Uncross My Heart Read Online Free PDF Page B

Big stone walls framed us at odd angles around the campus, each a buttress for ancient artifacts—paintings and glassed cases filled with ecumenical writings dating back centuries. Vivienne kept up remarkably well despite the stiletto heels and her shorter stride. She took no notes, as I expected she might, and merely listened intently as we strolled in and out of buildings.
    I ended the tour in the nave of a tiny historic chapel, used mostly as a museum. She leaned close to the glass case to observe the stone artifacts lying there.
    “Are these pagan rune stones?” she asked, more knowledgeable than I would have expected.
    “Christian rune stones that existed alongside pagan burials in Scandinavia in 650 a.d.”
    She lingered behind for a moment, focused on the stones, as I walked ahead. She caught up with me down the aisle at the steps to the chancel, where I stopped at the foot of the Cross. Before us hung an emaciated Jesus, palms pierced against the wood, head wreathed in thorns, blood dripping down the full breasts.
    “A woman?” she asked quietly.
    “Female Christ crucified. The original once hung in the Cathedral of Saint John the Divine in New York.”
    “It has special meaning for you.”
    “If Christ is Father, and simultaneously Son and Holy Ghost, then God is most likely also simultaneously Woman.”
    “ If Christ is Father? I thought you accepted that as fact.” When I didn’t answer, she continued. “You’ve chosen to teach at a school that turns out fundamentalist ministers who believe men are chosen by God to do all the thinking for their households. Yet you value that part of Christ that is the feminine. How do you reconcile that?”
    “We’re not a fundamentalist seminary, although fundamentalism is an option. We don’t encourage or discourage any spiritual pursuit. We also graduate students who go on to become Methodist and Presbyterian ministers and Episcopal and Catholic priests. We lead people to God by many paths.”
    She looked at me as if she sought conviction of that belief.
    “Let’s go over to my office and have a cup of coffee and you can bore in on me.” I tried to sound slightly teasing but Vivienne Wilde seemed serious now.
    I shortened my strides, falling in beside her on the walkway.
    Students acknowledged me as they passed, one particular group of young boys shouting loudly to get my attention from fifty feet away. I waved at them and Vivienne smiled, causing me to lose pace with her for a second as I caught sight of the glow cast across her face. She had a beautiful mouth. Someone in her family could have done her a great service by reminding her to smile more often.
    “Did you say something?” She seemed to pick up on my thoughts.
    “No, but I could. When you smile, you look radiant. It’s a wonderful and disarming quality. In fact, I can hardly believe a woman with that kind of smile could write such infamous articles about our seminary.”
    “I do it while smiling.” Her broad grin reduced itself to just a hint of a smirk, and I realized this woman might not be easily won over.
    We entered another stone building under an archway bearing the carved name McGuire Hall, with its narrow corridors and heavy plank doors that sealed off each perfectly square office with its double set of windows. As we reached Room 111, Sally, the blond student, slid to a stop in front of me.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt. Dr. Westbrooke, would you help me understand some of the notations on my paper? Just talking it through would…drive it into my skull, I think.”
    “Catch me after class tomorrow. We’ll do it then.”
    “Great.” Sally beamed at me and scampered down the corridor. I turned the large brass doorknob at the same time I inserted the key into the giant Alice in Wonderland lock.
    “Do all your students have a crush on you?” My head must have snapped round as I felt a nerve twang in my neck. “Power,” Vivienne remarked. “They can smell it even when they’re