Read Online The Woodcarver's Secret (Samantha Sweet Mysteries) by Connie Shelton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Connie Shelton
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shape. The stones were glowing brilliantly
and the surface of the box—just as hers did—warmed to a golden glow.
Sophia stepped back. The mother
of the unconscious boy looked up at the old one with a tenuous smile of hope.
“Magda, can you—?”
The white-haired woman pushed the
black shawl off her head and gripped the box with both hands as she knelt
beside the pair. Setting the box down, she rubbed her hands together quickly
and then placed them on both sides of the child’s head. She closed her eyes;
her lips moved with silent words. The boy stirred and his eyes opened. He grew
restless in his mother’s arms and pushed against her to sit up.
The other gypsies gathered around,
blocking Sophia’s view. A couple of them cast suspicious glances toward her.
She smiled encouragement to them and picked up her bag.
“I am happy that the boy feels
better,” she said as she passed.
The scene ran through her head
all the way home. The Church taught that miracles were possible, usually
performed by holy men or innocent children. Had she witnessed such a miracle?
*
* *
Father Benedict stepped from the
shadow of a cypress tree, facing the clan of heathens.
“Give me that box,” he ordered holding
out his hand.
Like roaches in the light, the Romas scattered and vanished into the
labyrinth of alleys and doorways. Benedict started to give chase but the
infidels were light and quick. Rather than admit that his lumbering size was a
hindrance, he turned toward the cathedral as if that had been his intent all
along. Bishop Andreas would want to hear about this.
He found the man alone in the
cloisters.
“I must speak with you
privately,” Benedict said, fully aware that a normal tone of voice could carry
in unimaginable ways through these stone passageways and arches.
Andreas tilted his head toward
the door leading to his study. He closed the door behind them and indicated
that Benedict should take the plain chair against the wall. The bishop circled
the heavy table he used as a desk and sat in his own ornately carved chair.
“I witnessed an extraordinary
event, only moments ago,” the priest began. He detailed the story, relishing
the look on the bishop’s face as he spoke of the wooden box.
“They are practicing witchcraft,
of course,” Benedict said in conclusion.
“Yes ... yes, they must be
questioned on that subject.” The bishop’s eyes met his. “But questions will not
bring me what I desire.”
The priest nodded. The two men
had discussed the wooden box that he had discovered in the possession of the
artist, Abran Vermejo. Stories circulated, and the rumors of a powerful
artifact were not unknown to them.
“The woman was present, the
daughter of the artist.”
“And she performed this ... this
deed?”
“I do not know if she had a hand
in it. When I came to the place, she was standing at one side. An old gypsy
woman had her hands on the box. She touched the child and uttered the words.”
“So ... perhaps the two of them
are in it together.” The bishop ran a fingernail along the edge of his lower
lip.
Benedict didn’t believe this to
be the case but there was no advantage to being right if it entailed an
argument with a superior. He merely shrugged.
“I want that artifact.” Andreas’s
eyes glittered at the prospect of the miracles he could claim with all of that
power at hand. Performing the royal edict would be done with effortless ease
and he would take credit for ridding the kingdom of crypto-Jews and dirty,
thieving Romas .
Andreas pulled a soft leather
pouch from the deep pocket of his robe, loosed the thin leather strip that held
it closed, and reached inside. Removing a dozen gold coins, he handed them to
Benedict.
“Do whatever is required,” he
said. “Purchase the box or purchase the information, I care not. I want it
before the end of this day.”
The priest almost withdrew his
hand before the coins could touch him. Suddenly, he felt much less sure of
and the surface of the box—just as hers did—warmed to a golden glow.
Sophia stepped back. The mother
of the unconscious boy looked up at the old one with a tenuous smile of hope.
“Magda, can you—?”
The white-haired woman pushed the
black shawl off her head and gripped the box with both hands as she knelt
beside the pair. Setting the box down, she rubbed her hands together quickly
and then placed them on both sides of the child’s head. She closed her eyes;
her lips moved with silent words. The boy stirred and his eyes opened. He grew
restless in his mother’s arms and pushed against her to sit up.
The other gypsies gathered around,
blocking Sophia’s view. A couple of them cast suspicious glances toward her.
She smiled encouragement to them and picked up her bag.
“I am happy that the boy feels
better,” she said as she passed.
The scene ran through her head
all the way home. The Church taught that miracles were possible, usually
performed by holy men or innocent children. Had she witnessed such a miracle?
*
* *
Father Benedict stepped from the
shadow of a cypress tree, facing the clan of heathens.
“Give me that box,” he ordered holding
out his hand.
Like roaches in the light, the Romas scattered and vanished into the
labyrinth of alleys and doorways. Benedict started to give chase but the
infidels were light and quick. Rather than admit that his lumbering size was a
hindrance, he turned toward the cathedral as if that had been his intent all
along. Bishop Andreas would want to hear about this.
He found the man alone in the
cloisters.
“I must speak with you
privately,” Benedict said, fully aware that a normal tone of voice could carry
in unimaginable ways through these stone passageways and arches.
Andreas tilted his head toward
the door leading to his study. He closed the door behind them and indicated
that Benedict should take the plain chair against the wall. The bishop circled
the heavy table he used as a desk and sat in his own ornately carved chair.
“I witnessed an extraordinary
event, only moments ago,” the priest began. He detailed the story, relishing
the look on the bishop’s face as he spoke of the wooden box.
“They are practicing witchcraft,
of course,” Benedict said in conclusion.
“Yes ... yes, they must be
questioned on that subject.” The bishop’s eyes met his. “But questions will not
bring me what I desire.”
The priest nodded. The two men
had discussed the wooden box that he had discovered in the possession of the
artist, Abran Vermejo. Stories circulated, and the rumors of a powerful
artifact were not unknown to them.
“The woman was present, the
daughter of the artist.”
“And she performed this ... this
deed?”
“I do not know if she had a hand
in it. When I came to the place, she was standing at one side. An old gypsy
woman had her hands on the box. She touched the child and uttered the words.”
“So ... perhaps the two of them
are in it together.” The bishop ran a fingernail along the edge of his lower
lip.
Benedict didn’t believe this to
be the case but there was no advantage to being right if it entailed an
argument with a superior. He merely shrugged.
“I want that artifact.” Andreas’s
eyes glittered at the prospect of the miracles he could claim with all of that
power at hand. Performing the royal edict would be done with effortless ease
and he would take credit for ridding the kingdom of crypto-Jews and dirty,
thieving Romas .
Andreas pulled a soft leather
pouch from the deep pocket of his robe, loosed the thin leather strip that held
it closed, and reached inside. Removing a dozen gold coins, he handed them to
Benedict.
“Do whatever is required,” he
said. “Purchase the box or purchase the information, I care not. I want it
before the end of this day.”
The priest almost withdrew his
hand before the coins could touch him. Suddenly, he felt much less sure of
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