Funfair

It had been a trying Thursday, filled with many duties without a minute to breathe. The preparation for a funeral, in particular, had eaten most of his morning and seen a lot of tears. Sadness always reigned in when speaking about a loved one, but the fondness that usually permeated anecdotes tended to tip the balance.

But not today. Today, the spouse had been devastated, and the children so angry at their father for leaving them – unwillingly – that Tristan had taken the brunt of it. Death was never welcome, and none of his reassuring words had taken effect.

He'd left in low spirits, barely making it in time in the Martin's family who had invited him for lunch. They had been the first elderly couple to bond with him when he was ordinated, four years past, and he was rather fond of them. Today, though, he had clearly witnessed Isabelle's declining health and despite his best efforts, couldn't help but feel depressed when he took his leave.

His afternoon was dedicated to hospital. A little mass in the chapel, then a visit to all those believers who dwelt in the giant white belly of the impersonal building. Some, dying, others in need of wisdom and a friendly ear. Many, desperate.

Vespers, celebrated privately in the church, wasn't quite enough to balm his heart. No Frances is sight today; she usually visited on Thursday afternoon, when her schedule allowed it. He had not seen her since before the winter break, and wondered if she was having a better day. He certainly hoped so.

Father Tristan left early this evening, in need to resourcing. Perhaps a book and a warm cup of tea would do. March was upon them, and with it, the longer days that allowed him to walk in the sunlight along the tramway line. It was a surprisingly warm day; the priest had not deigned taking a coat over his frock.

And so he steered himself home, long legs covering the distance easily, his collar exposed to let people know he was available. The symbol always called for attention, whether derisive looks or respectful ones. Several times in the past, people had reached for him in the streets. It went from an impromptu confession to help going to the hospital. Anything, really, since his calling was to serve.

The loud noise of the tramway warned him to steer clear from its trajectory. In doing so, Tristan's eye caught a familiar figure, a hundred meters away. The sigh of Frances, sandwiched in between a set of friends, called a gentle smile to his lips. If the witty woman wouldn't visit, God sent her directly in his path.

Her hair was braided to the side, the tresses relatively tame… until the last third escaped the structure to form intertwined ringlets. He would have to ask why she never put an elastic band on her braids. An inconsequential question, for sure, but one that allowed his mind to relax a bit. Frances was a peculiar woman; she didn't do anything the standard way, and focusing on her less than conventional coiffure was very welcomed, if very strange.

Holy God, he was tired if his thoughts fixated on such temptation.

Tristan kept walking, watching the young woman as she smiled to the short boy on her left. On her right, a very tall young man was leaning over, a little too close for his taste. A stuffed bear was proudly tucked under an arm while the right one danced about, probably illustrating the tale she was weaving. Both guys laughed and behind, a couple seemed to share in the mirth. Funny, how the three men shared the raven hair, when they seemed to have nothing more in common.

Before he could study them further, Frances spotted him. A wide smile spread upon her lips, and he was more than grateful for the joy she expressed. Such a simple thing, to be welcomed genuinely without expectation. Tristan couldn't help but smile back, all thoughts of the book he wanted to burrow in forgotten.

She looked… happy. Her skin had taken golden hues – she had mentioned a trip to the mountains – and she walked with purpose, her strides powerful as she detached herself from her group to greet him. The plain jeans and brown jumper were modest enough, yet showed how fit she really was.

A quick peek at the tall guy on the right showed he was frowning, curious about this stranger that stole Frances' attention. Did she speak of him to her friends ? For now, the young woman was closing the distance, a welcoming smile upon her face.

— "Good evening, Father Tristan"

— "Good evening, Frances. I trust you are doing well ?"

— "I'm good", she answered good naturedly. "How about you ?"

What should he say, really ? Just another day at work ? Here was not the place and time to dwell on the less savoury parts of his duties.

— "It has been a tiring day. Who are your friends ?"

The young woman gave him a quick onceover, her lips pursing a moment before she accepted to take the bait.

— "Oh, yes."

And she stepped aside, turning to the man to her left. His dark eyes were full of intelligence, his skin slightly dark, giving him a false air of southern origins.

— "Here is Thomas, the man who saves every single one of my codes. He's pretty thorough, and really knows how to talk to a computer".

— "Ah, I see why you choose to associate with him, then", Tristan responded playfully.

Frances squeaked her disagreement while Thomas nodded affably. The priest responded in kind, storing the information for later. But she had already twisted aside, causing her braid to dance as she presented the very tall man by her right.

— "There's Luke, and Jules and Sophie"

The couple behind her, a chestnut blonde woman with bright eyes and a dark-haired boy with eyes so blue you could drown in, stepped aside.

— "I'm pleased to meet you all. You all study in the same school ?"

— "Study is such a big word", quipped the young woman.

Father Tristan's lips quirked, but he kept his amusement concealed in his beard.

— "Points of view, I'm sure", he responded. "So who won the bear for the lady ?"

He had used the title without thinking about it, but a grimace twisted Luke's lips under the dark goatee.

— "None of us, albeit it wasn't for lack of trying. I fence, sir, but her talents with the bow are unmatched."

Both Frances' and Tristan's eyebrows knitted at the same time; that young man possessed quite a silver tongue. Aimed to impress, with admiration underlying at Frances' skill. She truly was a lady of old if she mastered archery efficiently.

— "Ah, quit with the formality", Frances quipped. "Father Tristan is a priest, not a knight of the round table"

The priest bowed slightly, acknowledging the jab with grace. It had been some time he'd met a guy that stood more than four inches taller than himself, and he wasn't used to looking up. But something called for his attention about Luke. The way he looked at Frances was, for sure, not the kind of look you directed at a friend. Unlike Thomas, who found her amusing and displayed clear affection of the brotherly kind.

Tristan smiled; the fiery lady had managed to gather another set of brothers in school. As if she had not enough with her own.

— "Well, she got her teddy for her birthday, and we offered the drinks. We're pretty even"

Frances gently slapped Thomas' arm, giving him a glare for nearly selling her birth date. Father Tristan kept his face carefully neutral; he had yet to figure out Frances' birthday, but now knew her to be born in March. Perhaps he could devote this evening looking for a book, after all.

Conversation flowed for a few minutes, slightly awkward, before he excused himself. The youth didn't know how to behave around a priest, and Frances was quite sure to be interrogated when he left. She promised to visit soon. 'Next week, because I have Matthew this week end'

Father Tristan's steps were much lighter when he resumed his treks in the streets, filled with happiness for another. Hopefully, Matthew would bring Frances much joy for her birthday; God knew she deserved it.