It was one in the morning, and Peter was working by candlelight. He'd skipped dinner in his haste to finish this. Liz could yell at him later. Too much. Too little time. Must read more. Must get it all down before....

Number Four )
It was one in the morning, and Peter was working by candlelight. He'd skipped dinner in his haste to finish this. Liz could yell at him later. Too much. Too little time. Must read more. Must get it all down before....

Number Four )
Peter stared at the large red "Number Two" he'd written across the top of a fresh piece of paper. His eyes unfocused and he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. Too much to think about. Too many failures to count. He reached over to the diary, labelled 1999. He opened it, and steeled himself for what he was about to read. The memories he was about to dig up.

Number Two )
Peter stared at the large red "Number Two" he'd written across the top of a fresh piece of paper. His eyes unfocused and he tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. Too much to think about. Too many failures to count. He reached over to the diary, labelled 1999. He opened it, and steeled himself for what he was about to read. The memories he was about to dig up.

Number Two )
Father Peter signed the last of the reports he had left to do for the Abbey school. He felt his stomach rumble. He'd been neglecting food in favour of getting his work done. But now it was finished. He hoped he could talk one of the cooks out of some leftovers.

Standing, he made his way to his office door, turned off his light, and headed down the narrow hallway, where he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see his fellow priest, Charles, gazing at him oddly.

"Could I trouble you for a moment, Peter?"

"It's no trouble at all, Charles. What is it?"

"Well it's-there's a little girl on the phone for you, Peter. She sounds incredibly distressed."

Peter's face didn't register anything, but his heart leapt into his throat. )
Father Peter signed the last of the reports he had left to do for the Abbey school. He felt his stomach rumble. He'd been neglecting food in favour of getting his work done. But now it was finished. He hoped he could talk one of the cooks out of some leftovers.

Standing, he made his way to his office door, turned off his light, and headed down the narrow hallway, where he heard someone clear their throat behind him. He turned to see his fellow priest, Charles, gazing at him oddly.

"Could I trouble you for a moment, Peter?"

"It's no trouble at all, Charles. What is it?"

"Well it's-there's a little girl on the phone for you, Peter. She sounds incredibly distressed."

Peter's face didn't register anything, but his heart leapt into his throat. )
Father Peter Kemp sighed as he looked over the paperwork that was destined to keep him busy for several days. He was supposed to be grading work from the Abbey School as well. No matter. Somehow, it would all get done in the end.

Just as he set his pen to the paper, one of the other English parish priests leaned into his office. If you could call it that.

"Peter. There's a call for you. Says she's your niece? Should I bring you the phone in here, then?"

Peter nodded, putting his pen down softly. He knew it wasn't his niece. He didn't have a niece. He took the phone that was being handed to him, his soft soothing voice forming the words, "thank you, Charles." He pulled the phone as far into the room as the cord would allow and then he shut the door.

"Hello, Sweetheart. How are you?"

There was deep breathing on the other end of the line and then, "Good. How are you?"

It tore at his heart that he had to hide her )
Father Peter Kemp sighed as he looked over the paperwork that was destined to keep him busy for several days. He was supposed to be grading work from the Abbey School as well. No matter. Somehow, it would all get done in the end.

Just as he set his pen to the paper, one of the other English parish priests leaned into his office. If you could call it that.

"Peter. There's a call for you. Says she's your niece? Should I bring you the phone in here, then?"

Peter nodded, putting his pen down softly. He knew it wasn't his niece. He didn't have a niece. He took the phone that was being handed to him, his soft soothing voice forming the words, "thank you, Charles." He pulled the phone as far into the room as the cord would allow and then he shut the door.

"Hello, Sweetheart. How are you?"

There was deep breathing on the other end of the line and then, "Good. How are you?"

It tore at his heart that he had to hide her )
The riverboat trip had been cold and uneventful. Though the damn intercom had played "The Blue Danube" over and over again. Talk about false advertising. Though the song, "The sort of greyish poopy brown Danube" probably wouldn't be a breakaway pop hit.

Melk )
The riverboat trip had been cold and uneventful. Though the damn intercom had played "The Blue Danube" over and over again. Talk about false advertising. Though the song, "The sort of greyish poopy brown Danube" probably wouldn't be a breakaway pop hit.

Melk )

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