Janice sat in the pews two rows back from the parapet. Her chestnut hair let down, her hazel eyes fixated on the Father. Her simple white blouse and black knee-length skirt seemed to fit perfectly with the rest of the congregation. The only thing that made her stand out was her disability.
“If I could forgive that b*****d who did this to me I would. Why, God, can I not forgive the man for do this to me?” Janice thought, “Why did you let him take so much from me? Why should I give you thanks for the hurt that was caused to me?”
“Now if you could open your hymnals to hymn number 241 ‘In Your Hands We Trust’,” the Priest went on, “and rise a stand with me as we sing to God.”
Reaching for the hymnal, Janice starts to stand, conscious of the prosthesis and how it looked. Embarrassed by it, she tried hiding it, holding her body so maybe no one would see it. But there was always that one person who saw and grimaced at the sight, and this time it had been a child, maybe eight or nine.
The rest of the service past and Janice hadn’t found comfort in Father Jessu’s words.
* * * * *
Two months had passed since Stessi had offered the contract and Jessu wondered if he had done the right thing. He hadn’t gotten a job as an assassin yet, and no one would higher an independent assassin who was also a priest. These last two months he had been on ice. This cold useless feeling had been detoured only by one person.
Today he stands before his regional director for his denomination and a council of his peers. Today he asks for his title to be changed from Priest to Pastor. He had found a woman whom he loved, and he never wanted to let her go.
