The Ghost of Brother Patrick

"Does anyone here speak English?" asked Brother Fred.

The elder turned and said something to the warrior, whose smile had only grown with the conversation. The young man then turned and ran.

His feathers bristling in the light breeze, the elder motioned for Brother Fred to sit. Together, they sat on the ground, and a woman instantly materialized from the elder's tepee with a plate of flat bread and pieces of cooked buffalo. After she set the plate, she vanished just a quickly as she arrived. They ate in silence until the warrior returned with another beheadressed man.

"I speak your tongue," he said sitting on the ground with them. He then motioned to the warrior who, quite reluctantly, returned to his post.

"My name is Brother Fred," said the friar.

"I am called Diving Hawk."

"I come in peace."

"And you will leave the same," replied Diving Hawk.

"I come bearing the Word of the Lord."

"And you will leave the same." Diving Hawk took a chunk of meat and placed it into a piece of the bread. "My friend," he said taking a generous bite, "this land belongs to all, and all who come in peace are welcome." With that, he and the elder stood and turned and walked away; the meeting was over.

Brother Frederick stood behind his place at the long table. All of the monks had their heads bowed, murmuring a prayer of thanks before enjoying another bland meal. Although not technically a monastery, a few priests and lay persons also resided among them and there were no vows of silence, the large house certainly exuded the feel of a drab religious habitation.

"How was your first day, Brother Frederick?" asked Brother Ezra, a rotund man of about forty.

Brother Fred looked down sullenly, but said nothing.

"Don't be discouraged," the older man replied. "We all do missionary work at first. It's a right of passage."

After dinner and evening devotional, Brother Fred ascended the rickety stair case to his tiny room at the end of the hall on the third floor. The house was old, Brother Fred knew, but just how old was a mystery. Time seemed to have no meaning in the middle of the Great Plains, just a distance perceptions teased the senses. The journey from England had been long enough, but the vast expanse of this land was staggering and disheartening. He had no idea what day it was, only that we was exhausted and frustrated. He made contact with the natives, but no progress. Now, he wanted sleep. Before he went to bed, however, he had to re-hang his crucifix on the wall; evidently it had fallen off while he was away for the day.

His day started with the sun still asleep. Brother Fred's morning chores included cleaning stables, feeding livestock, sweeping floors, and drawing water. After these tasks were complete, he would join the others for breakfast, tidy his room and set off on his mission.

The fourth week started the same as the others, but when he awakened he noticed his crucifix was upside down. Brother Fred stared at the abomination is stunned silence. It was proper when he went to sleep, and to think that someone had come in and done inverted it while he slept was inconceivable. His dismay grew when he tried to take it down - it had been nailed into the wall. Before he left for the day, he took a hammer and pried the cross off the wall.

Diving Hawk squinted as he applied the finishing touches to a tanned deer hide. "Brother Frederick," he said warmly. "Good of you to come once again."

"I've been coming regularly for quite a while, now," replied the friar, his breathing heavy.

"Yes, you do" agreed Diving Hawk. "But sometimes you visit our Arapaho neighbors. Tell me, you seem troubled."