Les Champs Elysees

[Marley]

Jeannete Day

Jeannette continued to smile at the priest as he started to stack the books back up. He was kind, with a quiet gentleness that surprised and pleased her. She hadn't expected to find such people outside of New Harmony. The way the Council told it, most outsiders were concerned only with themselves and their desires, and dangerous besides. Talking to someone from outside could have disastrous consequences even if the contact was brief. Tha twas why the men went to trade, while the women remained at home. At least, that's what Father John had told her the one time she'd asked if she could come with one of the trading parties.

She twisted her fingers together, Father John's warnings still ringing in her ears. He was right of course. And yet... this one was a priest, so surely he was safer than the average outsider. What a silly thing to do. They would surely fall down again, and they might get damaged then. Books were precious things, after all. He should be more careful with them. When Marc had showed her his father's library, she wasn't allowed to touch the books, for fear she'd hurt them. That was fine with her. The sight of so many books in one place had awed her so that the thought of touching one had scarcely entered her head.

The priest's offhand comment drew her back to the present and a faint blush touched her cheeks. She ducked her head, biting her lip. "Thank you," Jeannette mumbled. She had no idea how girls her age would behave. Her friends back home weren't like most girls either. Though, if the young people she'd seen in Paris were any indication of how they all acted, no wonder Father John was always warning them of the dangers of outsiders.


Raising her head again at the priest's inquiry, another smile flitted across her mouth. "Jeannette Day, Father," she replied, half bowing, as she was still in her boy's clothes instead of a dress. From what she'd seen of Paris, this wasn't an odd thing at all. Her disguise was hardly a disguise at all, as she'd quickly lost count of the number of girls who were dressed like boys, she'd seen so many in the city. At least her clothes were more modest than most everyone else's she saw. That was some consolation. Jeannette shook her head at the rapidly growing, precariously stacked, pile of books. "They're only going to fall off again if you do that." Jeannette held out a hand. "Let me help you carry them home. It'd be a shame if something happened to them."

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

The young woman blushed and thanked him, though Maurice felt certain there was nothing to thank him for; she’d been the one to show him kindness. She introduced herself as Jeanette Day and the name jogged Maurice’s memory of another young woman some time ago who had taken shelter in his apartment during one of the worst summer showers earlier in the year. It was coincidental that they should have the same last name; coincidental, but interesting. And it had the strange effect of warming Maurice towards Jeanette further.

"They're only going to fall off again if you do that," she said, offering her hand. It took Maurice a second to realize she meant his precarious stack of books. "Let me help you carry them home. It'd be a shame if something happened to them."

“Indeed it would,” Maurice said. “Thank you, Jeanette.”

He handed her a portion of his load. Even in carrying his own, miniscule burden, God had sent him his own, modern version of Simon of Cyrene to share the load. The thought brought a wider, grateful smile to Maurice, who sent a quick and silent prayer of thanks heavenward. And then he and Jeanette took off down the street.

After a few seconds, it occurred to Maurice how odd, how thoughtless it had been to take her offer without protest or question. He looked sideways at her and drew a sharp breath at the surprise of his own selfishness. Surely Jeanette had places to be, somewhere she’d been going before he derailed her.

“I hope I’m not inconveniencing you,” Maurice said. “I don’t want to put you through too much trouble.”

[Marley]

Jeannette Day

Smiling at his thanks, Jeannette fell into step beside the priest, her mind swirling with questions. The books she held looked very fine indeed, and were probably quite expensive. Surely he wouldn't have entrusted them to a stranger unless he was concerned about damaging them in another fall. Would his house be nice too? Father John's was, and the Council all had nice houses too, with a lot of rooms and books. Probably he did, too.

She stared down at the cover of one of the books she held, wondering not for the first time about the odd symbols that were supposed to be words. Back home, she'd never learned to read. Though she'd learned to write her first name, and she could count up to one hundred on her fingers, the mysteries of the written word hadn't seemed important. She could cook, sew, and tend to animals and children. Books were simply something the more well off families had for decoration, or use by the men. Certainly nothing she needed to concern herself with. Even the Council's wives and daughters couldn't read very well. Now, when she asked people to read street signs, or menus, or a whole host of other printed works, she received confused compliance at best, and usually faced a barrage of questions. She quickly stopped asking. After all, too many questions might lead to an investigation, and the possible discovery of New Harmony.

