He pulled his cloak closer around his shoulders, breathing through his nose as he stepped over the threshold into the cathedral. The sweet, dense smell of incense clouded the air, the scent giving him a headache.
It was a sparce place this time of day. A Tuesday afternoon where the many lit candles outnumbered the visitors. It was a vastly different place to his humble church on the other side of town.
He slipped into a pew, glancing down at the provided kneeling cushion. Awkwardly he knelt, banging his elbow on the pew in front of him. Settled, he looked up and saw the prize for his efforts. It was time for one of the many prayer sessions for the clergy. He watched the solemn procession of people file into the church, the stain glass windows casting spotlights of purples, golds and greens. The abbess led her small flock of nuns, the golden chain and cross sparkled where it hung around her slim neck.
Three down from their leader he saw her. She lifted her head so the light cast a golden glow upon her face. She smiled, lifting her hands to her waist to catch the changing colours as she walked past the windows. Her veil and coif only emphasised her face, the full lips, the lifted panes of her face, her slight brow.
He watched them take their seats, gracefully moving as one to kneel and pray. She sat by the aisle, bending low to greet her God. He felt his legs go numb. He would lose his limbs for another glimpse of Sister Lucia.
They stayed like that for many minutes. He grimaced as pins and needles shot through his legs. Slowly he moved through the pain, unwilling to leave, yet knowing if he remained kneeling, he wouldn’t be walking home.
The priest offered communion, looking out at the mass of empty seats beyond the clergy. The nuns obediently lined up, the priest eying the man cowering in the back. As he busied himself with conducting the rite he looked up, seeing the man gone from his place.
After receiving their communion, the nuns were free to wander the church, pray for the many candles representing prayers, bowing in reverence to the statues and relics littered throughout the huge cathedral. Sister Lucia wandered to the side of the church, moving down towards a large pillar carved with the words of Mother Mary’s joyous prayer.
A hand curled around her waist, pulling her around into the darkened space behind the pillar and away from the glowing torches.
“My,” she murmured, “you are getting bold.”
The man held her to him, his cloak slightly moving to reveal a white clerical collar around his neck. Minister Trevor pulled back to look down at her. She was still smiling, reaching up to cup his cheek. He leaned into it, turning his head to kiss her palm.
“Foolhardy.” He whispered, “I have found the one whom my soul loves.”
“Quoting Songs of Solomon to a nun is unusual.”
He grinned, kneeling before her in the dark, “how beautiful you are and how pleasing, my love, with your delights.”
“Song of Solomon seven, verse six. You are cherry picking the bible, my love.”
“I would quote anything that makes you laugh. I would learn any verse, any poem for your love.”
She gazed down at him, the way his hair curled against his temples, his eyes steadfast as he beheld her. She trembled as she fought not to run her fingers through his hair.
“I am Helen of Troy, Trevor. If I leave my calling what then? You are a protestant minister, I a Catholic nun. You are of the sky, and I the sea. Where could a bird and a fish live?”
He stood, grasping her hands and running a thumb over her knuckles. “I would live by the sea for a glimpse of you, Gloria. I refuse to believe our love is against God. How can we be of two minds when we share the same God?”
“Trev… you know why.” She whispered.
He sighed, but not without a smile, “I know.” He lifted her chin with a gentle hand, pressing her against the pillar. Even with his gentle hands a curl of her hair slipped out from beneath her bandeau. He rested a forearm above her head as he fixed the error, bending down to catch her lips moments later.
She answered him, feeling the kiss slip down and warm her soul. They shared so much, and yet nothing at all. She had joined the convent four years before he had come to town. She had believed herself above the trifles of romance, confident that a nun would be considered statues in the dance of love. As she was promised to God.
And yet. This curly haired, bright-eyed, clever minister had burst into flames the moment they met at market. While his flock bemoaned that he only saw them as sheep, he had climbed the fence to wait by the stain glass windows of a nun.
He had been patient. He had been kind. He left bible verses and drawings of biblical stories by her bedroom window. He had never pushed, not even when she confronted him three months ago.
