Gabriel knew that the new priest, father Brennan, was coming. He would have gone to the station to meet the man and show him the way to the house, but he was still recovering from his concussion. He had been in bed for a few days feeling absolutely miserable, but now he had forced himself to get dressed properly and sit up in the parlour to be ready to greet the new parish priest.

It was long after he had expected father Brennan. The tea had gone cold and Mrs. Higgins had replaced it twice. Perhaps he should have asked her to meet the priest at the station and show him the way. But then, it was more likely that father Brennan had missed the train. How difficult was it to find St. Hilda's?

Of course, there was the other St. Hilda's...

Better late than never.

It would have been his preference to at least arrive on time, though.

It was far later than Malachi had intended when he finally found his way, and far hotter than he would have liked to have spent the evening walking through. The undamaged quality of his spirit was truly a testament to his enthusiasm for his new placement; his dark hair clung in certain spots to his skin, and he was thoroughly exhausted, but at least he was here. At least he was home, or something close enough to it.

When he entered the parlor, his surprise at seeing the other priest lasted only a moment. He had been told that the man was recovering, and had not expected to see him out of bed on account of that fact -- and hoped, suddenly, that he had not exerted himself for his sake.

He had been told of other things too. Things that Malachi tried not to let influence him as he regarded the man that would be his assistant priest, and put on a smile as he approached.

"You must be Father Richards," said Malachi. "Forgive me, I ran into a bit of trouble finding the church."

Finding the right church, specifically, but he did not wish to own up to that part just yet.

Mrs. Higgins had let him in and was already busying herself to replace the tea once more, telling him not to worry, she'd make sure his things were up in his room and he'd have something warm in his stomach in no time.

Gabriel rose. It made him slightly nauseous. "I am," he said, extending his hand. "Pleasure to meet you, father. I'm sorry. We should have sent someone to the station to meet you. I hope you didn't experience too much trouble?" He gestured for the man to sit down and sat down himself. His head was worse.

Gabriel had met many other priests from the diocese, but not this one. He wasn't sure what he had expected hearing 'father Brennan', but not quite this. A handsome man he was, with a friendly appearance. And some part of Gabriel hoped that things would go better now than they had under father Kemble.

Malachi took the offered hand into both of his own, giving it a gentle squeeze in lieu of a shake. Shaking hands might have been commonplace, but he had never particularly liked it.

"Ah, of course not. Nothing unmanageable," he assured with another smile, warmer in nature than the previous one. Taking a seat at the other man's wordless gesture, Malachi removed his saturno, crossing one long leg over the other.

He was pleased to see Father Richards up and moving about; from what he had heard, he'd suffered quite a fall.

"I was told you're still in recovery, father – are you doing well?"

The squeeze was strange to him, somewhat uncomfortable. But he did not show it.

"Oh yes, I had a nasty fall on the steps to the altar." There had been more than one bump and so he suspected more than one fall. He couldn't remember getting up and falling again, but that had to be what had happened. "It's a concussion, so I'm glad you could replace father Kemble so quickly."

He was glad the new priest could replace father Kemble even if it had taken him ages to arrive. He reprimanded himself for that thought.

"I might not be much help to you in the coming days, I'm afraid."

It must have been a rather nasty fall, to injure him so. Malachi nodded in wordless understanding. Not that he could say that he had ever taken a tumble down the altar steps himself, in his years of priesthood, but he certainly would not set out to embarrass him for such a thing.

"Not to worry," said Malachi. "I'm quite used to working on my own. There's no need to strain yourself before you're well."

What he had not been told, however, was why the church had needed a replacement. Father Richards' diminished duties he knew, and he dared not mention that matter yet, but of Father Kemble he'd heard quite little.

"I would like to hear about the parish, though, if you feel well enough to tell me."

"Of course," Gabriel said, even though his head was hurting worse now. Still, he was somewhat pleased that the other priest asked about the parish immediately. How to describe it though? "It's not a large and busy parish, if you choose not to go out of your way. There are a number of families who come every Sunday."

At least they had started coming back under Kemble. Not because the man was such a good and passionate preacher, for even in his most charitable moments, Gabriel couldn't claim that. But because it was part of their way of life. They were the economically comfortable type, who had taken offense at some of Gabriel's preaching, and he knew that complaints about him had reached the bishop before he himself had confessed his guilt. There had been some who had stayed while he was parish priest and who were still friendly to him now and asked him what they could do. They made him feel comforted and encouraged. But in his quiet moments of prayer, he would wonder whether their support was just feeding the conceit and indocility in himself that he was trying to root out.

"But the poor members come to church far more irregularly. If..." He looked at Malachi hesitantly. Kemble had been irritated. "If you want to reach them, you might have to go to them. They might come in for their baptisms and weddings and funerals." And they did come to Mass on particularly cold Sundays. "I used to visit them and tried to teach them some simple prayers and encouraged them to pray the Rosary and the like, so that they would still maintain a life of faith, but I'm afraid that has only encouraged them in shunning their Sunday Obligation." At least that was what the bishop had accused him of.

As he listened, Malachi's expression gradually shifted into one of... what was it, confusion? Concern? Whatever it was that laid beneath it, his full attention was clearly taken by Father Richards' explanations.

Not the biggest parish, then, but that was quite alright. He had spent time in various churches, big and small, and the number of parishioners did not count so much as the specific care they required. Figuring out the needs of a community was one of his favorite things to do -- but the first few weeks were always a unique challenge on that front.

"Oh?" Malachi's face turned thoughtful. "Still, the effort was made. We might just need to change the method."

Everyone was different after all. Not all could be reached with prayers and traditional conventions, but that did not make them any less important to retrieve.

"I'm not sure what you've heard of me, father, but I've been told that I am slightly unconventional."

Slightly was an understatement. Still, he thought it important to let the other priest know upfront, lest it lead to any issues down the line. Malachi folded his hands, set them atop his knee, and said, "I place importance on the daily rituals, of course. But I believe that a parish should focus less on praising themselves for their faith, and more on assisting those that have none. Did Father Kemble ever involve himself or the church with the wider community?"

Gabriel started feeling more and more at ease. Father Brennan seemed to be a positive person, willing to see the good in attempts, rather than problems and failures. The next statement convinced him even more that this priest would be easier to work with than father Kemble.

Before he could reply, however, Mrs. Higgins brought in some fresh tea and poured Malachi a cup. "There ye go, father. I'll have supper ready in a half hour. Yer things are in yer room. Father will show ye up, later. We were beginning to worry about ye. There's been some rough people about and bad things 'appening in town." Then she poured Gabriel a cup. Gabriel waited quietly to speak.

It felt to Malachi that it had been ages since he'd last had any sort of... caretaker, such as this Mrs. Higgins. His most recent church before this one had consisted only of himself and the people he served, and it would take a bit of getting used to, having other people around to assist him again.

"Thank you, Mrs. Higgins," said Malachi, as he reached out to grab his cup. It was as warm in his hands as the smile that painted his face, restrained though it was in its politeness. He cared for interruptions about as much as he cared for handshakes, but the woman was pleasant enough, and her care was appreciated.

"I didn't mean to worry either of you, but I appreciate the concern. It's good to know that I'll be working with such kind people."