The Last Broken Promise Read Online Free PDF Page B

now.
    “No, that’s not it exactly.” Father Thomas tried earnestly to get her to understand. “It’s not just those things. It’s the way she acts that tells me she shouldn’t be a nun. There’s a vitality to her that calls out to a man.”
    “Father?” There was stern reproach covering the old nun’s face.
    “Not me, Reverend Mother, I wasn’t speaking of myself,” he rushed to correct what she was obviously thinking. “Although, I confess, I’d have to be dead not to notice her stunning beauty. What I’m talking about is an inner spark. There’s a light in her eyes that tempts a man. Mother, I believe with all my heart Jessamine St. John is destined to be a wife and mother, not a cloistered nun. It would be an awful shame if we let her continue pursuing a path that will only make her unhappy in the years to come.”
    She nodded. The folds of her wimple fell forward to hide her face in their shadow. “I agree with you, Father Thomas. That would not only be a shame, but a great sin as well. I said as much to her brother on the day he brought Jessamine and her aunt, here to live with us.”
    “You did?” he asked confused.
    “Yes, I did.” She chuckled. “I told Connor St. John that his sister would never be a nun.”
    “How did you know?”
    “I knew because Jessamine is so much like me at her age.” Tender memories filled her eyes with tears.
    “But Mother,” he protested. “You are a faithful bride of the church.”
    “I pray that’s true Thomas. But before I was the church’s bride, I was the bride of a man. A wonderful, wonderful man.”
    Father Thomas turned to stare at the fire. The pain in the woman’s face was private. He couldn’t make himself watch her grief. “Mother, please don’t feel you need to explain.”
    “But I want you to know, Thomas. It is no deep, dark secret. God has always comforted me, and I’m assured He will continue to do so. When I was a young girl, my father betrothed me to the eldest son of the Comte des Loges. I met him the day of our wedding. I loved him instantly and completely. The blessing of the Lord was that the Comte loved me just as intensely. Marital love was not commonplace in French society when I was young. Nor is it now, if what I read in letters from my friends is correct. Our devotion to each other was the talk of Paris for twenty-five lovely years. We were blessed with two fine sons. It sounds like a fairy tale, no?” Marguerite Marie sounded very French in that moment. “But then the Revolution came. We were the hated Aristos. It didn’t matter that my husband’s family was kind and generous to all. The poor mob was so deceived. They insisted we must pay for the sins of others. We were thrown into prison. It was winter. There was no warm clothing and no fires to be wasted on people who were condemned to meet Madame La Guillotine. I watched my youngest son die, coughing and spitting up blood. He was fifteen. Andre, our oldest son, went with his father in the tumbrel to Madame La Guillotine. Our cruel jailors thought I should go to watch. Even though I myself was not to die, because my father had recanted his piddling title to save himself and his wealth, you see. But since the gaolers had the power, they decided I should watch as my husband and son were murdered.” Her voice broke. Tears filled her pale blue eyes. “Andre was so very stoic and handsome as he and my dear husband mounted the steps to be executed. I did get to kiss them both. For that, I will be eternally thankful. The crowd yelled obscenities, but I kissed them.” Her lip trembled. She stopped speaking.
    Father Thomas reached a hand out to stop her. This was too painful. Mother Marguerite Marie was a woman of immense dignity. He was watching her dissolve before his eyes. “Mother, please stop. I don’t want to hear this.”
    “I understand, Thomas, but I need to tell it.” Her voice was steady now and level. “Please let me finish.” She waited for his