When she had pressed his presents into his chest behind the hayshed, telling him to stop. And yet when he placed his hand over hers a spark so wild caught alight, her hand turning to curl into his shirt and bring him down to her. The way their eyes met, dipped in time to watch their lips crush into each other. A breathless need that would never be quenched.
Especially not inside a catholic church.
This close she feared both her composure and self-restraint would snap. Even now she stared into his brown eyes and saw a love so determined and true her knees threatened to give way. He in turn, watched her blue eyes widen and shimmer before him. At her word he would strip his soul bear to marry her.
“Gloria,” he whispered, “you are all I want from this earth. If you reject me, I will never marry.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead, “this isn’t a threat or a demand. A simple vow. Better to know three months of the smell of your skin, the texture of your lips, then a lifetime of another woman’s arms. I love you.”
He smiled at her, a lopsided smile that lit up his face, “you are enough.”
Then he slipped away, leaving her the same as he found her, and yet, entirely changed.
How could he trust her to uphold a marriage vow when she teetered on the edge of leaving her vows to God behind?
Hours later one of her sisters found her, kneeling before a long-melted candle as she prayed for an answer she didn’t know she wanted.
.oOo.
Pastor Trevor frowned thoughtfully as he stared at the note, the handwriting neat and precise. He had of course followed the instructions, making his way to the well on the edge of town between the Protestants and Catholics at midnight. One of his elders had provided it to him, the old man frowning thoughtfully at the paper.
“Messing with destiny, eh Trevor?” he asked. “As long as it’s not the mafia or a gang you’ll be okay.” He turned then, providing an afterthought with a chuckle, “or a catholic!”
Trevor knew it was probably a trap. And yet he went. He had laid in his cot, his mind racing with possibilities. Until finally he pulled on his clothes and made his way. Better to be condemned then a coward. As he walked, he prayed. He prayed for his pathway to be straight, for his love to be safe, for his flock to be considerate. He named everyone in his congregation and prayed for peace. He only muttered an “amen” as he reached the old well.
And there he saw her. His Gloria, Sister Lucia standing by the well. She gave him a weak smile as he rushed towards her. She held out her hands too late, letting out a yell as Trevor felt hands close in around him.
“Don’t hurt him!” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please.”
A priest forced him down into kneeling in the gravel, feeling rock dig into his skin. “Look at the fish we’ve caught.” Father Anthony grinned.
An altar boy snickered as he whacked Trevor across the back with a stick, ignoring Sister Lucia’s cry.
“Aren’t you satisfied with your own women? You need to take one of ours?” The priest from Tuesday’s service asked, spitting in Trevor’s face. “Greener over here, huh?”
Trevor looked up into his bloated face, the glob of spit sliding down his face, “Sister Lucia belongs to no one but God.”
The priest punched him in the face, fury reddening his face further. Trevor’s eyes never wavered as he took the punch, only turning to look at his love. Her face was white, a man holding her around the waist as she struggled.
“I meant what I said.” Trevor said through the pain.
“Oh, Trevor,” she whispered, tears sliding down her face. She smiled then, a peace shuddering through her, “I love you.”
A clap sounded behind them.
The men around them turned to the sound, instantly dropping their captives. Sister Lucia scrabbled to Trevor’s side, hands hovering around the bruise colouring on his jaw. Her habit was a mess, the veil torn from her head. A red welt that looked like a slap coloured her cheek. Trevor sat up in an instant, pulling her to him as rage coloured his vision.
The clap had come from a man dressed in a very expensive robe, his white hair at odds with his sharp eyes. The Bishop.
The old man looked around at the mess, raising an eyebrow at the scene. “Father Peter, explain this… situation to me.”
He came forward, bending down to offer a hand to Sister Lucia. She took it in reverence, bowing her head as she stood. He clicked his tongue when he saw her face, raising a hand to gently smooth back the hair around her face. “Child. I see more anguish here than a slap.”
He turned to see Trevor rising to his feet, wincing as he gingerly moved his jaw under a probing hand.
