that she help me." And Jesus answered and said unto her, 'Martha, Martha, thou art careful and troubled about many things: But one thing is needful: and Mary hath chosen that good part, which shall not be taken away from her.'"

"So what do you think is going on here?" Kathy Sue asked.

"Looks like some sister rivalry to me," Alicia said.

"How so?"

"Well, Martha's coming all big sister on Mary because Mary's not in the kitchen helping her."

"How do you know Martha's the older sister?"

"She was the one who invited Jesus to the house," Katharina said. "That would usually be done by the oldest member of the family present."

Kathy Sue pursed her lips, and nodded. "Okay, I can buy that. Is that why she's so upset with Mary, though?"

Marike listened as the others threw out ideas. She remembered her grandfather's teaching on this passage. Her mouth quirked a bit. They were missing the most obvious reason. She must have shaken her head, because Kathy Sue looked at her and said, "Do you have a thought about this, Marike?"

"Well," Marike drew the word out as she gathered her thoughts quickly, "Martha had offered hospitality to Jesus and the others. That meant the family had made a commitment to provide for them. By not helping Martha with the preparations, Mary was not just letting Martha down, she was letting the entire family down. She was about to bring disrespect onto the whole family. Or that's how Martha would have felt, I think."

Kathy Sue nodded after a moment. "I agree. I think it's more than just sibling rivalry here. What else do you all see?"

The rest of the discussion dealt mostly on how Martha was focused on the serving but Mary was wanting to hear Jesus talk, and how so many people could get trapped the first and lose sight of the second. Marike listened, and added a nod or a word of affirmation from time to time.

Kathy Sue brought the discussion to a close after close to an hour. "The big thing to take away from this for me is that it's always best to do the right thing, but sometimes that means you might not be doing what people expect of you, or even what you expect."

Marike felt a chill at that thought, especially since it seemed that Kathy Sue looked directly at her when she said that.

Kathy Sue closed her Bible. "Good time, girls. Thanks for coming. Kat, Marta, when do you all leave for school at Prague?"

The two older girls looked at each other. "Not quite two weeks," Marta replied.

"Are you going together?"

"That's what we're planning," Katharina said.

"Okay. If I don't see you before then, be careful, but have some fun along the way."

With that, the gathering broke up. Everyone stood and gathered their things, Marike included. Kathy Sue approached her as she stood up, holding out her hand again. Marike took it without hesitation this time. Kathy Sue didn't shake it, just held onto it for a long moment as she said, "Thanks for coming, Marike. I hope you enjoyed it."

"I did, Frau Burroughs."

"Good. Feel free to come back or to come over any time. I'll tell you the same thing I tell the other girls: if you want to talk about anything—Bible study, church, school, boyfriends—I'm willing to pour some apple cider or brew up some sassafras tea and provide a listening ear."

Her gaze was direct, but she was smiling, so Marike smiled back. "I'll probably be back for the Bible study, at least."

"Good."

Kathy Sue walked Marike to the door, and patted her on the back as she left. "Have a good evening."

✽✽✽

"Well, what did you think?" Kathy Sue asked.

"About Marike?" Katharina shrugged. "I'm glad she came. And she didn't seem to be nervous or anything . . . or at least, not more than she normally would have for the first time in a new place."

"She seemed to fit in well," Kathy Sue said. "She said some good things and followed the discussion."

"She really seemed to know her Bible," Barbara added.

"Didn't she tell us her grandfather was an Anabaptist pastor?" Katharina asked.

"I think so," Barbara said. "So that would probably explain it. I wonder if she would like to join the Bibelgesellschaft? We're going to need some new members after you and Marta leave for Prague."

"Couldn't hurt to ask," Kathy Sue said. "Meanwhile, you all keep an eye on her, and if she starts acting nervous or scared again, encourage her to come talk to me."

"Got it," Barbara said.

✽✽✽

"Where were you?"

Marike was greeted with that question when she walked in the door to their rooms. Dirck was standing in the main room, and he was frowning.

"I have some friends who have a group Bible study on Sunday afternoon. Most of them are Anabaptist, and the teacher is an up-timer woman who is friendly to Anabaptists, so it was safe. They've been inviting me to come to the study for months, now—ever since we got here, in fact. I'm tired of sitting in the rooms by myself when you go to your meetings, so I went to the study. It was good. They looked at a story in the Gospel of Luke today. I liked it."

Marike took her coat off and hung it on a peg by the door, then placed her bonnet next to it. She turned to look at Dirck while putting her indoor cap on and straightening it.

Her brother wasn't frowning, but still didn't look happy. "You should have told me, or left a note, or something. I got home and you weren't here, and I got worried."

"I didn't decide to go until after you left, so I couldn't tell you, but you're right, I should have left a note. I guess I thought I'd be home before you got back, but it took a bit longer to walk to Frau Burroughs' house than I'd thought it would."

"All right." Dirck took off his Mighty Men coat and hung it from its regular peg. He stood still for a moment, looking at where his hand rested on the coat atop its peg. "Marike, don't say anything to Brother Caspar and Brother Matthäus about attending this study. They . . . might not understand."

✽✽✽

Marike wore the clothes that Brother Caspar had given her to worship the next Sunday. This made the third Sunday in a row that Caspar was in Grantville. That was unusual, because he traveled occasionally to Magdeburg, but more and more to the village of Angelroda, somewhere west of Grantville. He seldom spent more than one Sunday—two at the most—in the Grantville area without moving on. Not even Dirck could tell her why Brother Caspar traveled; only that he did, and it was important.

The meeting room was over half-full when the two of them arrived, but people made way for Dirck in his Mighty Men coat, and Marike trailed along behind him.

When it came time for the teaching, Brother Matthäus stepped forward in his usual way.

"Today we shall read from the Second Epistle of John, the beloved disciple.

'And this is love, that we walk after his commandments. This is the commandment, That, as ye have heard from the beginning, ye should walk in it. For many deceivers are entered into the world, who confess not that Jesus Christ is come in the flesh. This is a deceiver and an antichrist. Look to yourselves, that we lose not those things which we have wrought, but that we receive a full reward. Whosoever transgresseth, and abideth not in the doctrine of Christ, hath not God. He that abideth in the doctrine of Christ, he hath both the Father and the Son. If there come any unto you, and bring not this doctrine, receive him not into your house, neither bid him God speed: for he that biddeth him God speed is partaker of his evil deeds.'

"And now Brother Caspar will instruct us."

Matthäus stepped back and Brother Caspar took his usual step forward and looked around. "The Apostle John lived in times fraught with danger and risk and paganism and apostasy." His rich warm voice contrasted with Matthäus' dark tones. "So do you today. And the beloved disciple's warning about false teachers is perhaps even more urgent today than it was when he wrote his epistle. False teachers are everywhere: in the pulpits of the cathedrals and basilicas and churches. Standing at the front of the meeting houses. Teaching in the schools and universities. The pastors and doyens and bishops teach falsehood. The truth is out there." His voice crescendoed to a peak. "They are antichrists, all! They have heard the truth, but they have willingly and willfully rejected it."

Caspar paused for a long moment. Not a sound was heard in the room . . . not even breathing. Marike was holding her breath for sure.

When he started speaking again, his tone was lower, quieter, but had that velvet warmth that Marike just wanted to sink into. "That is why the truth was revealed to only a few over the centuries. Paul called it a mystery. And that is why even today so very few people know the truth, the truth that we share."

Caspar looked around the room. His gaze seemed to linger on Marike, but moved on before too long. "All of the apostles told us to beware of false teachers, those who provide the tainted milk of apostasy and heresy. Paul told us to not be unequally yoked with those who do not know the truth. Be very careful, my brothers, my sisters," he looked around once more, "be careful who you associate with, and if there are any doubts at all in your mind, consult your elders. Be the holy set apart ones you have been called to be."

Marike lowered her head. It sounded so reasonable when Brother Caspar explained it, but in the back of her mind she knew he was wrong if he thought her Grootpapa had been a false teacher. She kept her eyes on the ground as she turned and followed Dirck from the meeting hall.

✽✽✽

Caspar looked at Matthäus after the last of the worshippers left. Matthäus nodded. "They're responding well," the assistant said. "They should be ready to move soon."

"Sister Marike seemed very intent on the word today," Caspar observed.

"Indeed." Matthäus nodded again, this time with a slight smile.

"We are almost ready for the next step, I think," Caspar said. "I will leave for Angelroda on the morrow. Do you see to it that my next gift for Sister Marike is taken to her. Time for the next step there, as well."

✽✽✽

"Hi, Marike." Marike swallowed her last bite of bread when Katharina and Barbara dropped into chairs on each side of her in the lunchroom. The Tuesday lunch crowd seemed a bit smaller than usual.