Jeannette flinched at the thought. Paris was strange and frightening to her, and she had her beloved Voices for comfort and company. Surely the others wouldn't fare nearly as well. The commune must remain a secret--and she had to attract as little attention as possible. She glanced up in surprise at the priest's next words. "Eh, non Father. I wasn't doing anything at all. It's not an inconvenience, I'm glad to help." Nodding to the piles of books, she said, "So many books! What're they all for?"

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

Jeanette peered up at Maurice; confusion evident on her delicate features, which confused Maurice. She had been going somewhere, after all. Hadn’t she?

"Eh, non Father. I wasn't doing anything at all. It's not an inconvenience, I'm glad to help," said Jeanette.

Maurice smiled at her. It was polite of her to say so, but he doubted a young woman her age wasn’t doing anything at all. He didn’t know much about young women, but the young people he did know were always busy with work, with friends, with volunteering. Something about their overabundance of energy both inspired and terrified Maurice, who was reaching towards middle age and had to sometimes force himself out of bed in the mornings. He’d never known anyone who wasn’t doing anything at all, willingly or grudgingly. But it was nice to think he wasn’t a bother to Jeanette.

"So many books!” she said, nodding towards the stacks of books. “What're they all for?"

“Our parish book club,” Maurice said. “We’re starting ‘Jane Eyre’ by Charlotte Bronte next. Do you know it?”

[Marley]

She returned the smile, happiness shining from her eyes. How lucky that she had happened upon the good father today of all days. Paris had seemed especially loud and frightening today. Even her Voices were of little comfort, soothing though they were. Surely The Lord had sent the priest to her to cheer her up. Had her arms not been full of books, she would have hugged the father for gladness. As it was, her grin simply grew. Then he spoke and her smile faded. Now she was in a mess. Scolding herself for her curiosity, Jeannette racked her brain, hunting for a way out of the trap she'd accidentally set for herself.

Jeannette bit her lip, a faint blush crawling up her cheeks. What could she possibly say to that? What would he think of her if she knew she couldn't read? Would he ask questions? Worry gnawed at her stomach. She couldn't give her family away---but she couldn't just stand there not answering either. That would be rude. She had to say something. "No, Father, I don't know it." Jeannette wrinkled her nose, frowning at something he'd said earlier. It wasn't possible, was it? Surely not. It made no sense! Tipping her head to the side, Jeannette asked, "Father, I don't understand. How would you make a club out of books? How would they stay together? And why should your parish need such a thing? Is someone after you?" It seemed an odd weapon of choice! Who would dare to attack a church? Paris was odd, true, but surely it's people weren't as wicked as all that. Jeannette shook her head, wondering yet again what sort of strange place her Voices had brought her to. If the church was in danger, perhaps that was why she'd been brought here. Maybe she was meant to help defend it. That would certainly make sense.

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

As a child, Maurice had been deterred from reading “Jane Eyre” by his traditional, but well-meaning mother. His older sister had brought home a copy and Maurice, who couldn’t resist a book if it was left out in the open, had grabbed for it.

“It’s a young lady’s book,” his mother had said, snatching the book off the dining table. “You wouldn’t enjoy it.”

She’d been wrong, of course. Books were for anyone and everyone who wanted to read them. And “Jane Eyre” had a special place in Maurice’s heart. Despite all the traditional, good behavior, it symbolized youthful rebellion to him. Sneaking the book from his sister’s nightstand and staying up all night to read under the covers, flashlight in hand. It was a quintessential coming-of-age tale, mixed with a little bit of a love story; the kind of book everyone should read at least twice in their lives.

Surely Jeanette was familiar with it. What young woman wasn’t? Even if literacy seemed to be a dying pursuit, necessary only for online conversations and business jargon, there were at least half a dozen film versions of “Jane Eyre” floating around.

