When she looked at Augustine, he had an almost unearthly beauty, like an angel.
She couldn’t quite shake that thought.
Unfortunately, he slept in a tee shirt, so she still hadn’t gotten a good look at his backpiece tattoo.
Dree did not require anything else from the hotel because she didn’t want to take advantage of Augustine’s incredible generosity. She ate two croissants and packed the rest to eat on the plane, tucking them in a shopping bag she’d carefully folded and saved. She had no idea where she was going or how long she would be on the plane, and packing a snack seemed like a good idea. The plane from Phoenix to Paris had served food, but she wasn’t sure how many flights did that. That had been her first plane trip.
Sister Ann had emailed Dree sometime overnight with an address and a name.
Father Moses Teklehaimanot, Église Saint-Sulpice, Paris, 10:30 AM.
The driver dropped Dree off on a street corner near the Église Saint-Sulpice church at ten-twenty.
He gestured for her to go past the white tents set up for a street carnival and the entrance was just down the block, but he couldn’t stop the car on the street over there.
Dree dragged her brand-new roller bag over the wide Parisian sidewalk, through the crowd, and past the white vinyl tents until she reached a wide sidewalk that cut through to the street on the other side of the block. When she looked back at the street fair, the tents encircled a wide courtyard with a central fountain that didn’t have any water running, but steps led up to a sculpture on top of four statues with columns and a dome over them. Bare trees and cement security bollards separated the fountain and courtyard from the sidewalk and church.
Her roller bag bumped over the small paving bricks in the sidewalk. Some of the pavers were set in a grid, and those thick lines formed squares. Inside the squares, the pavers produced circular patterns.
In Paris, even the sidewalks were works of art.
The tiny wheels on her roller bag careened over the bricks and mortar.
The church itself was astonishing in its height and grandeur. The front of it looked like two stories of a house, with two levels of columns forming the front. It was like somebody designed the church with a forest of Doric columns on the front and then went, Ya know? I like this so much that I’ll do it again, but this time with Ionic columns on the top row.
The two towers on the corners were slightly mismatched, and she loved them both.
Dree stood on the sidewalk and gawked at it until she realized that she was making herself late.
Black wrought-iron gates blocked off many of the church’s entrances, some decked with wide posters of upcoming concerts.
The central entrance was open though, and the entry led between the church’s massive columns to the towering structure.
She started walking up the steps, passing Parisians and tourists who had settled on the steps to rest.
A priest walked out of the cathedral. He was a short, somewhat chubby Black man who wore a traditional black cossack and perfectly shined black shoes peeking out. A tidy white square completed his ecclesiastical collar, matching his snowy puff of hair. He called out to her, “Are you Andrea Catherine Clark?”
That was Sister Annunciata for you, always referring to all her ex-students by their full first name and confirmation name. “Yes, I’m Andrea Catherine. Are you Father Moses Teklehaimanot?”
“Yes. Yes, child. I am Father Moses. I was very surprised to hear from my old friend Sister Annunciata. I have not heard from her for six months!” His voice rose, incredulous as if such an interim was an impossible occurrence. “And now I hear from her, and she has a lost sheep who needs to get away from the US. I am pleased to help you, and you must tell me how is Sister Annunciata. But first, Mass is to start in half an hour. Considering you embark on a new life today, it is fitting that you should attend Mass to start you off on your journey.”
“I’d love to attend Mass, Father Moses, but I can’t take communion unless I go to confession first.” Dree hadn’t been to confession or Mass since she and Francis had started sleeping together, eight months before. She’d been too embarrassed to go.
Father Moses looked up at the cloudy Parisian sky. “What is it with Paris and everyone has the need for confession over and over again. Come, Andrea Catherine. I will hear your confession, but I want only mortal sins, listed succinctly, and with no details. I do not need details. People tell me the details, and then I cannot un-know them. It is upsetting to an old priest like myself.”
“Yes, Father.”
