Divine Temptation

by Nicki Elson

  After helping Liam with a science report and then getting him into bed and securing a promise from Kirsten to only stay on the computer for another half an hour, she ran out to the store for peanut butter and other lunch supplies, and then decided to take a quick run by the church to see if Randy, the janitor, had delivered the giant cornucopia and silk florals she’d asked him to retrieve from storage. When she could, she preferred to arrange the altar in the later hours when the church was typically vacant.

  On her way into the narthex, she passed by a man heading out. He tilted his head in greeting and she recognized him as the handsome newcomer at Father Tom’s archeology presentation the previous summer. It was the first time she’d seen him since, but he’d obviously continued on at the church in some capacity, even if it was just to visit the adoration chapel, where she assumed he was coming from.

  Maggie found the boxes she wanted stacked in the coat closet and smiled. Picking up the two bulkiest, she carried them to the church, pushing the door open with her back. When she turned and faced the front, she stopped abruptly. The altar was in disarray, with its tall, brass candlesticks knocked over and strewn across the twisted cloth. The glass surrounding the hanging lamp had been shattered, and the flame, ever-burning to indicate the presence of Christ, was dead.

  Maggie swallowed and set the boxes on a pew in the back row, thinking she should run to the rectory to alert the priests, but she held still when a muffled sob sounded from the altar. Taking a breath and stepping into the aisle, she peered through shimmering dimness, with the glow of electric votive candles casting an eerie motion throughout the large, open space. A dark, hunched figure kneeled at the side of the altar, directly beneath the fractured lamp.

  Maggie walked cautiously up the aisle and about halfway she saw that it was Father Tom. He appeared to be picking up the glass shards, and even in the gloomy church Maggie could see he was shaking.

  “Father! What happened?” She quickened her pace to reach him, but he sat back on his knees and held a hand up for her to stop. She did as he requested, but insisted, “You’re bleeding. Please, let me help you clean that up.”

  She took another step, but now another figure emerged from the shadows. It was Monsignor Sarto, and his face smoldered with quiet fury as he hovered over Father Tom. She now noticed the overturned wooden pillar that typically held the paschal candle at the monsignor’s feet. The candle itself had rolled nearby.

  “You can’t help him.” The monsignor’s voice was cold and his words final. “Please leave us and lock the doors on your way out.”

  “But I don’t mind—” She dared another step.

  “I said leave!” The monsignor demanded.

  Maggie halted, but turned her worried gaze on Father Tom. He nodded and attempted a reassuring smile. “Go on, dear. It’ll all be fine.” When she still didn’t move, he added, “Please.”

  “You’re sure?” she asked quietly, as if the monsignor wasn’t standing right there, glaring at her.

  Father Tom nodded again, his eyes pleading for her to just do as she was asked, so she retreated, picking up the boxes on her way out. When she reached the doors into the narthex, the monsignor called out to her.

  “I advise you not to say a word about this to anyone. For Father Reardon’s sake, at the very least.”

  Maggie nodded and left. After ensuring no one was in the adoration chapel, she locked the church doors and prayed throughout her entire drive home. She checked on the kids, got ready for bed, and waited for Evan. But he didn’t appear that night.

  All the next morning, Maggie was tempted to tell Brenda about what she’d witnessed in church the night before, but first she wanted to talk with Father Tom. When the door from the rectory opened, she whipped her head around to greet the pastor, but instead she saw Monsignor Sarto. He was closely followed by Father Dominic, whose eyes remained steadfastly fixed on the floor as the two men made their way to the conference room.

  Sarto paused in the doorway. “Mrs. Drummond, Mrs. Brock, please join us.”

  Brenda shot Maggie a questioning glance, and as they both stood and walked together, Maggie’s mouth went dry. Sarto stood at the head of the long table and motioned for the women to sit down. They took chairs next to each other, opposite from where Father Dominic sat.

  “There has been a significant development,” the monsignor said. “I’ve also requested the presence of the principal, school secretaries, and our financial consultant. We’ll wait for them.”