"Hi," she responded. She was, bit by bit, picking up some of the Americanisms so common in Grantville that were beginning to spread elsewhere.

"Did you like the Bible study the other day?" That was Katharina.

"Yes, I did. I learned some things that I hadn't heard before. It was good."

"Great." Katharina's face bloomed with a smile. "Now that you know where it is, you should come to them all. With Marta and I going to Prague soon, Kathy Sue would like to keep the attendance up. Plus she really liked you. She said you made great comments."

"I thought you were still students here in the high school," Marike said. "I was really surprised with Frau Burroughs said you were going to Prague."

"No, Marta and I finished the high school degree requirements back in May," Katharina said. "We're just taking some extra courses to try and get ready for university."

"Like what?"

"Advanced Latin, mostly, with some more intermediate Greek thrown in for me, plus a couple of classes just for fun." Katharina shrugged. "As Kathy Sue says, 'Can't hurt, might help.' Anything that will help get me started in university is worth doing."

"How about you, Barbara?" Marike turned to the other girl. "Are you going to university also—Prague, or maybe Jena?"

"No." Barbara grinned. "I'm going to stay in Grantville. I've been studying with the police department learning to be a profiler."

"A what?"

"A profiler. That's someone who studies a person, usually a criminal, and figures out what their patterns of behavior are."

Marike could see that Barbara was very serious. "But what good would that do?"

"Sometimes that's how they figure out who the criminal is," Barbara said. "Sometimes, it's to figure out why someone is performing crimes."

"Sounds . . . I don't know . . ." Marike couldn't figure out what to say.

"Sounds yucky to me," Katharina said. "The last thing I want to know is how to think like someone who's not right in the head." She stuck her tongue out at Barbara, who returned the favor. "She's been going on about this for months now and prattling about all the books she's reading."

"Chief Richards thinks I could be good at it," Barbara replied with equanimity.

The bell rang, and all three girls stood.

"Tell Frau Burroughs I'll try to come again soon," Marike offered before turning away.

"She'll be glad to hear that," Katharina responded. "See you."

✽✽✽

Thursday evening, just a few minutes after Dirck got home, there was a knock at the door of their rooms. Dirck was still washing up, so Marike went to the door.

"Yes? Oh, Brother Matthäus." She was surprised to see the elder standing in the doorway with a bundle.

"Sister Marike," he said with a nod of his head. "May I come in?"

Marike flushed at her lack of courtesy. "Yes, of course. Excuse me, please." She stepped aside, and Matthäus entered the room.

"Brother Dirck," the elder said as her brother turned from the wash basin, wiping his hands and face on a towel.

Dirck gave a nod that was almost a short bow. "Brother Matthäus. Welcome to our home. I did not know you were coming to see us."

"I didn't know myself until a couple of hours ago, but Brother Caspar had asked me to come by, and when it turned out that I had another matter to address in this part of town, it only made sense to meet two obligations in one trip."

"Thank you for visiting, nonetheless," Dirck said. "I'm sorry that we have nothing to offer you to drink. I was about to go get some beer, if you would care to wait."

"No," Matthäus said, with a smile and a gesture of one hand. "I've got to move on. I'm really here just to deliver something for Brother Caspar. First of all, he wants you to know, both of you, how much he appreciates and values your faithfulness in attending worship. Your constant and consistent presence provides both support to him directly and a good example to the others. So he and I both thank you deeply for that."

Marike felt a bit of warmth as she heard the praise, but remained silent. Dirck responded with, "Thank you, Brother Matthäus, but we are only doing what is right."

"That may be so," the elder said, "but would that more did. Just know that you are appreciated and valued. And second," he turned toward Marike, "Brother Caspar has sent this to you, Sister Marike, as a recognition of your faithfulness and your probity, and to, in some small way, make up for the inconveniences you have suffered of late." He unfolded his bundle and, as she instinctively held out her hands, placed a folded cloth in them.

Marike hesitated. Whatever it was was light. She slowly unfolded the cloth and held it up. In the light of the candle it was revealed to be a shawl woven of fine linen. It was very fine linen, very soft and smooth, and it was dyed a deep burgundy color. Something caught her eye, and she took a corner of the material and brought it closer to her eyes. There were embroidered flowers in the corners. She smiled and checked each corner—flowers in every one. It was very pretty.

Her smile dimmed a little. This was fine work—finer than anything she had ever owned, or her mother had ever owned—finer than even Brother Caspar's previous gift. She lowered the shawl and stared at Brother Matthäus.

"Brother Caspar hopes that this gift will be acceptable to you," the elder said. His eyes seemed to bore into hers. "And if you need anything—anything at all—you need only ask."

Marike swallowed.

✽✽✽

Grantville

August, 1636

"Hi, Marike." Kathy Sue met her at the door this time. "Come on in. Most of the girls are already here." Marike followed the up-timer back to the living room. "You know most everyone, but for Anna Maria, I think." She pointed to a down-timer sitting next to Magdalena, one of those Marike had met the first time she attended the study. "She was watching my kids last time. Rosina is watching them tonight." Marike nodded to everyone, and settled onto the couch next to Barbara, who smiled and reached out to squeeze her hand.

Kathy Sue settled in her chair and opened her Bible. "Kat and Marta are on the road to Prague. I think it would be good to pray for them before we begin."

Marike bowed her head, and listened as Kathy Sue first prayed for the welfare of their friends as they traveled, then asked for blessings on the study they were about to share. After the concluding "Amen," everyone opened their Bibles.

"Luke chapter eight, verses forty through fifty-six," Kathy Sue said. Everyone paged through their Bibles. "Marike, would you please read the passage for us?"

Marike swallowed, sat up straight, angled her Bible to get the best light on the pages, and began.

"'And it came to pass, that, when Jesus was returned, the people gladly received him: for they were all waiting for him. And, behold, there came a man named Jairus, and he was a ruler of the synagogue: and he fell down at Jesus' feet, and besought him that he would come into his house: for he had only one daughter, about twelve years of age, and she lay dying. But as he went the people thronged him.

And a woman having an issue of blood twelve years, which had spent all her living upon physicians, neither could be healed of any, came behind him, and touched the border of his garment: and immediately her issue of blood stanched. And Jesus said, Who touched me? When all denied, Peter and they that were with him said, Master, the multitude throng thee and press thee, and sayest thou, Who touched me? And Jesus said, Somebody hath touched me: for I perceive that virtue is gone out of me.

And when the woman saw that she was not hid, she came trembling, and falling down before him, she declared unto him before all the people for what cause she had touched him, and how she was healed immediately. And he said unto her, Daughter, be of good comfort: thy faith hath made thee whole; go in peace.

While he yet spake, there cometh one from the ruler of the synagogue's house, saying to him, Thy daughter is dead; trouble not the Master. But when Jesus heard it, he answered him, saying, Fear not: believe only, and she shall be made whole. And when he came into the house, he suffered no man to go in, save Peter, and James, and John, and the father and the mother of the maiden. And all wept, and bewailed her: but he said, Weep not; she is not dead, but sleepeth. And they laughed him to scorn, knowing that she was dead. And he put them all out, and took her by the hand, and called, saying, Maid, arise. And her spirit came again, and she arose straightway: and he commanded to give her meat. And her parents were astonished: but he charged them that they should tell no man what was done.'"

"There are two miracles in this passage," Kathy Sue said, "both involving women or girls, one contained within the story of the other. Let's talk about the outer story first. What can you tell about Jairus from this story?"

Marike listened to the others as they listed characteristics of the man: he was an important community leader, he was willing to humble himself by both coming to Jesus and by prostrating himself before Jesus, he cared about his daughter. She didn't have anything to add to any of that, so she kept silent.

"Some teachers and commentators think that this was Jairus' only child," Kathy Sue said, "that that was why he was so concerned about her. I don't know that I can accept that. Scripture is definite that she was his only daughter, but it's silent as to whether or not she had any brothers. I've found that it's wise to be cautious about making assumptions in things where Scripture doesn't speak. It could be that she was his only child. On the other hand, I don't think it would make any real difference to the story if she had any brothers. So let's not spend any more time on that.

"Scripture does tell us, though, that she was twelve years old." Kathy Sue looked around the room. "Why would Luke have made a point of including that in the story? Does it tell us anything about her?"

"She wasn't a little child," Barbara said. "She would have been big enough to do things around the home and help her mother."

Kathy Sue nodded. "Anything else?"

"Would she have started menstruating?" That question from Magdalena rocked Marike a little. She hadn't even thought along those lines.

