Bobbi Smith (18 page)
Authors: Heaven
“There they are,” the mother superior told her pointing out the small house ahead.
Alex could see two men who were painting. One she recognized immediately as Matt, and though the other was wearing clothes she didn’t recognize, she knew instinctively that he was Father Winn.
Alex couldn’t look away from the sight of him, laboring in a workman’s clothes, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist. She stared at him in wonder. She’d thought him handsome before, but now she knew the truth. He wasn’t just handsome. He was devastating. When he turned slightly, and she was treated to a full view of his bared chest, her heart lurched in her breast. The broad, powerful expanse drew her, and she imagined running her hands over the hard, sculpted muscles and . . .
Winn, as if sensing someone was watching him, glanced in her direction. When he saw Alex standing there with the mother superior, he waved and smiled in welcome.
Alex wasn’t sure what to think about her reaction to Father Winn. She knew it wasn’t right to feel this way about him, but she couldn’t help herself.
“How is the painting going, Father?” the mother superior asked as they joined them.
“Sister Agnes looks like an angel, but she’s really a martinet,” he teased.
“Sometimes looks can be deceiving,” the Reverend Mother said with a smile.
“I know what you mean.” Winn felt the bite of his conscience.
“We’re very proud of what our dear sister accomplishes,” she went on, unaware of his discomfort. “Sister Agnes is a veritable Pied Piper, and all who meet her are continually impressed by her ability to convince others to help her. It’s one of her many gifts.”
“Will you be done soon?” Alex asked, her gaze still on Father Winn as he turned back to his work. She did not look away until Matt put down his brush and came to give her a light, husbandly kiss. She accepted it passively, but sweetly.
“We’ll be here at least another few hours.”
“Then I might as well help, too.”
Sister Agnes appeared in the doorway. “We could certainly use your help in here with the young ones.”
Alex moved off to do her bidding.
The next few days fell into a simple pattern. Each morning, Alex made it a point to seek out Eleanor, and she always brought her a fresh bouquet of flowers. The older lady began to talk more freely as she began to trust her more. She spoke of her disillusionment and the pain of what she believed to be the church’s betrayal. Alex wanted to believe that she was reaching her, but she was never sure. Still, she was determined not to miss a morning visit. In the afternoons, she joined Father Winn and Matt in helping Sister Agnes with whatever challenge she could find for them that day.
Dawn of their fourth day at the convent found the sky dark and ominous. The possibility of a bad storm had kept Alex indoors, but when she saw Eleanor from the window, braving the weather to visit her son and husband, she knew she couldn’t leave her out there alone.
“Good morning,” Alex said, offering her the fresh-picked, fragrant bouquet. It had become a ritual she truly enjoyed.
Eleanor took the blossoms with a smile, and she hoped Alex didn’t notice the way her hands were trembling. When Alex hadn’t been there earlier as she usually was, she’d been afraid that she’d tired of their meetings and had left.
“It’s kind of you to come here every morning.”
“I enjoy our visits. I spend so much time with men, it isn’t often I get to talk to women friends.”
“I haven’t had a friend in so long . . .” Eleanor’s voice trailed off.
“Well, you have one now.” Alex put a reassuring hand on her arm.
In the distance, thunder rumbled.
Alex glanced up at the black clouds. “Why don’t you come inside with me? We’ll be safe there and out of the weather.”
Panic mirrored in Eleanor’s eyes. “No . . . no, I can’t go in there.”
“It would just be us and the sisters. I could introduce you. They’re wonderful women.”
“No, I can’t go inside.”
Again the thunder echoed over the land, this time even more threateningly.
“You can’t or you won’t, Mrs. Andrews?”
“I don’t know. I’ll go on home now. I think I can make it back before the storm hits.”
“Mrs. Andrews, please, don’t go,” Alex pleaded with heartfelt sincerity. “Haven’t you lived in sadness long enough? It’s almost as if you willed yourself to die when your son and husband did. You’re a kind and gentle woman. You have so much to offer others. Please don’t keep yourself locked away any longer. Come with me to the chapel. We can wait there until the storm passes.”
“No, I’d better go. There’s nothing here for me.”
“I’m here for you.”
“You’re so young . . . You just don’t understand. My life is over. There’s no reason to pretend otherwise.”
“How can you say that when you have so much worth living for? Open your heart. Think of your son. Would Steven want you to live this way?”
“Steven . . .” Tears welled up in her eyes as an image of her boy, laughing and happy, danced through her thoughts.
“Think of your son, Eleanor. Think of what he would want for you.” Alex knelt beside her and took her hands in hers. “I’m going to the chapel where it’s safe, where I’ll be out of the rain. Come with me.”
A pain tore at Eleanor’s heart, but this time it was a different kind of pain. It was a longing, a deep and desperate need for warmth . . . happiness . . . closeness with another human being, with someone who cared. She’d been alone and lost for so long, though, she didn’t know what to do now.
“Everything I loved is lost. Don’t you see? I think I may already have died . . . inside . . .”
Alex was touched by the depth of the woman’s despair. She held her hand tighter. “Come join me. We’ll pray for Steven and for Jonathan.”
Thinking of her son, Eleanor lifted a tormented gaze to Alex’s. “He would have been just about your age . . .”
“And he would have been a fine man. With a mother like you, he couldn’t have been anything else.”
Eleanor’s tears flowed freely. “Thank you for that,” she whispered in a tear-choked voice.
Alex put her arm around the frail old woman’s shoulders and hugged her close.
Eleanor accepted Alex’s touch. Sobs wracked her, and she gave herself into this young woman’s keeping. She trusted.
