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"I don't know," he replied. "They're going to point
and ask questions, and I don't think I can handle that."
"Then, come to church with us," invited Abby.
Jake immediately resisted this idea. It would mean traveling in the same vehicle
with John and Terry. They were men, and he couldn't stand to be around men more than
he absolutely had to.
"All right," said Abby, altering the invitation slightly, "I have
my own car. We'll go together. How about that? Once we get there, you can sit next
to me in the pew, and you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."
"Then, I'll come," he accepted, slowly.
"Good," replied Abby, turning to go. "Oh, I almost forgot, Mom invited
you to lunch."
"I can't," declined Jake.
"I thought so," she smiled. "I'll bring the food to you."
With that, Abby left, closing the front door behind her. Sunday services were already
over for the day, but next Sunday, The Good Shepherd congregation would get their
first glimpse of the ex-convict.
Monday morning, Jake left for work early. It wasn't until three-thirty in the late
afternoon, that Abby was finally called to the marina to act as an interpreter. When
she arrived, Terrence, (her boss), directed Abby over to the Marina Tackle Store
where a fly casting instructor was struggling to communicate with a young French-Canadian.
Gary, the instructor, waved Abby over to them as Jake silently watched from a distance.
"Am I glad you're here," sighed Gary. "This guy insists he speaks
English, but I barely understand him!"
"All right, calm down," laughed Abby, turning to face the customer. "Excusez-moi,
puis-je vous aider? [Excuse me, may I help you?]"
"I speak English," replied the man with a thick French accent. He gave
Gary a look of annoyance. "Je n'ai pas besoin de traducteur! [I don't need a
translator!]"
"Very well," smiled Abby, not wanting to offend him by disagreeing. "Would
you mind if I just stood over here and watch?"
The young man smiled at her, pleasantly.
"Où sont passées mes mnières? [Where are my manners?] Let
me introduce myself," he said, extending his hand in friendship. "I am
Pierre de Beauchamp."
"My name is Abby Johannes," she replied, shaking his hand.
"Oh! That man has no patience!" exclaimed Pierre.
"I'm trying to tell him that he's holding the rod all wrong!" explained
Gary.
"Cela fait des années que je pêche de cette manière [I fish
this way for many years]," debated Pierre, indignantly.
Though not knowing what Pierre had just said, Gary could hear the disagreement in
his voice. Frustrated, the instructor threw up his hands in exasperation.
"May I see your cast, Pierre?" asked Abby, trying to diffuse the situation.
Seeing at last a chance to vindicate himself, Pierre smiled broadly. Holding his
fly rod with both hands, he executed a clumsy maneuver that Abby would have never
attempted-- especially in public! When Pierre had flailed his arms enough, he released
the line, sending the fly a short distance away from the dock. Even Jake, who had
seen Abby fly cast several times, knew that Pierre's technique was all wrong.
"C'est très gentil [It's very nice]," smiled Abby, trying hard to
hide her amusement.
Gary, who had less patience with novices who thought they knew everything, glared
at Abby. He considered her "interference" as horning in on HIS customer.
"Do you fly fish?" asked Pierre, politely offering the fly rod to Abby. |
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