"Possibly." Kathy Sue nodded. "And that might have some bearing. Most commentators and scholars that I've read say that Jewish customs of the time would have said that a girl was marriageable once she reached puberty, which was often around twelve or twelve and a half. And it was also apparently fairly common for girls to be betrothed earlier than that but for the actual wedding to wait until after that. So, again, I don't want to read something into the passage that isn't there—I don't want to put words in Scripture's mouth, so to speak—but it's quite possible that the girl was betrothed, and might actually have been nearing her marriage time."

Wow. Marike sat back. That thought shed a different light on this passage. She raised a hand, and Kathy Sue nodded at her. "Jairus was an important man in the community. If she was his only child, and was betrothed, that marriage would have been very important for the family, wouldn't it?"

Kathy Sue smiled. "Yes, it would. Even if she had a brother or two, it still could have been very important. And if that was the case, that could put a different emphasis on what's happening here, couldn't it? I'm not saying it is or isn't the case. Scripture doesn't say any more than it does. But what we are told would allow for different factors like that to come into play. And I happen to think that because Luke did tell us she was twelve, something like that must have been there, otherwise, why would he make such a point of it?"

Marike nodded slowly. "And her husband would probably have been an older man."

Kathy Sue shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. It's hard to say. For example, tradition says that Joseph was older than Mary, but the Bible doesn't say one way or the other. I confess to getting frustrated sometimes with the details that God leaves out of His Word." She grinned, and most of the girls giggled and nodded.

Marike said nothing more during the lesson, which focused on the miracle itself. But even as she listened to the discussion, she couldn't rid herself of the idea of a young girl marrying an older man.

"We'll pick up from there next week," Kathy Sue said when the clock on the wall chimed the hour. "Go ahead and be thinking about what Luke says about the second miracle."

Marike just sat while the other girls all stood and gathered their things and started leaving. Anna Maria and Magdalena went upstairs, the others moved toward the door, chattering as they did so. After a moment, Kathy Sue noticed and moved over to sit beside her. "Marike, are you all right?" she asked quietly.

Marike nodded, then after a moment shook her head.

Barbara stopped in the door and looked back. Marike caught Kathy Sue making a motion with a hand out of the corner of her eye. Barbara didn't say anything, just turned and left.

Once the front door closed for the last time, Kathy Sue reached over and patted Marike on the arm a couple of times, then sat back. "Is there something you'd like to talk about?"

After a moment, Marike murmured, "Is it wrong for an older man to want to marry a younger woman?"

Kathy Sue took a deep breath and released it. "That's not one of those questions that has a single definite answer. It depends on their ages, and it depends to some extent on what their society approves of."

Marike looked up at her. "What do you up-timers say?"

"The laws of the State of West Virginia, which is where Grantville was before the Ring of Fire, say that a person must be eighteen years old before he or she can be married of their own free will. If their parents—both of them, if they're alive—approve of it, they can be married at sixteen. Most of the other states in the United States of America had similar laws. Those laws are now part of the laws of Grantville and the County of West Virginia here and now."

"I'm sixteen." Marike placed her Bible on her lap and wrapped her arms around herself.

"Is someone trying to convince you to marry him?" Kathy Sue leaned forward.

"Yes. No. I don't know. He hasn't said anything. He hasn't touched me. But he looks at me. And he keeps giving me things." Marike turned her head away from Kathy Sue. She couldn't stand to see her gaze.

"Who is it?"

There was a long stretch of silence before Marike could make herself say, "Brother Caspar. Our pastor."

Kathy Sue took another deep breath. Marike turned back enough to see her expression out of the corner of her eye. Her face was hard. Her lips were compressed into a thin line. It was another period of silence before she opened her mouth.

"What has he given you?"

Marike shrugged. "Me, he gave a suit of clothes and just the other day a shawl. They are much nicer than anything Mama or Grandmama ever owned. He had some money given to Dirck to take care of me, and he reduced our tithe for the same reason."

"You say he doesn't touch you. That he only looks at you. Has he ever asked anything of you?"

Marike swallowed, and looked away again. "The first time, he asked me to let my hair down. Dirck told me to." She swallowed again. Her voice got thicker. "He didn't touch me, but he held his hand close to my head, and moved it down my arm and back." She looked back at Kathy Sue. Her eyes were wide, and she could feel the tears starting. "He didn't touch me, but I could feel it. I had my eyes closed, and I could feel his hand moving."

Kathy Sue went to her knees beside Marike's chair and wrapped her arms around her. Marike just huddled in that encirclement, as tears slowly moved down her face. After a time, the tears slowed and stopped. She reached up and scrubbed her cheeks.

"Marike," Kathy Sue said. "Has he done anything like that again?"

"No," Marike whispered. "Just that once."

"You said he looks at you?"

"When he's preaching . . . when we're in the same room . . . he looks at me like . . . like . . ."

"Like you're naked?"

"No." Marike bit her lip for a moment. "Like . . . like the breeders look when they see a prize brood mare."

Kathy Sue absorbed that. "So he hasn't said anything to you about marriage?"

"No. But today's lesson made me start wondering." She looked up at Kathy Sue. "Do you know what he's doing?"

Kathy Sue was still for a moment, then looked up. "Maybe." She rose to her feet and walked a few steps back and forth. "We up-timers have a term for what I think is going on."

"Of course you do," Marike said, trying to smile. "You up-timers have words for everything."

Kathy Sue snorted. "Yeah, well, maybe so. But the term for this is 'child grooming,' and it's used to describe what happens where older people, especially ones in authority, start preparing and shaping young people, boys or girls, to be sexual partners."

"So you think he is thinking about marriage?"

"Maybe. Or concubinage. Or just outright bondage. Brother Caspar is not well liked around here outside of his own group. I wouldn't put any of that outside the realm of possibility."

Marike swallowed. "I didn't know."

"You have no reason to know. And I'm not going to spend time talking about the past. But for right now, you need to understand that you have rights under the laws of Grantville. You cannot be forced to marry or submit to anyone against your will."

Marike shook her head. "Dirck is so involved."

Kathy Sue knelt beside her again and looked her directly in the eyes. "Dirck is not your parent. He is not even your legal guardian, since he hasn't been appointed to that by a Grantville or County of West Virginia court. So he cannot legally force you or bind you to do anything you don't want to do. I don’t want to split you up, but if things get bad, tell a teacher at school or come here and we'll get you to safety."

Marike looked down. "I don't know."

Kathy Sue lifted her chin up. "If it gets bad, run. Protect yourself. Okay?"

Marike took a deep breath, and nodded.

✽✽✽

The man who was loitering by a tree on the corner froze as he heard a sound behind him.

"You know," came the sound of an amused soprano voice, "if you're going to keep watch on a place, you should at least try not to be obvious about it, and you really shouldn't let people sneak up on you."

He turned around slowly to see a tall blonde woman standing a couple of yards down the sidewalk from him. "What do you mean?"

"Don't play stupid," she said, her tone becoming rather cool as the amusement faded. "I saw you there watching the Burroughs house from across the street when I arrived, and you're still here when I left. I walked around the block, and you're still here. It's not hard to figure out what you're doing. I'm Astrid Schäubin, a team leader in Neustatter's European Security Service, by the way, so I do have a professional interest in this. What's your name?"

"Johann Eschbach," he replied after a moment. "Not that it's any business of yours."

"Oh, I can make it my business, and I will if I see you or anyone else here again. Do you understand me?" She brushed the edge of her coat back, and he saw the pistol holstered on her hip.

He nodded.

"Good. Now, leave, and tell whoever you're working for that the Burroughs and their friends are off-limits. You understand what that means?"

He nodded again.

"Move."

Eschbach turned and walked away. Astrid watched until he was at least three blocks down the street. She looked back at Kathy Sue's house. That new girl, Marike, was still inside. She needed to talk to Kathy Sue about what just happened, but she didn't want to interrupt anything. Just as she was about to walk away, the door to the house opened, and Marike stepped out. Astrid stepped closer to the tree, but Marike didn't look around as she walked down and turned the corner going the other direction. Astrid gave her a minute or so, then walked across the street and up the steps to ring the doorbell.

Kathy Sue opened the door almost immediately.

"Astrid?" She stepped back to let the younger woman enter. "What's up?"

"Just wanted to let you know that there was a man across the street this afternoon watching your house. I saw him when I arrived and didn't think anything about it, but when I saw him when I left, that rang an alarm. I confronted him and forced him to leave. I also told him to tell his boss that you and your friends are off-limits, but I don't know if that will make any difference."

Kathy Sue scowled, and she muttered something that Astrid didn't quite catch. The older woman took a deep breath and snorted it out. "Come with me."

They walked into the kitchen together, where Kathy Sue picked up her phone and dialed a number. Astrid could hear the ringing faintly as the call went through. After about four rings, Kathy Sue straightened. "Melanie? This is Kathy Sue Burroughs." She nodded at the response. "Fine. I'm fine. Kids are doing great. Listen, is Press there? Could I speak to him, please?" She tapped her foot while she waited.

