Eppie took her time walking from the apartment to the mission house that morning. The weather almost commanded an unhurried stride. It was shaping up to be a fine day for early November, bright and slightly chilly, but not cold, with a fresh and sharp cleanliness to the air which one might experience only once or twice over the course of an entire year. Nature, it appeared, had recovered its dander from whatever forces had provoked it up lately, and with a penitent heart had decided to made sweet amends that morning for the several unkindly days which had preceded it.
Since she had left the apartment early, Eppie decided to enjoy the pleasant weather with a long, casual stroll through town. Although her pregnancy was far enough along now that her condition was apparent to anyone who saw her, she was not yet to the point where she could no longer enjoy an extended walk through the neighborhood. She took a decidedly roundabout route to her destination, meandering up and down back streets, pausing before storefront windows on the more well-traveled thoroughfares, and zigzagging at almost every intersection for no apparent reason other than to simply extend the length of her walk.
Eventually she came to the street which led to the mission, and she turned in that direction. While she was still a couple of blocks away she noticed an unusually large number of cars and other vehicles parked in front of Saint Michael’s church. As she came closer, she saw a group of perhaps twenty-five or thirty people standing in a tight semicircle on the sidewalk near the church's front entrance. Several men dressed in blue jeans and casual shirts stood near the perimeter of the group, some holding television cameras on their shoulders, others working still cameras, and all of them pointing their lenses toward the front of the semicircle. Other men and women who were more professionally dressed stood near the front of the group, leaning tightly against each other for position and holding microphones at arm's length toward a tall, silver-haired man who stood facing them. Three large, athletically-built men wearing dark suits and sunglasses stood near the older gentleman who was the focus of the group's attention, one on either side of him and another behind him and slightly to the left.
Eppie was about to cross over to the other side of the street to avoid this crowd when she noticed Father Andrew standing at the periphery of the group. He stood silently to one side of the crowd as the silver-haired gentleman spoke, and he was the only member of the group who did not appear to be keenly interested in what the man was saying. Andrew did not see Eppie approaching him until she was almost by his side.
"Hello, Father," Eppie said.
"Oh, hello Eppie," Father Andrew replied, his voice a strangely tinged with surprise. He glanced at Eppie for only a brief instant, then his eyes turned immediately back toward the crowd, as if he were somehow worried by their presence.
"What are you doing here?" the priest asked, again with an undertone of concern.
"Oh, nothing," replied Eppie. "I was just on my way over to the mission when I saw you standing here. What's going on?"
"Nothing important," said Andrew. "Just a media event that was held here at the church. It's almost over now. Why don't you go on over to the mission and I'll see you there in a little while."
"I'm not in a hurry," the girl said casually. "I can wait here with you for a while. Who's that man?" Eppie nodded her head toward the man who stood before the microphones. He spoke with evident authority and conviction to the gaggle of listeners in front of him. The man looked strangely familiar to her, and she tried to recall where she might have seen him before.
"Oh, he's the Mayor," Andrew replied dismissively, trying to make the proceedings sound uninteresting. "He's just talking politics, nothing all that important. Why don't you run along and I'll catch up with you later. I think Mrs. Applebaum was hoping to finish that quilt for Jonathan today. You know, the one that you were helping her make."
Eppie knew exactly what Father Andrew was referring to. She and Mrs. Applebaum had been working in secret on Jonathan's quilt all week. It was to be a surprise gift for Shelley.
Eppie was about to take Father Andrew's suggestion and say goodbye when the silver-haired gentleman's eyes locked onto hers from across the crowd, and she remembered at that moment where she had seen him before. The episode from that first mass she had attended at Saint Michael's in which she had exchanged glances with the man in the church vestibule came back to her in a flash. The man seemed to recognize her as well, and he glanced down from her eyes toward her appreciably distended abdomen.
"This is the type of person I am fighting for!" the man suddenly announced to the crowd in a loud voice, with a grand gesture of his arm in Eppie's direction. The man took a few steps toward her, and before Eppie realized what was happening he was standing by her side. The crowd swung around clumsily to follow the Mayor as he moved. Those in the front of the group stepped gingerly over a thick tangle of cables that lay on the ground beneath their feet, while those closer to the rear ducked and flinched to avoid being hit by the heavy cameras as they pivoted behind them.
The Mayor put an arm around Eppie and held her to his side as if he had known her all her life. "What's your name, young lady?" he asked in a raised voice, which, although smooth and polished, nonetheless struck the girl as unnervingly intrusive.
Eppie froze. Taken completely by surprise, she could only stare back in shock at the sea of faces and camera lenses that were suddenly aimed in her direction. Several microphones were thrust toward her, and a good deal of jostling and grunting came from the crowd of reporters as they tried to reestablish their positions.
"Come now, Miss," the Mayor said with a smile. "You don't have to be afraid. They're only reporters; they won't bite. Now tell us your name, won't you?"
"Umm ... Eppie," she finally replied in a tentative voice, barely above a whisper.
