Acts of Faith

Peony Balefire peeked through the blinds, her long, thin fingers separating the reeds. She saw the woman pull into the driveway, skidding the tires of what looked like a new Chevy. A stout, high-heeled leg popped out of the open door, and the rest of the woman followed. Peony groaned.

There was a quick rap on the office door. "Here comes trouble," the blonde Cypress said.

Peony turned away from the window, and sighed heavily. "I hate this, Cypress." The assistant nodded. Peony removed her thin-framed glasses and stuck them in her gaping shirt pocket. "Why do I let you talk me into these things?"

Cypress giggled. "Oh come on. I didn't talk you into it. You volunteered!"

"So why'd you let me volunteer?"

"You want to set the record straight, right?"

Oh Cypress, Peony thought. If you only knew how hard I've tried. "But this paper is little better than a tabloid!" She rose from her plush chair and rubbed her hands together. "All right. Let's get this over with."

Cypress smiled as she stepped up to Peony, and kissed her on the lips. "I'll bring her in." Cypress, long and free-flowing in a white cotton dress, left the office door ajar as she left.

Peny thought about Cypress, about the kiss, about how good Cypress was as both an individual and as a companion. Cypress had come to the area seven years before, from the far Northwest, as an innocent college graduate. Peony first met her at the younger woman's interview to become Peony's assistant.

Peony remembered it well. She'd grown tired and frustrated with the snippy little tight-asses who blundered into her office, answering her want ad. She could hardly imagine liking any of them, let alone work with them under the intimate conditions that were required.

And then Cypress walked in. Peony knew she was different right away. Cypress had a golden glow, a cherubic aura that came from more than just her brilliant tresses. After all the stiff business suits, spiked teased and pulled hair and stilletto heels, Cypress looked like the goddess herself in her long green dress and simple sandals.

"I was wondering about the position you advertised in the newspaper. Is it still open?"

Peony smiled, her first smile in what felt like weeks. "You bet it is!" Peony approached the girl, and embraced her warmly. "It's good to meet you, Ms...."

"Cypress," she replied, returning the embrace, and very much liking the vibrations she was getting from this woman.

Peony released Cypress and continued to smile. "Well, Cypress, you just passed the first test." Cypress blinked. "If we're going to be working together, I think a little affection would be a good thing."

"Definitely!"

Peony nodded. "No one else passed that one, Cypress. Come in my office, and we'll talk."

"I think your work is incredibly important," Cypress had said. "It's something I've been fighting for all my life, or at least as long as I can remember. I follow the old ways, too."

Peony's heart skipped a beat. "You're kidding? I mean, I'm not surprised but..."

"I was in a coven at school, and one even before that."

"You must have been sent to me by the goddess herself!"

Cypress blushed, and shifted around in her chair. "For fear of being too bold..."

Peony dismissed the though with a wave of her hand. "Ask."

"I haven't been able to find a group here." She said, her blue eyes glistening.

"There are not many. In fact, too few."

"I want to ask...I mean, I don't want to offend you...but..."

Peony drew a small cedar box from the desk drawer. She sniffed its contents; powdered yarrow, valerian, frankincense. She applied a small dab of the powder to her own forehead, and then onto Cypress. "It is done," she said. "Welcome to my Circle."

Peony's reverie ended abruptly as Cypress entered with the journalist. Peony leapt from her desk, and shook the woman's hand. "I'm Dr. Balefire."

The journalist's beady eyes skeptically appraised the boisterous Peony. Her reddened lips pursed tightly as she said, "I am Suzanne Miller. You may call me Suzanne. Shall we begin?"

Cypress stifled a gasp. The woman was colder than a fundamentalist's teat! She closed the office door, and dragged a chair next to the journalist. She wondered how the woman had gotten her hair all into that tight little bun?

"I'd like to start with some basic facts about what it is you do here," Suzanne said. "You counsel Satanists?"

