2020-02-17 - For I Have Sinned

Considering what just happened to her and a few others in the cemetery just a few days ago, there is absolutely no way that she is visiting St. Mary's and the Gardens of Eternal Rest in the dark hours. So when Isabella's cherry-red Jeep parks nearby, and she clambers out of the car, it is during the day.

The afternoon sun gleams golden streaked with crimson over the horizon, its fiery light permeating through the terrible concoction of rain and snow pouring down from low-hanging clouds. The fact that anyone could still glimpse it despite the persistent cloud cover is a small miracle in itself, a small blessing of light in all this meteorological misery, and not one that the archaeologist takes for granted. Pausing by her vehicle, she tips her face back to what little warmth the rays provide, leaving her skin and hair spattered with moisture and dew clinging to her lashes by the time she makes it to the sanctuary of the building. She doesn't seem to mind her half-drenched state - she loves the water, no matter how cold.

She's dressed warmly, at least - a black, lightweight winter jacket is zipped up over fitted dark blue jeans and boots; hair spills from her head in a tousled, chocolate storm bearing hint of bronze and gold under candlelight, braced only slightly by a loose knit cap that clings to the back of her head. She is not religious - at least, not anymore, her status as a practicing Catholic is absurdly lapsed, but the old mannerisms remain. A hand reaches for the stone basin full of holy water near the entrance, fingertips brushing over the chilly surface and making the sign before stepping in further. She goes through the main aisle, and then the branching hallway.

And coming along that hallway is the new priest in town- cutting a rather different figure than the far older Father Daniel, he's tall and young, barely past his 30th birthday, and the smile he offers Isabella as he notices her arrival is warm and welcoming. He's got a couple of candles and a box of matches in his hands, apparently having been heading to replace a few of them that have burned out but now. "Good afternoon, welcome to St. Mary's. I'm Father Oren. Let me know if there's anything I can do for you?", he offers, pausing in his steps.

It's the taller and much younger figure dressed in black that has Isabella stopping short in her brisk and businesslike strides that ought to be taking her to Father Daniel's office - she doesn't have an appointment, but she had come precisely when his office hours should be, and when services aren't being performed. Oren's sudden arrival causes such a start from the young woman that she drops her satchel, the bag finally splitting open under wear and weight when it hits the ground, wallet, keys and several documents spilling in the middle of the church. A stress ball rolls across the ground to hit the end of Oren's shoe.

"Oh, god," she groans, before biting back the rest of the tempting expletive. "I'm sorry, it's..." She gets on a knee on the ground, attempting to sweep her belongings back in a pile hurriedly. "I was here to see Father Daniel and..." She looks up at him, grin curling up the corner of her mouth. "...I wasn't expecting anyone else here. Usually the church is empty at this hour." She would know, the last time she had spoken to the head priest, it was around this time of day.

Oren blinks in surprise at the sudden purse-splosion, but then he gives a soft laugh and shakes his head, lowering himself to one knee to pick up the stress ball and hand it back to her. "It's perfectly alright, here you go. Father Daniel's out right now, actually, off doing some errands. I'm looking after the place for the moment, and I apologize if I startled you, miss..?"

Thankfully she can use the zippers to hold the bag together for now, and Isabella is stuffing the papers clumsily back into it. As Oren slips closer, he'd be able to find a few old newsprints by his foot, a part of the portfolio she's carrying within it. Should he stoop and look, they appear to cover a few of the town's more interesting landmarks - the carousel at Addington Park, and old newspaper articles regarding Gray Harbor's revitalization projects in the turn of the century. There are some highlighted passages about the Addington Sawmill in 1911, now abandoned somewhere in Firefly Forest...and perhaps, of more recent relevance to him, a newspaper article on William Gohl's...

...arrest?

She reaches up to pluck the stress ball offered to her, giving it a squeeze. "I've been needing it more and more these days," she says with a laugh, extending her fingers towards him for a handshake once she's put it away. "Isabella." She pauses. "Isabella Reede. It's nice to meet you, Father Oren. Did you just arrive?"

Oren does note those articles with some mild interest, but he doesn't really look too closely at them, at least until that name catches his eye. His expression turns mildly puzzled for a moment, but it's gone once he's back on his feet and taking the offered hand. "I know that feeling.", he says, smiling warmly once more. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Ms. Reede. I've been here... oh, a little over a week now? Still getting settled in, this town is a bit more, ah, lively than I thought it would be.", he says, his smile turning a bit sheepish. "If you need to speak to Father Daniel, he should be back before too long, you're welcome to stay and wait?"

