22: Coffeecake and Conversation

Finrod followed Marcus down a set of stairs and along a corridor lined with small rooms which Marcus told him were Sunday school classrooms. At the end of the corridor they came to a larger room with folding tables and chairs and a gleaming kitchen just beyond separated from the room by a wide counter. There were Women already there, setting up the coffee and tea and laying out plates of donuts, muffins, cookies and coffeecake. Everyone looked up when the two entered, eyeing them suspiciously and Marcus grinned. Finrod felt apprehensive, wondering what kind of reception he would receive from these Mortals, but the Women ignored him, much to his surprise.

“What are you doing here, Marcus Makepeace?” one of them demanded. “I can still hear the choir singing. What are you up to, child?”

“Why nothing, Miss Odelia,” Marcus said, plastering an innocent look on his face. “Mister Quinn here’s a stranger, come to hear my daddy speak. I’m just showing good manners by escorting him before he gets run over by the crowd trying to get to my mama’s coffeecake.”

“Hmph, well, you’d best sit over there out of the way then,” the Woman said, giving Marcus a skeptical look. “Do you take coffee or tea, sir?”

It took a second for Finrod to realize she was speaking to him. “Oh, ah, coffee will be fine. Milk no sugar.”

Odelia nodded. “Well, welcome to New Jerusalem.”

“Thank you,” Finrod said as he allowed Marcus to lead him to a nearby table where he removed his cloak before sitting. Marcus offered to hang it up and pointed to some hooks along one wall for that purpose. Finrod nodded, handing him the cloak as Odelia came over with a Styrofoam cup of coffee.

“Milk’s on the table,” she said, pointing. “Marcus, get him some goodies.” She gave Finrod a nod and returned to the kitchen.

“Yes, ma’am,” the young Man said, winking at Finrod, and in short order Finrod had a plate of coffeecake and cookies before him. Marcus grabbed one of the cream-filled cookies to munch on as he sat with Finrod, who had just enough time to take a sip of the coffee — very good coffee — when he heard the sound of people coming down the stairs and stiffened, still unsure of his reception. His only real contact with the Mortals of Wiseman had been through the bookstore, one or two at a time, for the most part. Now close to a hundred people were about to descend upon him and he felt unusually nervous. Marcus must have picked up on that because he smiled.

“Don’t be nervous, sir,” he said sympathetically. “Dad’s been dying to meet you in person.”

“He could have simply come to Edhellond or even to the bookstore if he wished to see me,” Finrod said.

Marcus just shrugged, apparently not having an answer. But just then, people began streaming in and several of them stopped cold in shock at the sight of him. Finrod saw Josiah, taller than most of the congregation, push his way through the crowd, beaming. Finrod stood to face him, as did Marcus.

“Ah, my Lord Finrod, welcome,” Josiah said, holding out his arms in greeting. “Is that right? Did I get it correct?”

“I go by Quinn O’Brien now, Mister Makepeace,” Finrod said softly.

“As you wish,” Makepeace said. “I see you’ve met my son and here is the light of my life.” He gestured to a Woman. “This is Adele, my wife and the mother of my children.”

“Welcome to New Jerusalem,” Adele said, holding out a hand to shake, but Finrod turned the hand palm down and bowed over it, falling back on the customs of his own people. He still was unused to shaking hands with females as if they were comrades-in-arms.

“Thank you, mistress,” he murmured. Adele stood about a half a foot shorter than her husband, yet she had a presence about her that made her seem taller. She wore a coral-colored suit with a matching hat and pumps, a single strand of pearls and matching earrings her only jewelry, the very model of elegance. Finrod thought she could easily hold her own even in Ingwë’s court, never mind Arafinwë’s or Olwë’s. He could tell from the way Josiah looked at her that he adored her and worshiped her and he felt a sudden pang of loneliness, realizing that he missed his beloved Amarië more than he thought he would.

“And how did you like my sermon?” Josiah asked as he gestured for Finrod to resume his seat, while he took one across from him. Marcus ran to get his father some coffee and Adele shooed everyone else away, declaring that this wasn’t a zoo nor was Finrod a zoo specimen to be gawked at. People reluctantly turned away to line up for coffee, all of them studiously pretending that they were not interested in him, which Finrod found amusing.

 “It had its moments,” Finrod answered softly. “I am wondering what you would have said if I had not been there to be… picked on. Who would you have chosen as an example of an enemy to love if you had not had me?”

“Ah, but I knew you would be there, or rather, I knew one of you would be there.”

Finrod raised an eyebrow. “Explain,” he commanded and even he knew how imperious and arrogant he sounded.

If Josiah was upset by his manner, he did not show it. Instead, he grinned more broadly, accepting the coffee Marcus handed to him with a gracious nod, then pointed with a finger to a chair, thereby giving his son permission to join them. Marcus sat next to his father, grabbing another cream-filled cookie.

