"Cute pet," said Kinsella, chuckling aloud.
"Not so much a pet, more of a regular house-caller. He's usually more friendly."
We reached the front door and I went straight in while Kinsella lingered on the doorstep, evidently to admire the garden further. "Fantastic colors," I heard him say. "Incredible."
"Midge?" I called out. "We've got a guest."
She emerged from the next room, wiping her hands on a dishcloth and with an expectant smile on her face. I pointed and she peered around the door.
"Hub, what a nice surprise!"
" 'Lo, Midge. I've brought this hero of yours a token of gratitude."
"Hero? Oh, you mean his knight-to-the-rescue act this morning."
(Not being the strong silent type, I'd thought the incident worth mentioning. However, I hadn't said anything about the Reverend Sixsmythe's words on the Synergists; I'd leave that to him tomorrow when he could also explain himself to me a bit more.)
"He certainly saved our sisters from some serious hassle. They came back kinda shaky but full of praise for Mike."
"Hey, don't stand outside," I said, feeling my face going red, "come on in."
He accepted the invitation and it seemed to me he was as hesitant as before. Maybe tentative is a better word, because he stepped inside like a diver walking underwater, his movement slow and deliberate. As dusk was settling it was more gloomy inside the kitchen than usual and he had trouble adjusting his eyes to the change in light, blinking them rapidly as he peered around.
"We thought we'd open a bottle now," I told Midge and the idea apparently pleased her.
"I'll fetch some glasses," she said, going to the sideboard. First she pulled open a drawer and tossed me the corkscrew, then she crouched at a cupboard door and brought out two glasses.
"Aren't you going to join us, Midge?" asked Kinsella, rubbing at one of his bare arms as if lie felt cold.
"Never touch the stuff. Tell you what, I'll join you with a Coke."
All three of us sat around the kitchen table and I poured wine for the American and myself, while Midge drank straight from the Coke bottle.
"We're very grateful, Mike," said Kinsella, raising his glass.
"Aah, you know the type—all piss and wind. They saw a coupla girls on their own and thought they'd have some fun. They wouldn't have bothered if you'd have been with Gillie and Sandy."
"I don't know about that. Seems we're not too popular around this place."
"Is that right?" I said, as if it came as a surprise.
He nodded grimly. "They imagine we're a bunch of religious freaks or somethin'. You know what it's like in these tiny backwater communities, suspicious of all outsiders, especially when they're involved in somethin' the locals don't understand."
"The Synergist Temple? I've got to admit, I don't understand that either. What is it, some kind of new religion?"
He grinned, and Midge raised her eyebrows.
"Synergist?" she asked.
"Someone in the village has already told you about us," said Kinsella.
"Yeah, the owner of the hardware store."
"Then you already know they don't like us."
I felt as if I'd been found out in a lie, but Kinsella was smiling across the table at me.
"Synergist?" Midge repeated, noisily tapping the Coke bottle on the wood surface for attention.
Kinsella turned to her. "That's the name for our Order."
"Strange name. I don't think I've ever heard of it before. What does it mean exactly?"
Kinsella sat forward in his chair. "Firstly, we're not a crackpot religion, not like many that are around today, so please don't associate us with any of those. We're not a charity, nor are we a religious sect in the strictest sense." He was still smiling, but now looking reassuringly from face to face. "So, let me explain about Synergism. Fundamentally, it's the belief that the human will and the Divine Spirit are the two agents that can cooperate in regeneration."
That statement took time to sink in with Midge and me. We stared back blankly and his smile broadened to a grin. Despite his relaxed manner, though, I detected a serious intent in his eyes.
"Just as various chemicals act upon each other," he went on, "so we believe that the thought processes of the human mind—which are, y'know, only a complicated series of chemical reactions—can combine with the Divine Spirit, our collective souls, if you like, to produce a unique power."
I kicked Midge's foot under the table, but she ignored me.
"What kind of power are you talking about?" she asked Kinsella.
"Oh, it's diverse. The power to cure, to influence, the power to create . . . it can be manifested in so many ways."
"You mentioned regeneration . . ."
"Regeneration is a word we use to cover all aspects of our doctrine. It means the regeneration of our own spirits, and that of . . ." He broke off there, now his smile apologetic. "You're probably thinking this all sounds crazy, right?"
I had to agree, although I kept quiet.
"But look, all religious devotees pray to their particular deity, whether Christian, Moslem, Jewish—the list is endless. Most times they pray for Divine Intervention, for certain things to happen, or maybe not to happen. They could be praying for themselves, their loved ones, or even the world in general. The point is, they're trying to direct the natural course of events, their own particular god the intermediary or catalyst, or specifically the creator of those events. Our doctrine isn't so different from theirs."
He sat back in his chair, waiting for us to absorb the revelation.
"But there is a difference," I prompted. /
"Only inasmuch as we, with the help of our founder and guide, are learning to combine and direct our energies in a more physical sense and, of course, acting in conjunction with the Divine Spirit."
"I'm sorry," I said, "but I'm still not quite with you. This, uh, 'Divine Spirit,' is what?"
"You, me, our thoughts." He waved his arms expansively. "The very air around us. And the earth itself, the very power it generates." His voice had become hushed and I found even I was holding my breath. His enthusiasm had somehow charged the atmosphere.
Nobody seemed to want to break the silence between us for a while and I noticed it was becoming quite dark in the kitchen. The evening had taken on a chill, too.
Midge picked up the Coke bottle to drink from it, her eyes never leaving Kinsella. "Are there . . . are there many of you at the gray house?" she asked before touching the bottle to her lips.
"Between forty and fifty, I guess. We call the place our sanctuary, by the way; it's our retreat as well as our temple. And we're growing in numbers all the time." He leaned his elbows on the table, his head jutting forward. "You know, you two should come over and see us, I really think you'd find it an interesting experience."
I spoke up before Midge could say anything. "We're still pretty busy around the place . . ."
He laughed and reached forward to pat my arm. "Don't get nervous, Mike, we won't try to convert you. No, that's not the way we operate at all."
I remembered Hoggs's words in the village that morning indicating otherwise.
"You'd meet some very interesting people," Kinsella continued heartily, "and from many different parts of the world. You'd maybe get the chance to meet Mycroft, too."
Some of my wine spilled as I picked up the glass. "Mycroft?"
"Uh-huh. Eldrich P. Mycroft, our founder, and a very unique man." Kinsella had hardly touched his wine, but now he took a large swallow. "This is good stuff, huh? We make a little money from selling this juice. Never ask for donations, y'see, we always sell our home-made goods."
"Does that bring in enough to keep the organization running?" asked Midge.
"The Temple, Midge, we call it the Temple. The answer to your question is no, not really. We do have private funds, though. It's turned a little cold, don't you think?" This time he rubbed briskly at both upper arms. Oddly, there was perspiration on his brow. "Yeah, it's turned cold." He drank wine again, his eyes roving around the room.