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"I don't know," he replied. "They're going to point and ask questions, and I don't think I can handle that."

"Then, come to church with us," invited Abby.

Jake immediately resisted this idea. It would mean traveling in the same vehicle with John and Terry. They were men, and he couldn't stand to be around men more than he absolutely had to.

"All right," said Abby, altering the invitation slightly, "I have my own car. We'll go together. How about that? Once we get there, you can sit next to me in the pew, and you don't have to talk to anyone if you don't want to."

"Then, I'll come," he accepted, slowly.

"Good," replied Abby, turning to go. "Oh, I almost forgot, Mom invited you to lunch."

"I can't," declined Jake.

"I thought so," she smiled. "I'll bring the food to you."

With that, Abby left, closing the front door behind her. Sunday services were already over for the day, but next Sunday, The Good Shepherd congregation would get their first glimpse of the ex-convict.

Monday morning, Jake left for work early. It wasn't until three-thirty in the late afternoon, that Abby was finally called to the marina to act as an interpreter. When she arrived, Terrence, (her boss), directed Abby over to the Marina Tackle Store where a fly casting instructor was struggling to communicate with a young French-Canadian. Gary, the instructor, waved Abby over to them as Jake silently watched from a distance.

"Am I glad you're here," sighed Gary. "This guy insists he speaks English, but I barely understand him!"

"All right, calm down," laughed Abby, turning to face the customer. "Excusez-moi, puis-je vous aider? [Excuse me, may I help you?]"

"I speak English," replied the man with a thick French accent. He gave Gary a look of annoyance. "Je n'ai pas besoin de traducteur! [I don't need a translator!]"

"Very well," smiled Abby, not wanting to offend him by disagreeing. "Would you mind if I just stood over here and watch?"

The young man smiled at her, pleasantly.

"Où sont passées mes mnières? [Where are my manners?] Let me introduce myself," he said, extending his hand in friendship. "I am Pierre de Beauchamp."

"My name is Abby Johannes," she replied, shaking his hand.

"Oh! That man has no patience!" exclaimed Pierre.

"I'm trying to tell him that he's holding the rod all wrong!" explained Gary.

"Cela fait des années que je pêche de cette manière [I fish this way for many years]," debated Pierre, indignantly.

Though not knowing what Pierre had just said, Gary could hear the disagreement in his voice. Frustrated, the instructor threw up his hands in exasperation.

"May I see your cast, Pierre?" asked Abby, trying to diffuse the situation.

Seeing at last a chance to vindicate himself, Pierre smiled broadly. Holding his fly rod with both hands, he executed a clumsy maneuver that Abby would have never attempted-- especially in public! When Pierre had flailed his arms enough, he released the line, sending the fly a short distance away from the dock. Even Jake, who had seen Abby fly cast several times, knew that Pierre's technique was all wrong.

"C'est très gentil [It's very nice]," smiled Abby, trying hard to hide her amusement.

Gary, who had less patience with novices who thought they knew everything, glared at Abby. He considered her "interference" as horning in on HIS customer.

"Do you fly fish?" asked Pierre, politely offering the fly rod to Abby.

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