"No, Father, I don't know it," Jeanette said. Maurice said nothing, but both his brows rose up on his forehead, deepening the budding wrinkles there. Jeanette seemed just as troubled, just as puzzled. A frown pulled at her features. "Father, I don't understand. How would you make a club out of books? How would they stay together? And why should your parish need such a thing? Is someone after you?"

“After us? Gracious, I should hope not,” Maurice said, shaking his head. “A book club would make a very poor first line of defense, were that the case. We’re just a group of old fogies who get together to talk about books once a week. Some use we’d be…”

Words and knowledge may have been some of the most powerful weapons, but Maurice felt that they’d do little good if there was a real threat of any sort. He peered over at Jeanette, perplexed.

“Why do you ask?”

[Marley]

Jeannette Day

Jeannette flushed deeper at the look of confusion that crossed the priest's face when she admitted that she did not, in fact, have any idea what Jane Eyre was. It looked like an odd story to her, if the cover, with its young woman and foreboding landscape, was any indication. Still, if it was something she was supposed to know about, perhaps she should ask more about it. Heaven knew she stood out enough as it was. No need to add another reason to the already long list. Of course if the book was bad, she shouldn't have anything to do with it. But the priest was reading it, so it had to be alright.

Relief coursed through her as the priest reassured her as to the safety of the church. At least there wasn't an active threat. That was certainly a blessing. She shook her head, a quiet laugh coming from her. "Oh, non, Father. You're not old." A puzzled frown flitted across her face. What on earth was a fogey? Her blush deepened at his next question. Giving a small shrug of her shoulders, Jeannette ducked her head, studying her feet. How could she possibly explain without giving herself away? Finally she said, "I've never heard of such a thing and I couldn't fathom what it could possibly be, other than some sort of weapon made out of books." Perhaps that would satisfy him. And if not, he was a priest, so surely telling him some things about where she came from would be alright. Wouldn't it? Yes, she decided, it probably would.

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

Some said that the current generation was unread, uneducated. More interested in their Facebooks and their Tweeting than in being citizens of the world or children of God. In so many ways, that was a failing of the Church. Not holding the interest of the young, not leveling with them or meeting half-way. All people, Maurice believed, had the potential to be scholars and no matter what they believed, all people were children of God. So when Jeanette expressed surprise or confusion, all Maurice saw was the untapped potential of a keen mind.

And when she worried for the safety of the Church, Maurice was touched by her concern. Who said that the young didn’t care about God or His people? Maurice tried a joke to lighten the mood, but it seemed to pass Jeanette by so easily.

"Oh, non, Father. You're not old," she said.

When Jeanette reached forty, when she awoke with an aching back each morning and saw crow’s feet bud on her once-youthful skin, she’d understand. Maurice wasn’t quite old, but he was getting there much quicker than he would have liked. Even priests valued their earthly lives and bodies at least a little.

But Maurice did have to ask: why would Jeanette think he’d meant a weaponized club instead of a group of people?

"I've never heard of such a thing and I couldn't fathom what it could possibly be, other than some sort of weapon made out of books."

“I see,” Maurice said. “There were no clubs in your school when you were growing up, I take it?”

[Marley]

Jeannette shook her head, a faint, sheepish smile flashing across her face. " Non," she said, "Our school was...rather too small for something like that." Perhaps the Council's sons had some sort of reading club, but if they did, Jeannette had never heard an of them speak of it. But then, they didn't speak to her about much at all, so it was quite possible they had one and she had no knowledge of it. She chewed at her lip, debating about simply admitting to him that she couldn't read. But no, it wasn't safe. She didn't know him well enough to trust that he wouldn't go to the authorities. And if he did, everything would be undone.

That couldn't happen, of course. So she simply kept her mouth shut about her inability to read, and followed the priest down the sidewalk. At length she asked, "Are there a great many people in your book club? What sorts of books do you read?" Walking beside him, Jeannette forgot some of the terrors of the strange city. She scarcely noticed the crowds, or the strange lights that shone in the buildings around them. The ever present hum of chatter that formerly beat against her ears seemed less than normal. Even the metal monsters--cars--rumbling down the street didn't bother her as much. Until one of them honked and she jumped, nearly dropping the books she carried.