  Maggie stared at the glossy tabletop, attempting to manage the dread gnawing at her gut. Within minutes, nearly all the seats were taken, but the room remained disturbingly quiet. Sarto continued standing. “Thank you all for coming on such short notice. I don’t doubt you’ll be surprised to learn that Father Reardon has voluntarily applied for mental health leave, which the bishop has granted.” A low murmur went through the room, and Brenda’s hand shot to her mouth. “This morning I drove him to St. Paul’s Retirement Home for the Religious, where he’ll be staying indefinitely. For now it’s best to operate under the assumption that he won’t return to St. John’s.”

  “No!” Maggie shouted and stood. “This isn’t right! He can’t…he’s not ready to retire.” She felt Brenda’s hand on her arm, coaxing her down, but she stood firm, her glare aimed straight at Sarto.

  “I understand how surprising this is,” Sarto said calmly to the group at large before turning to Maggie. It was only for a flicker of a second, but Maggie was certain his lip had curled when his eyes fell on her. “Your loyalty is commendable, Mrs. Brock, but this outburst won’t help any of us to move on and address the ongoing operational and spiritual needs of St. John’s parish.”

  She saw there was no point in arguing with Sarto and sat down. She’d find another way to get Father Tom back. The meeting continued with everyone volunteering to fill in the gaps until either Father Tom was reinstated or a new pastor was found.

  Maggie and Brenda stayed busy the entire day rearranging schedules and notifying committee heads and other parish leaders of the new development. Every time Maggie delivered the news, her heart ached. When Father Dominic came in to gather some things from Father Tom’s office, he said that he was as shocked and bewildered as everyone else, and his somewhat dazed expression backed this up. After school, Maggie drove the kids home from school and went immediately to the retirement home.

  Most of the leaves had fallen from the tall oaks that peppered the hilltop home of the former seminary. The three story structure with its thick stone pillars had a solid, formidable presence, even with the peeling trim and fogged windows. Inside, the place had a less clinical feel than Maggie had expected. The front doors opened to a cozy sitting area with upholstered chairs and a throw rug. Framed artwork hung on walls painted in rich, warm colors that calmed the panic that had been clambering within Maggie all day.

  A slight, elderly woman sat at a small desk to the side of the room. “May I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m here to see Father Thomas Reardon.”

  “Ah, our newest resident,” the woman said. “Let me see if I can find him for you. What’s your name, dear?”

  “Magdelyn Brock.”

  The woman got up and went through the double doors at the far end of the room. While waiting, Maggie walked over to inspect one of the paintings more closely. The brass tag on the frame said it was a reproduction of a painting by Henry Ossawa Tanner in 1898. The Annunciation. A young Mary sat cautiously on her bed, covered in robes, with her feet on the floor and hands clasped on her lap. Her head tilted in question, but her eyes held fast on the luminous figure at the left of the canvas.

  Maggie was torn from her study when the double doors reopened. The woman gave her a kind smile, but her eyelids crinkled downward in apology. “Father Reardon has requested privacy and is currently taking no visitors.”

  “Did you speak to him? Did you tell him it was me?”

  The woman’s mouth curved into a sympathetic frown. “I�
��m sorry, dear. Perhaps you can try again next week.”

  Maggie nodded and walked out. On her way to the row of parking spaces, she kept her neck craned, unsuccessfully searching every window for signs of her beloved priest.

  “Can you please go check on him?” Maggie asked Evan when he finally came to see her a few days later. She’d immediately filled him in on what had happened since he’d been gone.

  “Priests aren’t in my sphere.”

  “You don’t have to talk to him, just…just go float into the old seminary building and see how he looks, what he’s doing.” She paced across her bedroom floor in front of the angel.

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “Well, talk to your angel friends, then. Network and find someone who knows.”

  “That’s not—”

  Maggie leveled a glare that stopped him from completing his sentence. “This is driving me insane! There has to be something I can do. Bringing pumpkin bread to that gatekeeper when I tried to see him again yesterday didn’t help. I just need to know he’s okay. And I want him to know he’s got someone on the outside who cares.”