“I knew that one of you would be there to be… picked on, as you say,” Josiah answered, after taking a sip of his coffee.

“Foretelling?” Finrod asked, frowning. It was a rare trait among Elves and even rarer with Mortals, at least that had been his experience, and with Mortals it usually came just before death. For that reason the Elves tended to refer to the phenomenon as nurucenië — a death-seeing — when the gift of foretelling applied to Mortals.

Josiah shook his head. “No, not foretelling. A vision.”

Finrod’s eyes widened. “What kind of vision?”

“I was sitting in my study praying to the Lord for guidance as to what my sermon should be this week. Usually I have no trouble deciding on the topic, but for some reason I could not seem to latch onto one this time, and so I sat there and prayed. As I was praying, a sound as of a mighty wind arose though it was a calm day and when I opened my eyes there was someone in the room, a stranger, beautiful beyond words, and I knew it was an angel of the Lord.”

Finrod quirked his lips into a faint smile as he sipped his coffee. “A rather dramatic entrance. Usually they just appear before you, filling the air with a floral scent of some kind and looking smug.”

Marcus began choking on his cookie and Josiah automatically began pounding him on the back while giving Finrod an appraising look. Finrod ignored him, quickly scanning the crowd of people. “Nicholas, get Marcus some water, if you please,” he called out and the young Man quickly left the line and grabbed a Styrofoam cup, nearly running to a drinking fountain on the other side of the room and then running back, shoving the cup into Marcus’ hand who nodded his thanks and then took a grateful sip.

Nicholas gave Finrod a sardonic look. “Do you always go about bossing your bosses?”

“I did say please,” Finrod retorted with a grin and Nicholas barked a laugh as he settled in a chair next to him. “Do you not wish for coffee?” Finrod asked but Nicholas waved a hand in dismissal.

“No worries. I’m fine.”

Josiah looked about and snapped a finger and several people turned at the sound. “Someone kindly get Mr. Greene his usual,” he ordered and one of the Women in the kitchen nodded and a moment later was bringing some coffee for Nicholas, holding a glass pot.

“Any refills?” she asked and Josiah nodded, handing her his cup with thanks. Finrod shook his head and the Woman left.

“Feeling better?” he asked Marcus.

“Yessir,” the young Man answered. “Sorry about that. Just that what you said took me by surprise.”

Finrod nodded and turned his attention on Josiah. “So a Maia appeared. Can you describe him or her?”

“Golden-red hair, eyes shining like emeralds and wearing a… a tabard I think you call it with an eagle on it.” Josiah paused, giving Finrod a worried look. “Is that important?”

“No. I was just curious. A messenger of Lord Manwë, then. Please continue.”

“Yes, well, he stood there beside my desk, ignoring me, or so it seemed, as he gestured at my Bible sitting on the desk before me. He never touched it, but the pages moved of themselves and then stopped. He pointed and said, ‘Son of Adam, read.’”

“He actually said that?” Nicholas asked, his eyes wide.

Josiah flashed him a smile. “I half expected to see a great lion appear in the middle of the room.” The other two Men chuckled.

“I do not understand your reference, but it matters not,” Finrod said. “What did Fionwë have you read?”

The three Mortals gave him surprised looks. “You know him?” Marcus asked.

“The description fits one of Lord Manwë’s most trusted Maiar after Eönwë.”

“The Maia at your court,” Nicholas said, snapping his fingers and pointing at Finrod as he made the connection. Finrod nodded, still looking at Josiah.

“It was the passage from Matthew that I read in church,” the pastor explained. “I read it out loud, though the angel… er… Maia did not command me to. Then he looked at me, his gaze piercing me to the very core of my soul and I felt… naked before him and was ashamed.” He looked grave at that admission and Marcus patted him on the arm in sympathy. Josiah gave his son a gentle smile before turning back to Finrod. “Then he spoke again, saying, ‘Son of Adam, a Child of the Stars will come on Sunday. Prepare thy sermon with him in mind.’ And then, I was alone and it felt as if I were waking up. That is why I say it was a vision. I must have dreamt it or perhaps was taken up unto the Lord as John was when he saw his visions of the End Times.”

“As I said, rather dramatic,” Finrod replied mildly. “They’re usually more subtle.” He leaned back in his chair, giving the three Men an appraising look. “And so you devised your sermon knowing that one of the Eldar, one of the People of the Stars, would be there. Interesting. I see they’re up to their old tricks, the manipulative little orc-lovers.” This last was barely breathed though the three Men heard him. Marcus and Nicholas both gasped at the swearing, but Josiah’s expression was more amused.

“I take it you have had great experience with these… creatures.”

