"Has no one condemned you?"

She replied, "No one, sir."

Then Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you." - John 8: 10-11

---

Mrs. Marie-Augustine Aguilard was the only fatality of the 1895 train wreck of engine #721, the Granville - Paris Express, which barrelled over the buffers at the Gare Montparnasse station, sped past 100 feet of the station floor, smashed through a two-foot wall, and dropped 30 feet onto the Place de Rennes. Marie Augustine was hit by a piece of masonry.

Dumb, stupid luck, was the phrase of the month for William-Marie Pellerin, a master engineer of 19 years experience, now in a neatly pressed gray suit and hat and a very warm coat as he stomped out of the snow-piled prison grounds, two weeks after his trial had put him there. Dumb, stupid luck, he thought again. Freak accidents, bad timing, pointless regulations, and a busted Westinghouse brake! He had been late, and he was never late. He had to speed up, had to get to the station on time. He knew it was against the rules to use the Westinghouse brake. But I was LATE! he thought. Dumb, stupid luck.

William was not much in the mood to go looking for work. He was not much in the mood for anything. Except maybe a vacation. Perhaps some physical therapy. He wasn't badly hurt. He didn't get it nearly as bad as some people. Not like Mrs. Marie- Augustine.

William motioned for a coach and waited. An 1893 Hansom carriage drawn by a white mare pulled up and he climbed inside. The driver was an oddly dressed old man--maybe colorblind, by the look of his mismatched coat and pants. Without prompting, he asked, "Gare Montparnasse, Monseigneur Pellerin?" William started. "how do you know my name?" he asked. "All over the papers, Monseigneur Pellerin; just had my own copy right here," said the driver, pointing to a three-month old issue of Le Temps< /i> lying next to him.

William was next going to ask why in the world he would want to go to the train station, but he stopped short when he saw that they were already moving at a fast pace. In fact it was a very fast pace. The carriage bumped uncomfortably over the street, and William grasped the sides desperately to keep in his seat at the sharp turns. (The driver, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable). It wasn't even fifteen minutes before the carriage pulled to a stop at Montparnasse. The station was in sight, and its renovation was almost finished, but they were still two blocks away.

"Here we are, Monseigneur Pellerin, just like you asked," said the driver. William chose to ignore the driver's lie, and he unsteadily climbed out of the Hansom carriage. He didn't even have both feet on the ground when the driver flicked the reigns and sped off, asking no fee.

The place was deserted, and it was cold. Well, that was half true. There was a newspaper vendor nearby. William walked over and bought the evening paper. He was handing him a coin when the vender said, "You're Will Pellerin. You're out of jail." William nodded. This was her husband. Marie-Augustine's husband, now a widower. Something wasn't right. William said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop it. The brake, it was broken. These Westinghouse brakes, you know, they don't work, and people get hurt and..." And Marie Augustine's husband said, very calmly and with an easy breath, "No. You killed her. You were late. You were driving too fast. You crashed the train, you broke the wall." And William knew it was true. He always knew. He wrung his hands together, and they were hurting, as was his throat. His sweat was frosting on his forehead. "I... I didnt mean to. It doesn't make any sense. She wasn't supposed to die. I should've died."

And the vender said, "No, she wasn't supposed to die. I was. I work here. She doesn't. I was getting the evening batch early and I told her to stay and sell papers while I was gone so we could have more business. She was taking my place. And she took my place. Maybe she took both of our places." William stared at him. "I don't see," continued the vendor, "where any hatred of you or of the train, or of the world, or of fate, or of myself is going to get my wife back. You paid your fine. You spent some time in jail. You apologized. I think you should be a free man. Maybe it's time you got on and were a better man than you were before."

William said nothing. He looked at the vendor, and then at the ground. Then he looked up again and said, "Thank you."

-- anon (ymous@god.bless), March 07, 2004

Drat. Here it is again, fixed.

"Has no one condemned you?"

She replied, "No one, sir."