Her fingers are surefire marks of a consummate academic, but one that finds many hours in the field - light calluses press into his skin, her glossy, but clear manicure carrying faint traces of ink. The shake is firm, however, and confident before its release. "Do you want to keep my stress ball?" Isabella quips, mischief flaring over her sunkissed mien and makes a big show of offering it to him. "If you've just arrived, you could try and head all of it off the pass. Not that I don't doubt the well of your saintly patience - it would be rude, and we only just met."

She doesn't seem to hold any qualms bantering with a relative stranger also, though at the offerance to wait, she smiles readily enough. "For a little bit," she says, looking for a place to sit. "I didn't intend to stay long. Father Daniel was helping me with a bit of historical research, and I was just following up on some of it." She inclines her head at him curiously. "Lively, though? In what sense?"

Oren chuckles and shakes his head. "I appreciate the offer, but I could never take something so useful away from you, Ms. Reede.", he replies, handing the stress ball back and then motioning for her to join him in the nearby office- a simple enough one with bookshelves lined with all manner of ecclesiastical texts, a handsome wooden desk, and chairs. "Oh, plenty of curious visitors at all hours, mostly.", he explains. "Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?"

She takes it back, but it remains in her grasp as she follows the taller man into the adjacent office, Isabella's curious eyes slipping over to where Father Daniel's door remains shut, lashes hooding in a contemplative fashion. But once within warmer confines, she eases into a chair, fiddling the ball in her grasp - the motions of her left wrist cause a trio of dandelion-themed charms to clink together in an almost musical manner from the bracelet situated there, faintly visible under the cuff of her jacket. A flash of golden gemstones from one of them catch the light - citrines, most likely.

Her eyes flit over the books, specifically, once she takes a seat, as well as the signs of a new occupant - whatever boxes remain there. There's an appreciative look at the large wooden desk, almost wistful - she would kill to have one of those, though this not a sentiment she's about to say to a priest. But she does not have space for such things in either of her residences in town.

"Tea would be wonderful," she tells him with a smile. "And curious visitors at all hours? Even at night?" There's a faintly guilty expression there, wondering if he had heard about the other night's escapades. But then realization clicks. "Oh! I see. August did mention meeting a new priest." She grins faintly. "Got accosted already, did you?"

Oren laughs as she turns and moves to crack open a bottle of water and pour it into a little electric teakettle. "I wouldn't say 'accosted' per se.", he replies as he plugs it in and waits for it to heat up the water. He turns back towards her, hands clasped before him. "And I do remember Mr. Roen, he and his companion were very upset about the recent vandalism in the graveyard." His smile fades, and he looks down, shaking his head. "A terrible incident, that. I certainly hope they find whoever was responsible."

"William Gohl's grave," Isabella says with a nod, watching his expression and the downcast stare. Something about the earnestness of it softens her more brilliant smile. "Your heart's in the right place, Father," she tells him quietly. "But I wouldn't be too morose about it just yet. That entire situation was a complicated affair." Fingers unconsciously dig into the ball on her hand, nails imprinted thin crescents upon the malleable surface. "The man was a serial killer."

The words are blunt, filaments of anger wreathing stitching over them. "Honestly, while I like to give the people of Gray Harbor the benefit of the doubt, I'm surprised it wasn't....vandalized...sooner."

"Yes, that one.", Oren replies, looking back up in surprise as she says that name. "And I'm starting to gather that it's complicated indeed-", he begins to say, then she drops the bit about him being a serial killer. ".... ah."

He pauses, processing this news, sort of chewing on it for a moment. "That... explains a few things.", he finally says, then shakes his head. "Still, one would like to hope that the dead are left to their rest. Beyond the veil of death, it's His judgment that matters, not ours."

The kettle dings, and he turns around, setting up a pair of mugs. "I've got peppermint tea, chamomile, some earl grey, which would you like?"

"Does it?" Isabella wonders, brows lifting at him, prompting him to clarify what the fact that William Gohl is a serial killer explains.

After a moment, she continues, "I'd like to think so," she says, the stress ball squeezed within her fingers. "That the dead would be left to their rest. I'd certainly wish to be undisturbed, once I'm dust, but that one in particular didn't exactly rest. Still, not all are as level-headed in that regard as you are, Father."

Whatever else she has to say halts at the telltale blast from the kettle. "Earl Grey sounds great," she tells him with a smile. "I was a coffee fanatic all my life, but I had to adjust my thinking after years living in the UK. What about you, Father? Where'd you come from?" A sideways cant of her head. "And why Gray Harbor? Haven't you been warned?" She's only half-joking at the last.

