The Last Broken Promise Read Online Free PDF

figure out how old the Mother Superior might be. He had 62 years in his dish, but she made him feel like a babe every time they spoke. The aristocratic bones of her face had an elegant, timeless quality. She was beautiful in her kindness and grace.
    Mother Marguerite Marie inclined her regal head. “You do me great honor with this visit, Father Thomas.” She stood to one side and motioned him into the small room.
    It was this quaintly aristocratic turn of speech that had started the rumors years ago. Father Thomas had only been at the convent two weeks when he had first heard the speculations about Mother Marguerite Marie’s early life. One of the older nuns gleefully told him everything she knew. It was said the Mother Superior had been a French countess before the bloody Citizen’s Revolution had taken her noble husband and sons. She’d turned to the church for sanctuary. And she’d found a calling for her shattered life. Father Thomas didn’t know if the stories were true. But looking at her now he could believe they might be. She looked very much like a countess inviting a poor relation into her drawing room.
    “Thank you, for inviting me in,” Father Thomas murmured humbly.
    He might be the son of a jumped-up Irish baron, but he still felt like a butcher’s boy when it was time to have an audience with the Reverend Mother. His eyes adjusted quickly to the darkened room. Mother was very thrifty, it was a necessity. Tithes were slow in coming. The few Catholics, in the back country, were not wealthy. Only one small candle burned in a pewter holder perched on the corner of her small, rough desk. There was a healthy fire burning in the grate. That helped Father Thomas find his way to a straight-backed chair facing the writing table. He waited for the woman to slowly shuffle across the tiny room. She gingerly seated herself before he sat down himself.
    She stared at him with eyes as inscrutable as those of a cat. He waited silently. Polite manners and church hierarchy kept him from speaking first. So they sat. And they sat some more. Father Thomas always hated this part of his interviews with Mother Marguerite Marie. Quiet was a wonderful thing when one was alone in a shadowy chapel. But it was highly uncomfortable when you were the sole focus of Mother’s obelisk stare. Father Thomas often wondered what went through her mind at these times. Was she praying for wisdom? Was she trying to read his mind? Was she hoping to intimidate the short, pudgy man? He never knew. Because just as the silence stretched to the snapping point, she spoke.
    “What brings you to me this day, Father Thomas?”
    Thomas jumped. Her low musical voice was always such a surprise after the dead quiet. “Well, Mother.” He squirmed sideways in the chair. “I wanted to talk with you about our newest postulate.”
    “I take you to mean Jessamine.” Mother settled back in her own chair. She folded her weathered hands across her bosom. “Since she is the only postulate we’ve had here in fifteen years.”
    “Yes, I mean Jessamine.” His smile was strained. “I’m very concerned she may not be suited for a religious life.”
    “Oh?” The solemn expression never wavered on the old woman’s face. “And on what do you base this opinion?”
    “Mother, the girl is very... well, she’s very... that is to say she’s very....” He struggled to come up with a word that fit Jessamine.
    “Spontaneous?” suggested the Mother Superior helpfully.
    “Exactly.” He blew out a sigh of relief. “And she’s also inclined toward... uh, that is, she’s inclined toward...” He was stuck again.
    “Enthusiasm?” the papery dry voice of Marguerite Marie whispered across the desk to him.
    “Enthusiasm. Absolutely.” He nodded vigorously. “Jessamine is a fine girl. But she’s totally unsuited to take up Holy Orders.”
    “Because she is both spontaneous and enthusiastic?” There was a note of challenge in the old woman’s voice