“And after that, you go to Mass, and it is a joyous experience to start you off on your new life. Catholic Charities is always in desperate need of certified medical professionals, and we welcome you to our fold. Did Sister Annunciata tell you your first assignment will be in Nepal?”
Nepal was far away from the Congo.
A wave of sadness washed over her from out of nowhere.
Dree said, “No, Sister Ann didn’t mention that.” Panic set in. “That sounds cold.”
“Yes, indeed.” Father Moses laughed and nodded. “I have never been there. There is that mountain there, Everest, and the Himalayas with all the snow. It is too cold for these old African bones, especially this time of year. My bones prefer the warm weather and green meadows of Rwanda, and I look forward to returning there for my retirement. We should have time after Mass to find some cold-weather clothes for you before we have to take you to the airport. There may be some here in the diocese we can access.”
“Thank you so much, Father. I can’t believe Sister Annunciata did all this.”
“Sister Annunciata has the most beautiful soul. I could tell you stories. She and I worked together during the troubles in Rwanda. She is a strong woman, I tell you, and her faith in Christ is unmatched. Also, I should tell you this now, before I forget. In Nepal, you will be met by another friend of ours, Sister Mariam Karia. She will guide you on your way.”
Tribhuvan International Airport, just outside of Kathmandu, the capital of Nepal, looked like a large airport in every Western US state that Dree had ever seen, except for minor cosmetic differences. The building itself was made out of red bricks, and the air traffic control tower was the same gray octagonal tower that stood above every airport.
Low rows of chairs lined up near the gates, and well-dressed flight attendants primped while they waited for their planes to be ready. A second row of windows up near the high ceiling allowed passengers to watch the frequent jets take off and land on the runway outside.
At the airlines’ customer service desks, people lined up to check-in or used the self-check terminals just like every other airport Dree had ever been at.
Some of the minor differences were the scrolly writing dropping down from a line across the top on the signs, but most of the signs were also in English, and the English was in a larger font. There was one sign that advised her that the trolley between the terminals was free, along with a phone number to call if there were any complaints about the trolley. A Radisson Hotel occupied part of the first floor, and there was a little café where you could sit down for a meal or get takeout for the plane.
Dree retrieved her roller bag from the usual luggage carousel and followed the signs for the taxi stand.
At the taxi stand, a wiry woman waited. She was about Dree’s age, middle-twenties, and wearing a dove gray sari and a light jacket, gold-rimmed glasses, and a wooden cross hanging from a yellow-dyed string. She held a sign that read Andrea Catherine Clark.
As Dree was walking over to the woman, she began to overheat.
Inside the down coat, woolen pants, thick socks, and boots that Father Moses had found for her in Paris, her body began to boil.
In another moment, she broke out in a sweat, but the sweat had nowhere to go because she was so overdressed.
When she got to the woman holding the sign, Dree dropped her roller bag and started stripping off her coat and rolling up her sleeves to get some air on her skin b
efore she died of heat prostration. “Oh, wow. It’s so warm here. It feels like Phoenix. It must be seventy degrees, and it’s December!”
“I am Sister Mariam Karia. Oh, yes, you’re coming from Paris. Paris was so very cold when I was there. I did not like it.”
“I didn’t think Nepal would be so warm.”
“I still think it is very cool because I am from Kerala, India, but it is much more temperate than Paris. I wore thick coats all the time when I was in Paris in the winter, and their summers are too warm, too. I like the weather in Nepal much better. Come with me to the car. I will drive you to the rectory for the night, where you will meet the people on the team for your assignment tomorrow.”
She’d finally gotten enough of the coats and mufflers and gloves off that she wasn’t going to get heatstroke.
“Very pleased to meet you,” Dree said. They shook hands. The nun’s hands were soft in Dree’s fingers.
Dree followed the nun toward the parking lot, which was filled with cars from various parts of the world. She’d never seen a Tata Motors car before, but there were also Volvos, BMWs, and a lone Maserati in the back corner. She was tired from flying for over sixteen hours, and somehow she couldn’t take her eyes off the Maserati.