A rumble of thunder sounded and the first splattering of rain was loosed from the heavens. It was a warm, cleansing rain, and it hid the tears Alex was crying.
“Come to the chapel. You won’t be alone any more.” She stood and drew the old woman to her feet.
Eleanor did not resist. “I’ve been away so long . . . My prayers won’t even be heard.”
“I’ll add mine to yours. Who could turn us both down?”
Taking her arm, Alex helped Eleanor from that place of death and despair. They made their way to the chapel. When Eleanor hesitated in the doorway, wary and cautious, Alex paused to let her gather her nerve again.
They entered silently. The nuns were still at prayer, so she directed Eleanor to go ahead of her into one of the back pews, and they knelt there together. Alex gave her a reassuring smile, then turned her attention to the front, leaving the older woman to her own thoughts and prayers.
After a moment of intense reflection, Alex noticed that the door opened again, and someone came in. She felt someone beside her and, strangely enough, knew it was Father Winn without looking. His warm masculine presence beside her in the pew filled her with a deep abiding sense of peace and safety. Somehow, when he was near, Alex believed everything was really going to be all right.
Alex wanted to reach out and touch him, but she didn’t. Instead, she just looked over at him, and their eyes met. The depth of emotion she saw in his gaze touched her heart. He was such a fine, honest, honorable man. She wondered how he’d ever come to be so generous and good. There weren’t many men like him. Her heart skipped a beat as her pulse quickened, and she forced herself to look away. He was there with her. That was what mattered.
The sisters started to rise, their morning prayers completed. They filed from the chapel in an orderly fashion, the mother superior rising last. As she passed down the aisle, she saw Alex with Eleanor and stopped before them, amazed.
“We’ve missed you,” she told Eleanor sincerely. “You’ve been away from us for too long.”
“I never thought I’d come here again, but Alex helped me to see what’s really important.”
“Alexandra is truly special.” The mother superior meant it, for Alex had performed a miracle. The woman they’d thought lost to them forever had returned.
“I understand why you feel that way.” Eleanor gave Alex a warm, affectionate look.
“I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you again.”
“Thank you, Reverend Mother.”
She reached out to touch her hand. “Would you like to talk for a while? I’ve missed you.”
“I’d like that, very much. There’s so much I need to say. So many sad things I’ve harbored in my heart . . .”
Winn and Alex left the pew and Reverend Mother sat down beside Eleanor. She looked up at Alex as they were leaving.
“Thank you, Alex.”
Alex had tears in her eyes. “You’re welcome.”
“Yes, Alex, thank you,” Eleanor stood and opened her arms to her.
Alex went to her and they embraced. She gave her a kiss on the cheek, then followed Winn from the chapel, leaving the two women alone.
“That was a very kind thing you did,” Winn told her, his gaze warm upon her.
“I was glad I could help her. I just hope she finds some peace now. It must be awful to be so lost and alone.”
“It is,” he answered distantly, remembering how devastated he’d been after he’d lost his parents. He’d been lucky. His Uncle Edward had been there for him. This poor old woman had had no one.
Later that afternoon, Winn, Matt, and Alex sat together in the men’s bedroom, trying to decide what they needed to do next. They’d searched everywhere possible, but had turned up nothing. Their quest for clues was at a dead end. Matt kept going over his book with the second clue, hoping to find some link there that might help them see what they were missing.
“This makes no sense at all,” he complained as he read the second mysterious passage out loud.
“ ‘Onward, ever onward, cease not your search.
Here two shall be as one, but your fate is not that to be.
Seek here the bearer of the path, whose gift will guide you on.
Love is the key to all that thrives, its power can conquer the curse.’ ”
“I wonder what Lawrence was thinking of when he wrote this,” Winn mused, as confused as Matt.
A knock on the door interrupted them as they were pondering the collector’s mysterious words. Alex answered it to find Sister Agnes there.
“Reverend Mother would like to speak with you now. She’s in her office.”
“We’ll be right there,” Alex told her. They quickly answered her summons.
The mother superior was standing behind her desk as they entered. Her expression was serious as she studied them. She remembered Lawrence Anthony’s instructions about the book he’d left in her care, and she knew the time had come to follow through on his wishes. Her gaze rested fondly upon Alex. This young woman had been an instrument of change, her kindness had wrought a beautiful miracle. She had helped to save Eleanor from a life of loneliness and suffering.
“Please, sit down,” she invited. When they’d made themselves comfortable, she began, “When Lawrence Anthony came to me, he was a deeply troubled man. He told me of his sons and of their endless greed and desire for wealth. When he left the convent, he entrusted something very precious into my safe-keeping with the instruction that I was to keep it until I’d judged those coming for it worthy of the honor. Lawrence asked me to look into the hearts of those who would claim the crown. I have watched each of you and I have seen the truth of your hearts and your words mirrored in your actions. You have not tried to use the convent for your own gain. You have given to us. You did not take or demand, as some would have in their eagerness to gain the priceless relic you seek. You shared your personal treasure with us. It is for that generosity and goodness that I now give you the treasure Lawrence left in my care.”
Other books
A Bad Day for Mercy by Sophie Littlefield
An Unauthorized Field Guide to the Hunt by Gregg, Kari
Kruger's Alp by Christopher Hope
A Stone & a Spear by Raymond F. Jones
Philippine Speculative Fiction by Andrew Drilon
The Collected Works of Chogyam Trungpa: Volume One by Chögyam Trungpa
Medstar I: Médicos de guerra by Steve Perry Michael Reaves
Perfect Lies by Kiersten White
Dying to Call You by Elaine Viets
If Angels Fall by Rick Mofina