Martin & Marcella

Five

Martin hadn't believed his sister's vision. He himself had returned to the river after their father's death only to find nothing worrisome there. No evidence existed that would foretell the steps of a woman whose appearance was akin to those of the fairy folk. No snowdrop blossoms lined a path. No flakes of frozen water fluttered in the air. All that he found was a brown, deerskin cloak, with the horns of the stag still attached to the head, lying on the pebbled shore of the river. What had startled Martin wasn't that he had found such a garment but the sight of the crimson blood that had soaked it through and through, though it looked like it had been washed thoroughly. Whose it was, the boy did not know. He was only afraid for his sister and her claim that she'd seen a woman there by the river. What misfortune had taken place on the banks of the water could have involved his beloved sister had she been there a moment too late, and so he knew they must leave.

On Sunday, the entire school was required to attend the ten o'clock Mass in St. Raphael's Church. Attendance was not taken, but every student was expected to be there. Joel knew he could get away with not going to Mass; nobody had ever mentioned to him that they noticed his absence. So he rarely went. In fact, he couldn't even recall the last Sunday Mass he'd been to without thinking too terribly hard. Because he wasn't missed, he wasn't planning on going to church the particular weekend after he'd found the book in the church tower.

With his past few nights having been fitful and filled with nightmares, the boy was tired and rather reluctant to even leave his room. Strange thoughts were weighing on his mind. All day Saturday, Joel had pored over the pages of the French journal he'd discovered. While he couldn't read a word of it, he'd managed to come across something that was startling to him. Ten or so entries into the journal, the names Martin and Marcella began to come up in the writing. At first, Joel wondered if he was reading the words correctly. The more he saw the names scattered throughout the passages, though, the clearer it became that his eyes weren't playing any tricks on him. And Joel began to recall that he'd heard those names very recently.

It didn't take him long to remember that Fr. Kavanaugh had stated that the statues with which Joel was so entranced were of a boy and a girl named Martin and Marcella by their French creator. Once he noticed this, Joel was positive that the book he had found was written by the man who had sculpted those statues. The first diary entry Fr. Kavanaugh had read to him mentioned a story of a boy and a girl. Joel knew that the journal's writer had to be speaking of Martin and Marcella. Perhaps, then, their story was written in the diary. The boy hoped so; he wanted to know everything about those statues. All he had to do was return to Fr. Kavanaugh and ask him to read more of the book aloud. And he would do that, after Sunday Mass, even though a small part of him wished terribly that he could keep the story all to himself.

Sunday morning, though, while Joel was just beginning to wake up, he heard a dull knock. Groggy, the boy rose and went to open his bedroom door. He expected Lysander to be the one standing there, as the redhead was constantly making attempts to get Joel to come to church. So Joel was surprised to see not his friend but an upperclassman (whose name escaped him) impatiently waiting in the hall outside. The blond-haired, narrow-faced boy sighed when Joel peered out at him. He was dressed in the white and black garb of an altar server.

"What is it?" asked Joel in a somewhat rude tone. He was angry to be disturbed by someone who had obviously knocked upon the wrong door.

The upperclassman didn't appear ruffled, though. "You're supposed to be at Mass about now."

Joel raised his eyebrows. "Who are you? Did Lysander make you come tell me that?"

"No," said the boy sternly. "Fr. Kavanaugh is saying the Mass today. He didn't see you in the congregation, so he sent me to get you. He says he won't start until you're there, because he knows you won't want to miss it. You must've forgotten it was Sunday, he said."