"Press? Kathy Sue here. Listen, I've got some info for you on that matter we discussed with Brother Al here the other day." Her mouth twisted. "Yeah, it's not good, and I'm not happy to have heard it myself, but it's not as bad as it could be. I think there's definitely some grooming going on, but she was pretty firm that there hasn't been any physical contact. The girl is named Marike Gendt, and she's a pretty new arrival from Holland, so she's new and doesn't know many people yet. That fits the pattern. They've been sucked in by Brother Caspar's group." She frowned. "Yeah. And to make it worse, one of the things the girls didn't tell Brother Al is this girl is small—petite, in fact—so she looks younger than she really is. That may be a factor here." She listened for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, that's kind of what I'm thinking, too. No parents. Just her and her brother, and he hasn't been appointed her legal guardian, so that could give you some leverage if needed." More listening. "Yeah. I'll make some notes, and you can send somebody by for them tomorrow.

"And Press? Astrid Schäubin is here. She said somebody was watching the house today. She ran him off, but that may mean that Brother Caspar's folks are getting ready to escalate things again. Thought you ought to know." More listening, more nodding of the head. "Right. Got it. My Remington .300 is up on a shelf in the living room." More listening. "Yes, I'll call first, but anyone who comes through that door without an invitation is going to get ventilated."

Kathy Sue listened some more. "Right. Got it. Just be sure your dispatcher knows that if I call it's for real. Right. Okay. See you tomorrow. Thanks. Bye."

She hung up the phone and looked at Astrid. "Okay, that's done. Chief Richards says thanks for the heads up."

Astrid nodded. "Glad to be of service. Guess I'll make it a point to be here the next few Sundays, and if I can't, I'll have someone else who's packing come."

Kathy Sue nodded. "I think I'd appreciate that for a while."

✽✽✽

"Brother Matthäus?"

The elder turned to see a young member of their group approaching him. What was his name? Johann . . . what was it . . . Eschbach. That was it. "Yes, Brother Johann? Is it something important? I need to be at a meeting of some of the Mighty Men in a minute or two."

"It . . . might be important," Eschbach said. "I know you said we were to not go near the house of Frau Burroughs. But I thought it might be useful to know who is going to their house, so I've been spending some of my time watching them."

"And?" Matthäus wasn't happy that his orders had been ignored, but if Eschbach was coming to him, maybe he had seen something.

"I saw someone at their house last Sunday. Someone that I think you and Brother Caspar will want to know about."

Matthäus pointed his finger in the young man's face. "I don't have time for this right now. Brother Caspar will be here in an hour. You say nothing to no one about this until after Brother Caspar has heard about it. Understand?"

"Yes, Brother Matthäus."

"Good. Stand over there out of the way."

Matthäus spun and continued on his way. The chances of Eschbach having anything truly worthy of Brother Caspar's notice were slim, but one could never tell.

From what Eschbach could tell, it was a bit over an hour before an inner door opened and an older man in a Mighty Men coat stepped out. "You Eschbach?"

"Ja."

The man nodded at the door to the inner room. "Brother Caspar and Brother Matthäus are in there. Brother Matthäus said for you to enter."

Johann walked up to the door, reached for the handle, and hesitated. He couldn't bring himself to just march in unannounced. He lifted his hand and knocked twice. There was a muffled response, that he took to be a command to enter. Now he opened the door.

Brother Caspar was sitting in a chair pushed back from a table, legs outstretched before him. His coat was unbuttoned and hanging open, and a shirt that was a little the worse for wear was exposed.

Brother Matthäus was standing to one side of the table near the side wall of the room.

Both men looked at Johann. He closed the door and clasped his hands behind his back. "You instructed me to come tonight, Brother Matthäus."

"And so I did," the elder said taking a step forward. "This, Brother Caspar,"—he waved a hand at Eschbach—"is Johann Eschbach, one of your long-time faithful followers. He tells me he has observed something that might be of interest."

Brother Caspar looked at Johann, smiled, and said, "Tell me what you saw, Brother Johann." The warmth in his voice settled into Johann's mind.

"I, uh . . ." Johann began. "I . . . know that we had some . . . issues . . . with the up-time Burroughs family, and I know we were supposed to leave them alone afterward. But it occurred to me that it might be a good idea to keep an eye on them, so I started watching their house on Sundays, just to see who might be coming to their so-called church. Most Sundays it was the same group of people we already knew about—a very few up-timers and some down-timers, especially Anabaptists."

"But?" Brother Caspar said.

"But last Sunday, I saw someone from our congregation go there."

Brother Caspar's eyebrows drew down, and Brother Matthäus frowned. "Who?" came from Caspar.

"That new girl . . . the Hollander . . . the one who's Brother Dirck's sister. Sorry, I don't remember her name."

Johann took some pleasure in telling them that. He had been a bit peeved that Brother Dirck had been asked to be one of the Mighty Men so soon after joining the congregation. There were other men who had been faithful longer that he thought should have been considered. His thoughts were interrupted before he could go down that list.

"You mean Sister Marike Gendt?"

"I don't think I knew her name before, but if she's Brother Dirck's sister, then yes."

There was a long moment of silence, then Brother Caspar spoke.

"Ordinarily we would not excuse ignoring or disobeying instructions from the elders. However . . ." Caspar drew his feet in and stood ". . .in this one instance good came of it. Thank you for this information. I suggest, however, that you do not make a practice of this."

"Yes, Brother Caspar. I, ah, was caught by one of the Neustatter operatives. She told me to stay away, that the Burroughs family were . . . how did she say it . . . 'off-limits' to me and anyone working for my leaders."

"Then I suggest you listen to her," Caspar said. He turned away from Eschbach.

Matthäus said, "Thank you, Brother Johann." He motioned at the door, and Johann withdrew.

There was another long moment of silence before Caspar spoke again.

"Summon Brother Dirck." There was no warmth in his voice at all. It was thin, nasal, and icy. He picked up a narrow-bladed dagger and rolled it between his fingers.

✽✽✽

Marike hummed a little bit as she finished changing her clothes and donned her jacket. She was glad today was Sunday. The week leading up to it had been long, it seemed. School seemed different with Katharina and Marta gone. She still saw Barbara and some of the others fairly frequently in the hallways, but the shift to the autumn class schedule meant that many of them were on a different lunch schedule, so she didn't get to have long conversations with them much.

This morning's sermon from Brother Caspar had not been as good as he usually did, she thought while she put her gift suit on its pegs on the wall. He hadn't seemed as warm as usual. Distracted, maybe. He'd looked at her about as much as he always did, but with no sense of connection, somehow. She shrugged. Whatever it was, she was actually kind of glad of it.

Her stomach growled, and she slapped it lightly. "Hush, you." Dirck had announced last night that they would fast today. He hadn't said why, and she didn't ask. They had started growing apart to some extent lately. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Some sadness, of course. They'd been close for so long, having only each other after her parents died. She wasn't sure that it wasn't a good thing, though. The more he wore his Mighty Men coat, the more uncomfortable she became around him. She suspected the fasting idea had come from them.

She walked out into the main room, and found Dirck dressed in his Mighty Men coat with his hand on the door knob. "Another meeting?" she asked. Dirck didn't quite look sheepish, but he nodded his head and left without saying anything.

Marike sighed. She wished they had never gone to Brother Caspar's congregation. She wished Dirck had never accepted the Mighty Men coat. But she couldn't deny that the congregation—actually, she was certain it was Brother Caspar's doing—had been good to them. So what could she do? What should she do?

She looked around aimlessly. Her glance finally fell on her grandfather's Bible sitting in her chair. That made her think of the Bible study, and her resolve stiffened. She walked over and pulled her coat from its peg and put it on, then picked up the Bible. Cradling it in her arms, she felt her resolution increase. She walked out the door, left the rooming house, and began the walk to Frau Burroughs' house with firm steps.

✽✽✽

"Goodbye," Marike said to Kathy Sue as she stepped out the door.

"See you next week, dear," the older woman said before she turned to the next girl about to leave.

Marike started down the sidewalk, Bible cradled to her chest, feeling good. The lesson about the woman with the issue of blood, the second part of last week's lesson, had been good. There had been lots of discussion, and she'd been able to say several things herself. She smiled at that thought. Who would have thought that the stories her grandfather had taught her as a little girl would still be guiding her.

There was a shadow on the sidewalk in front of Marike. She stopped and looked up, experiencing surprise and some shock to see Dirck standing there. He reached to take her by the arm and urged her into motion again. She pulled on her arm, but Dirck's grasp was firm, and he wouldn't release her.

"What are you doing?" Marike said. "Dirck, you're hurting me. Let go."

"Brother Caspar wants to talk to you."

