Crossing the line

Time flew, and Christmas was spent slaving over her work for the January exams. She had not dared buying a present to Father Tristan, albeit she really wanted to. It felt … too personal. Like crossing an invisible line. She had left in a hurry before the holidays, wishing him well, the burden of the upcoming months heavy upon her shoulders. Fortunately, a week spend in a ski resort with her parents had given her the fuel to go on. Bless them for this fantastic idea; there was nothing like watching Father Christmas descending the steepest slopes with his suite of torchbearers.

The second week was spent with her head into books with a slight pause to spend New Year’s eve with her boyfriend. Needless to say, that she didn’t feel like uprooting herself from home at the beginning of January. The only light in the horizon; knowing that Father Tristan would relieve the burden with his support when she would step foot in church. Unfortunately, she only had time to visit once, then the swirl of impossible schedule carried her away from her newfound stability. France’s own little hell lasted at least three more weeks. Exams, classes, revision, team meeting, exams… When it eventually finished at the end of January, all tests passed, all dossiers wrapped up, she couldn’t resist a week end back home. She returned with a set of her favourite chocolate treats.

An apology for being absent for so long. Since December, she had visited only once and rambled about the stupidity of squeezing her within an inch of exhaustion. The schedule had been hell, and she knew it would take a tremendous amount of time for her to recover from it. This very week end, she planned to enjoy the sunshine and fresh air. So it was with a renewed spring in her step that she passed the church’s doors on Thursday afternoon, the bag of chocolates nestled in her holdall handbag. She awaited for Father Tristan for quite some time; he was busy with an elderly woman in need of a sympathetic ear. She didn’t mind; for once, doing nothing was just so fantastic. At last, she had the luxury to keep space for her own thoughts. Frances closed her eyes, and let the calm music soothe her aching back, plunging into a meditative trance.

— “Hello, Frances. I hope you have not waited for too long.”

— “Oh no, I was quite happy to have time with my thoughts. You never know how precious it is until you lose that space in your head.”

The priest’s countenance seems to falter a moment, but his smooth voice didn’t.

— “I thank you for your patience nonetheless,” he said kindly.

She couldn’t possibly let him apologise for doing his job. If anything, she was the one intruding; since she never came to mass and wasn’t a parishioner, she sometimes felt guilty for taking his time. Yet, he didn’t seem to mind.

— “Your calling takes precedence over the rest. It is I, who thank you for your presence by my side in the moments I need support.”

His eyes softened as he gave an imperceptible bow; his way of acknowledging her thanks.

— “You are very welcome.”

Feeling a little stressed – she didn’t know how he would react – Frances opened her bag.

— “There, I have something for you.”

A very faint eyebrow – there were strangely blond – lifted upon his forehead, betraying his intrigue.

— “Another movie?”

— “No, a more substantial bribe”

Frances nearly blushed as she fished the shiny red packet and deposited it in his hands.

— “To flatter your sweet tooth,” she explained with a smile.

That little plastic bag was too noisy to allow him to open it on the spot, but his lips quirked in a smile.

— “Thank you, Frances”

She smiled back, happy that such a simple gift could bring him joy.

— “It’s from that little artisan I told you about, in my place. I didn’t quite know what to choose, so I just took my favourites and hoped you would share the taste.”

— “It is very thoughtful,” he said, his warm golden-flecked eyes resting gently upon her face.

The weight of his gaze caused her to drop hers in her lap.

— “I was absent a lot, and felt I have neglected our friendship.”

The rest was left unsaid, for she couldn’t find the words to tell him how she had thought of him in every single little thing. How she had listened to that disc, and many other religious hymns to keep her concentration as she worked. How she virtually kept on rambling, virtually, and struggled to never use his phone number. How she tried to keep her cool in an attempt to be more stoic.; like him.

— “You owe me nothing, Frances,” he started.

— “I know. And you can’t even fathom how I appreciate it. But still, I consider you my friend, and friendship goes both ways”

Silence greeted this statement, and she wondered if she had gone too far. But he resumed the conversation soon after, the shiny little packet sitting between them on the bench. A token of affection. They talked of her exams, and the incredible pressure that she had now escaped for the schedule was changing; bless the specialisation!

Father Tristan seemed to welcome the news with relief, his eyes giving away how worried he had been for her well-being. Somehow, she was glad she had kept away from the church, for his gentle admonishment might have caused her to quit this crazy school altogether. Had he supported her, agreed with her on how destructive this all was, she wouldn’t have kept afloat.

— “So what will you do with your newfound freedom?” he asked gently.

How did he manage to always find the right words, to describe a situation with a few words and bring such clarity?

— “Resume dance classes, read, I think, and enjoy my week ends. I’ll go for a walk on Sunday, perhaps even a picnic.”

— “On your own?” he asked.

And the little frown told her he was worried. Again. And she couldn’t help but find his expression adorable when he did so; it brought the boy out of his stoic shell. As if she could catch a glimpse of the youth he had been many years ago.

— “Yes. It will be cold, but sunny. I know the best place to sit and contemplate the world, up there on the cliff.”

Her voice rang clear and true, the anticipation already washing its beneficent tendrils over her tired mind.

— “Is it dangerous?”

Frances blinked; dangerous, whatever for? Did he mean the hike? She refrained the need to chuckle, it wouldn’t do to mock his concern. After all, Father Tristan was not accustomed to her climbing habits. He couldn’t have known the precarious positions she had found herself in in the past years, nor the spectacular falls that sometimes ensued in the forest behind her house. Her guardian angels were truthfully pretty talented, for despite her antics, she’d never once broken anything while playing the spider on rocky outcrops or in massive trees.

— “Not at all. And even then, I’m a good climber. No risk at all”

She thought he would relent, for he pursed his lips. They disappeared in his groomed chestnut beard for a while. Evidently, she was wrong.

— “Even with the cold?”

Good point. Freezing weather made cold hands, hence the fact that she always carried silk gloves in her bag.

— “Dry cold is nice and I can build a fire anywhere. Blame my childhood occupations”

— “Can I trust you to keep away from danger?”

It was a very serious question that took her aback; her parents didn’t even ask anymore, knowing her tomboy tendencies. They worried still, but had learnt of her sturdiness. For a moment, Frances watched those mesmerising eyes as they pinned her on the bench; he was still waiting for her answer.

— “You can. I know this place like the back of my hand.”

— “Do you make a habit of hiking alone?”

Frances shrugged, wondering if she should feel spooked or flattered by his mothering. But then, after her misadventure with the flu, she understood why he felt compelled to ask for a little caution.

— “Well, I do enjoy solitude more than bad companionship. And if I had to wait for my boyfriend to go hiking, I’d be trapped at home until the rest of my days. I don’t mind being alone, I’m used to it. But you’re welcome to join me if it worries you”

Stunned silence followed, time stopped. Father Tristan’s shifted in his seat, his eyes landing on virgin Marie’s statue as he mulled over her words. Would he catch that she had, inadvertently, dubbed him good company? For she had no qualms telling her classmates to go to hell whenever she wished for solitude, and he knew it.

Then, the enormity of her proposal hit her like a brick wall. She had just asked a priest to spend Sunday afternoon with a lone, unmarried woman! The church had probably a ton of rules that prevented such a thing, and he probably had a dozen engagements for this week end. Stupid, stupid her! Seeing Tristan’s continued silence, and the way his posture had tensed, she rushed to apologise.

— “Oh, this is where I crossed an invisible line, right? It probably is against regulation or something”

Father Tristan didn’t meet her eyes, and she was content to consider the loose thread that tried to escape her sleeve.

— “No regulations, no.”

Then she felt it; the smouldering gaze that always kept her trapped. As she lifted her eyes to meet his, her breath caught.

— “The line … you didn’t cross it, you just offered me to do it.”

Sheepish, Frances stood from the bench, dragging her bag to keep her hands busy.

— “Right, I’m sorry. I’ll leave you in peace and head home to sleep the rest of the week away.”

The priest stood smoothly.

— “All right, please take care of yourself, Frances. I would hate to see you hurt.”

— "Do not worry. I'll be safe"

She retreated to the entrance, wondering why the rejection – if very logical – hurt her feelings so badly. His long legs allowed Father Tristan to follow her on the cobblestones, yet she didn’t dare lifting her gaze to him. At last, her hand landed on the aged wood, sending a wave of reassurance. Strangely, this place had become a second home to her and her heart always lightened whenever she pushed the door open.

— “Until next week, Father Tristan,” she told him quietly.

The door didn’t clang behind her for once, but Frances was too far lost in her shame to notice it. She almost didn’t register him calling her name as her legs carried her away. The young woman spun on her heels, seeing the man, for the first time, outside the imposing building. His tall frame, clad in his black robes, filled the full-oak door.

— “Sorry… Yes?”

His tongue passed over his upper lip; a nervous gesture.

— “I … I’d love to join you.”

Frances’ face brightened at that, a full smile blooming on her lips. As the priest fidgeted, she nodded, businesslike.

— “All right. I’ll pick you up after mass.”

She retreated swiftly, fearing he might change his mind. Her heart soared, and she didn’t even register the rain pattering around her on the cobblestone while she pondered on the dish she would cook for him. She couldn’t wait for Sunday!