Chapter 3 - Antebellum Reception

I returned to the parochial school after sunset, but I noticed that the place was pitch dark. It was as if no one was inside the building. Nevertheless I entered the building and walked down the long and empty hallway. I could not see a thing, so I took out my lighter to light my way. Apparently everyone forgot that I was coming to the reception and did not bother to turn on the lights.

As I ventured further into the building, I could start hearing laughter and music coming from the dining room. The reception was certainly being held there as the rest of the building was completely silent. Suddenly my worries about the reception being canceled were laid to rest. I could not imagine coming to school in the evening and realizing that I was all alone in the building. I always carried a fear of being completely alone in the dark, but I knew that I had to overcome that fear. How ridiculous would it be for people to realize that a 21-year-old pastor is afraid of the dark?

When I reached the dining room, I once again adjusted my collar and took a deep breath before walking up to the door. This unfortunate habit of mine came to fruition soon after my father's death, and it was one that I simply could resist doing: when you inherit the legacy and profession of a man as flawless and reputable as my father, you cannot help but try to be a perfectionist, which puts a lot of pressure on you. I have yet to mean anyone besides me who has to cope with this issue.

But this was no time to be self-critical. I knocked on the dining room door, and suddenly the music was cut off. They knew I was here.

"Stay here, I will get the door," said one of the faculty members in the dining room.

I could not turn back: I had to overcome my shyness, or else I would make a fool of myself. The footsteps grew louder, and soon enough, the doorknob started to move. The door was slowly opening before me. I did not know what scared me most: the creaks from the door hinges, or the prospect of partaking in the reception?

"Jacob, you made it!" said the man who opened the door. It was Herbert, one of my fellow parochial colleagues. He was quite pleased to see me as he greeted me with his cracking smile and the kind of character that you cannot help but like. He was a swell guy, to say the least.

"I thought you would not make it!" said Herbert. "Sorry about the lack of light, but we had to save power seeing that the school budget is currently running a little dry. I mean, it is not every day that we host a party in the building."

"I can understand that," I replied. "I decided to come after much consideration. I could not let any of you folks down."

"Well you did the right thing, Jacob," said Herbert. "Anyway, I am sure everyone will be pleased to see that you came. Please, come in!"

I was happy to oblige, so I went inside the dining room and noticed that the faculty really went all out with the decor: garlands were hung on the wooden walls, chandeliers were lit up like a lighthouse, and flowers were placed on every piece of furniture. I started to wonder just how important Ms. Dujour was. She could not be just your average Randgriz belle. No, there was something very special about her. I had to find out for myself.

While I was following Herbert to the banquet table, I heard a clicking sound and the music was playing again. It was undoubtedly coming from the radio which, I suspected, must be responsible for eating away at the school budget. Those things were extremely practical, but also very expensive. What was the point of buying one for the parochial school if you were only going to use it for recreational purposes? Unfortunately, no radio station in Gallia was interested with cooperating with Yggdist figures and broadcasting religious messages. When you consider that the biggest players in the media business like GBS Radio are religiously neutral in nature, you cannot help but think that the radio was invented to corrupt the minds of the populace. I personally do not own a radio, and probably never will.

Herbert and I had arrived at the table, and everyone was there: Principal Friley, Ms. Dujour, the faculty, and even the lunch ladies! Apparently I was the missing link as there were only two seats left at the table, one for Herbert and one for me.

"Guess who came knocking at the door," said Herbert as he pointed his thumb at me.

"Watfen, you arrived right on time. We were just about to start the reception without you!" said the principal. "Please, take a seat."

I sat down next to Herbert, and another faculty member. Ms. Dujour was sitting opposite to me, and she was talking with one of the faculty members. She seemed to be enjoying her time at the reception.

"Ms. Dujour was talking highly of you earlier," said Herbert. "She seems to be taking a deep interest in you. How come?"

I started to blush a little bit. I knew I could not offer an answer that sounded like I had an affair with her, but I could not simply ignore him. After all, it was not every day that you impress Randgriz natives like Ms. Dujour.