Peony raised her eyebrow. "I counsel anyone who is having difficulty following their spiritual paths in this society."

"But especially Satanists?"

"No, not especially Satanists!"

"But you do counsel some Satanists."

"Ms. Miller," Peony began.

"Mrs. Miller, thank you."

"Suzanne, I don't judge people who come into my office. If they need my help, I am here for them." But even as she spoke it, she knew this journalist would pervert her words.

"And what is your own faith, Dr. Balefire?"

Peony shrugged. "I leave labels to others, Suzanne."

"So are you a Satanist?"

"Did I say that?"

"Is there a difference whether you did or did not?"

Cypress bit her lip, expecting Peony to explode. But Peony, surprisingly, remained cool. "Suzanne, if you had done your homework before you came here, you'd know that's a ridiculous question."

The journalist's eyes narrowed. "Why is it ridiculous?"

"Well, for one thing, it would be damn hard to be a Satanist when I don't believe in Satan!"

Cypress giggled. But Suzanne was undaunted. "So you don't believe in Satan?"

Peony sighed. "I don't subscribe to some paradigm of dual deities, anyway."

"So what is your theology?"

Peony smiled slyly. "If I was able to put it into words, it wouldn't be much of a theology, would it? Can we please get on about the clinic?"

"Certainly." Suzanne went into her bag and pulled out a magazine. Cypress recognized the cover, a magazine she didn't take very seriously, spiritually, but many did. Suzanne turned to the end pages, and pointed to an advertisement. "What are your qualifications? Did you get some worthless degree from a send-away seminary that sells them for fifty dollars? Like the one here?"

Peony gestured at the wall across the office. "Do you see that, Suzanne? That's my degree. If you look at it closely, I think you'll see that I am an M.D. in Clinical Psychiatry. And I did not go to some trailer park for it, either."

The journalist got up to take a better look. She read the certificate. She was duly impressed but refused to show it. "And you're also a priestess?"

"I am a legally certified minister."

Suzanne nodded. "So how did you find time for your--religion, while you were in medical school?"

Peony shrugged. "My religion helped me get through medical school."

"How?"

"By extreme mental training, and being able to center."

Cypress could tell by the woman's look that Peony was going over her head.

"Meditation," she offered for clarity.

Suzanne turned to Cypress. "And how long have you worked here?"

"Seven years."

"How long do you plan to work here?"

Cypress smiled. "As long as I can."

"Is Dr. Balefire such a good boss?"

"The best."

With her keen eyes, Suzanne scrutinized the affectionate glances the two women were exchanging. And then, she had a new question. "Are you two lovers?"

Cypress and Peony blinked. "What?"

"Are you lovers? L-O-V-E-R-S?"

"Sometimes," Peony said proudly.

"When we're moved to be so," Cypress added.

"Does your romantic relationship damage your work at all?"

"It's not a romantic relationship," Peony protested. "You're simplifying."

"Sisterhood," Cypress explained.

"And is homosexuality such an important part of your faith?"

"Expressing affection is," Cypress said.

"Enough," Peony said, spreading her arms. "Ms. Miller, have you come here for facts, or for insignificant tidbits that your alarmist readers can seize upon to make more trouble for us?"

Suzanne smiled triumphantly. "I think you've told me all I need to know." She packed her notepad away in her huge leather purse, and rose.

"Cypress, can you show her out?"

"No need," Suzanne quipped. "I'll show myself."

She disappeared.

"What'd you think?" Cypress asked.

"No worse than any others," Peony sighed. "And much better than a few. At least we didn't get into a shouting match."

Cypress nodded. "Do you ever feel like nobody will ever give us a break?"

Peony shrugged. "We give ourselves a break by being who we are."

"Can you watch my skateboard for me?" The red-haired boy asked Cypress in a quivering voice.

"I sure would," Cypress answered gaily. "Or you can take it in with you. Dr. Balefire won't mind."