Oren gets out a packet of the Earl Gray, and one of the peppermint for himself, setting them to steep. "Milk? Sugar? Honey? I'm partial to honey myself.", he asks, before thinking for a moment. "And yes, it does explain the unusual amount of interest in this one grave, and quite likely the vandalism as well. I had been wondering about the cause.", he explains. "And I'm from upstate New York. Ithaca, ever heard of it?", he says, then smiles once more. "And I've gotten a warning or two since arriving, but... honestly? When the opportunity to come here, help out Father Daniel as a curate priest, I knew I had to come here. The moment I heard the name of the town, something... called to me. Perhaps it was God's voice guiding me."

"Just a small bit of milk, please, thank you." Outing her lack of love for sugar already, though thankfully Isabella spares the priest from her typical rant regarding how wetsuits are particularly unforgiving, and her career makes a certain degree of vanity a necessity if she wants to slip past prehistoric predators in the world's oceanic depths. There's some attention levied towards his own preference for tea - peppermint is good, too.

"Has anyone aside from August and Eleanor been inquiring about the grave?" she wonders in curiosity. "You mentioned an unusual amount of interest." She leaves off discussing the vandalism for now, though her smile returns when he mentions New York. "I went to college in Boston," she tells him with a laugh. "But don't worry, I'm not about to throw down with a man of the cloth about the ancient rivalry between the two cities just yet. But yes, I'm familiar with Ithaca - quite the college town, isn't it?"

More curiosity, at his last words. "Called you?" she wonders, expression growing slightly more serious there.

Oren adds the milk to Isabella's mug after the tea is done steeping, and hands it over before turning to work on his own drink. "It's a lovely town, even if the only time the weather is actually pleasant is during the two weeks that the parents are in town to drop of the new crop of freshmen.", he replies, with a soft laugh. "And really, just having anyone come in and inquire over a grave the very day that it was vandalized before they even knew anything had happened seems unusual enough to me." At her last question, he nods, and gives a light shrug. "I'm a priest. I follow callings. Kind of my thing.", he says, with a hint of a grin.

She takes the mug and cradles it between her hands, closing her eyes to savor the warmth bleeding into her skin when it seeps through the ceramic. Isabella takes a long, savoring sip, lashes drifting shut and settling further into her seat. The act of it seems to leech whatever tension there is out of her bones, at least, for a moment. The stress ball is set aside.

The quip regarding parents and their college-aged spawn earns him a quick, but ebullient grin. "There's plenty of that year round, but especially during the summer. It's the water, and the seasonal work. And...regarding the grave, you'll get accustomed to it sooner rather than later, I think. As for callings and following them..." She tilts her head. "I know it's definitely a vocational requirement." A hint of a laugh. "But around here, I'd definitely be careful about voices telling you to go somewhere."

Oren chuckles, taking a long sip from his peppermint tea after applying a liberal amount of honey to it, because he is a font of unconditional love for all, and that includes honey. "Well, it was less of a voice, more of a feeling. Like... it felt right. I felt it again when I arrived. Like I'm... meant to be here.", he explains. "What brought you here all the way from Boston? I'm assuming it wasn't mysterious voices?"

"Actually..."

Isabella makes a face when the man quips about mysterious voices, but this is brief. It smoothes over when she takes a sip of her tea before she replies, "I was actually born here," she tells him. "Lived here for almost half my life until I went off to college, and then across the pond to pursue a doctorate. Still working on that last one, but a consultation job from my mentor and professor sent me here because I'm from the area, and what he's looking for was last spotted in these waters. Boston was just a pit stop in a very determined course out of a small, strange and nothing town and the course of my life circled right around and landed me back where I started."

Searching his face, her smile returns. "I know you've only been here for a week, but now that you've had a few days, have you started trying to answer that question? Why this place called you here? Why you feel like you're meant to be here?"

Oren sips his tea, listening to her curiously, and he nods. "It's a cliche, but it's a cliche for a reason. The Lord works in mysterious ways, and that's a story more common than you'd think. We're often drawn back to the place we were born, for one reason or another.", he murmurs, then gives a half-smile at her last questions. "I... have. It's been a surprisingly complex question. But... details aside, I do know without a doubt why I'm here.", he says, and his smile brightens. "I'm here to help. To give sanctuary, peace, and healing to those who need it here, wherever I can."

There's a hint of a smile there at what Oren says, before Isabella leans back against her seat. "I don't know, Father. You might not want to open that door too wide around here. There's no anticipating what might come through." Her tone is light, but her eyes are too serious for it to be a joke. But after another pull of her tea, she continues, "Father Daniel mentioned something about the homeless problem worsening in Gray Harbor. I think on some level he was encouraging even those far removed from his congregation to try and help do something about it. Some kind of movement to bring succor to those in need, and..."