Finrod nodded. “More than I would like to admit, unfortunately. Well, it is done and I am here where they wished me to be. I now understand my earlier restlessness which drove me out of the house. You are not the first church I visited today. I stopped at St. Mary’s where Charles Waverly spoke on the story of the Samaritan. It is interesting that your messages were nearly identical.”

“Charles is a wise scholar of the Word and a champion of the Lord in these dark times,” Josiah said. “He is also a good friend. He has few of them in this land of exile.”

“Exile?” Finrod asked, confused by the phrase. “Is that how you see yourselves, as exiles?”

“Yes, in a way, but I was not speaking of that so much as I was speaking of the fact that Charles Waverly is here as punishment. His superiors have banished him to this remote outpost of civilization. No, I will say no more, for it is not my tale to tell. I will only say that, knowing what I know now, Rome will regret this decision in the end, though we of Wiseman will benefit from it. You must ask Charles for the story.”

He paused, giving Finrod a considering look. “Charles and I represent the two extremes of Christianity. He belongs to a church that is steeped in history and tradition stretching back two thousand years, the oldest continuous organization in our world. I lead a church that has its roots in the dark times of this country when many of our ancestors were slaves to Nicholas’ people.”

“Now, Josiah, my people never owned slaves,” Nicholas protested. “I have ancestors who fought for the Union and one of my many-times great-grandmothers was a strong Abolitionist and helped with the Underground Railroad.”

“I stand corrected,” Josiah said. “My apologies. The point I am making is that this church is an off-shoot of the Southern Baptist church, primarily founded by the descendants of slaves after the Second World War. Most of the parishioners are Black, but lately we’ve attracted a few others, like Nicholas, here, and the Huong and Zhao families, recently come from China.”

“And you think this is significant?” Finrod asked.

Josiah shrugged. “I really can’t say. I just find it interesting that you felt compelled to visit St. Mary’s and New Jerusalem, but none of the other churches or even Temple Beth El, the Jewish synagogue.”

“There are no services there on a Sunday,” Marcus pointed out. “Mr. Quinn would have to go on a Friday night or Saturday morning.”

“You felt no need to be wandering down Homer Street to visit the synagogue yesterday or Friday?” Josiah asked.

“No, nor will I do so. If there is a need for me to go there, I will know of it. And now, I must go. Thank you for the coffee and the coffeecake. Both were very delicious.” Finrod stood, as did the three Men.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” Nicholas said, holding out his hand.

“Bright and early,” Finrod replied, shaking it and then shaking Josiah’s hand.

Marcus ran to get his cloak, which he accepted with a gracious nod. Pulling it about him and clasping it closed, he gave Josiah a sly grin. “You are fortunate that it was I who was here today when you uttered your accusation of my being your enemy. If Glorfindel had been here, this building would no longer be standing. My brother does not take criticism well.”

With that parting shot, he bowed to them and started away. Marcus followed. “I’ll see you out,” he said and Finrod nodded.

“Thank you,” he said at the door leading onto the street. “It has been a most illuminating morning. Fare well, my friend.”

“You’re welcome to join us anytime, Mr. Quinn,” Marcus said, “you and any of the other Elves, including Mr. Loren.”

Finrod grinned. “I will be sure to tell him.” At that he strode away, lifting his hood to ward off the snow that was now beginning to fall, for while he’d been speaking with Josiah, the sky had clouded up. There would be no sun today.

Walking back down Hickory and entering the town square, he thought about his encounters that morning, trying to understand his feelings. He could sympathize with Glorfindel’s attitude and suspicion of motives where the Powers were concerned, for he was beginning to tire of the manipulations. If they simply had asked…

“Would you have come, then?”

Finrod looked to his right to see Fionwë walking beside him in his Finn disguise, dressed in a brown duster and wearing a wide-brimmed hat sporting a silver concho in the shape of an eagle. Around his neck was wound a powder-blue wool scarf.

Finrod stopped and gave the Maia his attention. “I am surprised to see you after the last time.”

Fionwë actually blushed. “I am on probation… again.”

Finrod eyebrows went up at that admission but before he could respond Fionwë asked again, “Would you have come?”

“I do not know since you did not ask,”  Finrod replied. “If I was convinced as to its importance—”

“If I had ordered you to go, would you have done so?” Fionwë interrupted, giving him a stern look.

Finrod reared back. “If I deemed it—”

“No, Findaráto. I am not asking for your approval.” The Maia’s eyes glittered with a strange light and Finrod realized that he was angry and that was never a good thing where the Powers or their lesser servants were concerned. Finrod willed himself to stillness, swallowing down the sick fear that had suddenly swept over him. It was easy to forget at times that even the lowliest of the Maiar was far above him in power and majesty and Fionwë was one of the highest-ranking Maiar, second only to Eönwë.

