Strangers

snifter clasped in both hands. "I remembered about Bishop Santefiore, but I'd forgotten you drove from there to here. And you passed through Elko County, Nevada?"
        "Stayed there, at a motel in the middle of nowhere. Tranquility Motel. I stopped for the night, but it was so peaceful, the countryside so beautiful, that I stayed a few days. Now I've got to go back."
        "Why? What happened to you out there?"
        Brendan shrugged. "Nothing. I just relaxed. Napped. Read a couple books. Watched TV. They have good TV reception even way out there because they've got their own little receiver dish on the roof."
        Father Wycazik cocked his head. "What's wrong? There for a moment you sounded… odd. Wooden… as if repeating something you'd memorized."
        "I was just telling you what it was like."
        "So if nothing happened to you there, why is the place so special? What will happen when you go back there?"
        "I'm not sure. But it's going to be something… incredible."
        Finally revealing his frustration with his curate's obtuseness, Father Wycazik put the question bluntly: "Is it God calling you?"
        "I don't think so. But maybe. A slim maybe. Father, I want your permission to go. But if I can't have your blessing, I'll go anyway."
        Father Wycazik took a larger swallow of brandy than was his habit. "I think you should go, but I don't think you should go alone."
        Brendan was surprised. "You want to come with me?"
        "Not me. I've got St. Bette's to run. But you should be in the company of a qualified witness. A priest familiar with these things, one who can verify any miracle or miraculous visitation-"
        "You mean some cleric who has the Cardinal's imprimatur to investigate every hysterical report of weeping statues of the Holy Mother, bleeding crucifixes, and divine manifestations of all kinds."
        Father Wycazik nodded. "That's right. Someone who knows the process of authentication. I had in mind Monsignor Janney of the archdiocese's office of publications. He's had a lot of practice."
        Reluctant to disappoint his rector but determined to proceed in his own fashion, Brendan interrupted: "There's no visitation involved here, so there's no need for Monsignor Janney. None of this has an obvious Christian significance or source."
        "And who ever said God isn't permitted to be subtle?" Father Wycazik asked. His grin made it clear he expected to win this argument.
        "These things could all be merely psychic phenomena."
        "Bah! Claptrap. Psychic phenomena are just the nonbeliever's pathetic explanation for glimpses of the divine hand at work. Examine these events closely, Brendan; open your heart to the meaning of them, and you'll see the truth. God's calling you back to His bosom. And I believe a divine visitation is what this may be building toward."
        "But if this is building to a divine manifestation, why couldn't it happen right here? Why's it necessary to go all the way to Nevada?"
        "Perhaps it's a test of your obedience to the will of God, a test of your underlying desire to believe again. If your desire's strong enough, you'll discomfit yourself by taking this long journey, and as reward you'll be shown something to make you believe again."
        "But why Nevada? Why not Florida or Texas - or Istanbul?"
        "Only God knows."
        "And why would God go to all this trouble to recapture the heart of one fallen priest'?"
        "To Him who made the earth and stars, this is no trouble at all. And one heart is as important to Him as a million hearts."
        "Then why did He let me lose my faith in the first place?"
        "Perhaps losing and regaining it is a tempering process. You may have been put through it because God needs you to be stronger."
        Brendan smiled and shook his head in admiration. "You're never caught without an answer, are you, Father?"
        Looking self-satisfied, Stefan Wycazik settled back in his chair. "God blessed me with a quick tongue."
        Brendan was aware of Father Wycazik's reputation as a savior of troubled priests, and he knew the rector would not give up easily - or at all. But Brendan was determined not to go to Nevada with Monsignor Janney in tow.
        From the other armchair, over the rim of his brandy snifter, Father Wycazik watched Brendan with evident affection and iron determination, waiting eagerly for another argument