“Good morning, Pastor Trevor. Peace be with you.”
Trevor laughed despite himself, wincing at the pain it caused. “And to you, Bishop. You have come to save me, it seems.”
“He is having relations with a nun, Bishop!” Father Peter spat, “he is a scoundrel and deserves to be punished.”
The Bishop turned to his charge, looking at her with a bemused expression, “are you, child?”
Father Peter scoffed, “you would listen to a woman? Would you ask a shaved sheep where their wool has gone?”
“Women are not sheep,” the bishop replied lightly. He waited for her response, turning from her to Trevor.
“No, he has not taken anything but her heart.” The Bishop said, “I have seen this look before.”
“I beg forgiveness, your excellency,” Sister Lucia whispered, yet her gaze shifted over to meet Trevor’s. “I am a weak woman.”
The bishop smiled warmly, “no, child. You have picked a man of God. His doctrine could be… better. But he loves you with the strength of Samson. Better to know love with God and man then live in bitterness alone.”
“He is a protestant.” Father Peter exclaimed.
The bishop sighed, indicating with his head at Father Peter. The two alter boys hooked their arms around his elbows, steering him back towards his quarters.
The bishop turned his back on the yelling, struggling priest, frowning thoughtfully, “He is correct, however. This will not be welcome. Unfortunately, tradition cares more for rules than the people who must adhere to them.”
Trevor nodded, knowing full well. Sister Lucia moved to stand by Trevor, accepting his hand.
“I have a proposition for you,” the Bishop said, moving to sit by the well. “Would you two consider a different posting? One of God, but where denominations mean nothing in the eyes of those in the dark.” He looked at Sister Lucia, “you would have to give up your status. But you would still serve God.”
“That is all I have ever wanted.” She murmured.
“You are a faithful child, Gloria.” He replied kindly. He clicked his fingers, and an attendant handed Trevor a calling card.
Trevor read it, handing it to Gloria. She took it, eyes widening.
“Would you give up your life for this love you have found?” the old man asked.
“I would build the foundation of my home upon it.” Trevor said, squeezing her hand. She silently squeezed it back. “But Gloria’s choices are her own.”
She smiled up at him, at the hidden rage clicking behind his eyes at her treatment. At the way his fingers caressed hers.
“What would you have me do?” She asked.
The bishop smiled, offering his hand to Trevor who shook it.
“Welcome then, to the A.I.E, International Association of Exorcists. While the Catholic church funds it, you will find many characters run around inside the Angel Archives.”
“Thank you, Bishop Paul,” Trevor said, releasing him.
The bishop smiled and waved as he turned back towards his quarters, his attendant trailing behind. “Marry her, Trevor.”
Gloria watched him go, turning back to find Trevor kneeling before her in the dark.
She laughed, meeting him amongst the stones. “I don’t think he meant right now. Besides, who would marry us?”
He laughed, running a hand through his hair, “I’m sorry, I’m just… if a man ever lays a hand on you again… I…”
She reached out and took his arm, resting it against her chest. He hesitated a moment before feeling her heartbeat beating frantically through her habit. Her hair was haphazard around her face, this close he could count the freckles across her nose. The mark on her cheek was slowly fading, her eyes red and blotchy from crying. Beneath his hand her heart slowed, her breath slow and steady. His heart threatened to bleed out as it drowned in his love for her.
“You look a little crazy,” she confessed, “no wonder the bishop thought you could handle expelling demons.”
He threw back his head and laughed, “ever since you smiled at me over a fruit cart, I have been crazy. There are no other hands that fit into the lines of mine. God Himself placed my heart within your hands and watched my soul tie itself to you.”
“How do you say these things with a straight face?”
He grinned, climbing to his feet and offering her his hand, pressing his lips onto her fingers, “Oh most beautiful of women, I will spend the rest of my life thanking God for this gift. A bride of his house.”
She rolled her eyes and smiled, pulling him closer, “no more stolen kisses. This one I give freely.”
He smiled, given no chance to reply as she kissed him deeply, tangling her fingers in his hair.
ns216.73.217.22da2
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