“You Children need to get a grip, as the Mortals will say, and grow up,” Fionwë said, his voice colder than the snow falling about them. Finrod felt himself grow hot and cold at the same time as the Maia continued. “You little appreciate how things truly are here in this world. Many of the Mortals today have ceased to believe in the existence of other intelligences, even those who confess to a belief in God and his angels, as they would say, do so more out of habit of culture than out of any real belief in our existence. A few hundred years ago you might have been more readily accepted but you would have been in danger of being burned at the stake for the soulless creatures of the devil that you are.”

Finrod paled at those words. “We are not soulless and we are no creatures of the Dark,” he hissed, automatically reaching for a sword that was not there. He stopped, appalled at the thought that twice in the same day he had done that.

“Of course not,” Fionwë said soothingly. “Findaráto, this war is being fought on more than one front and the physical front is not necessarily the most important. We are attempting to fight against something primal in the Mortals: fear of the unknown. They tend to react negatively when they encounter something different, something that threatens their preconceived notions of what is and what cannot be or shouldn’t be. They turn on one another without hesitation and their crusades against perceived evil in others are frightening to behold. The Wiseman Elves at least understand this, though they tend to ignore it, but you of Valinor have no experience with what Mortals can truly do, the power they possess to destroy you if they so choose.”

“If that is so, why were we sent here with so little knowledge and no weapons to speak of?” Finrod retorted. “Why are we so unprepared for any of this?”

“Would you have believed my masters had you been told the truth?” Fionwë shot back.

“How can I know that now?” Finrod exclaimed in exasperation. He rubbed the space between his eyes. “This has all gone wrong.”

“What has?”

“Everything! Glorfindel is a stranger to me. I hardly recognize him as my gwador anymore. This world is full of darkness and despair and hatred and there are times when I can barely draw a full breath. The Mortals—”

“The Mortals are my concern, not yours,” Fionwë interjected coldly. “That is why I brought you to St. Mary’s and then to New Jerusalem. You see yourself as being manipulated, as a pawn, but we are all pawns, Findaráto, and Eru Ilúvatar moves us as He wills across the cosmic chessboard, to borrow an image coined by a Mortal, for He is the chess master, not us. You have no idea how much good you showing up at those two churches did for our cause. Charles and Josiah allowed themselves to be instruments of Eru’s Will. Their sermons, along with your presence, helped to gain the Elves better acceptance among the Mortals of their respective flocks. Others may follow where they lead, for they are both respected within the community.”

“And the neo-Nazi Elf-haters, as Amroth likes to call them?”

“They have made their choice, and they will die for it,” Fionwë proclaimed in sepulchral tones that sent shards of ice through Finrod’s veins. He had a sudden vision of the Maia in full battle regalia, holding forth a sword of light, and hundreds, if not thousands, of Mortals were falling dead at his feet by the very power of his will. He blinked a few times as the vision of the warrior faded and he found himself back in Wiseman’s town square with Finn standing before him, looking rather ordinary in his duster and scarf.

“Findaráto?” The Maia gave him a questioning look.

“It is nothing,” Finrod said distractedly, trying to make sense of the vision. “I am sorry. I think I need to go home and lie down. I feel suddenly tired.” He began rubbing his left shoulder, grimacing slightly.

Fionwë gave him a sympathetic look and held out a hand. “Take it,” he ordered, and Finrod obeyed without hesitation. The snow seemed to swirl up around them like a miniature cyclone and the town square disappeared from view. There was an eternal second of disorientation and then the world righted itself and Finrod found himself standing in front of Edhellond. Of Fionwë there was no sign.

He went inside and was hanging up his cloak when Glorfindel wandered down the hall, holding a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. “Wondered if you’d gotten lost,” he said by way of greeting. “Have a nice walk?”

“Yes, it was… interesting.”

Glorfindel gave him a shrewd look. “You look a bit pale. You okay?”

“Just tired,” Finrod admitted. “I seem to tire more easily since being shot. It is most annoying. You would think I was Mortal.”

Glorfindel grinned. “Why don’t you go rest? I was on my way up to the sunroom. The library is a bit crowded at the moment and I want to read in peace.”

“May I join you?”

Glorfindel’s eyebrows went up. “Of course, but wouldn’t you rather lie down?”

“I can rest as easily there as in my room and I do not feel like being alone at the moment.”

“Are you sure you are all right, gwador?” Glorfindel asked, looking worried.

“Yes, I am sure. Now, let us go up. You will read and I will watch the snow fall.”

For a moment, Glorfindel hesitated, and then shrugged, giving him a slight smile. “And it will be interesting to see which of us is lulled by the silence first and falls asleep.”

Finrod laughed lightly and began climbing the stairs with his gwador right behind.