A chill ran through Marike. "I don't want to."

"Brother Caspar told me to bring you to him. He wants to talk to you."

Dirck wasn't looking at her. His gaze was fixed straight ahead, and his stride was strong and rapid. Marike was having trouble keeping up.

"Dirck, let me go."

"No."

✽✽✽

Marike had quit trying to look back, because whenever she did Dirck yanked on her arm and about pulled her off her feet. Dirck had taken her out of Grantville by a different path than she normally used. It was more circuitous so it took longer to walk, but they did end up on the Rudolstadt road finally. It was Sunday, so there weren't as many travelers on the road as usual. She didn't try to struggle or call out. She wasn't sure it would do any good, and in her heart she still hoped that Dirck would not let anything bad happen to her.

She had quit pulling on her arm. Dirck was not letting go, and she didn't want to cause a public uproar. She just wanted to get whatever this was going to be over with, so she clutched her grandfather's Bible to her chest, stared straight ahead, and walked as fast as she had to to keep up with him.

They were past the area where their rooming house was, and were drawing near to the group of buildings where Brother Caspar's meeting house was. She started taking deep breaths and stiffening her back. Whatever was getting ready to happen, she was pretty sure she wasn't going to enjoy it. She just hoped she could get out of it with nothing more than a lot of shouting and shaking. She could deal with that, she thought. Other possibilities, though . . . kept cropping up at the edge of her mind, and she kept trying to push them away.

It wasn't much longer before Dirck turned off the Rudolstadt road, Marike perforce going with him. When they walked by the meeting house, however, that surprised Marike. She looked up at Dirck, but he stared straight ahead as they walked past two more buildings to a small one that stood behind a larger one. It wasn't much larger than a shed, although it did have a porch the width of the building. There was another man in a Mighty Men coat on the porch beside a door, holding a club. Marike swallowed as an empty feeling grew in the pit of her stomach.

Dirck dragged her up on the porch, knocked on the door, and opened it when someone spoke from inside. He looked down at her, said, "Brother Caspar wants to speak to you," then pushed her through the doorway. She heard it close behind her as she stood there, frozen, clutching her grandfather's Bible, eyes on Brother Caspar sitting in a chair behind a narrow table, staring at her, no expression on his face.

Marike swallowed but said nothing; did nothing except clutch the Bible even harder. Her stomach was tied in a giant knot. Long moments passed. She felt cold; her hands and feet felt like ice. Brother Caspar eventually blinked, then lifted a hand and pointed a finger. "Sit."

There was a stool half under the leading edge of the table. Marike sidled up to it, pulled the stool out and gingerly seated herself on it, placing her grandfather's Bible directly in front of her and sitting upright with her hands clasped on her lap. She stared at Brother Caspar's nose to keep from looking into his eyes, and concentrated on breathing slowly and evenly. Her stomach had started trying to climb up her throat. The back of her mouth was flooding with saliva, and she had to swallow every couple of breaths to keep it from leaking out her lips.

Brother Caspar began tapping a fingernail against the tabletop. Tic . . . tic . . . tic . . . tic . . . still staring at her . . . still saying nothing. Marike held her body motionless, but her hands twisted together so hard that all her knuckles were white and she could see her fingertips turning a dark red. She wanted to jump up and run away, but she knew Dirck was standing outside the door and would just push her back inside unless Brother Caspar said she could go.

Tic . . . tic . . . tic . . . tic . . . The sound was resonating in her head. She blinked. She couldn't help it. She wanted to close her eyes tight, but she was starting to get angry, and she wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her give way.

Tic . . . It took Marike a long moment to realize the noise had stopped. She almost melted from the relief, but Brother Caspar's expression had changed, and she didn't want to give way before him. His eyes had narrowed, and his lips, which were not exactly full to begin with, had narrowed to be not much more than a compressed line. His finger was pressing so hard on the tabletop that its first joint was white. Marike held her breath.

"I am told that you are attending a Bible study other than ours." After the long silence, Brother Caspar's voice when he spoke seemed rather louder than normal, even more so than his sermon voice. The tone didn't match his sermons either, being deeper, darker, and not as warm. It wasn't hard or cold, but it didn't thrill her in her core as his sermon voice often did. "Explain why, if you will, or can."

After a moment, Marike opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She coughed, cleared her throat, and tried again. "We—I—are Anabaptists." Her voice was shaky. She coughed again. "Most of the girls and women in the Bible study are Anabaptists, and some of them are girls I go to school with. They invited me several times, and I decided it would be good to get to know them. The teacher is very good. I've learned quite a bit from her."

"Saint Paul says women should not teach." Vertical creases appeared between Brother Caspar's eyebrows.

Marike shook her head slowly. She had to force the words past the lump in her throat. "He said that women should not teach men, but he allowed them to teach women. And even with that he praised Priscilla for teaching Apollos." She shrugged diffidently. "My grandfather allowed women to teach other women." The mention of her Grootpapa gave her a bit of strength. She gave a firm nod, as if it settled the matter—which it did, for her.

The corners of Brother Caspar's mouth turned down, and his gaze grew colder. "I'm certain that your grandfather was an admirable man and pastor. But there are so many false teachers now, especially from the up-time. I feel you are simply following one of them."

The chill had returned. Marike dipped her head and looked at Brother Caspar from under her lowered eyebrows. "Frau Burroughs teaches nothing but Scripture, and she knows it well."

"Satan knows Scripture, and thereby tempted our Savior." A light appeared in Brother Caspar's eyes.

Marike's stomach churning was growing stronger. Grasping at the memory of her grandfather, recalling his teachings, she said, "All the more reason to be as a Berean, then, and diligently compare the words of teachers against the Scripture." It took every ounce of strength she had, but she raised her head to stare Brother Caspar in the eye.

"Admirable, to be sure," he retorted, "but I would say instead that it is best to follow the leadership of an anointed elder." His gaze seemed to grow a bit brighter. "One that God has chosen and placed for that purpose."

Marike wasn't sure how to respond to that, but then her grandfather's voice seemed to prompt her. "Would not the Pope say much the same thing?"

Brother Caspar's face twisted, and the snarl that appeared for just a moment made Marike flinch. "Do not equate the demonic-led heretics who populate Rome with the select of the Lord." His eyes were even brighter, and his voice had turned cold. Marike could feel a tremor in her right leg. She pressed her clasped hands down firmly to try to still it.

His face smoothed out, and a bit of warmth returned to his voice. "But this is why we are told to not fellowship with those who follow false teachers. This is why I instructed our folk to beware of false teachers and to be close only to those who follow the true teachings. Can you understand that?"

After a long moment, Marike nodded. She could understand that. She wasn't sure she agreed with it, but she could understand it.

A smile appeared on Brother Caspar's face, transforming it. "Good." His voice warmed even more, approaching the tones he used in his sermons. "Sister Marike, you are a young woman of amazing discernment, you know, despite this issue. You have impressed me greatly over the last few months. Would that more of our women could be the same."

Marike lowered her eyes. The churning in her stomach raised its pitch. "Thank you," was all she could manage in response. "If I am as you say, it is because my Grootpapa led me to it." She unlaced her fingers and laid a hand on the Bible where it lay on the table. "This was his Bible. It is one of the few things I was able to bring out of Holland."

The light in Brother Caspar's eyes seemed to flicker, and a muscle along his jawline tensed at the mention of Marike's grandfather. She pulled her hand back into her lap to intertwine with the other. Her leg started its tremor again, and she pressed down on it.

His face smoothed out again, and the smile became more natural. "Have you thought of marriage, Sister Marike?"

Bile rose in the back of her throat, burning and making her cough. She shook her head as she swallowed several times, trying to clear her throat and mouth.

"I find that hard to believe," he said, still smiling. "A young woman, beautiful in form and in spirit . . . surely the thought must have crossed your mind."

"I have nothing to offer," Marike said in a voice that wavered a bit. "I have no dowry, no relations but for a poor brother, no prospects or expectations. No one of worth would consider me." The bitterness of that truth burned to match the bile.

Brother Caspar uncrossed his legs and leaned forward onto the narrow table top. When he spoke, his voice attained that especially warm timbre his best sermons reached. "God will provide, Sister Marike. A man called by God would prize you for a wife just as you are. You would be a Tabitha, a Dorcas, or even a Priscilla to match such a man's Aquila."

Her heart responded to his voice even though her mind recoiled. He lifted his right hand and reached across the table to lay it on her cheek. It was the first time he had actually touched her. She closed her eyes and shuddered.

"Even I would consider such as you," he said softly. "For you are fair both in body and in soul. You would grace a lonely life, and would be a reward for a life of service and challenge. You would be a helpmeet above all others."

