Read Online White Wind Blew by James Markert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Markert
Ads: Link
followed.
“Oh, dear God,” he whispered, moving away from the dorm.
“Wolf,” Susannah called after him from the porch, struggling to contain her amusement.
Wolfgang stopped. “Did you set that up?”
“No, of course not.” She shushed the girls and closed the door. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t even make it up to my room.”
Wolfgang felt his face burning. “I’d better be going. Another night maybe.”
She nodded. “Well, sure. Okay.”
“Good night, Susannah.”
Wolfgang heard laughter again, but it faded as he penetrated deeper into the woods. He felt like a fool. He’d seen breasts before. The art world was full of naked women and bare breasts—paintings, murals, statues. And he was a doctor; he had studied anatomy for years. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.
And after all, he was once married for five years.
***
Wolfgang moved as briskly as his limp would allow down the rest of the hillside to his cottage and locked the front door behind him. His heart raced, partly from the walk but mostly from the lingering images of Marlene’s right breast. That was her name. It had come to him halfway home.
Not that it mattered.
But it did matter. He couldn’t get the image of her lone nipple from his head, and the way the breast slipped from the confines of her towel. Lincoln had told him on several occasions about the shower room in the nurses’ dormitory. He’d joke about the hole in the wall on the back of the building that stood several feet off the ground, just high enough that Lincoln needed to stand on a log to get eye level with it.
Lincoln seemed to delight especially in sharing such details with, of all men, a future priest. “Just make sure Nurse Beverly ain’t the one naked,” he’d say, as if Wolfgang had any intention of sneaking over to the nurses’ dormitory in the middle of the night to spy. “Marlene’s the one you want to catch.”
Little did Lincoln know, Wolfgang had plenty of experience. He’d spent his childhood looking through such a peephole—spying, curious, frightened—and what he’d seen through that hole one night had changed everything.
Marlene’s the one you want to catch…
Wolfgang moved from candle to sconce and back to candle, lighting the wicks until his cottage was aglow. He lit the candle atop the piano and then the one beside his bed. More light. That’s what he needed. More light. He removed his lab coat and loosened a few buttons on his cassock.
He grabbed his rosary beads from his bedside table, knelt beside his bed, and prayed. He would channel his thoughts—to the Lord first and then to his music. He imagined he was back in the seminary, the abbey at Saint Meinrad, hearing the bells every morning for the wake-up call. Five o’clock. They had a half hour to get to the abbey church for matins, and then Mass. A plain breakfast of milk, oatmeal, and Meinrad’s brown bread would follow. Then class from 7:30 until noon, where they studied Latin, Greek, theology and some science. Lunch in the refectory and then afternoon classes. Vespers before dinner. They were allowed some free time after dinner until lights out at ten, when the Grand Silence would begin. No talking. It was during this time that Wolfgang did his best thinking. Oftentimes he missed the schedule of his days at Saint Meinrad. The peace and tranquility without the fears of Waverly Hills: of illness and blood and disease. He missed the clanking of the radiators as the steam revved up every morning, what Wolfgang told his mother—on a rare visit home—was “the abbey’s bang-clank symphony.”
Wolfgang sometimes wondered if he’d made a mistake coming back to Waverly when his heart often longed to return to Saint Meinrad, to officially return and complete the studies needed to become ordained. Training from afar had proved to be more taxing than he’d imagined. But he just couldn’t leave with how widespread the tuberculosis was becoming, and so what he
“Oh, dear God,” he whispered, moving away from the dorm.
“Wolf,” Susannah called after him from the porch, struggling to contain her amusement.
Wolfgang stopped. “Did you set that up?”
“No, of course not.” She shushed the girls and closed the door. “Don’t be silly. I didn’t even make it up to my room.”
Wolfgang felt his face burning. “I’d better be going. Another night maybe.”
She nodded. “Well, sure. Okay.”
“Good night, Susannah.”
Wolfgang heard laughter again, but it faded as he penetrated deeper into the woods. He felt like a fool. He’d seen breasts before. The art world was full of naked women and bare breasts—paintings, murals, statues. And he was a doctor; he had studied anatomy for years. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t seen before.
And after all, he was once married for five years.
***
Wolfgang moved as briskly as his limp would allow down the rest of the hillside to his cottage and locked the front door behind him. His heart raced, partly from the walk but mostly from the lingering images of Marlene’s right breast. That was her name. It had come to him halfway home.
Not that it mattered.
But it did matter. He couldn’t get the image of her lone nipple from his head, and the way the breast slipped from the confines of her towel. Lincoln had told him on several occasions about the shower room in the nurses’ dormitory. He’d joke about the hole in the wall on the back of the building that stood several feet off the ground, just high enough that Lincoln needed to stand on a log to get eye level with it.
Lincoln seemed to delight especially in sharing such details with, of all men, a future priest. “Just make sure Nurse Beverly ain’t the one naked,” he’d say, as if Wolfgang had any intention of sneaking over to the nurses’ dormitory in the middle of the night to spy. “Marlene’s the one you want to catch.”
Little did Lincoln know, Wolfgang had plenty of experience. He’d spent his childhood looking through such a peephole—spying, curious, frightened—and what he’d seen through that hole one night had changed everything.
Marlene’s the one you want to catch…
Wolfgang moved from candle to sconce and back to candle, lighting the wicks until his cottage was aglow. He lit the candle atop the piano and then the one beside his bed. More light. That’s what he needed. More light. He removed his lab coat and loosened a few buttons on his cassock.
He grabbed his rosary beads from his bedside table, knelt beside his bed, and prayed. He would channel his thoughts—to the Lord first and then to his music. He imagined he was back in the seminary, the abbey at Saint Meinrad, hearing the bells every morning for the wake-up call. Five o’clock. They had a half hour to get to the abbey church for matins, and then Mass. A plain breakfast of milk, oatmeal, and Meinrad’s brown bread would follow. Then class from 7:30 until noon, where they studied Latin, Greek, theology and some science. Lunch in the refectory and then afternoon classes. Vespers before dinner. They were allowed some free time after dinner until lights out at ten, when the Grand Silence would begin. No talking. It was during this time that Wolfgang did his best thinking. Oftentimes he missed the schedule of his days at Saint Meinrad. The peace and tranquility without the fears of Waverly Hills: of illness and blood and disease. He missed the clanking of the radiators as the steam revved up every morning, what Wolfgang told his mother—on a rare visit home—was “the abbey’s bang-clank symphony.”
Wolfgang sometimes wondered if he’d made a mistake coming back to Waverly when his heart often longed to return to Saint Meinrad, to officially return and complete the studies needed to become ordained. Training from afar had proved to be more taxing than he’d imagined. But he just couldn’t leave with how widespread the tuberculosis was becoming, and so what he
Similar Books