"Well, Eppie," the Mayor said, "I'm honored to meet you. I can see that the Lord has blessed you with the gift of expectant motherhood, and that is the most precious gift that one can ever receive. How old are you, dear?"
"Fourteen."
"Fourteen," the Mayor repeated soberly. "My, my, that's a lovely age. I know that it can be quite difficult to have a child of your own at your age, but I also know that the Lord would not have chosen to give you a child if He did not feel that you were ready to bear one. So tell me, Eppie, when is your child due to be born?"
Eppie hesitated. "I, uhh ... I don't know," came the halting reply.
"Well, I'm no doctor," the Mayor said, "but I would guess that your baby is probably about seven months or so into its life. Ah, yes, I would say that you will most probably be cuddling your child in your arms before the year is out. Now won't that be a wonderful Christmas present from God?"
"Yeah," Eppie replied weakly, "I guess so." She could feel her face flushing with embarrassment as the crowd pressed in closer to her.
"I think it would be fabulous!" the Mayor proclaimed, speaking less toward Eppie than toward the assemblage before them. "I would like to thank you, Eppie. You and all the other young women in our state who have chosen to accept the great gifts that you have all been given. You are an inspiration for all of us, and I hope that one day soon all of our young women will follow your example. I pledge to you, and to all of our citizens, that I will do all that I can to see us through to that day!"
The Mayor flashed a broad smile toward the reporters as a series of bulbs flashed back in response and every camera in the crowd clicked and whirred in rapid succession. Eppie flinched uneasily at the explosion of lights and sounds. For a long moment she did not know what, if anything, she should do or say. Should she thank the Mayor for what he had said? Was he even talking to her, or to the reporters? Should she say something else, or should she just turn and leave? Unsure of herself, she stood there dumbfounded, staring back helplessly into the face of the restless group before her.
"What's your baby's name, Eppie?" asked one reporter at the front of the pack.
"Is it a boy or a girl?" asked another immediately, before she had a chance to answer.
"Do you have a due date for us?"
Eppie tried to form coherent answers to the questions that were being fired at her. "Ummm ... no," she said, mumbling her words as several microphones moved within inches of her mouth. "I mean, ahh, I'm not sure. I really don't know."
"Who's the father?" shouted a voice from the back of the group.
"Are you going to marry him?"
"Do you plan to raise the child yourself or give it up for adoption?"
"Did you ever consider abortion as an option?"
Eppie felt overwhelmed by the flood of questions thrown in her direction, and she unconsciously stepped backward to put more space between herself and the encroaching journalists. The reporters moved forward in unison, like cats hovering over a crawling insect, and continued to pepper her with questions.
An anxious feeling began to well up inside her, and an expression of fear came across her face. Father Andrew saw Eppie's distress and stepped forward to help her, pushing away the microphones that were held closest to her face. "I think that's enough now," he said to the reporters. "She doesn't have anything else to say."
The reporters ignored Andrew's gesture and immediately moved their microphones back toward Eppie. The questioning resumed at an unrelenting pace.
"How do your parents feel about your pregnancy?"
"Are you Catholic?"
"How do you spell 'Eppie'?"
"Hey!" Andrew said in a louder voice. "I said that's enough." He slid is body between Eppie and the crowd and put his arms out to hold them back.
"Move!" one of the reporters shouted at him.
"He's in my shot!" yelled a cameraman.
"Get him out of there!"
An arm came out of the crowd and rudely shoved Andrew to one side. His left foot became caught in a coil of cable lying on the ground and he stumbled unsteadily as he tried to keep his balance. The hoard of reporters closed in on Eppie from all sides as she stood transfixed before them. Within moments she was surrounded.
Andrew heard Eppie's frightened voice arising from the middle of the crowd, and, like an overly protective parent, he lost control of himself. He threw himself forcefully back into the crowd, pushing bodies out of his way until he was within a few feet of Eppie. One particularly aggressive reporter was standing directly in front of her, his burly body towering over the smaller girl in an imposing posture, his fist holding a microphone under her nose as if it were a weapon. Andrew reached out and grabbed the microphone with both hands and ripped it from the reporter's grasp. The man turned on Andrew with anger in his eyes and tried to seize the microphone back again.
The two men struggled mightily over the instrument for several seconds, their arms flailing and elbows flying in all directions. The commotion rippled through the crowd as others began to push and jostle against one another. One female reporter lost her balance and fell to the ground, then a cameraman tripped over her leg and disappeared down into the crowd as well.
Finally the burly reporter threw a forearm powerfully against Andrew's shoulder and wrenched the microphone from the priest's hands. Andrew staggered backward a few steps and fell against the body of the Mayor, who was still standing in his original spot trying to comprehend the turmoil that was now swirling around him. Andrew grabbed onto the Mayor's arm and tried to hold himself upright, but it was a losing effort. His feet went out from under him and the priest tumbled to the ground, pulling the Mayor down with him as the rest of the crowd continued to push and shove against each other.