Marike turned her head away, and felt him draw back. She opened her eyes to see him smiling at her. Her head was pounding now, and the sour taste of bile was still in the back of her throat. She had clasped her hands so tightly that some of her fingers were going numb. And still he smiled at her, eyes alight.

She licked her lips. "Is this what you've been after all along?" she asked, her voice husky with emotion. "Is this what you've wanted from the beginning? Is this why you were giving us, me, all those things—the rich clothes, and the money?"

Brother Caspar said nothing, simply spread his hands palms up before him. She shook her head. A long silence stretched out between them. "Simply say the word," he finally said. "You know Brother Dirck would approve."

"I'm sure he would," Marike whispered. "I'm sure he would." She closed her eyes for a moment, praying for deliverance. There was no sound, no movement, no hint of salvation. Her eyes opened, and she reached out her right hand in desperation, laying it on the Bible before her. It felt warm under her hand. The warmth penetrated her, and she relaxed a bit. Then, just for a moment, she had the sensation of her grandfather's large calloused hand lying atop her petite and slender fingers, pressing it into the Bible. At that moment, she knew what to say. "My grandfather, however . . ." She caressed the Bible. ". . . would not."

The smile crawled off of Brother Caspar's face. "What do you mean?" The warm tone was gone, replaced with a voice that sounded like a grist mill stone turning.

"Grootpapa would not have been happy with the difference in our ages." Marike's voice was stronger now. It didn't matter what this pastor thought, her grandfather knew the truth. "He didn't mind husbands being older than wives, but only by a few years, no more than ten. He might have accepted that, though, if there were good reasons, or if we were truly mated by God. But he would never have accepted your theology. You call Gustavus Adolphus the Antichrist, but I've read the Revelation of John more than once, and I know that Grootpapa would agree with me that if there is one walking the earth who is the Beast or the False Prophet, it is you."

If possible, the light in Brother Caspar's eyes grew brighter. He leaned forward, not touching the table. "How dare you? Your grandfather was a deluded fool, like almost every other pastor and professor out there. They know the truth, but will not admit it." His voice had gone nasal and reedy, and drops of spittle were flying from his mouth. "It is only men like me and Matthäus and your brother who see the truth and follow it! Your brother will approve our match, and once we are married, you will be mine!"

Marike was standing now, shaking and filling with rage, hand still on the Bible. "Maybe if we were in Holland still, or most places. But we are in Grantville, in the middle of the County of West Virginia, and the laws here do not permit Dirck to make decisions that bind me just because he is my brother." She gave a sharp grin at the shock on Brother Caspar's face. "A judge would have to appoint him to be my legal guardian, and that hasn't happened, and I pray to God it never will."

Brother Caspar's jaws clenched, and a rising tide of red suffused his face. His eyes seemed to stand out even brighter in contrast. He lurched to his feet, pulling a dagger from his sleeve. He raised it, blade downward, and Marike flinched back in reaction. The dagger fell like a thunderbolt, and skewered the Bible. "That for your grandfather," he spat, "and that for the County of West Virginia!" The smile on his face was cruel.

Marike stared at her grandfather's Bible, horrified, frozen for a long instant. She was unable to believe that Caspar had done that. And the expression on his face—the smile, the light in his eyes—the moment extended on and on as she came to realize that there might just be more to Caspar than she had realized.

The moment broke, and she bent over the Bible to try to wrestle the dagger out of it. Just as her hands reached the haft of it, she felt Caspar's hand entangle itself in her hair and drag her across the table toward him. She caught a glimpse of one of his hands on the table as he leaned forward and pulled her mouth into a bruising kiss, grinding her lips back into her teeth. She lifted a hand and scratched at his face, hard. He jerked away from her hand, which broke the kiss.

"You wretched sow!" he yelled, pulling on her hair and yanking her head to one side.

"You're hurting me!" she screamed.

"You deserve it!"

At that moment the dagger came free from the Bible. She raised it, and using both hands slammed it into the hand Caspar had braced on the table top. She felt the blade punch through the skin and flesh and slide between the bones to sink into the wood of the table.

Caspar shrieked and pulled on her hair so hard that a hank of it pulled free from her scalp in his hand. He began to beat her on her head and back as she leaned on the dagger, trying to force it deeper in the wood.

Marike kept her head bowed as she kept pressing down on the dagger. The blows on her back and shoulders were hurting her, but not enough to make her stop. Then one of Caspar's wild swings landed on the back of her head. Her hair cushioned the blow from behind, but the impact drove her forehead into the table top, which stunned her. Her hands loosened, and she staggered back, vision blurring, knocking the Bible to the floor as she did so.

Landing against the wall beside the door, Marike steadied herself. She looked at Caspar and gasped. His visage was almost wrecked: mouth in a rictus, blood oozing down his cheek from the scratches, eyes almost glowing they were so bright.

"You . . . you . . ." he mouthed in a high-pitched yammer. "You sow's get, you unnatural child, you succubus! I will banish you to the fires of Gehenna. I will . . . I will . . ." He wrenched at his pinned hand and shrieked as the edges of the blade cut deeper into his palm, setting nerves afire.

Marike thought in her daze that Caspar looked to be the one who was demon-possessed. She searched for her Bible, her shield, and spotted it on the floor in front of her. She slid down the wall into a crouch to drag the Bible nearer and gather it up to cradle in front of her like a breastplate or a shield. Just as she managed that, the door burst open and slammed against the wall on the other side of the doorway.

Astrid Schaübin stepped through the door, pistol in hand, aiming first left, then right, before setting her sights on Brother Caspar. Marike watched as she aimed at the bleeding disheveled wild-eyed figure crouching over the table and said, "I suggest you stand still, unless you want to find out if your holiness is stronger than my bullets."

Caspar's mouth moved, but no words were uttered. Astrid looked down at the girl huddled at the base of the wall for an instant. "Are you all right, Marike?"

"I . . . I think so," Marike said, pushing herself up more against the wall.

"Let's get you out of here," Astrid said. She reached a hand down and braced herself as the girl grasped it and pulled herself up, but her gaze and aim remained focused on Caspar.

Just as Marike reached her feet, Caspar shouted, "No! You'll not escape me!" He took his other hand, grasped the hilt of the dagger, and wrenched it out of both the table and his hand, scattering blood droplets across the table and much of the room. Eyes aflame, he pushed at the table to get it out of the way. "You are mine, you unnatural child. I will bring judgment on you." He lifted the dagger and lurched toward them.

Astrid cocked her revolver, and fired once, twice. Even though it was a .22, a small calibre pistol, the reports were loud in the room.

Two red spots appeared on Caspar immediately, one on his left shoulder, and one just to the left of the center of his breastbone. The light bullets didn't drop Caspar, but he did stop and waver on his feet. His gaze went out the door, and he seemed to lose focus on Marike and Astrid.

"Out the door, Marike," Astrid said. "We need to be leaving now."

Marike stumbled out the door, Astrid's grip on her hand guiding her. Astrid left the door open behind them as they turned enough to take in part of the porch and yard in front of the building. The sight of several of the Mighty Men moving toward the building from multiple directions caused Marike's gut to tighten up, and her grip on Astrid's hand tightened.

"Come on, Astrid," a man in a tan uniform like Astrid's said from the yard where he stood with a pistol covering the two men on the porch. She urged Marike down the steps to the yard and stood to his left, making sure Marike was behind them. Several of the Mighty Men gathered near the porch and spoke to the man with the cudgel. After a moment, two entered the building and the rest gathered to start toward Marike and her defenders.

At that moment an up-timer pickup truck came roaring out of the alleyway and slewed to a stop with a squeal and a cloud of dust, with more men in tan uniforms leaping out of it before it stopped rolling to form a line on Astrid and her companion. Marike almost sagged to the ground in relief. Astrid holstered her pistol and turned Marike to face her. She clicked her tongue at the large lump and bruise on her forehead and the blood trickling down from her scalp.

"Talk to me, Astrid," an older man in tan said quietly from beside them.

"Mission accomplished, Neustatter—subject extracted. Victim needs to go to the hospital right now."

"What about the perpetrators?"

"The tall skinny one on the porch says he's her brother."

"He is," Marike hissed as Astrid wiped at her face with a handkerchief.

"He's not hurt," Astrid said. "Brother Caspar is inside, has a serious through and through knife wound to one hand, not from me, but I put two bullets in his chest when he approached and threatened us with a knife." She looked at Neustatter. "He was still standing when we left. No other damage that I know of. And seriously, hospital, now."

"Right. Get her in the cab with Reardon." Astrid starting urging Marike to the truck. Marike's legs felt like she was going to drop any moment, which caused Astrid some difficulty, but shortly she was loaded into the truck.

"You in the coats," Neustatter barked. "We've got what we came for. We rescued the girl. We're leaving now. If you don't follow us, there won't be any more trouble."

