Chapter 1: Frost and Stone

FROST AND STONE

Siobhan screamed until she thought her throat would tear. If she screamed loud enough she could drown out the voices of her parents telling her how she shamed them, again.

"You should know better, Siobhan O'Hullan," her mother said as if Siobhan sat doe eyed and attentive. "We've told you again and again that you must be respectful at school. Your father has a position in the community."

"Mr. Riordan phoned me," her father said, "he's a deacon at the church. They are already concerned about you."

"They didn't hire me, did they?" Siobhan said. "No one asked me if I wanted to live in this piss-ant town. Your precious Mr. Riordan spends his day peering down my shirt and hoping for a glimpse."

"You need to dress modestly," her mother said. "It's the work of the devil, these girls parading about in next to nothing."

"We wear a school uniform, Mom. Short skirts and thin white blouses so the teachers can get their jollies. I'd wear my parka all day if we were allowed. All I did was ask him to back off and stop drooling all over me."

"You told him to, 'effing keep his creepy effing eyes to himself'. In front of the whole school no less."

"I heard he mauled at one of the girls, and got her knocked up too."

"She was a wicked girl and a liar. It was one of those boys that she tempted into sin," her mother said.

"We'll never know since she went off and hung herself."

"That just proves that she was an evil girl. No good girl would think of such a thing." Siobhan caught her father wincing a little, but he didn't speak up. He never did. Her mother would have most of the world in hell and not think twice about it.

"That's your answer for everything isn't it?" Siobhan said. "People are evil, sinful, worthy only of burning in hell. Well let me tell you, the worst people are the ones who sit in the front of your church and pretend to be good."

"We are all sinners," her father said.

"Not all of us rape girls and kill them to cover it up!" Siobhan knew she'd gone too far when her mother's face went white. She fled out into the damp of the November weather. Her anger kept her warm for the first half block, then she started shivering in her thin sweater.

"What good are parents when they won't listen?" she asked the grey sky. "Why don't you tell them, hey? They might listen to you. Come down here and let them know that the deacons who run their church are hypocrites. Just one bolt of lightning, just one!"

"I bet I know who you'd want it to be aimed at," Pwyll stepped out from where he'd been leaning against a tree and wrapped his jacket around her shoulders.

"You were waiting for me?" Siobhan let his warmth sink into her. Pwyll pulled a second coat out from behind the tree and took her hand.

"I heard you while I was doing my paper route," he said. "I went and got an extra coat and waited. You always walk this way when you're angry." He took her hand and a different warmth ran up her arm.

"You be careful, or my mother will have you burning in hell."

"I'm Catholic," Pwyll said, "I'm already headed for the flames."

Siobhan sighed. This church her dad worked in was very good at deciding who were the sinners destined to burn. It hadn't always been that way. The place they were in before they came to New Franklin had been filled with laughter and fun. Everyone had been her friend. The New Franklin Chapel of God had stolen the joy from her father. Now she seemed to be trapped in the role of the devil child. She'd heard there had been a suggestion that they perform an exorcism on her.

They walked aimlessly through the streets until it started to snow. Pwyll guided them directly to her front door. He was careful to let go of her hand before they rounded the corner to her street.

"I can never figure out how you do that," she said, "I'd be lost forever."

"I don't know," Pwyll said, "I just know where I'm going."

"And that's not to Hell," Siobhan said.

Pwyll shrugged. She gave him his jacket back before he waved and walked away.

"I don't want you hanging around with that boy," her mother said from behind her. "He's foreign and Catholic."

"He's Welsh, Ma," Siobhan said, "His name is Paul, only spelled the Welsh way."

"Like English isn't good enough for him?" She held the door wide. "Upstairs and to your room. You pray for forgiveness for your rudeness to Mr. Riordan. Some prayer and fasting will do you good."

Siobhan looked at her father, but he didn't say anything. So, she climbed the stairs to her room in this house that wasn't theirs. She stared at the room and sighed. If God really answered prayers, than she would wake up one morning and find that her room was no longer pink and white. It made her feel like she was trapped inside a wedding cake. It must be because she was such a wicked girl that her life was so horrible. That was the only explanation. Everyone at the Chapel thought so and told her too.

She knelt on the thin chair pad with her back to the door. She'd told her volleyball coach that she'd hurt her knees playing soccer last summer, but the truth was she spent so much time kneeling that her legs ached all the time. The ball in her stomach was hunger and anger. She didn't know which was worse. At least hunger wasn't a sin. It was supposed to get her closer to God. What a joke.