Two of the large men in sunglasses came to the Mayor's aid and helped him back to his feet. The Mayor, clearly flustered at the chaos that now threatened to overwhelm his carefully scripted press conference, turned to one of his security guards and pointed at Father Andrew as he lay on the ground. "Get him out of here!" he hissed. The guard immediately placed a hand against the middle of Andrew's back and held him to the ground. He reached behind his back and withdrew a set of handcuffs, then slapped them onto Andrew's wrists.
"All right, sir, up on your feet," the man commanded. "You're under arrest." Together with one of the other agents, the man lifted Andrew from the ground and set him on his feet, then led him away from the crowd toward an unmarked police car parked on the street.
"Wait a minute," Andrew protested. "I haven't done anything wrong." He struggled against the pull of the two agents who were escorting him away, but their grip was too strong and they forced him forward toward the street. "Wait!" he cried. "I can't leave Eppie here by herself!"
Eppie turned and saw Father Andrew being taken away by the security agents. Her anxiety turned instantly to panic, and she bolted from the crowd.
"No!!" she screamed in a loud cry as she ran toward Father Andrew. "You leave him alone!" In an instinctive rush Eppie ran up to one of the agents and kicked him hard in the shin. The agent doubled over and grabbed his leg with both hands, hopping around on his other leg and grimacing in pain. Eppie turned toward the other agent and kicked at him as well, but the agent sidestepped her foot, all the while keeping his grip on Andrew's arm.
"Now calm down, young lady," the agent said, pointing his finger at her in a commanding manner. "You're only causing trouble for yourself."
"You let him go!" Eppie yelled, with tears starting to well up in her eyes. "He's not a criminal!" She looked rapidly back and forth between the agents and the crowd of reporters, who were now shocked into immobility. For a few seconds a nervous stillness fell over the scene. Nobody moved or spoke for fear of igniting an even greater confrontation.
Eventually the Mayor stepped forward and tried to restore a sense of order. "It's all right, Eppie," the Mayor said, moving toward her and placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "Nothing bad is going to happen to Father Andrew."
"Take your hands off me!!" Eppie screamed, spinning around and slapping the Mayor's hand resoundingly from her shoulder. "I don't want you touching me!" She stuck an index finger directly in the Mayor’s face.
From the middle of the crowd several cameras clicked and whirred again as the Mayor and the girl stood facing each other. The Mayor appeared shocked and unsteadied by Eppie's outburst, and he fumbled noticeably as he tried to think of something to say to calm her. Eppie broke down into a full cry, and she wiped the tears from her cheeks with the back of her sleeve.
"Leave her alone!" Andrew yelled from a few feet away, still tugging against the grip of the security agent. "Go on, all of you, get out of here. You've got your stories already. She has nothing more to say. Just leave her be."
At first the reporters did not move, they simply stood in place and continued to train their cameras and microphones on the young girl who stood before them with her shoulders hunched forward, sobbing uncontrollably into the back of her arm. The Mayor finally stepped away and placed himself between the girl and the crowd. He raised his arms out to each side, much like Andrew had done a minute earlier.
"I think we're finished here, folks," he said to the crowd. "We're going to let the girl go on her way now. If you will accompany me over to the other side of the grounds, I'll have a few final comments for you." The Mayor herded the crowd together and guided them across the lawn to the other side of the churchyard. One of the security guards helped the Mayor move the crowd along.
"Did you get that slap in frame?" one reporter asked her cameraman as they retreated from the scene with the rest of the group.
"You bet I did," the cameraman replied proudly. "And the priest's takedown, too. They'll be showing this clip all across the state for weeks."
Eppie relaxed a bit as the crowd of reporters moved away with the Mayor, but she continued to stare confrontationally at the two remaining security agents.
"What do we do with her?" asked one agent to the other.
"You heard the Mayor," the second agent replied. "Let her go. She hasn't done any real damage," he said with a chuckle, "except maybe to your shinbone there."
"Very funny," said the first agent. "Okay, Miss, you're free to go. Just don't give us any more trouble."
"I'm staying with Father Andrew," Eppie said defiantly. "You either let him go or I go with him."
The two agents looked at each other uncertainly.
"You don't have to do that, Eppie," said Father Andrew. "They won't keep me very long, I'm sure. I'll be back here in an hour or two, isn't that right, fellas?"
"Probably," said one of the agents flatly.
"I don't care, Father," said Eppie. "You're in trouble only because you were protecting me. You've always helped me when I was in need, so I won't just walk away from you now."
Andrew sighed with resignation, seeing that he would not be able to convince Eppie to change her mind.
"Okay, Eppie, fair enough," he said. Then, turning to the agents, he said, "Is it all right if she rides with us to wherever you're taking me?"
The two agents glanced at each other. "Fine with us," said one of them. "As long as she behaves herself."
The agents escorted Andrew to their car and placed him in the back seat. Eppie followed behind them and hopped into the seat next to the priest. As the car pulled away from the curb, Andrew looked at Eppie, and his face broke out in a wry smile.
Eppie looked back at him, perplexed by his expression. "What?" she asked, her brow crinkled in confusion.