"She...she was in my class earlier today," I replied. "She told me that she was so impressed with my teaching skills that I was in a class by myself."

Herbert looked very surprised. He was probably wondering how someone as reserved as me could make an impression on Ms. Dujour.

"Really? Well, I must say, Jacob, you sure have a knack for leaving a lasting impression on everyone you meet," said Herbert.

"I guess you are right," I replied with a smile. I was thinking about the Darcsen girl I met earlier today on the street. If I had the power to bring a smile on everybody's faces, then surely I was capable of doing great things as a pastor. That was what my father told me before he passed away.

I saw the principal stand up from his chair, and he started clinking his glass with his spoon. The reception was about to start.

"Ladies and gentlemen, may I have your attention?" said the principal. "We are gathered here tonight to greet our wonderful guest, Ms. Charlotte Dujour, to our parochial establishment. Ms. Dujour was sent by Her Highness, Archduchess Randgriz, as a way of showing her gratitude and support to the people of Gallia, and we would like to take the opportunity to thank Her Highness and welcome Ms. Dujour to the wonderful community of Meppel."

The principal then raised his wine glass and shouted: "A toast to Ms. Dujour and Her Highness!"

Everyone in the room, including me, raised their glasses and gave Ms. Dujour a warm welcome to Meppel.

Everything made sense to me now: what made Ms. Dujour so special, why she came to Meppel… But there was one question that was left unanswered: why did she come to our parochial school, more specifically? What prompted someone as important as Ms. Dujour to choose our humble institution over Meppel's city hall? That was where most political messengers stayed when passing through Meppel.

Suddenly my stomach started to growl loudly. All that thinking made me hungry, but I did not have to suffer for long, as the lunch ladies started to serve dinner to everyone. They had my favorite on display: roasted porcavian! Seeing the little critter's grilled body was enough to make my mouth water. So I decided to dig in and ask questions later.

As soon as everyone finished eating, the principal and Ms. Dujour started to talk to each other. I was wondering what they were discussing. But before I could make any assumptions, they stood up from their chairs and walked around the table while looking at me. They probably wanted me for something, but what exactly?

The principal approached me, rested his hand on my shoulder, and whispered to me the following words: "My dear Watfen, would you be so kind and escort Ms. Dujour to the guest room on the second floor? She wishes to have someone at her side, and I need to stay here to tend the rest of the guests."

I was not at all surprised by what he just said. Of all the faculty members at the parochial school, I was the one whom Ms. Dujour knew best, so I could understand why the principal wanted me to take Ms. Dujour to the guest room upstairs. But I could not help but feel that there was another reason why Ms. Dujour wanted me by her side.

I stood up from my chair and kindly asked Ms. Dujour to follow me to the guest room.

So Ms. Dujour and I left the dining room, and I realized that I had forgotten about the dark hallway.

"Hmm, it is dark in here," I muttered. "Hold on, let me get my lighter out."

I grabbed my lighter from my left pocket and lit it. Ms. Dujour and I could now see the hallway.

"There we go!" I shouted. "Follow me, Ms. Dujour."

"Please, call me Charlotte," Ms. Dujour replied.

I was surprised by what she just said. We have only known each other for less than a day, and she already trusted me to the point where she wanted me to call her by her given name. Suddenly another question popped up: why was I so special to her? It could not simply be the fact that I put up a good show in class earlier that day. But again I had to put that question in the backburner for now as I had to escort Charlotte to the guest room.

So we made our way to the parochial school's second floor. The hallway on that floor was dirtier and narrower than the one on the first floor, but that was understandable considering that the second floor was right below the attic. I had fond childhood memories of going to the attic with my friends every Friday night and tell horror stories while holding a flashlight under my face to appear menacing and scary. I probably made more people wet their pants than I would have liked, but I still had plenty of fun with my friends and we even considered the attic to be our second home. It was just that special to us.

Charlotte and I went down the hallway and reached the guest room's door, which made a loud creaking sound when I opened the door. Apparently no one bothered greasing the door hinges since the guest room was seldom used.

"After you," I said.

