The Cry of the Wolf Chapter 11

Adelaide sat flanked by her children in the tiny chapel listening to the short, balding man. The priest wore an unadorned, somber black frock, his long fingers clutching a well-worn Bible that had seen better days. A sizable wooden cross dangled from his neck, clicking softly against the wooden pulpit each time he leaned forward.

"Jesuit," Adelaide's mind recoiled.

She had been raised Baptist, her father having left the Catholic religion long before she was born, or so she had been told.

What was she doing sitting in a decidedly Catholic church?!

Peering about her, the small room was mostly filled with rugged men, several children, and even fewer women. The frontier was not an easy life for women, many perishing in childbirth or Indian attack Adelaide assumed, wishing she'd paid more attention to history. It would come in handy now.

The little man gripped the chiseled pulpit, and leaned forward with an intensity in his eyes.

"There are over thirty thousand souls in this untamed wilderness who have never heard the sweetness of the Gospel of Jesus. Souls are facing a Christless eternity! Oh that God will burden each of us for these precious people! It is with joy and sadness that I bid you farewell. Tomorrow, I will leave with two of my fellow Jesuits for the inland territories. I cannot think of anything else and will have no peace until I bring these poor people the message of the Gospel."

His fervor for souls was stupefying. Adelaide had never entered a Catholic church and assumed they were wearisome, the priests speaking in monotone. This man was the opposite, his face contorted as he disclosed his inability to eat or sleep knowing souls were facing eternity without having ever heard the name of Jesus.

"Mom, we should go too," Isabella whispered, "and you could teach the children."

Adelaide nodded remembering her earlier yearning to reach the natives with the Gospel. Should she speak with this man after the service? Adelaide wasn't certain of the protocol, motioning with her hand for her youngest child to be quiet. It was disrespectful to speak during a sermon.

"If only one soul turns to Jesus, my work in this land will be complete. Just one soul snatched from the flames of Hell!"

Adelaide frowned. Yes, this man was radically different from what she had assumed, a thrill trailing down her spine at his impassioned words. A subtle stirring in her heart, yet it was too late. She was married now with children, complacent to walk with God and instructing her children to do the same. Mission fields were merely a distant desire, lost to the past.

The priest leaned even farther forward, displaying his balding head to the congregation.

"Farewell, my beloved brothers, and sisters in Christ. I believe we shall meet again on Heaven's pearly shores. It is my prayer that we will answer the call of God, our hearts sensitive to His leading. The Bible says that we do not know what a day may bring forth. That has never been truer than in this land. We face constant dangers on every hand, but let us find grace to help us, to give us strength as we put our hope in God alone. May the peace and blessings of God be with you all, now and until we meet again."

After a short benediction, the congregation milled about, gathering their families as they made their way to the back of the humble sanctuary.

Adelaide clutched Isabella's hand as she and her children stepped out into the blinding late spring sunshine.

"Who is that man?" Adelaide asked a young woman who stood near her.

"You don't know? That's Jean de Brebeuf, of course," Marguerite lowered her voice, "He's been living among the Montagnais tribe for the past several months, but I heard he received an assignment directly from France to work among the Huron."

"He is being forced to go?" Adelaide raised an eyebrow, "I thought by his sermon he wanted to go of his own free will. He sounded so passionate about mission work."

Marguerite laughed, her low chuckle lighting up her eyes, "Of course he does! Brother Brebeuf cares for nothing but the savages. I don't believe it matters which ones as long as he is able to tell them about our Lord."

That made perfect sense.

"I was very surprised to see how passionate he is about sharing the Gospel," Adelaide revealed, "I never expected Catholics to care about such things."

"Hush," Marguerite cautioned, "You must not draw attention to yourself."

"Pardon me?"

Marguerite gently touched her companion's elbow, leading Adelaide away from the chapel, "You are a Huguenot, are you not?"

The name sounded so familiar. Adelaide was confident she had heard her father or Arlana mention the name more than once.

"That's the opposite of Catholic?"

"You might say that. We are Protestants who have fled persecution in France. It is not easy for us here. We are forced to marry in the Catholic church and attend mass, but at least we do not have to pay for our faith with our lives. In that, we are blessed."

"Well, it's nice to meet you," Adelaide glanced over her shoulder, uncertain exactly where she was supposed to go.

How was she to find the time-lapse portal, even if that is what it was that had transported her and her family to the past? It was a small comfort that she now knew at least one friendly face.

"I am so glad to meet a fellow believer as well, but please," Marguerite laid a hand on her new friend's arm, "Be careful who you talk with and be sure to come to mass."

"Come, you must join us for dinner," Marguerite grinned as her husband joined them. "Guillaume, this is my new friend...I'm sorry, I didn't even think to ask your name."

"Adelaide. It's nice to meet you."

The towering Frenchman smiled, his iridescent eyes flecked with hints of gold.

"Of course, we would love to have you join us."

The children followed close behind as Guillaume led the way, Marguerite's arm tucked in his.