Winter of Grace by Kate Constable Page B

‘What about all the terrible things the church has done? The crusades, the Inquisition, burning people at the stake. What about child abuse? What about forbidding men to wear condoms, even to stop spreading AIDS?’
    â€˜Christianity has been around for two thousand years, of course it isn’t perfect. But look at all the wonderful work the churches have done through the ages, all over the world: taking care of the sick, the homeless, the poor; educating children; feeding the starving. And churches give hope. They help millions of people. They give care and love.’
    â€˜That’s what Bridie said,’ snorted Stella, and Nana Kincaid turned to me with her pale blue eyes as bright and sharp as Stella’s own in her soft velvety face.
    â€˜Ah, Bridie. You’ve always had more sense than Stella.’
    I muttered something, uncomfortably caught between Stella and Nana, and then Mish rescued me.
    â€˜Sit down everyone – oh, Paul, there you are. Thanks, darling – Tark, cut some bread; you’re so good at it.’
    We all scraped back chairs, sat down and began to help ourselves to food. Tark was talking about football, and Nana had just asked me about school when Stella started up again.
    â€˜If church is so fantastic, how come Dad stopped going?’
    Scarlet groaned. ‘Give it a rest, Stella!’
    Paul reached for the bread. ‘I still believe the Church does good work in the community, and I still want to help with that.’
    â€˜But you don’t go to Mass any more.’
    â€˜No. I have theological difficulties.’
    â€˜What does that mean?’ I asked.
    Nana Kincaid didn’t say anything, but she had a pained expression on her face.
    Paul waved his fork. ‘The virgin birth, the miracles, heaven and hell, transubstantiation—’ ‘Trans- what ?’
    â€˜That’s when the bread and wine at Communion turn into the body and blood of Christ.’
    â€˜Eew!’ squealed Stella.
    Tark said flatly, ‘Yuck.’
    â€˜Not literally ,’ I said.
    â€˜Well, yes. According to Catholic scholars, the essential substance of the bread and wine literally becomes Christ’s flesh and blood. Like magic. You can see why I have trouble believing it – sorry, Mum.’ Paul pulled an apologetic face at Nana. ‘Not to mention confession and the resurrection and the blessed martyrs and the rosary.’
    Nana carved up her asparagus tart. ‘You say what you like. You’ll come back in the end. They always do.’
    â€˜Huh!’ said Stella. ‘Not this little black duck.’
    I said to Paul, ‘If you don’t believe it, why are you sending Stella to St Margaret’s?’
    â€˜Good question,’ said Stella.
    â€˜I’d like to believe it,’ said Paul, and laughed. ‘I do believe in the moral side of it. The Ten Commandments, do unto others, turn the other cheek. I believe in that . And St Margaret’s has an excellent music program.’
    Stella rolled her eyes.
    I turned to Mish. ‘Do you believe in God?’
    Mish laughed. ‘Me? I’m a wishy-washy New Age mystic. I believe in nothing and everything. I’m not a huge fan of organised religion. But I do believe in ghosts, and karma, and the power of prayer – even if I’m not sure there’s anyone there to hear it.’ She pointed her knife emphatically. ‘But I must say, I’m very happy to see you girls exploring your spirituality.’
    Stella made gagging noises, and Nana snorted, and they looked at each other and laughed. They loved to argue, but deep down, they were exactly the same.
    When I got home, Mum was in her study marking papers. I brought her a cup of tea.
    â€˜Thanks, darling, that’s sweet of you.’
    â€˜I do have an ulterior motive.’ I leaned against the doorway. ‘Could you give me a lift on Wednesday night? About half-past six?’
    â€˜I suppose