She stepped off the curb.
Sister Mariam yanked Dree backward, and a pickup truck roared by on what her brain registered as the wrong side of the road.
“Oh, my!” She turned to the nun. “Thank you. I’ll try to be better.”
“You have had a very long trip. You’ll want to sleep once you get to the rectory. I dare say that there has been a miscalculation, so if you would rather stay at the convent, you should tell the deacon father who will be there. I can come and get you and take you to the convent.”
“I really appreciate everything that you and Father Moses and Sister Annunciata have done for me. I don’t want to be a bother. I can bed down in practically any corner. I have slept in the hay with sheep more often than I can tell you.”
Sister Mariam laughed. “I’m not sure where your assignment will take you in Nepal—maybe there will be sheep, maybe not—but I can tell you what you are going to be studying.”
They reached the car, a new-looking Tata Motors sedan painted black. Sister Mariam said, “Get in. I’ll tell you the rest on the way.”
Dree got in the side of the car that the nun gestured to, even though it looked like she was getting in the driver’s side. It wasn’t, of course. She sat in the passenger seat on the left side of the car, which was weird.
Sister Mariam drove the car through Kathmandu at an efficient pace, though not enough to make Dree climb up the side of the car and cling to the ceiling. Apartment buildings five or more stories high filled blocks on the rolling land, boxing in lovely little pagodas and conical temples so intricately crafted that they looked like they were constructed out of wooden lace.
Dree was so busy gawking that she jumped when Sister Mariam said, “You have a three-month assignment here in Nepal, and we were very glad to have a nurse practitioner on the team. Do you have any experience with pediatric patients?”
“Oh, yes,” Dree told her. “The emergency room where I worked in Phoenix was primarily a pediatric ER. I’ve also done rotations in a neonatal intensive care unit.”
Sister Mariam grinned. “Excellent. The project is to reduce the mortality rate among premature babies in rural areas of Nepal. There are dozens of hospitals in Kathmandu, of course.”
Large buildings that could have been hospitals or government buildings lined the freeway as they drove through Kathmandu.
“It’s good that you have neonatal and pediatric experience,” Sister Mariam continued. “Nepal has an infant mortality rate of 62 per 1000 live births, about ten times that of the US and thirty times the mortality rate of Germany. Many of the babies at risk will end up in Kathmandu, eventually. However, if a baby is born prematurely in the more rural areas, the parents must travel for days to get the baby to the nearest emergency room if there are no cars. Most perish. The project team you are assigned to will scout rural sites for small clinics that can house two to four neonatal incubators per clinic.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Dree said. Having a part in something important like that was making her a little weepy.
“I’m telling you right now that I have grave concerns about this project,” Sister Mariam said. “Many of these rural villages do not have electricity or wells, so the small clinics will need to have electricity, plumbing, and other utilities that there is no infrastructure for. Most of the other team members are engineers, architects, or other technical professionals.”
“I’m not an engineer. I don’t know how to install an incubator. I just know how to use one.”
“That is exactly the expertise we will need. The team needs someone to tell them whether medical personnel would find such an installation feasible to treat a new premature baby.”
Dree nodded. “I suppose I can do that.”
“You will be traveling extensively throughout Nepal. I fear that some of the accommodations may not be what you are used to.”
“Like I said, Sister, I was raised on a sheep ranch in New Mexico. I can rough it with the best of them. I can sleep on the ground with a rock for a pillow, and I’ll be just fine.”
“As I said, Andrea Catherine, if you would prefer to stay at the convent while you’re in Kathmandu or if you are worried about the accommodations, please call us at the convent and we will figure out what we can do for you.”
“I appreciate that, Sister.”