I followed Charlotte into the room which was quite spacious, but only had a bed and a desk. "Bare-bones" was the only word that could describe the guest room, but the same thing could be said about the school budget. The more I think of the institution's finances, the more I wonder how we are still operational. If only the principal had not spent most of the money on renovations for his office.

Charlotte sat on the sheetless bed and started to look out the window. She was probably pondering on something, and I did not wish to disturb her, so I decided to leave her be.

"Well, I am going back to the dining hall," I told Charlotte. Let me know if you need anything. Otherwise, have a good night sleep." I turned the other way and walked out the door.

"Wait," said Charlotte.

I immediately stopped walking, and looked at Charlotte. Did she need something?

"Is there something wrong?" I asked her.

Charlotte looked away from the window, and held her left arm with her right hand. Something was telling me that she was feeling uncomfortable.

"Please, stay with me," she said.

The sad and fearful look on her face said it all: she was worried about something. But what, exactly?

I sat next to Charlotte on the bed, put my lighter away, knowing that I did not need it for now, and approached her. I was ready to hear her concerns.

"I am here," I said. "Tell me: what is bothering you?"

Charlotte sighed, but she was willing to talk to me.

"I have not been fully honest with you, Father Watfen," she told me. "I feel the need to tell you the real reason I came to Meppel, and why I came to this school in particular."

At that point I realized that my questions regarding her presence in Meppel would finally be answered. I was all ears.

"I am listening," I said.

Charlotte cleared her throat, then began talking.

"A few weeks ago, Confederate activity had been reported around this sector. General Henry Thurmond believed that the Confederacy of Eastern Gallia was performing some reconnaissance and the Gallian Army monitored their activities to see if they were planning an attack. We did not believe that they were going to attack, but we could not rule out the possibility of aggressive action, so we decided to perform some reconnaissance of our own, and I was chosen for the job. I came to your school to keep a low profile, but something tells me that I am being watched."

"You are safe here," I told her. "There is no reason to feel paranoid. We might be in the middle of a conflict, but that does not mean we have to let bad circumstances affect our well-being. My father once told me that when you stumble when you are fearful and you should never lose hope, for it is hope that guides us all."

"What was your father like," she asked me as she looked at me in the eyes,

"He was...a unique pastor," I said. "He was more than a pastor, actually. He was also a fervent activist who helped the community cope with the atrocities of war and unite Meppel, in spite of racial and ethnic animosity. He took the religious template of Yggdism and gave it a social touch. He sadly passed away soon after I graduated and I was willing to honor his legacy by succeeding him. He also gave me this shortly before his death."

I took something out of my pocket and showed it to Charlotte. She gazed at the item, wondering what it was.

"What is it?" she said.

"This is an Yggdist pendant. It is my family's heirloom and was worn by my ancestors, including my father, to show that they were dedicated to the Yggdist cause. Every devout Yggdist wears a pendant that displays their religion, but this one is unique in that it was possibly crafted by the original Valkyrur themselves."

"Really?" she said.

"Well, I am not entirely sure," I said to her. "But it does have a peculiar design that distinguishes it from other Yggdist pendants. So, maybe?"

Charlotte started to yawn: she was feeling sleepy. And so was I: I had trouble keeping my eyes open and I knew I could not stay up for long.

"It is getting late," I told her. "You should get some sleep."

"Please stay with me," Charlotte said. "I know you said I should not feel paranoid, but I would feel safer if you were by my side for the night."

I sighed, but I could not say no to her. After all, I did not have the energy to walk back to my apartment.

"Alright," I said.

Charlotte smiled and thanked me for understanding her concerns. But the bed was too small for the two of us, so I decided to sit on the chair that was right next to the desk and wished Charlotte good night.

"Good night, Father Watfen," she said to me.

"Please, just call me Watfen," I replied.

Charlotte started to sleep, but I kept my eyes open, knowing that she would feel safer if someone kept an eye on her. Looking at her made me realize how much I cared for her, even though we just met earlier that day. I always showed care to my pupils and the community in Meppel, but there was something about keeping an eye on Charlotte that made me realize that I was taking my dedication to the next level. But I was reminded of my humanity when I started to slowly close my eyes and went to sleep.