Waning Moon : Carlisle's Story

Carlisle's breath clouded in front of him as he stepped out of the carriage and his trunks were unloaded and set just outside the parsonage. The small square windows of the house that faced the street were completely covered with drapes on both the first and the second floor. He looked up at the noontime sun as it peeked through the gray winter clouds. Not a single ray of sunlight was able to penetrate the Reverend's house. That was how it had been since his wife died giving birth to Carlisle.

As he paid the driver and then watched the carriage drive away, Carlisle wished for just a moment that he was still riding in it. Then he shook his head at himself. He knew why he was home: he had to try.

Carlisle opened the front door and the heavy hinges of the wide wooden door creaked quietly. He had to bend slightly to enter the old parsonage which had housed three previous generations of pastors. The Reverend was not visible when he entered. Carlisle was certain his father had received his letter detailing the date and time of his arrival. He hated to admit it, but he was a little relieved that the Reverend had chosen not to meet him.

After unpacking, Carlisle went to the market and got some eggs and flour. During the rest of the daylight hours he cleaned the house. When the Reverend still did not return he settled himself with a blanket around his shoulders at the kitchen table and read the New Testament with a single candle as he waited. When the church bells tolled at nine in the evening Carlisle closed the book of Luke and walked upstairs to bathe.

He was still awake when he heard the front door slam just below his bedroom after midnight. He was angry with himself for worrying about his father, but he did not allow himself to be angry about the fact that his father had completely avoided him on the day of his return.

The Reverend's heavy footfalls on the stairs brought back profound, onerous fears. Carlisle had to grit his teeth to keep his heart rate under control. The Reverend reached the top of the stairs and slowly walked over to his son's door. Carlisle squeezed his eyes shut and worked to control his breathing. A few seconds later, which felt like an eternity, the Reverend walked away from his son's bedroom door. Carlisle angrily wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow. He did not fall asleep until after he heard the bells for three in the morning.

Carlisle threw back his blanket and washed his face as the church bells tolled six. He had slept fitfully. He prayed that his father had not heard his dreams. His dorm mates had woken him several times when his father visited him in his nightmares.

He was taking the morning bread out of the stove and the soft-boiled eggs from the kettle of boiling water just as his father made his way down the stairs at half-past seven. Carlisle turned and stood up to his full height as the Reverend entered the kitchen. He had not seen his father in two years and had had a growth spurt around his eighteenth birthday. He was now the same height or just a bit taller than his six-foot tall father; however, he did not yet compare with the Reverend's brawn or girth.

The Reverend gave his son no words of approval, greeting, or dismissal; he simply sat down at the end of the kitchen table and waited. Carlisle turned to the stove and put two eggs on a plate and cut a large chunk of bread. He could feel the Reverend watching every move he made.

After Carlisle put the plate in front of his father he stood near him and waited for some acknowledgement. The Reverend looked back at his son with slightly narrowed eyes and ate his entire meal before he finally spoke. "My son, your Reverend requires a new cross for his fortress of God."

Carlisle recognized the strange shine in the Reverend's eyes. It was the kind of dark light that he saw when his father was preparing a crusade, like his crusade against the false religion. Carlisle recoiled slightly from his father's fervor and the old man saw it.