Then Jesus said, "Neither do I condemn you." - John 8: 10-11

---

Mrs. Marie-Augustine Aguilard was the only fatality of the 1895 train wreck of engine #721, the Granville - Paris Express, which barrelled over the buffers at the Gare Montparnasse station, sped past 100 feet of the station floor, smashed through a two-foot wall, and dropped 30 feet onto the Place de Rennes. Marie Augustine was hit by a piece of masonry.

Dumb, stupid luck, was the phrase of the month for William- Marie Pellerin, a master engineer of 19 years experience, now in a neatly pressed gray suit and hat and a very warm coat as he stomped out of the snow-piled prison grounds, two weeks after his trial had put him there. Dumb, stupid luck, he thought again. Freak accidents, bad timing, pointless regulations, and a busted Westinghous e brake! He had been late, and he was never late. He had to speed up, had to get to the station on time. He knew it was against the rules to use the Westinghouse brake. But I was LATE! he thought. Dumb, stupid luck.

William was not much in the mood to go looking for work. He was not much in the mood for anything. Except maybe a vacation. Perhaps some physical therapy. He wasn't badly hurt. He didn't get it nearly as bad as some people. Not like Mrs. Marie- Augustine.

William motioned for a coach and waited. An 1893 Hansom carriage drawn by a white mare pulled up and he climbed inside. The driver was an oddly dressed old man--maybe colorblind, by the look of his mismatched coat and pants. Without prompting, he asked, "Gare Montparnasse, Monseigneur Pellerin?" William started. "how do you know my name?" he asked. "All over the papers, Monseigneur Pellerin; just had my own copy right here," said the driver, pointing to a three-month old issue of Le Temps lying next to him.

William was next going to ask why in the world he would want to go to the train station, but he stopped short when he saw that they were already moving at a fast pace. In fact it was a very fast pace. The carriage bumped uncomfortably over the street, and William grasped the sides desperately to keep in his seat at the sharp turns. (The driver, on the other hand, seemed quite comfortable). It wasn't even fifteen minutes before the carriage pulled to a stop at Montparnasse. The station was in sight, and its renovation was almost finished, but they were still two blocks away.

"Here we are, Monseigneur Pellerin, just like you asked," said the driver. William chose to ignore the driver's lie, and he unsteadily climbed out of the Hansom carriage. He didn't even have both feet on the ground when the driver flicked the reigns and sped off, asking no fee.

The place was deserted, and it was cold. Well, that was half true. There was a newspaper vendor nearby. William walked over and bought the evening paper. He was handing him a coin when the vender said, "You're Will Pellerin. You're out of jail." William nodded. This was her husband. Marie-Augustine's husband, now a widower. Something wasn't right. William said, "I'm sorry, I couldn't stop it. The brake, it was broken. These Westinghouse brakes, you know, they don't work, and people get hurt and..." And Marie Augustine's husband said, very calmly and with an easy breath, "No. You killed her. You were late. You were driving too fast. You crashed the train, you broke the wall." And William knew it was true. He always knew. He wrung his hands together, and they were hurting, as was his throat. His sweat was frosting on his forehead. "I... I didnt mean to. It doesn't make any sense. She wasn't supposed to die. I should've died."

And the vender said, "No, she wasn't supposed to die. I was. I work here. She doesn't. I was getting the evening batch early and I told her to stay and sell papers while I was gone so we could have more business. She was taking my place. And she took my place. Maybe she took both of our places." William stared at him. "I don't see," continued the vendor, "where any hatred of you or of the train, or of the world, or of fate, or of myself is going to get my wife back. You paid your fine. You spent some time in jail. You apologized. I think you should be a free man. Maybe it's time you got on and were a better man than you were before."

William said nothing. He looked at the vendor, and then at the ground. Then he looked up again and said, "Thank you."

-- anon (ymous@god.bless), March 07, 2004.

Nice story. Also remember that Jesus also admonished the sinner to sin no more. That is an important part of the Gospel. We are ALL called to forgive, but as sinners we are also called to conversion from sin.
In Christ,
Bill

-- Bill Nelson (bnelson45-nospam@hotmail.com), March 08, 2004.