  “The outside?” Evan’s lips twisted into a half smile. “You make it sound like he’s in prison.”

  “How can you be so sure he isn’t? It’s all very strange, don’t you think? I still don’t know what that scene in the church was all about. Maybe I should go have a chat with Sarto.”

  The angel’s smile faded. “I’m not sure that would do any good. He doesn’t exactly seem to be forthcoming with information.”

  “Yeah, Pot, and you are?”

  “Pot?”

  “Calling the kettle black. Never mind. My point is that you’re not helping either, so what am I supposed to do?”

  “Wait until Father Tom is ready to see you, and pray for him in the meantime.”

  The boiling air seeped out of Maggie like she was a popped balloon. “Always supremely logical, aren’t you?” She looked down to the plush carpet as she squished it through her clenched toes and contemplated what he’d said, concluding, “Well, I guess that’s all I can do—for now.” After a few moments of silence, she tilted her head to look at him. “Where’ve you been these last few days?”

  “After verifying during our experiment the other night that you are not, in fact, inhabited by a demon, the aura of danger surrounding you lessened. It appears this lower level of risk translates into me resuming my other duties.”

  “Oh. I hadn’t even thought about you neglecting other things while spending so much time watching over me.”

  “They weren’t neglected—they were being taken care of, just not by me.”

  “Does this mean you’ll fade away and not come back at all if the ‘aura of danger’ stays away?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Great. So I can lose you and Father Tom both at the same time.”

  “You wouldn’t lose me. I’ve always been around and will continue to be.”

  “It wouldn’t be the same. I want to see you, talk to you. Touch you.” She reached to his sides and slid her fingers between his. “I don’t know how I would’ve gotten through these last few months if you weren’t right here.”

  “You’ve gotten through many tough situations without me. You’d have been fine.”

  Frowning and shaking her head slowly, she curled into him, wrapping her arms around his waist and nuzzling into his chest. She didn’t want to have to get through things by herself anymore. In the quietness and the closeness, she inhaled his mildly spiced scent and noticed things she hadn’t before. “Your heart beats,” she murmured. “Fully human form…” Spreading her fingers, she traced up and down his lower back with her thumbs.

  “Maggie…” he warned, and the hands he’d molded to her back stiffened. She didn’t miss the corresponding increase in his heart rate.

  She stopped moving her fingers, but remained pressed to him. With fabric between them, he felt firm and solid, exactly like a man. “I know humans weren’t made to be with angels,” she said, “but humans weren’t made to travel into outer space either, and yet we still do it. We weren’t made to glide over water either, but we figured out a way. Maybe you and I can figure out a way too.”

  When Evan didn’t answer right away, she let her fingertips resume roving ever so cautiously along the indent of his spine. She only got halfway up before he reached his hands behind to grab hers and hold them still. “That isn’t why I’m here,” he said, though the tremor of his tone conflicted with the certainty of his words.

  “You don’t know why you’re here.” Pressing her fingertips resolutely into his muscle, she pulled her face away from his chest to level a challenging look at him. She was tired of waiting for answers. And she was tired of fighting these feelings.

  A hint of fire glinted in the shards of Evan’s irises, but the cool gray surrounding them tempered the urgency, and when he spoke again, his voice had become steady and determined. “It’s not for that. Do you remember Father Tom’s advice? To stay an arm’s length away from each other?”

  She nodded, her stubbornness receding with the pastor’s name being brought back into the conversation.

  “He’s a wise man, Maggie. We should’ve listened to him. So maybe now, to show how very much we respect him, we can follow his guidance.”

  He knew just which buttons to press. She let her hands drop to her sides, with his following along as he intertwined his fingers with hers. They stood only precious centimeters apart, his head tilting down while hers angled up so they were nearly cheek-to-cheek. It would have been so easy for Maggie to swing her face over to rest against his smooth, extraordinary flesh, to sink into him, but she knew that would be too much to pull back from, so instead she closed her eyes and stayed still, absorbing his essence as she attempted to siphon from him whatever resistance he could spare.

