ORA ET LABORA

The knock at the door was sharp and persistent.

"Father! Wake up!"

He rolled over on his side and snuggled deeper into his duvet. The knocking continued.

"Father, wake up now!"

He groaned and rolled onto his back.

"Father Steven, if you don't get up now, I'm unlocking the door."

Steve Timmins swung his long legs over the side of the bed. "I'm coming, Mrs. Sanchéz. I'm coming. Let me get decent, will you?" Running his hand through sandy reddish hair, he pulled on a t-shirt and robe and glanced at his alarm clock; it was too early to prepare for eight o clock Mass. It could only mean one of two things; a parishioner was in need, or a new arrival had come to claim sanctuary.

Following his housekeeper down the stairs and through the side hall to the kitchen, he could smell the air, fresh bread mixed with the aroma of a new thunderstorm just ended. Sitting at the table with Sister Josefina was a girl of no more than twelve, a blanket wrapped tightly around her, smelling of smoke and sewer. Her face showed mixed Indian and Latino heritage, a broad face, and an epicanthic fold in her eyelids, giving her black eyes an almond shape, high cheekbones, café au lait skin, and straight dark brown hair. Tall and narrow-hipped, she had broad shoulders like an athlete. She scrambled to get up when he entered.

"Has she talked?"

"No padre. She arrived about half an hour ago. Sister Jo was baking when she knocked on the door. Sister gave her some food, tried talking to her, then woke me."

Timmins looked at the plate. Empty. Just a few crumbs showed that there had been food on it. She had been hungry for sure.

"¿Comó te llamas?" He asked for her name in a quiet voice.

The girl shook her head. He saw the fear in her eyes.

"¿Hablas español?"

Silence. He turned to the housekeeper.

"Mrs. S., do we know anybody who speaks Central American dialects in the congregation?"

"Miranda Gomés is from Oaxaca. She might be able to help."

The priest nodded his head. "Miranda is interpreting for the ten am service, isn't she? We'll have her meet the girl before Mass and see if they can talk." He checked his watch. "It's almost six. Let's get her into a shower and tucked into bed. She could do with some sleep, I'm sure."

Loretta Sanchéz motioned to the girl. "Come, child, you need a shower and a bed." Numbly the girl got up, grabbing her backpack; impulsively, she threw her arms around the priest as she left. Awkwardly he patted her head and mumbled a blessing for her.

Catalina scrubbed herself raw under the hot water. St Michael the Archangel had been decided on as the family meeting place. When she escaped from the house 48 hours ago, she thought she was being followed. Her parents had stressed that she shouldn't talk to the police, to anyone, until they arrived, but after meeting Chief Brown, she felt he would understand. He was a good man. He wasn't like the crooked cops her father had spoken about. She decided she would talk to him. Father Esteban seemed like a good man also. When she came out of the shower into the tiny dressing room, she found a set of clean pj's. Drying off, Catalina slipped into them. Mrs. Sanchéz led her to a bed, and she was asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Father Steve poured himself a cup of coffee and joined Sister Josefina at the small kitchen table. "What happened, Sister Jo?"

"It was just after praying vigil. The rain and wind were starting. You could tell it would be a hard storm. It was raining so hard. I almost didn't hear the knock at the door. But praise God, I did. I opened it, and she was there like a poor drowned kitten. I tried to talk to her, but she was shivering and looked hungry. I gave her the blanket, heated some soup, and got her a cup of café con leche. By the way she inhaled it, Father, she hadn't eaten in a while. So I gave her more food, another cup of café, and went to get Loretta."

Sister Josefina lived by canonical time, her days shaped by the Liturgy of the Hours. Vigil was the first hour of the day for her. It was two in the morning for everyone else. It gave her time to meditate on God's word while exercising her special skill, baking, not just for the six regular residents of the house but also for the soup kitchen that ran seven days a week, the congregation's communion bread, and the seventeen 'guests' that currently lived there. The 'guests' were asylum seekers who slept and attended school and job training in the old convent. Immigration was well aware of their residence and closely monitored St Michael the Archangel's comings and goings. The residents were safe because of God's gift of sanctuary.

"Excuse me, Father, it's almost Prime, and I missed Lauds." She set the oven timer, took off her apron, and dusted her hands.

"God knows you did His work instead, Jo."

She smiled slightly, "His burden can be easy sometimes."

Ed Brown propped himself up on one elbow as he saw his wife coming out of the bathroom. He watched as she performed the simple tasks of dressing, brushing her hair, and putting on light makeup. Every time he saw her, it felt like the first time he realized he loved her.

"You're staring at me."

"How can you tell?"

"I was a detective once, buddy; besides," she pointed to his reflection in the dresser mirror, "you think you're the only one who likes to look at the person you love?"

Ed got out of bed and slipped his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. "Can I talk you out of church today?"

Turning into him, she placed her head on his chest. "Not a chance, fella. It's my Sunday to help out in Sunday School. I've got a new project for the kids to try."

"I wish you wouldn't."

"Ed, we've talked about that before. They have sanctuary."

"They're here illegally."

"I'm not arguing that. They want to be here. They want to become citizens. It's the government that won't let them."

"I'm the government."

"You're not immigration."

"No, just the Police Chief of Denver. Damnit, Fran, I have to work with those guys."

"I promised you I'd tell Steve if I ever found out about illegal activity. He will ask them to leave. The Archbishop said so. If they don't, then you and Mac will arrest them. I know your agreement with Steve."

Ed shook his head. "Why do I try to do this? Your mind's made up. You're going to do what you need to do."

"I love you. You know I won't do anything that would compromise you." Fran reached up and kissed him.

"You better get going and be sure to tell the good father that he and I need to get together for some hoops soon."