"You shot Brother Caspar," one of the men shouted from the doorway.

"Then he shouldn't have assaulted a girl," Neustatter snarled back. "Be glad he's still breathing. My people usually shoot to kill." Everyone in black and gray froze at that. "Mount up, guys."

Astrid squeezed onto the seat beside Marike, which made her thankful that the two of them were both slender. "Start rolling," she told Reardon, "but don't speed up until they're all aboard."

Reardon flashed a grin at her. "No worries, Miss Astrid, I've done this before." He turned the steering wheel a bit and started the truck moving slowly. Tan-clad bodies were moving in their direction. The first two swung up over the sides and held hands down to their fellows, and within moments they were all aboard and Neustatter was banging on the roof of the cab to urge Reardon to speed.

"How did you know to find me?" Marike asked.

Astrid smiled. "Barbara saw your brother take you and came back in the house to tell us. I followed you, while Kathy Sue called the police and Neustatter. Otto caught up with me before you turned off the main road, and the rest of the guys showed up . . . well, you saw them."

"Tell them thank you for me," Marike said. She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. She was suddenly incredibly weary, and seemed to just float away into darkness.

✽✽✽

Dirck stood to one side and watched as the Mighty Men boiled around the little house. In a couple of minutes, they brought Brother Caspar out, blood showing on his roughly wrapped hand, his face, and his clothes. The elder was talking incoherently, something about a succubus and a judgment. He started to collapse at the bottom of the steps, but two burly Mighty Men swept him up in a chair carry with their arms and swiftly bore him away.

Most of the others dispersed at that point, leaving a couple on the porch to watch over things. In a few minutes, one of them returned with a fuel can. He went inside, and there were splashing sounds. He came back out and turned to Dirck. "If you don't want to get burned, get out of here. We'll be in touch with you." He turned to the others. "Let's go."

Dirck watched them leave, then went to the doorway and peered into the building. The fire was starting to catch along all the walls and on the table where the fuel had been spilled. He saw a patch of cloth on the floor near the door, and reached to pick it up. He realized that he was holding Marike's favorite bonnet. It crumpled in his fist as something seemed to explode in his head.

Without thought, Dirck found himself removing his Mighty Men coat. He held it up before him, that black and gray banner that had seemed so important to him. In disgust, he threw it on the nearest billow of flame.

He left the building without looking back.

✽✽✽

"Sounds like you had a busy day yesterday," Al Green said as he entered Press Richard's office. He took a seat beside Kathy Sue Burroughs.

"You could say that," Press said. "I assume you're mostly talking about the Marike Gendt matter." At the pastor's nod, he continued, "We have statements from Marike and from Astrid Schäubin that Brother Caspar assaulted both of them. Marike was hit several times and was bruised, but she was not raped. That was confirmed by the hospital staff. By the time my men got there, Brother Caspar had left the scene, and the building had been set on fire. This did not make the owner of the building happy, you understand. He's been grousing about that for the last twenty-four hours, trying to make it my fault."

"They got the fire out quickly?" That from Kathy Sue.

"Oh, yeah. Funny how, even though no one says they saw who did it, the alarm got called in pretty quickly. The fire team got it out and salvaged most of the building. Mostly just burned the paint off the inside of the building and scorched a few of the boards and timbers. They may have to replace a few of the floorboards, but yeah, it's going to be back up to snuff before long. It was enough to burn up the evidence, though. Nothing to be proved from that."

"No bodies, then?" Al asked.

"Nope. The only thing they found outside of a few pieces of burnt furniture was the remains of one of those black and gray coats those Mighty Men of Caspar's wear. Wool doesn't burn as well as people think. Looks like one of the Mighty Men resigned."

"More power to him, then," Kathy Sue said.

"So what's the status?" Brother Al again.

"We have sworn statements from two eyewitnesses and can definitely charge Brother Caspar with assault and battery, sexual assault, and assault with premeditation. I suspect he's long gone from our jurisdiction, though. He may still be in the State of Thuringia-Franconia, but he'll be hard to find. So until we're given a hint of where he's at so we can send a request for extradition, there's not much we can do. I'm more concerned about the girl. Kathy Sue?"

"Marike gave me a written request yesterday afternoon at the hospital asking that someone other than her brother be appointed her legal guardian. It was witnessed by a couple of the hospital nurses. Katharina Meisnerin's parents have said that they will serve, and I will put myself forward for that as well. It's supposed to go before Judge Cochran after lunch as a request for an emergency order, and we should have an order by the end of the afternoon."

"Where will she stay?"

"Since Katharina has left for school in Prague, the Meisners have an empty room. They have said they will take her in at least until she graduates from high school, maybe longer."

"The Meisners are Stäbler Täufer, are they not?" Al noticed the slight furrow in Press' forehead, and continued, "Staff, Press. Basically, the pacifist group."

Press nodded, and Kathy Sue responded with, "That's right."

"Is Marike Stäbler Täufer also?"

Kathy Sue shook her head. "Probably not. Her brother works for the SRG folks, after all."

"Ah. Is that going to cause any friction?"

"I doubt it," Kathy Sue said. "Katharina was the closest thing Marike had to a best friend, and since the Meisners go to Mountain Top Church, they're kind of neither fish nor fowl as far as that particular dividing line goes. I think she'll do okay with them, and it will give Katharina's mother someone to fuss over a bit. Katharina is their youngest, so I think they might be feeling a bit of empty nest syndrome."

Al smiled at that. "Yeah, I've seen that happen. Good, it's good to know she's got a safe place and good people to help her."

Grantville

Early September, 1636

Dirck entered Cora's restaurant slowly, almost diffidently. He'd been here before with some of the fellows from Struve-Reardon Gunworks, but this was for a different purpose. He looked around. He didn't know what Johann Meisner looked like, but there was only one table with an older down-timer sitting at it, so he headed that direction.

"Master Meisner?"

The older man looked up from the pamphlet he was reading. "Ja. You are . . ."

"Dirck Gendt." He gave a short bow.

Meisner waved a hand at the chair across the table from him. "Be seated, young man. Do you drink coffee?"

Dirck limited himself to, "Ja."

Meisner raised a hand to catch Cora's attention, then lifted two fingers when she looked his way. A moment later two heavy pottery mugs were set in front of them. Meisner picked up his and blew across the cup before taking his first sip.

"Ah." A smile crossed his face. "I've decided I like coffee," he said with a small smile. "Of course, I can't afford it very often, so when I do get some, that makes it seem even more special."

Dirck nodded politely, raised his own cup and took a matching sip.

Meisner set his cup down and wrapped his hands around it. "I imagine you're wondering why I asked you here. First, let me be clear that I'm not here as a messenger for your sister. Marike does not know about this, and I don’t intend to tell her about it any time soon."

Dirck looked down at his own cup. "How . . . is Marike doing?"

"Mostly well," the older man said. "Her bruises have faded, and the patch of scalp where the hair was ripped out has almost finished healing." Dirck winced at that. After a moment, Meisner said evenly, "The nightmares are becoming less frequent."

Dirck closed his eyes and hung his head.

There was a long moment of silence before Meisner said quietly, "What were you thinking, boy?"

Dirck didn't move for a long time. He could feel the older man looking at him, and at length he raised his head and opened his eyes. It took everything he had to stare into Meisner's eyes, but he managed it.

"I was a fool. Probably still am a fool. We had lost so much that when we got here, I . . . was lost. I wanted something . . . someone . . . to belong to. I knew we should have looked for our own kind, but before I could get myself started, they . . . the followers of Caspar . . . they approached me. They gave us things we needed desperately, like clothing and some food and a little money, and they welcomed us warmly. I knew their teachings were a little different, but I didn't see any harm in it. And then they started giving Marike special things, and they asked me to be one of their Mighty Men, and . . ." he swallowed, "it made me feel good to think that I was special, and that they recognized that. And after that . . . I was blinded to what they were doing. I was, and am, a fool."

Dirck wanted to turn away, but made himself bear Master Meisner's gaze. It surprised him after a moment to see a small smile appear on the older man's face.

"About what I thought," Meisner said. He snorted at the expression that appeared on Dirck's face. "What, boy? Did you think you were the only young man to ever have dreams and desires and balls too big for your common sense to rein them in? Young men's arrogance is not just the domain of Schwertler Täufer, no." He gave a chuckle as he picked his cup up to take another sip.

Meisner was serious again as he set the cup down. "You were a fool, boy. You've got that right. And because of that, your sister got hurt physically, mentally, and in her soul. Make no mistake about that."

Dirck looked down again, unable to bear that while gazing at Meisner. "I know. I hope someday she will forgive me."

