Author note: Jeremiah, like all interesting characters, is asking for my attention for longer than I wanted to give him. And frankly, the Bishop deserves a strong opening. Episode 4, it turns out, is a three-parter and I’m ok with that. I’ll have another episode next week, then we’ll get back to our normal schedule in December.

Weighed down by good food and hot tea, not to mention the Sacrament, in his little satchel, Jeremiah’s walk required deliberate pacing and cadence on narrow and uneven sidewalks. He knew the Bishop would not be on his stoop, but he went there anyway because, perhaps, he could set down the food and then go looking without the heavy burden. This was his very good plan. 

Deliberate pacing and cadence on narrow and uneven sidewalks required Jeremiah to be in his body, a foreign and uncomfortable place. Every Sunday, walking down the aisle of St.  Benedict’s with the Bible raised high over his head, he counted how many steps he walked behind the choir, remembered how to synchronize his steps with everyone in the procession, considered how to regulate his breathing as he walked and sang, ignored the burning in his arms as he held the heavy, ancient book above his head. Being in his body now, walking the sidewalks that heaved over thick tree roots, slanted into sinkholes, narrowed between intruding porches and the busy street, and crowded with street signs in front of businesses, Jeremiah could not deny the stiffness he felt in joints and muscles for no discernible reason. He was not so old. He just didn’t recognize the mechanics of the vessel he embodied. He never did. Never could.

Somewhere in his mind, a voice told him to stretch and breathe. A voice he remembered. A voice… the voice of a person he should have reached out to this summer.  

Unlike so many of its neighbors, Silverwood wasn’t a terribly large town. Being squeezed against the wetlands, the ancestors filled in parts of the wetlands to make the land they could. The subsequent creation of the reservoir helped in the yearly war against swampy basements, but still… the living waters around Silverwood played a key role in keeping the geography of the town tight and vertical. Walkable as it was, Jeremiah still found himself huffing and puffing as he made his way to the Common Plot and Far Square just beyond. Even a small town has to have a neighborhood “far away” from “everything.” And that’s where the Bishop lived. Of course that’s where the Bishop lived. 

When the early residents of Silverwood built up the Far Square, they didn’t know what they were doing. Bringing in dirt from the river, forest, and the fields to fill in the wetlands was arduous and dangerous. All they knew was they needed to make space for all who were there and the more they knew were coming. The engineering of filling in soggy land and then building on top of it would come later. Over time, as they figured it out, they strengthened what could be saved and knocked down what couldn’t. The result was a hodgepodge of old and older, buildings that sagged or had sealed off moldy basements, but were boarded up entirely. To hear parishioners talk of it, the Far Square needed attention and the Select Board needed to do something about it. Jeremiah couldn’t fathom what that small body could do. Seemed like a state thing. And the state… well, nobody wanted the state’s attention, mostly because help from it was slow at best. 

As Jeremiah made his way to the brick building with the sinking concrete stoop where the Bishop lived, he felt both relief and deep frustration that the man was not actually there. Even if he wasn’t surprised. It would have just been nice to see the man there, waiting for him. Surely he knew he was coming? Jeremiah tucked the heavy food bags on a corner and wrapped the Bishop’s sleeping bag around it to insulate it agains the hold. He did the same with the two cups of tea, though had little hope they’d stay warm. He kept his satchel with him because he had a sinking suspicion he’d be doing a little work while he was out this way, then he stepped off the stoop to go striding toward The Common Plot. With each step, he left his aching body and returned, comfortably, to his head. A steady, if cloudy, place.