“As for tonight, you’ll be staying at the rectory. It has several bedrooms, whereas at the convent, you may need to share a room. The deacon who was assigned to this project is also at the rectory, and he can tell you more about the project. I was pleased to see he is part of the team. I met him a few years ago, when we were both assigned to a project in the slums of Mumbai. He is a transitional deacon, so he has been given Holy Orders as a deacon and aspires to the priesthood. We had many lovely conversations over chai. He wants to join the Jesuit order. I think you will like him. He is a very nice man who takes his calling very seriously. We have many friends in common, and he is very proper, almost shy. He is not the type of priest whom we nuns will only visit in pairs, if you understand me, like Father Emmanuel over in Lalitpur. Do not meet with Father Emmanuel of Lalitpur in private. He is a very bad man. But our Deacon Father is not a bad man. He is a good man.”
“Okay, great. I’m looking forward to meeting him. What’s his name?”
“Deacon Father Maxence Grimaldi.”
Something about that name rang a bell in her head. “Okay?”
Sister Mariam was repressing a smile, the corners of her mouth turning up despite the fact that her lips were pressed together so tightly that she was practically eating them. She said quietly, almost like she was talking to herself, “Yes, he is Deacon Father Maxence Grimaldi.”
Dree asked her, “Is there something else I should know?”
“As I said, I have met Deacon Father Maxence on previous projects. He is a very holy man and very committed to becoming a priest. He works very hard on all the projects, building schools and hospitals with his own hands, ministering to the sick, and to the houses for survivors of female human trafficking. He prays the major hours of the Divine Office and the minor ones. Very holy.”
“And?” Dree drew out the word to entice Sister Mariam to talk.
Sister Mariam’s eyes bugged out because she was trying so hard not to say what she so dearly wanted to.
“Come on. You know you want to tell me,” Dree said.
Sister Mariam shot her a quick look out of the corner of her eyes, and her head bobbled side to side as she considered what to say. Finally, she said, “Deacon Father Maxence is very good for the Church because everywhere he goes, there are many converts to Christ.”
Dree paused for a minute, thinking. “I’m not sure what that means.”
“Deacon Fat
her Maxence writes excellent sermons, and his delivery of sermons is impeccable.”
She was still chewing on her own lips.
Dree asked, “And that means?”
Sister Mariam bobbled so hard while she was driving that Dree thought the poor woman was going to explode. She said, all in a rush, “God in His infinite wisdom has thought it good to give Deacon Father Maxence a very handsome face, but I believe he prefers the company of men.”
Dree had not expected that, and she cracked up. “Oh, really?”
“Some of the nuns in my convent have been tempted to sin with Deacon Father Maxence and have tried their darnedest to tempt him, but he would not break his vow of chastity. He is a very holy man, very devout. He also knows much about fashion, and I have asked him questions about these things. I say this only to spare you any aggravation or concern. That is why I told you that, not because I was gossiping.” Sister Mariam frowned very hard. “Mother Superior has told me many times that I especially must guard against gossiping.”
Dree cracked up again. “Okay, I’m forewarned. I was planning on not having anything to do with men ever again in my life, and certainly not with someone who wants to be a priest, and certainly never, ever while I’m on a Catholic Charities mission. I just got out of an awful relationship, and it was so bad that I left America because I’m afraid for my life. I don’t want anything to do with any man, but thanks for the warning about Deacon Father Maxence.”
“Yes, you should be warned about Deacon Father Maxence. He is very handsome, and he is very convincing.”
Convincing, huh? “Thanks again for the warning.”
Sister Mariam parked the car on a lovely suburban street.
On one side of the avenue, Our Lady of Assumption Church was a modern-looking building. The red brick construction and terracotta-tiled roof with blue and white trim would have been perfectly at home in the Southwestern US, though the lines of the roof were slightly concave like the pagodas Dree had seen driving through Kathmandu. The crosses stemming from the apexes of the church roof had sunbursts around the centers, looking more like Eastern Orthodox crosses, even though she’d been assured this was a Roman Catholic Church.
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