Chapter Fourteen

Anne and the two children were playing on the floor of the pub, along with another child who just seemed to have appeared out of somewhere. They were pushing some kind of large wheeled cars around, except when they were flying them in and out of the seat backs of the now empty chairs at their table, and around some of the neighboring tables. No one seemed to mind, or notice other than a beaming glance from time to time, especially from the women.

Most of the pub crowd were couples, but they were far from the only family group. Not that I'm a part of this family, thought Todd, while feeling very comfortably included. He and Father William were sitting side by side, he in a collared shirt that drew a regular series of grave nods from certain passers-by, and a tall broad glass of stout before him. Todd was working on something more reddish amber from the tap that Father Will, as everyone here called him, had recommended.

"You haven't been to the city, yet, then?"

"You mean downtown?"

"Yes, that. The City of London, the heart of it all; Londinium, the City, Charles Williams' image of the kingdom itself."

Father Will kept making comments like that which implied that Todd was not only as well read as the priest clearly was, but that he was fully a communicant of the same church. On the walk to the pub, Anne had asked if he was C of E, and then caught herself and asked "or Episcopalian?" When Todd said, somewhat accurately and mostly with guilt, "no, Methodist" Father Will laughed and said "Ah, our separated brethren! God bless John Wesley." The subject had not come up again.

C.S. Lewis came up a number of times, and Todd was fairly certain Father Will had discerned that his knowledge of Oxford and the Inklings was not extensive, or even much more than an awareness that the author of the Narnia books knew the writer of "The Lord of the Rings."

Christianity, Old St. Pancras style, was also something he didn't know as much about as it seemed they were assuming he did. The evensong service didn't involve communion, which was both a relief and a disappointment. A relief, because he was afraid that he'd do something wrong while everyone else was doing the right thing, which he obscurely felt would be worse during the serving of communion than it was when he stood up instead of sitting down or vice versa during the rest of the prayers and responses and readings.

He was disappointed because he'd started almost anticipating the one thing that would be familiar to him, at least in part, and what he had some sense was where he was going to be welcome, stranger or not. Yet the service never even made a nod to the altar at the front of the church, some distance behind where Frederick with his guitar and Father Will stood in the aisle.

That slight sense of loss was washed away entirely when they'd come, Todd and the family he'd been swept up into, to this table in the back of the pub and when Father Will had offered up a prayer before they began their evening meal. Was this celebration of baskets of battered fish and glasses of foamy beverage a sort of communion? It certainly was starting to feel that way.

Yet he was awkward in conversation, especially when church affairs and matters of belief came up, about the latest doings of the Synod and bishops and women and the Government's nominations and more that slipped by him in the give and take that somehow he felt part of even as Anne and Father Will carried the bulk of the load.

Now that it was just the two of them, sitting side by side, he turned to Todd and said "You really should visit St. Paul's."

"Is that a church downtown?"

The smile was almost on the edge of making him feel as if he'd said something wrong. But Father Will went on "No, it is not. Not A church. It is THE church. The cathedral, Christopher Wren's masterwork, the cross and orb over the city and the river and over men's and women's lives, no matter how tall the Shards and slivers and towers might be builded."

"So it's old?"

Another smile. "Some say that our fabric here is older by centuries at St. Pancras Old Church. And there are foundations that go back into Roman times beneath her. But Old St. Paul's was burned down in the Great Fire of 1666; this cathedral was begun after and took nearly a century to complete. So you could call it new, but mighty indeed."

Todd took another long sip from his... ale? Lager? Another thing he didn't quite know for sure. He'd like to work his way through all those levers behind the bar, and know exactly the right name for each type and brand. And as for churches . . .

"You think I should see it, do you?"

"See it, feel it, immerse yourself in it. I'd tour you about myself, but there's a parish retreat coming and too much here in Camden Town just now, but you don't need to wait for me. St. Paul's will tell you her own story. Here . . ."

Father Will flipped over a nearby unused coaster, and began to draw a rough map of routes and stops to show Todd how to get there. "And then at Ludgate Hill . . . oh, Lud. There's a tale. And Paternoster Row. But here, you go . . ."

Todd took another pull. Tomorrow he had time, and to follow this cleric's advice felt right and just. St. Paul's he would see, and there he would see what he could see. The Tower of London could wait for another day.