The boy nodded, jittery, and then Cypress led him into the office.

"This is Tim Thiess," Cypress introduced him.

Peony got up from her desk. She smiled at him. He looked about fifteen, maybe seventeen at the oldest. His fiery red hair compared to her own in hue, and hung down in a pageboy. Such a boy should not be so disturbed! She put a protective arm around the boy as she said, "Well Tim, I'm Dr. Balefire. But you can call me Peony. Okay?" Despite a sullen countenance, Tim smiled weakly. Cypress winked at Timmy, and then went back to her own desk.

Peony led Tim to a rounded sofa, where the boy could sit in comfort and she could talk to him easily. "Would you like some tea? I have Earl Grey, Englih Breakfast..."

"Uh, if you don't mind, Dr...."

"Peony. Just Peony."

He smiled again. "You wouldn't happen to have herb tea, would you? Something with mint, maybe catnip, some valerian"

Peony laughed. "I certainly do! I grow the herbs myself."

"Thank you. It will relax me."

She studied the boy for a moment, and then turned toward her tea cabinet. "You certainly know your craft," she remarked. She opened the doors, and pulled out several glass jars, filled with herbs. "Would you like some hops in it, too? A little chamomile?"

"Both, please."

Peony poured tiny quantities of each herb into a bamboo infuser. She took an earthenware mug out of the cabinet, and filled it with hot water from the coffee pot. It had never been used to make actual coffee, but was very efficient at keeping water warm As she dunked the infuser in the water, she said, "You know, I remember the first time I bought herbs for a brew. I was in college, and there was this natural foods store just off campus. And when I saw what they had, I thought I was in Summerland itself!" She left the infuser to bob in the water, and leaned on the countertop of the cabinet. "And I went nuts! I bought roses, hibiscus, yarrow, lavender, and...oh, I don't remember what all. And then, I got to the register, and the girl there looked at what I was buying. And she said, 'Oh. Making potpourri, are we?' And I just grinned and said, 'No. Tea.' And she just gave me a funny look."

Tim nodded. "That's the way it goes."

The tea looked well brewed. She removed the infuser and carried the mug over to Tim. "Be careful, now. It's hot."

He took the mug from her hands carefully. "I don't want you to think you make me nervous," he said. "It's just that, well, I'm pretty frazzled right now."

"How old are you, Tim?"

"I just turned sixteen."

She sat down across from him and crossed her legs. "Well, what can I do for you? What's up?"

He sipped from the mug and sighed. "I just got tossed out of my house."

Peony's eyes betrayed her alarm. "By whom?"

"My dad. He just said he never wanted to see my face again, and if I ever came back into his house, he would kill me."

"Why?"

"He found me out. I'm usually the first one home, so if there's ever any mail for me, I get it before they see it. But yesterday, I got my Paths magazine, and my father had intercepted it. He burned it, and threw the ashes at me. It was the last straw, he said. He'd warned me to give up that 'weird stuff'. So he threw me out. All I have is my skateboard."

Peony was hearing such a tale for the hundreth time, but her anger never dulled. Her wrath at these so-called "parents", who were, in reality, no more than cowards and dictators, who abandoned their children when their philosophies no longer matched.

"So I came to you," he said. "I knew you would help me."

"You can depend on that, Tim," Peony affirmed. "But I need you to tell me the whole story. If you can."

He gulped. "I can."

"Now your father said that was the last straw. I would guess there were previous straws?"

"Lots," Tim agreed. He took a deep breath. "I had an aunt. Johanna. She was everything to me! My parents were never around when I was younger, so Aunt Jo took care of me. Then, one day, when I went to her house after school, she was standing in a white robe, in front of a little table. The table had some candles on it, and there was this terrific smell that I'll never forget." He looked up at the celing, losing himself in the memory. "She was the goddess, appearing to me. And when she saw me there, she took me by the hand and explained what she was doing. I thought it was so beautiful, I wanted to do it to. So she taught me."

