and I am with my own bags packed, waiting. He asked me if I needed transportation anywhere, he knows I am a student. And I told him that such has been taken care of by the abbey. He asks me where I am to go, and I tell him that I am on my way to take a plane for India. I ask him what are his own plans, and he says he is on his way to the Shepherds Of The Land, which is a monastery begun in Utah by monks from this very abbey here. He has spent his six months there as a postulate, and is ready to begin his two years as a novice, after which he will take a temporary vow to bind him to the monastic life for three years. He says that Mr Paul is interested in becoming a postulate, and I can tell you, dear lady, that I must have looked surprised. Mr Sandbone, he puts a hand on my shoulder, and he calls me son. That is a thing in America, yes, for a man of some years to call a young man son. And he says to me something that I was always to remember. He says âMr Paul has a past, my son, but also he has a future.ââ
Sandboneâs words seem to generate a sort of presence, and we both sit quiet for a while.
âSandbone was a brave man,â I say finally. âBut foolish. Men like this Dark Man. Iâm not sure they
can
be saved.â
I can see it in Father Panatelâs face, that in spite of the optimism of certain passages of scripture, he has struggled with the very same thing âDo you really believe that, dear lady?â
Itâs a good question.
The
question, as a matter of fact.
âLetâs say it is my
fear
, Father Panatel, that they cannot.â
SEVEN
M y cell phone rings on my way home from the seminary. I pull to the side of the road. I am distracted and it takes all of my concentration to drive.
âMy name is Mrs Hunter, Melissa Hunter, and Iâm with the Sebastian County Humane Society. I was told to call this number for a Joy Miller.â
âIâm Joy Miller. Iâm sorry, who did you say you were?â
âMrs Melissa Hunter. With the Sebastian County Humane Society.â She sounds like an older woman, and easily annoyed. âWe understand that you are the contact in regard to a golden retriever mix named Rubyââ I hear the rustle of papers, â⦠a dog belonging to a Caroline Miller?â
âI ⦠yes. Is Ruby there with you?â
A pause. âSheâs in our kennel.â There is disapproval in her voice, as if I have accused her of the impropriety of having the dog sit with her at her desk. âThis dog was brought in and left here by the police.â
âRight. Right, of course.â
âWeâd like to know what you want done with the dog. Do you want her to go up for adoption, or do you want to pick her up?â
âOh, no, Iâll come and get her. I â do I need to come myself? Can I have someone pick her up for me?â I was thinking of Sanderson. Carolineâs Fayetteville boyfriend.
âUmm ⦠well, this is unusual, but Iâve got instructions here in the file that say that the dog can only be released to you. But really, if you want to fax me a signed authorizationââ
âYou have instructions? In the file? Who gave you the instructions?â
She makes a noise of exasperation. âLet me look at this here. It says ⦠evidently we had a phone call from someone in the family. They said it had been arranged for you to pick the dog up. They left your number andââ
âYes. Yes, thatâs fine. Iâll be there as soon as I can.â
âWe close at five.â
Automatically I check the clock on the dash of my car. It is three thirty and it will take me fourteen hours to drive to Fort Smith if I make the usual stops.
âIâll canât be there until tomorrow. But Iâll get there as soon as I can. Is she OK? Ruby?â
The womanâs voice changes. âActually, I checked on her myself this morning when I was reviewing
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