My new work in progress.
In 1909 a small town on the Murray River slowly unwinds as a tragedy builds. The mystery is the catalyst for jealousy, treachery, and the need to lay blame. Only a bush fire can bring a new beginning and an end to a shattered past.
"Father Michael?" George broke the moment. He faltered as if caught doing something he shouldn't then nodded
"Are angels on earth?" GG asked.
I watched as Father Michael visibly stiffened and took a step back and for a fleeting moment I saw real doubt. A doubt so deep and fundamental that with all his faith he couldn't hide from the truth.
"Now is not the time Miss Grady." He always called George Miss Grady and I wondered if he was frightened of getting too close to temptation. He seemed to me a man who was always tottering on the edge.
We waited and he looked to the tea urn for rescue.
"Father?" Georgette, for all her popularity knew how to work it to her advantage when necessary. I came along for the ride.
"No Miss Grady. There are no angels on earth." The answer was hurried, harangued from him and its ring of truth was missing.
"Are you sure?" GG threw down the accusation and I knew the Father was a beaten man.
"We believe George is an angel." I said and slipped my hand into George's as a show of solidarity.
"We are all God's creatures," Father Michael said and fled to the ladies serving tea.
"He doesn't know." George said with conviction.
We knew. Georgette Florence Grady was living proof.