Meisner snorted again, which caused Dirck to look up again. "Forgiveness is easy, boy, and your sister is a sweet girl, and I doubt not that she loves you, despite what has happened. Trust, now . . . trust is harder. And you've broken her trust, understand? She has absolutely no reason to trust you, and every reason to not do so."

Dirck swallowed, and felt moisture gather in his eyes. He wanted to say something, to protest Meisner's statements, but he couldn't. He knew the older man was right.

Meisner saw the expression on his face, and nodded. "That's right, boy. That's what you've done. She trusted you, and you broke that trust." He let a long moment pass. "Trust can be restored, but it's not as easy as forgiveness. Trust has to be earned, boy." He took another sip of coffee. "Trust has to be earned."

"How?" Dirck felt the tears break loose and begin to trickle down his cheeks. "How do I do that? I'm a fool, and I've ruined everything already. How can I make that right?"

"I didn't say it would be easy, boy. But I also didn't say it was impossible. You're all the family she has left. It would hurt her as much to lose you as to lose her mother and father, even after what you've done. So you have that going for you. That's where you start. After that, you put her needs above your own. You see to her before you see to yourself. You live, breathe, eat, and sleep the Golden Rule where your sister is concerned. You ask nothing of her for yourself, ever."

Meisner took another sip of his coffee while Dirck considered everything that had been said. "How long?" he finally responded.

Meisner shook his head. "Months, boy. Months for sure, months if God smiles on you. But years may be the answer. Think you could handle that, boy?" Meisner cocked an eye at him over the edge of his coffee cup as he drained the last of his coffee.

Dirck took a deep breath. "I would have said yes two weeks ago, before I knew how big a fool I was. Now all I can say is I'll try . . . try my hardest."

Meisner set the cup down and nodded. "That's all anyone can ask." He paused a moment, then said, "That's also the least you can do for Marike."

They sat together in silence as Dirck drank his own coffee. When he set the empty cup down, Meisner said, "Finished?" Dirck nodded. They stood together. Meisner left a few coins on the table, waving away Dirck's attempt to pay. They walked out into the evening dusk together.

Meisner drew Dirck to one side away from the entryway to the restaurant. "One last thing, young man. I've not known Marike long, but she's a sweet girl and she's become as dear to me as my own daughter. Now, it's true that my family is Stäbler Täufer, but if you do anything to hurt Marike again, well, let's just say that there are those among the Schwertler Täufer as owe me somewhat, and it might be that I would be mentioning your name to them."

Dirck understood exactly what was being said. "Master Meisner, if I were so great a fool as to do something like that, I would deserve to have my name brought to those ears."

He gave a hard nod. Meisner gave a broader smile than he had used that evening, and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good lad."

Meisner turned and walked away, leaving Dirck feeling hollow in the middle but very determined. He would somehow earn Marike's trust again.

Angelroda, west of Grantville

Matthäus Vogel opened the door to the bedroom where Brother Caspar was resting. Anna Eckoldtin looked up from where she was reading her Bible. "Has he wakened any today?"

Anna stood. "No, Brother Matthäus. He roused a little bit when we tried to feed him this morning and again at noon, but then he dropped off again. I'm starting to get worried. We quit giving him the opium two days ago. He shouldn't be doing this."

"Sister Anna, we must trust in God. Given what Brother Caspar has been through, it's not surprising that God may be giving him more rest, so that he will be stronger when he does awaken." She nodded, but Matthäus could tell she wasn't totally convinced of that. "You go get your supper. I want to pray over Brother Caspar for the next hour. Please see to it that we are not disturbed."

Anna dipped her head. "Yes, Brother Matthäus." She slipped out the door and closed it behind her. Matthäus waited a moment, then slipped the bar into place. Then he went to the bedside and gazed down at his leader. He reached down and turned back the sleeve on his wounded arm, and saw there the red streaks that were longer than they were yesterday. Not a good sign, although the healer had not mentioned them yet.

The events of the last few weeks flashed through his mind. One of the Mighty Men running to find him and tell him what had happened. Himself running to the room where they had taken the wounded Caspar. The extent of the injuries and the effect on their leader. Sending word to burn the building, sending others to bring a wagon and their best team of horses. Putting the wounded Caspar in the wagon and leaving Grantville, driving through the night, buying replacement horses the next day and driving day and night until they arrived in Angelroda. Treating the wounded man. All the while praying that he would heal, but just as importantly, they would avoid official interference because of this.

They had to give Caspar some opium at first because he was in serious pain from his hand. Then they had to give him more opium because he would become violent if they didn't. This left him comatose most of the time. But their healer finally said they had to take him off of it. And then he didn't wake up. And now, if he died from infection, how would they handle that message?

"God, what are we to do?" Matthäus whispered.

Matthäus thought through all the plans Caspar had made, all the work that many had done, especially Matthäus himself, all the progress that had been made, all that was waiting and ready, only now this. He found himself growing angry.

"What were you doing? What were you thinking? We were almost ready to proclaim the New Jerusalem. We were almost there. Your vision was glorious, and they were following you and your vision wholeheartedly. If you wanted comfort, any of the sisters in the congregation could have given it to you, would have willingly given it to you. But no, you had to reach for a stranger, a girl newly come to us who hadn't joined us yet, not really. And because of that, everything that you've built—we've built—I've built—is about to fall. Fool!"

He turned from Caspar and stepped away from him. What could be done? Thoughts roiled through his brain as he stared at . . . a pillow. His thoughts continued to churn as he stared at . . . a pillow. A . . . pillow.

At length, Matthäus picked up the pillow from the table it was resting on and returned to the bed. He started down at the slack face of his leader; scarred, worn, fresh lines engraved with pain.

"You were God's anointed," he whispered, "called to the leadership of the New Jerusalem, the new chosen people. And your passion was high, as it should have been, but just like King Saul, the first king of the kingdom of Israel, you were not strong enough. And just as Saul had to be removed to make way for David, you need to be removed."

He set the pillow down for a moment, took a linen kerchief from his pocket, and spread it over Caspar's face, taking one last look at it. For a moment, it looked as if the eyes were going to open, but then they remained closed. Once the panel was covering the face, he picked up the pillow, held it for a moment, then took a deep breath and bent down.

When it was over, Matthäus smoothed out the pillow and returned it to the table, then wiped Caspar's face with the kerchief before he placed it back in his pocket. He tilted Caspar's head slightly to try to keep his chin up. He looked around the room . . . all looked as it had when he entered.

Sliding back the bar, Matthäus opened the door enough to look out. No one was near, so he stepped out, closed the door, and then slipped out of the house.

✽✽✽

Marike stepped out of the Meisners' home—her home, now, she guessed. They had certainly welcomed her as if she were their daughter, and she was so very thankful for that. But it still felt so very odd. Of course, almost everything felt odd right now. She felt numb. She felt like her body and mind were wrapped in two layers of very thick gloves, so that nothing was felt sharply, it all felt like just a vague pressure on her.

She looked up at the sky. It was not quite fall by the calendar yet, but the weather was already getting chilly, especially at dusk—like right now. As the sky began to darken in the east, and the sun settled to the horizon in the west, the warmth faded from the air. She welcomed that, because breathing cold air was one of the few things that seemed to reach her right now.

There was a tree not far from the cluster of houses that she loved. It wasn't huge, but it was full and the leaves were green—although she could see a few starting to turn color in anticipation of fall. There were usually doves near the tree. She liked the doves—small, smooth, pretty, with gentle cooing sounds. It was no wonder that a dove represented the Holy Spirit of God.

As she neared the tree, she could see a group of doves on the ground. But something was different. They didn't scatter as she approached, but stood in a circle and sang, not their usual soft coo, but a low throaty moan.

Marike stopped dead still. In the center of the ring of doves lay another dove, wings splayed, head turned to one side, one eye in the dirt and one eye staring up, motionless. She pressed her hands to her heart. That sight stripped away her insulation, the layers around her mind and soul. For the first time in days she felt something—grief.

She was transfixed by grief, felt the pain go searing right through her, much like she imagined Caspar had felt as the knife had pierced his hand.

"Oh . . ." she whispered. "Oh . . ." She sank to her knees, the doves moving out of her way. "Oh, no . . ."

The tears started as she reached out a hand to touch a finger to the head of the bird, who once flew and once sang and once preened with her fellows. Now all done, now all gone, now empty as dust lying in dust.

Marike raised her hand and bit on a knuckle. A dam broke inside, and her own grief came welling forth. She covered her eyes with her hands and wept bitterly, brokenly, piteously. Her moans blended with those of the doves who congregated around her. In her brokenness, she was another dove, crying in the way that doves cry.

Afterword

Scripture quotations from The Authorized (King James) Version. Rights in the Authorized Version in the United Kingdom are vested in the Crown. Reproduced by permission of the Crown’s patentee, Cambridge University Press.

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Framed