Husband Potential

“All of it local stone. Each one was manually hoisted and carried by the monks to build the new structure. It was a painstaking, tedious process. A labor of love that took many years.”

“The Abbot had vision to make this all work,” she surmised aloud. “What a remarkable monk. Are there any photos showing the way it looked when he first started building the new chapel?”

“There are a few, but they’re not in very good condition.”

“We have an expert on the staff who does excellent restoration work. Would you trust me with them? If not, I can consult someone at the Utah Historical Society and see what they have on hand.”

“I see no reason why you can’t borrow them.”

Secretly Fran was delighted. For some odd reason she wanted this article to be exceptional.

“Is it permitted to take any pictures inside the church?”

“You can take photos in several places. From the loft where the public is allowed to witness the mass, you should be able to get your best shots of the altar. He had the small Pieta specially commissioned from Florence, Italy.”

“I’ve seen it before. It’s exquisite. Do you think I could take pictures of it as well as the Abbot’s grave? I presume he’s buried on the property. I’d like a picture of his headstone to finish the article and entitle it, ‘Monument to a saint.’”

The monk’s expression sobered. In a quiet voice he said, “The community cemetery is behind the monastery.”

For the next hour Fran plied him with questions as they toured the grounds, the kitchen, the library which the Abbot used for his personal study, and the inner sanctuary. Naturally the monks’ dormitory was off limits.

When they reached the gift store, she took more pictures, then bought honey butter and pear jam to give to her family. She also took some free literature which contained facts she would intersperse in the article.

“I have one more favor to ask.” He had walked her out to the car. The time had flown and she found herself reluctant to leave. “You’ve let me photograph your brothers. May I take one last picture of you on the chapel steps?”

“No.”

It was unequivocal and final.

A wave of disappointment swept through her but she determined not to show it. What’s wrong with you, Fran? He’s a monk, for heaven’s sake!

Forcing a smile she looked up at him. “You’ve been more generous with your time and information than I would have expected. I’ll leave so you can get back to your duties. I-I never realized how hard you work, how busy you are.”

She knew she was talking too fast, but she couldn’t help it. Whenever she got nervous, the words sort of tumbled out.

“This has been an education for me. I know it will make fascinating reading for thousands of people. When the proofs are ready, I’ll call you and show you a mockup of the layout for your approval.”

“When will that be?”

She had to think fast. There was still the drive to Clarion to fit in. If she worked late—

“Day after tomorrow.” Deadline day. “Probably nine o’clock. Will that be convenient for you?”

“I’ll be in the gift store.”

I know.

That’s the problem. I’m afraid I’m not going to forget.

What excuse will I have for showing up here after the article has been published and you’ve been furnished a copy?

“All this time and you’ve never told me the name you go by.”

His features closed up. “It’s not important.”

He held the driver’s door open so she was forced to get in. When he shut it, he said, “I’ve been following Father Ambrose’s instructions. Just pretend he was the one giving you the interview. God will forgive this one lie.”

Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. His words implied that God wouldn’t forgive anything else.

Was it a warning?

Had he sensed her natural attraction to him? Had he felt it from the first moment they’d met?

If he worked in the gift shop, how many female visitors to the monastery had been drawn to his dark looks and undeniable masculine appeal? Is that why he’d been so rude to her?

Mortified that this might be the case, she refused to look at him and drove away, her face on fire. But as she rounded the curve at the bottom of the drive, she couldn’t help looking in the rearview mirror one last time. He wasn’t there.

CHAPTER TWO

“AUNT MAUDELLE? What was my daddy like?”

“How do I know. Your mother went with a lot of different men. All I can say is, he wasn’t around when you were born.”

“I made her die, huh.”

“Not on purpose. Now stop asking questions and finish the dishes. It’s time for bed and I’m tired. We’ve got to go to mass in the morning.”

“What’s mass?”

“Church.”

“I don’t like church. It’s spooky.”

“You’re not supposed to like it.”

“Why not?”

“Duty is different than pleasure. It builds character.”

“What’s character?”

“It’s doing something you don’t want to do.”

“Then why do we have to do it?”

“Why? Because God said so.”

“What’s God?”