  His warm breath cascaded along her jaw and down her neck. “I have to go,” he whispered, and without Maggie being prepared for him to leave, he squeezed her hands, then stepped back and faded from view before she’d fully reopened her eyes. She was afraid it would be the last time he ever touched her.

  Chapter 18

  THE DAY BEFORE THANKSGIVING, Maggie stopped by St. Paul’s Retirement Home to drop off a small dish of sweet potato casserole. “It needs to be refrigerated,” she said to the woman at the front desk, “so if someone could let him know.”

  “Maybe you can tell him yourself. Would you like me to try again?”

  Maggie smiled, thinking perhaps the pumpkin bread had done the trick after all. A few minutes later, she was given directions to Father Tom’s room and at last allowed beyond the sitting area. Upon reaching his room, she rapped her knuckles lightly on his half-opened door.

  “Come in, Maggie,” he said in a gravelly voice that sounded too tired.

  “Hi!” She was determined to stay cheerful throughout the visit. “How are you feeling?”

  Sitting in a chair by the window with a light blanket over his legs, he merely shrugged in answer.

  “I brought you some sweet potatoes for Thanksgiving. I was making it for tomorrow anyhow, so I figured why not make a little extra? I used lots of sugar, so it’ll make a good dessert if you don’t get enough at the meal they serve here. And if you’d prefer a home cooked dinner, I could bring you a whole plate full tomorrow night.”

  He nodded and then his eyes wandered toward the window. “That sounds nice. But…no. Please don’t.”

  “Okay.” She looked around the sparse room and spotted a small dorm-sized refrigerator next to the desk. “I’m going to put this in your fridge. They’re pretty good cold, but if you want to heat them up I’m sure you can just ask somebody to do that for you.”

  “That will be fine.”

  Maggie bent and turned from him to put the potatoes away, cursing the tears that stung the corners of her eyes. He seemed so lost and she didn’t want to admit to herself that he might belong here. Once she was sure her smile was firmly in p
lace, she again faced him.

  He slowly swiveled his head toward her, and his droopy eyes met her gaze. “Perhaps it was too soon for me to receive guests. I must look pretty old and worthless.”

  “No, no, you don’t.” She pulled the desk chair over and sat facing him, taking his hands in hers. “But, Father…what are you doing here? What happened that night in the church?”

  His shoulders lifted as he took in a deep breath. “I’m too ashamed to say.”

  Maggie waited, giving him the opportunity to continue, but when he didn’t, she asked, “Did the monsignor do something to you? You can tell me. I’m on your side. No matter what, I’ll back you up.”

  He squeezed her hands. “People…are not always what they seem. Don’t be quick to judge, and don’t trust blindly.” His grip tightened until it almost hurt as he peered at her through eyes that were suddenly more clear and wide. “Be wary of strangers. Anyone who’s come into your life this last year. And pray, Maggie. Pray. Keep your heart with the Lord. Promise me!”

  Her head bobbed as if she thought she could reassure him with the velocity of her nod. “I will.”

  His grip relaxed and he settled back into his chair, but his brow held tight in concern. Maggie closed her eyes, and began to recite the Our Father and then the Hail Mary. He joined in and they recited a few more prayers together. When they finished, he thanked her for coming and wished her a happy Thanksgiving. Then his focus once again turned toward the window, and she knew it was his way of dismissing her.

  The kids ran off with Carl as soon as they arrived at his place so he could demonstrate the capabilities of his brand new, monstrously huge TV, and Maggie carried her bag of food into the kitchen, where Melissa busily tended the various pots and dishes.

  “I brought some wine,” Maggie announced. “Figured the two of us could use it, so I bought the big boy.” She pulled an oversized bottle of Chardonnay out of the bag and plopped it on the counter. “I brought food, too.”