Complete silence at the table. The energy was more off than when I came in here. Were they scared of him? Guilty of something? With an internal shrug, I finished my own water and wiped my mouth with the cloth napkin that was next to my bowl.
Breaking the eerie silence, Sister Abigail, who was only now seated at the table with us, cleared her throat. “Glad to see you have returned, Father.”
He replied back, but I wasn’t paying attention to his response.
When the silence returned, I took advantage of it.‘Solomon, what’s going on?’I asked in my head. But all I was met with was radio silence. I risked a glance at the priest, looking for any sign that he’d heard me, but he was spooning up the stew, his eyes on his bowl.
Oh Divine Mother, he was beautiful. Nerve endings I didn’t know I possessed sang inside my body, merging into a buttery ball in my lower stomach and making me feel breathless and feverish.
This was only a man, albeit a beautiful man, but he was real, not an angel sent down from the heavens, and he certainly wasn’t Mr. Voice/Solomon conjured into flesh, no matter how uncanny the Father’s voice was.
Coincidence, then. Or exhaustion on my part. I had hardly slept more than two hours last night, had been traveling since six this morning. That must be it, surely.
Right?
Lost in my thoughts for sometime, I absently noticed when something nudged my foot under the table. On my left side. I looked at Father Kent and found his eyes on me. A corner of his mouth lifted. I swallowed.
When another hand touched my shoulder, this time I yelped.
“Come along, child. I would speak with you before we go to mass,” Sister Abigail said in a terribly snooty voice.
Gladly, I stood up, bowed my head to the others, murmured some type of response, and quickly left the dining area.
Chapter Four
After my meeting with Beady-eyes,which consisted of her going over her expectations of me and me reciting them back, we all met up in what the Sisters called thebreeze wayand stood in line to go inside the church for mass. It was full-on dark now, and I was about to drop. Thankfully, the mass wasn’t a long one—Father Kent mainly just went through the motions of prayers and rites—and by the time it was over, Sister Hazel was pulling me up and out of the pew as though I were a rag doll.
“Go on to bed, child. We wake at six, so sleep up.”
I nodded absently and dragged my tired ass back to the convent. I didn’t pay any attention to the other occupants I passed in the hall on the way to my room, just found my door, pushed it open, and fell to my bed after kicking the door closed with my foot.
“You will feel better in the morning,” Solomon said in that same,real, voice.
Fatigue forgotten, I sat up, scrambling back to lean against the headboard, and stared at the apparition at the foot of my bed. There stood Father Kent, who I’d just seen in the church. There was no way on earth he got here before me.
“Do not be frightened, Constance. It’s a shock, I know. But it really is me.” He slowly walked around the bed and sat down. “It was time to finally meet in person.” His expression was almost… tender. My breath caught as I felt his eyes tracing each inch of my face. “You are beautiful, my Constant Star.”
I closed my eyes tightly. “No. No, no. Stop playing tricks, Mr. Voice. This isn’t funny. I’m tired and I want to go to bed.” When I got no response, I opened my eyes to peek at him, but he was still there.
“Shh… we will have plenty of time to talk, I just… wanted to see you for my own selfish motives, I suppose.” To my utter shock, he reached toward me and cupped my cheek. His hand was warm, soft, and so very masculine. “Beautiful,” he whispered.
And just as quickly as I could blink, he was gone. I waited a few moments, my arms wrapped around my drawn-up legs, staring at the closed door. But he didn’t return. Slowly I reached over and felt the coverlet at the end of the bed wear he had been sitting. There was an indent there, still warm from his weight.
“He’s real,” I said to the room. Shaking my head, I tried to deny it again. I ran all the logical reasons and past experiences through my mind, replaying every single thing Solomon/Mr. Voice and I had ever said to one another.
“Constant Star” was what he’d once named me one night when I was six. I’d been crying about not ever having had a nickname like the other children in the orphanage did. I thought the nickname was ridiculous, and we had laughed and laughed then, but the name stuck.
He hadn’t called me that in years.
There was no other explanation. It really was him.
In a daze, I undressed, my thoughts filled with all sorts of craziness, from excitement to fear, to confusion and relief. What did this mean for our friendship? Was that part over? And more importantly, how was any of this possible? Was it true, then, that I really was touched by something… extraordinary? Was I psychic? And why did God have to add this to my already growing list of things that separated me even more from everyone around me?
Too tired to care anymore for answers, I slipped into the cool sheets. As soon as my head touched the pillow, I was fast asleep.
I dreamed I walked through the breeze way and stood at the threshold of the church, looking ahead at all those gathered. Clergy, parishioners. The congregation of Trevorstone had grown, filling every inch of available space. Shadows danced outside the aisles of dark walnut pews, and candles in tall candelabras and sconces gleamed, burning with life. Every face was directed to the front, where Father Kent, in a white robe and gold scapular, stood before the altar. His lips were moving, probably reciting the Penitential Act, but I heard no words, only bells ringing, a beautiful wave of soft chimes that flowed around me like water. The sound was above and below. Beside, far and near, circling.
Sisters Hazel and Abigail stood at the side of the altar, smiling, totally transformed in manner and age. They bowed their veiled heads. “The Bride has come,” they sang.