After a pause, she laughs, burying it against her mug. "...Catholic Guilt is a powerful thing," she teases him. "It's been on my mind, so I asked an investor friend if he's willing to look into donating funds into opening up a regular soup kitchen here in Gray Harbor for those less fortunate. His name is Byron Thorne. Maybe that's something the two of you could get in contact with and work together on, once you've settled in and if you're looking for avenues on that end?"

"Ah, he's mentioned that's one of his bigger concerns, and it's one I share wholeheartedly.", Oren replies, then chuckles at her words about Catholic guilt. "I know what you mean. And that does sound lovely, actually. I'd be glad to donate my time and help round up volunteers, as well. Tell Mr. Thorne to stop by anytime." He pauses to take a long sip from his tea, smiling at the relaxation it brings, before glancing at the clock on the wall. "Father Daniel is still not back- I'm afraid he might be out for a while longer. You can stay and wait, of course, as long as you like. Otherwise I'm happy to take a message, unless you think I might be able to assist you in his stead?"

Setting the empty mug down, Isabella checks her smartphone at the messages she finds there, before smiling at Oren. "I was hoping to catch him while I was whiling away a rainy afternoon draining your tea supplies," she quips. "But if he's going to be away for longer - Father Daniel was assisting me in an inquiry. I won't bore you with a history lesson, unless you really want it. But I was looking into some information of a missing girl connected to the Addington Park Carousel. Her name is Jill Baxter, she disappeared the Tuesday that Elvis Presley died in 1977. Her father, Jacob Baxter, was the operator of the Carousel at the time. I understand from Father Daniel that there was a flooding in St. Mary's in the late 60's that destroyed most of the archival records you keep in the lower levels of the Church, but that some of the older families replaced them. But as I don't know Jill Baxter's age when she disappeared, though I know enough to know that she was very young when it happened, I'm hoping that she was born after that flooding....and since most of the town is Catholic, that she was baptized here."

Oren smiles with amusement at her first words. "I'm happy to fix you another cup if you like?", he offers, but then listens closely as she explains what she's looking for. He gives a pained sort of look, apologetic, as he says, "I'd love to help, but I'm afraid I don't have access to the older records. Father Daniel is rather protective over them- understandable, given the damage done to them before because of the flooding, and the fragile state of the remaining documents. But he's the only one with the key, told me that if I ever needed to look something up to let him know and he'd get it for me.", he explains. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help right now."

"Oh, I was definitely not..." Isabella flashes him a look, before she laughs. "I was just explaining why I was here with the intent to pester Father Daniel, since you asked. You're new, and I've been informed of the records policy and am fully aware that Father Daniel is lord and master of that specific domain." There's a sheepish look to her. "Half expected the man to rap my knuckles across with a ruler, really, but I was only going by what I knew of other Catholic parochial registries. You can access records in any other parish, and they do keep them - it's been a tradition in the Catholic church since around the sixteenth century. Just not here because for some reason, the rules are different." A blithe smile follows. "The last thing I intended to do was get you in trouble, trust me. So could you let Father Daniel know I popped by for a spell to follow up on Miss Jill?"

Oren gives a soft chuckle. "It's alright. And yes... Father Daniel does have his... ways, and he can be a bit set in them. But he's well-respected, and well-established here, so, that earns him a bit of leeway to do things his way.", he replies. "I'll talk to him, I'm sure he'll be happy to share what he can."

"Yeah, like I said, I'm just following up." Isabella rises from her chair. "I was in the neighborhood so to speak, so I thought I'd stop by." She digs into her satchel and offers her card to Oren, bearing her name, position and the famous logo of the University of Oxford. "It was nice to meet you, Father Oren."

She grips the stress ball in her hand, and smiles faintly over at him. "Sure you don't want it? Not even as a loaner?"

Oren takes the card, looking it over a moment before tucking it away in his pocket as he stands as well. "And it was lovely to have you here, Ms. Reede. Please, come by again." He pauses. "Sundays are pretty good around here, I hear.", he adds, with a grin, before he shakes his head at her offer of the stressball. "I'm more of a prayer and meditation guy, but thank you. And do tell Mr. Thorne to stop by, I'd be very interested in getting something off the ground for that soup kitchen."

Mention of good Sunday draws a peal of silvery laughter from her, Isabella's expression brightening at it. "Nice try, Father," she tells him, her face brimming with good-natured amusement. "I'll give you a solid A for even thinking of it, though." She tosses the stress ball in her hand. "But yeah, I'll tell him. Please tell Father Daniel hello, for me, before you tell him I came by to pester him again." She winks. "Good afternoon, Father."

And with that, boots pivot and the archaeologist slips through the door.