Barely swallowing a yelp of surprise, she muttered, "Sorry about that." They were still too noisy for her, and no matter what anyone else told her, she wasn't entirely convinced that the metal machines weren't some sort of possessed demon spawn that the people had somehow harnessed and coerced into carrying them about. She glanced toward the street, eying the cars warily, still half-expecting some of them to leap onto the sidewalk and come after her.

[The Exodus]

Father Maurice Mowbray

Jeanette told Maurice that her school had been too small for a book club. Maurice smiled a little, bitter smile of understanding. He’d been to so many places – in France and outside of it – where children weren’t afforded the same learning and spiritual opportunities as those in wealthy communities, by simple vice of birth. It was among the saddest things Maurice had seen in his lifetime. Sadder, he believed, than tsunami-ravaged homes or terminal illness. Homes could be rebuilt, souls guided to heaven. But a child who was not afforded learning opportunities could grow up to be bitter, ignorant, and dissatisfied in ways only a good book written by the most expert author and given by the most well-meaning and trustworthy person could remedy. Thankfully, Jeanette had come to Paris, where libraries were plentiful and opportunities for growth boundless.

"Are there a great many people in your book club? What sorts of books do you read?" Jeanette asked.

“There are seven of us,” Maurice said. “And we focus mostly on literary classics… Hence the Bronte novels. You could—“

But before Maurice could finish inviting Jeanette to join them sometime, a car horn swallowed his words. Jeanette jumped and stifled a scream. Maurice looked around quickly; but there was no danger in sight. He watched the car – a yellow Volkswagen – flit into another lane of traffic, angering other motorists and causing a more distant chorus of car horns and squeaky brakes. He shook his head and looked back to Jeanette.

“Sorry about that," she said.

“Quite all right,” Maurice said. “I don’t blame you. Some drivers are absolute nightmares... Wonderful people, I’m sure, but their road manners could do with some polishing.”

He squinted up at the sign for the cross street as they reached the corner. A smile of recognition touched his lips.

“To the right,” he said. “I live just a few buildings down.”


OOC: Did we want to move this to the apartment? I remember briefly entertaining the idea via AIM...? BIC:

[Marley]

Jeannette smiled at hi words. Perhaps it was very hard to learn to drive a car, and that's why the yellow car had done what it had. Or perhaps they really were possessed monsters, and there really wasn't anybody inside at all. But surely the good father wouldn't lie to her about something like that? "Yes, they certainly do. What were you saying about the book club?"

Seven of them, he'd said. Jeannette smiled. It was perfect, really. Seven members. Seven days of creation. Seven virtues and seven vices. Seven was a perfect number. How proper then that the priest should be in charge of such a group. "They are your parishioners, these people? How did you start it?" Though she wanted to ask what a novel was, she swallowed the question. Best not to bombard the poor man, after all.

Nodding at the priest's directions, Jeannette turned where he indicated and followed him down the street. "Don't worry about me, Father. I've carried buckets full of water much further than this." The words tumbled from her lips before she could call them back. Shock at what she'd just said rooted her in place for several minutes, as her mind clawed desperately for some sort of explanation. "For the animals. You know. My parents have a farm."

It was the truth, after a fashion, so surely that was alright. Wasn't it? Her shoulders hunched out of habit, and she half expected to feel the sting of her father's belt across her back. She wasn't to lie, and she knew it. It wasn't right. No matter what. Jeannette bit her lip. How could she answer the questions he must have without giving everything away? A muffled whimper escaped her as blood seeped into her mouth. She'd nearly bitten through her lip. Swallowing, she ducked her head. "Your house is that way?" Perhaps if she distracted him, he'd forget all about what she'd said. Keeping her head down, she headed off, hurrying to catch up, only half listening for his answer.

((OOC: If you want to get them into Maurice's flat, go right ahead.
BIC: