Chocolate

Two weeks later…

She came back, popping at an unusual time without quite looking for him. He watched her from afar as she left a coin in the little box and alighted a candle. The flickering light illuminated her lovely features, bringing the fire out of her reddish hair. For a while, she just sat there, and he wondered if she was waiting for him, or if he should keep away. Usually, she swept the church in search of him rather than stubbornly sit.

Leaving the decision to her – especially today – father Tristan busied himself at setting back the decoration on the altar after his morning sermon. As of yet, Frances had never assisted to mass. Given her atheism, it wasn’t so strange. The young woman eventually came to a decision, and circled the area where a few people prayed to come and greet him. Father Tristan bit his lip; how was she going to react ?

— “Good morning, father Tristan”

Too late to hide now. The priest turned around to face her, and the young woman inhaled sharply. Her wide eyes stared at him, a worried frown scrunching her eyebrows as she lifted her hand… and retracted it at once.

— “My goodness, what happened to you ?”, she asked, appalled.

Father Tristan was grateful that the ‘incident’, had happened five days prior, for the swelling had greatly diminished. Given her state of flustering, she might have had a mighty fit. Still, his bandaged nose had gathered some pretty concerned look all morning.

— “Erm. An altercation at the youth house. Nothing to worry about”

— “Is it broken ?”

There was a slight pause, and Frances’ eyes narrowed at him. Daring him to lie or disminish the wound. Right now, she seemed ready to bite someone’s head off and he marvelled at the gleam of wrath hidden behind her warm irises. Better to soothe her now.

— “Just a little. But it’s all right now.”

— “Are you sure ?”

Father Tristan shrugged; the pain was but a dull ache now.

— “Yes. I’ve been through the predicament before, it will be fine in a few weeks. There’s no need to fret”

An incredulous expression fleeted over her face, and she lifted a playful eyebrow.

— “Well, if that’s a habit then it’s fine, right ?”

Ah, sarcasm. Most refreshing. A smile tugged at his lips, and the priest fought to keep it from pulling at the broken appendage.

— “So what happened, really ?”, she asked more gently.

— “There seem to be a gang waiting for some of my protégés after the Tai-Chi class. My pleas for peace remained unheard, hence the scuffle.”

The look in her face grew more assertive, the ‘brace for impact’ moment left behind as she eyed him suspiciously.

— “Any damage other than your nose ?”

Tristan pursed his lips.

— “The kids are mainly fine.”

The young woman nodded in acknowledgment. Had she noticed how deviously he had deviated the question from himself ?

— “Good. How about you ?”

Of course… she had noticed ! Tristan refrained from smiling as he responded to her obvious worry.

— “A few bruises, and the collar of my frock. I could sew the buttons again, and have to find a way to mend the tear.”

Frances’ features relaxed then, satisfied with her questioning.

— “I could have a look. Sewing is one of my favourite past time”

Taken aback, the priest considered the young woman with a new look.

— “Is it ?”

— “Yeah. That skirt is one of my creations, see ?”

And while Tristan took a good look at the stylish garment – a mid-calf skirt with adornments - he missed how her cheeks reddened. Truth be told, he would never have guessed she wore her own creation, for the craftsmanship seemed flawless. What kind of woman, today, took the time to sew her own clothing ? It was positively ancient.

— “You seem to master your art rather well, where did you learn ?”

She gave a nervous chuckle.

— “Oh, no. No mastering there. I’m self-taught so I mess up sometimes. But with sewing, there’s always a way to patch it.”

Her humility stroke a chord in the priest, and he attempted, awkwardly, to mend for past hurts and give the praise she deserved.

— “This skirt is flawless”

Frances’ cheeks were ablaze, now, and she dropped her head, watching her feet.

— “It isn’t, but you’d need to see the inside to spot it so… I learn by making mistakes”

Tristan smiled, turning to the light that flooded the alter on this fair Sunday morning.

— “This is the way of the world. Mistakes brings experience”

Frances followed his line of sight, contemplating how the colored glass created shadows and bright spots on the plain stone walls. They both remained silent for a while, she mulling about mistakes and experience, and he replaying the violent events of the previous week. He had been a tad too slow, but the few punches he had landed would ensure the makeshift gang wouldn’t retaliate. Children, all of them… playing the big shots without the heart and harshness to plainly embrace illegality. His Tai-Chi students now knew he would protect them. Still… was the violence needed ?

— “Do you wish me to leave, father Tristan ?”

Her soft voice startled him, causing his faint eyebrows to rise high upon his forehead.

— “Why would you think that, Frances?”, was his smooth reply.

— “You seemed lost in thought”

— “Ah, yes. This altercation, on Monday, threw me into many ethical considerations”

The young woman accepted his olive branch eagerly, begging for more of his inner musings.

— “And what is your conclusion ?”

Should he bare his doubts to her ? She was so easy to talk to, this young woman, that he wondered how far he should go. Yet, her warm chocolate eyes were expectant and Tristan relented.

— “That somehow, I couldn’t find the way to turn the other cheek”

— “You offered your nose, isn’t that enough ?”

— “Perhaps it was”

Silence settled again, heavy with meaning, doubts and tergiversations. Until the young woman took a step closer to him, and searched for his gaze.

— “My father told me once that he used to play rugby with a priest. When they asked him if he should turn the other cheek on the playing field, he simply answered that there was more pleasure in giving than receiving”

A small laugh bubbled in the priest’ chest and he allowed the joke to wash his worries away. Yes. Perhaps he ought to let it go and accept that he had done his best. Seeing that she had lifted the mood effectively, Frances tackled the next subject.

— “So do you want me to have a look at your frock ? I can’t fix your nose, but I can work with cloth”

— “I wouldn’t want to impose”, came the automatic response.

Frances’ eyes didn’t leave him, her voice carrying more conviction.

— “You won’t. I sew when I need to take breaks from my studies. It allows me to think, and rest my brain”

— “If you are sure”, he bowed.

— “I am. I can’t guarantee I will manage, but if I can do it, I will”

She left with his torn frock, and Tristan wondered if he should have refused. Many a night, he guessed at what her family and friends would say is they saw her working on a churchman’s suit. Little did he know that Frances didn’t allow many people to penetrate her lair. No one would ever know she’d pricked her fingers sewing shut that stupid tear with a thousand of little crosses.

She returned the frock a week afterwards, thoroughly mended and reinforced with another set of self-sticking cloth on the inside. As they settled on Marie’s bench, the student showed him the repairs and instructed him on the washing habits.

— “You can machine wash it, but avoid any tumble dry because it might take the iron-on fabric would go away”

Tristan turned the cloth inside out, watching as the neat stitches disappeared in the cloth, making a faint scar that could only be seen from up close.

— “This is remarkable”, he said. “I can even wear it for mass and none would be the wiser”

As usual, Frances couldn’t take the compliment, turning to self-derision instead.

— “If I knew how to cook, It’d be a marriageable woman, right ?”

Somehow, the idea of seeing Frances married didn’t sit well with him. Tristan refrained from scrunching his nose, choosing the diplomatic approach instead.

— “Ah, you might be a little young for that”

The young woman left the frock in his hands, giving him a small, tender smile.

— “Yeah, times have changed. I’m glad I got this freedom, and the choice to have a career before I am tied down.”

Tied down. Her view on marriage seemed rather disparaging, yet her tone wasn’t pissed or clipped. Curious, Tristan asked her:

— “You do not seem to inclined towards marriage. Is it the religious meaning, or the engagement ?”

— “Oh no. I do not fear the commitment, really. I am pretty conservative compared to my friends… see, my skirts never lift above a knee. But I think that having children has even more impact.”

The priest couldn’t possibly argue with it, albeit religious marriage also was a contract with the heavens. Still… there was no stronger commitment than another soul.

— “Yes. Children ties people with a life”

— “My thoughts exactly. But I would love to get married in the future. I just have too many things on my plate at the moment to think about it. All in good time”

The future. Her future. Someday, Frances would walk away from here and have a brilliant career. She would become a fond memory of his past, with her incessant questionings and lovely smile. For once, Tristan didn’t feel like playing the part of priest, and choose personal ground instead. He didn’t want to talk about her future prospects in any company, nor her marriage to the current boyfriend. Instead, he wanted to know about her.

— “Mmm. So no cooking ?”

If she was surprised by the U-turn of this conversation, the young woman didn’t show it. Instead, conversation just changed direction without the flow being disturbed. He couldn’t help but marvel how easy it was to exchange with her, she adapted at every turn, like a fish with shiny scales that never allowed to be caught.

— “Just a bit. I don’t have much time in between classes, and my workload. Do you cook, father Tristan ?”

The frock was heavy in his hand, and his fingers played with the heavy cloth.

— “I do, I love eating.”

— “Isn’t that a capital sin ?”

There, she’d nailed him again. Cheeky woman. The twinkle in his eyes intensified as he responded, a smile tugging at his lips.

— “Greediness is. But to appreciate food as a present from God isn’t.”

The young woman mirrored his expression, and in the dim light of the church he found her features so entrancing. Was she even aware of the light she radiated ? Of the fondess that shone in her gaze ? Of the warmth it called in his belly to have such a gentle expression directed to him ? The man soared here, leaving the priest behind for a few precious seconds.

— “Sugar, or salty ?”, she whispered.

— “I do have a sweet tooth.”

Tristan’s admission caused her smile to widen knowingly.

— “Chocolate ?”

— “Heavenly”

And he remarked as she failed at pointing that, now, he was the one joking about religious notions.