Hundreds upon hundreds filled the pews. Archbishop Bond held up a hand. The organs brought song. Troop led them in prayer, then spoke warmly of Trebitsch, his friend. He was a wonder; they would hear from him and feel the love he felt: a great witness for God.
Trebitsch flipped to the Acts of the Apostles. He introduced himself as born in Hungary where he’d a high record at Pressburg and the Budapesth Universities, the Royal Academy for Art and Literature. He moved them with the achievements of the Mission.
“I have the utmost faith in the power of the cross to break the heart of the stubborn Jew. It’s a message not exclusive to any denomination. A Jew understands God as One, and we must meet them as One. I am eternally grateful to the London Society and the Anglican Church, though just one aspect of God’s work. However to begin with the Hebrews, or even the Muslims, atheists and agnostics we must appear to them without any division from God. That is why I propose a new Board of Missions: an independent body, here in Montreal. One which will conduct its own affairs, from the heart of our base in Lagaucetiere Street.”
Margarethe sat in floral spring dress. On the bed in the Mission House spare room she sat, still, like a hawk. Her hands were clasped with her mother beside, in purple. Neither flinched.
Downstairs, Trebitsch listened as he read Burt’s note; denial of a pay increase. Then he made his way up to his wife. The stairs creaked. He put his black sleeve on the door rail.
“Jozsef told me,” he said.
Margarethe’s right eye shifted. Her mother began to cry.
“I’m coming with you,” he said.
Margarethe’s face flushed.
“Better to be of use to my family in Hamburg!” he said.
“Mrs. Kahlor erupted. “Oh Kate, my beloved Kate…”