Peony nodded, touched by the image. "Where's your Aunt Jo now?"

He sighed. "Summerland, I'm sure."

Peony blinked. "I'm sorry."

"That's when all the trouble started. She died six months ago. My family insisted that she have a Christian funeral. Now, I was really angry, because she had told me not to let her get buried that way, but I knew no one would listen to me. Neither of us thought I'd be so young when she died."

"So your family is Christian?"

"Adamantly! Except for me and Aunt Jo. And they all knew that Aunt Jo followed the ancient paths, but they were afraid that the family would look bad if she didn't have a 'decent' burial. But the hypocrisy! There was this minister, or whatevr, talking about eternal life, blah blah blah. And then, everyone was standing around, badmouthing her. 'She sure isn't in heaven,' my grandmother said. 'I told her to get saved,' remembered someone else. And then, the minister--the minister!--said, 'It would be difficult for someone with Johanna's spiritual baggage to get into heaven.' And my father said, 'She is certainly in Hell'.

"And I don't know what happened to me. Something snapped, and I started yelling. 'You're all horrible! How can you say that? Aunt Jo was a good woman. You're liars! You're nothing but a bunch of liars!' And I went after the minister, but my father got to me first, and beat me, right there, in front of everyone. Things went downhill from there." He paused to sip his tea. "This is nice," he said.

That Tim was able to jump from such a horrendous narrative to a light comment gave Peony a great deal of hope. She said, "Thank you. I didn't put too much valerian in it."

"That stuff stinks, but it works." He sipped again, and resumed. "Well, since I couldn't worship the goddess with Aunt Jo anymore, I had to bring it into my own home. It fell apart very quickly. My father destroyed my altar, flushed my incense down the toilet. Soon, all I had left were my books, which I hid in my locker at school, and mailings that I got. And then yesterday..."

Peony considered. "Would your father be home now?"

Tim looked confused. "Yes. You're not going to send me back there, are you?"

"Certainly not," she affirmed. "It's just my professional duty to let him know exactly what the situation is."

And get proof, she thought. Her office phone was hooked up to a tape recorder. If the father spoke violently against his son, she could save his ignorance for posterity. And if the police came sniffing around, if his parents reported him missing, she would have full evidence.

She got up from the sofa and sat on top of her desk. Her jeans made a rustling sound as she swung her legs. "What's the number, Tim?"

As he told her, she dialed. A rough voice barked hello. She pushed the record button. "Is this Mr. Thiess?"

"Yeah. Whadda you want?"

"I'm Dr. Balefire, at the Clinic of Friends. Your son came to me today. He said you threw him out of your home."

"Damn right." Mr. Thiess bellowed, so loudly that even Tim could hear him, and he shuddered. "That good for nothing freak, bringing the devil into our good home. If he ever sets foot in here again, if I ever see him again, he's dead."

"Mr. Thiess," Peony sneered, trying to stay cool. "You do realize that in casting your son out, you've broken the law."

"I don't care about the law! It's my house, I'll live by my own law."

"Then I'll have to take your son into my own care."

"Then do it. You can have him." He hung up.

"Well, that's what I needed," she said.

"But where am I going to go?"

Peony sat down next to him. "I have a whole group of people about your age living at my house right now. Their folks kicked them out, too, because they believed what you, and I, believe," she said. "I would be very happy to have you move in?"

"Really?" He grinned. "You mean it?"

"I wouldn't kid about this. And I'll make sure you get some nice clothing, too. And we'll see about getting your stuff out of your parents' house." She looked at her watch. "In fact, why don't I take you home right now, so you can meet everybody, and relax?"

A million happy emotions sparkled in Tim's eyes, but he said nothing as he threw his arms around Peony and hugged her tightly. "You're welcome, Tim," she said.

Emilie J. Conroy

ejconroy778@gmail.com