The following evening, Samuel's rollercoaster ride of emotions at St.Warren's was on another high, after Mrs.Song and her family invited him into their home for dinner.
Saturday night at the Song's house, it turned out, was always busy, with Mr. and Mrs.Song overseeing a Korean language Bible lesson, discussion group, and wonderful home cooked Korean meals, with a large group of mainly older people, although they welcomed anyone, really (-although it did help, really, if you understood the Korean language).
Samuel didn't understand a word of Korean, but it didn't really matter to him, as everyone was polite and hospitable.
Mr.Song translated Mrs.Song's songs, as the group sang.
Mrs.Song translated Mr.Song's preaching, as he spoke.
"Well," Samuel considered, while all this was going on around him, "If Mr. and Mrs.Song are such nice people, I must make an effort to contact the rest of the St.Warren's crowd."
And after the Sunday morning service, carefully choreographed by Mrs.Song, to include Samuel's encouraging message, whilst retaining the dour, austere sense of occasion the congregants were accustomed to, Samuel set out to talk with the folks he'd not met before.
One after the other, the five old people greeted Samuel, with contempt.
He did go looking for the "young woman they'd never spoken to", but she was nowhere to be found, and nobody knew her phone number, because, after all, she was someone they had never spoken to.
So, Samuel went to get some lunch and chat with local neighbours and regulars at the nearby cafe, but no one wanted to speak with him, when they discovered where he was from.
The owner of this cafe across the road from the church, Guy Pride, even refused to serve Samuel.
Being mid afternoon Sunday, there was someone who would at least stop for a chat with Samuel.
Pastor Warren.
On this particular afternoon, Pastor Warren happened to be walking around the broader property, as if he was studying something.
"Pastor Warren." Samuel greeted him.
Pastor Warren drew a breath and removed the cigarette from his mouth.
"Good afternoon,Samuel. I see you've met the neighbours,then."
He offered Samuel a seat on the bench in front of the chapel building, as if he was going to offer him some counselling.
"Yes, sir." Samuel replied, shaking his head.
"Well, don't take this to heart. Some of the neighbours are friendly people."
Pastor Warren stopped, as if to gather his words carefully.
"They just don't like this place?" Samuel pondered.
"Samuel," Pastor Warren replied carefully, "Reverend Labour made some people quite upset around here."
"You mean..Enemies?"
"Yes, Samuel. Enemies.."
Pastor Warren cut his own sentence short, before considering his next one.
"Some people, you just wont agree with, on certain matters, but you do try to be a good neighbour and get along with life.
The more exhausted, or disillusioned he became- I don't know which- the more Reverend Labour..He just looked for an argument..or he never backed down from one, at least."
Pastor Warren was reflective in his mood, as he finished his cigarette.
Samuel, too, became reflective on what was unfolding around him.
"And you are somehow..flawless yourself?"
Reverend Loathsumn had overheard everything, whilst standing in nearby bushes, collecting berries.
"No," Pastor Warren stated, "I've never suggested that."
Rev. Loathsumn emerged from the bushes with his bag of berries by his side.
"You've come here nearly every Sunday," he chastised Pastor Warren, "with your cigarettes and..petrol station coffee.
Far from your Quietly Charismatic Church culture, I would suggest."
"I know," Pastor Warren said with a smile, trying to de-escalate the situation,
"Not even my wife wants to be seen with me when I drink this stuff."
"So, why do you come here?" Rev. Loathsumn asked, probing.
As if using his old cigarette to point in the direction of the former community garden site, Pastor Warren nodded,
"Over there," he said, "Over there, where the auction sign is, is where my dad's ashes were spread.
As a matter of fact, it's exactly where my dad dropped dead with a heart attack."
It seemed as if Rev. Loathsumn had not heard most of the story, and instead was counting numbers in his head.
"Your father's been dead for over a decade. He hasn't ministered here for many years.
Why did he keep tending the garden?" Rev. Loathsumn was genuinely perplexed.
"He got a lot out of supporting the community," Pastor Warren responded, "Unlike Reverend Labour, he had friends in the area.
Some people began joining other church groups, where he began other gardens.
Where people made them feel welcome."
Pastor Warren had evidently become angry now, but was still in control of his senses.
"Yes,well," Rev. Loathsumn replied, nodding, and yet appearing to have missed a second message, "We can have the sign moved in the morning."
"Don't worry,sir." Pastor Warren replied, "I'll move it myself, sometime soon."
Rev. Loathsumn looked to the gate, clutched his bag of berries by his side, and nodded.
"Well, have a nice afternoon." he said to the wind, before walking away.
Both Pastor Warren and Samuel farewelled him.
Samuel reached into the bag on his shoulder, grabbing at the stack of papers in a large envelope, to show Pastor Warren.
Handing him the package, Samuel turned to Pastor Warren and asked,
"Reverend Aspen- "Snowy" Aspen- he was your father?"
With a complete change of composure, Pastor Warren clutched the package and began to laugh.
"I haven't seen this in years!" he exclaimed.
"Yes, yes, that's my dad.
Reverend "Snowy" Aspen.
Well, where did you find this?!"
"On a dusty old shelf in the church office." Samuel replied.
Though still smiling, Pastor Warren became a little emotional.
"Yeah, my dad was a minister here for some years, and towards the end of his time here, it seemed like his mission in life." Pastor Warren sighed and shook his head, smiling.
"Kind of a hobby really," he continued," to discover the real Warren of Pistyll."
"Quite obscure I would have thought," Samuel posed,"Well-until I saw this place.
Obviously not."
Glancing over the paperwork, he looked as if he'd been reacquainted with an old friend, and Pastor Warren was thankful.
"I haven't finished reading it yet," said Samuel, "but if it is true, this Saint Warren didn't appear to be miserable at all."
"That's because he wasn't!" Pastor Warren replied with a mixture of happiness and frustration.
"Our dad took us once on a holiday to the UK," Pastor Warren continued, "and Mum insisted that we had a budget to include seeing London and some tourist attractions, because she knew exactly where Dad was headed to."
"I was in high school," he reminisced, laughing, "and we were going on a fact finding tour, to a village in rural Wales.
I mean, who does that?"
Samuel smiled and shrugged his shoulders.
Handing him back the reading material, Pastor Warren encouraged Samuel to complete it.
"My dad didn't always make sense when he talked, particularly with his ideas of telling anyone who would listen about Saint Warren."
Pastor Warren drifted off, becoming reflective again.
"I think he had some type of nervous breakdown in the end.
At heart, he was a kind man. A good dad.
He did dispel many myths regarding Saint Warren, but sometimes.. People prefer myths and legends."
Samuel paused, before placing his hand on Pastor Warren's shoulder.
"Pastor Warren, I have just found some subject material for my final sermon here."
"Oh," changing his tone, the normally confident speaking Pastor Warren sounded concerned,
"I wouldn't want you to get into any trouble."
"Trouble?" Samuel replied gently, "I'm getting sacked at the end of the month. No trouble."