Christian fiction; Clergy -- Fiction; Historical fiction; New Mexico -- Fiction
"But you do not need me so much as they do!" Father Joseph threw off his
coverings and sat up in his cassock, putting his feet to the ground.
"Any one of our good French priests from Montferrand can serve you here.
It is work that can be done by intelligence. But down there it is work
for the heart, for a particular sympathy, and none of our new priests
understand those poor natures as I do. I have almost become a Mexican! I
have learned to like _chili colorado_ and mutton fat. Their foolish ways
no longer offend me, their very faults are dear to me. I am _their
man_!"
"Ah, no doubt, no doubt! But I must insist upon your lying down for the
present."
Father Vaillant, flushed and excited, dropped back upon his pillows, and
the Bishop took a short turn through the garden,--to the row of tamarisk
trees and back. He walked slowly, with even, unhesitating pace, with
that slender, unrigid erectness, and the fine carriage of head, which
always made him seem master of the situation. No one would have guessed
that a sharp struggle was going on within him. Father Joseph's
impassioned request had spoiled a cherished plan, and brought Father
Latour a bitter personal disappointment. There was but one thing to
do,--and before he reached the tamarisks he had done it. He broke off a
spray of the dry lilac-coloured flowers to punctuate and seal, as it
were, his renunciation. He returned with the same easy, deliberate
tread, and stood smiling beside the army cot.
"Your feeling must be your guide in this matter, Joseph. I shall put no
obstacles in your way. A certain care for your health I must insist
upon, but when you are quite well, you must follow the duty that calls
loudest."
They were both silent for a few moments. Father Joseph closed his eyes
against the sunlight, and Father Latour stood lost in thought, drawing
the plume of tamarisk blossom absently through his delicate, rather
nervous fingers. His hands had a curious authority, but not the calmness
so often seen in the hands of priests; they seemed always to be
investigating and making firm decisions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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