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Authors: Nicki Elson

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Contemporary, #Thrillers, #Suspense

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BOOK: Divine Temptation
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The Easter lilies had been cleared off the altar at St. John’s, and Maggie was responsible for purchasing new spring flowers for the upcoming Sunday, so she’d called her friend for an afternoon of lunch and flower shopping. After munching down Mexican tapas, they’d driven a few towns over to Somme Park, which was hosting its annual flower show and fundraiser. Maggie had already selected several potted hostas and geraniums and asked the garden’s florist to make two large floral arrangements.

“They said it would take about half an hour for the vases,” Maggie informed Sharon. “So do you want to go for a walk around the grounds while we wait?”

“Sure, why not.”

Maggie parked her trolley to the side of the checkout desk, and the two women stepped out of the greenhouse into the cool but sunny spring day. Somme Park was formerly the estate of a wealthy Chicago investor. Upon his death, the property had been turned over to the care of a board of directors to use as a public garden. He wanted to leave as his legacy a serene piece of Earth open to all, a place where people could come to admire God’s goodness and feel a sense of quiet and harmony. Satisfaction.

The plants being sold in the greenhouse had been cultivated by the same horticulturists who designed and nurtured the extensive gardens. As Maggie and Sharon crunched through the pea gravel path around the circular pool, they took a moment to admire the elegant layout of the rose garden with its Greek statues and topiaries. The roses wouldn’t make their grand entrance for months, but even without them the plot had stature.

Maggie continued to her favorite setting at the park—the prairie garden. Even though she was surrounded by pockets of prairie in her everyday life, she was fascinated by it. It wasn’t just tall grasses and weeds, as Carl had often teased her; it was a kaleidoscope of hidden treasures that changed every time she looked at it. The women veered onto a narrow trail that snaked among the fading stalks of last year’s prairie grasses, which were being swiftly replaced by new greenery and the beginnings of what would soon be a sea of yellow ragwort. Occasional dots of white and purple punctuated the scene as phlox and violets preened for attention. A wind whipped up, carrying sweet scents from the blooms and causing Maggie to close her cardigan and Sharon to zip up her hoodie.

“Will you have to confess to playing hookie when you go back into the office tomorrow?” Sharon asked.

Maggie shook her head. “Father Tom’s great, and he knows I’ve been working my tail off. He’s more than happy to let me have an easy day once in a while.”

“Yeah, but didn’t you say there’s a new sheriff in town?”

“The monsignor.”

“Good God. Sounds like the name of a horror film—
The Monsignor,
mwahahahah!”

“Stop it,” Maggie laughed. “Though I’ll admit that he’s sort of stiff, and there’s just something…I don’t know…
cold
about him, he’s nice enough. And efficient. He doesn’t mess around, gets things done. I admire that about him. As much as I adore Father Tom, it’s nice to have a bit more discipline around the place.”

“Sounds like the two of you were made for each other.”

Maggie’s only response was to scrunch her nose. She wished she’d get some credit for lightening up considerably over the last couple of years, but she also recognized that order and clarity would be something she always strived for. It was just how she was made.

“Any more sexy guys come to visit you in your dreams?” Sharon asked. “Or better yet—in person?”

Maggie shook her head. “Nothing new to report in that department.” It wasn’t a total lie. She truly did have nothing to report—but only because she didn’t want to talk about it. The angel hadn’t returned since the night she’d so vividly dreamed of him touching her and filling her with such sweet peace. But that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. In fact, he’d been entering her waking thoughts more prominently ever since that night. Whenever she felt her blood pressure rise from anxiety or irritation, she’d daydream about him standing with her, stroking the side of her face, and all other thought would vanish, restoring her equilibrium. But that wasn’t exactly something she could explain to someone else even if she’d wanted to.

“So how about you? How’s Reggie?” Maggie asked.

“He’s fine. We celebrate our twentieth next month.”

“You do? Sharon, that’s great! Holy cow, twenty years.”

“I know. Hard to believe I got married when I was only three, huh?”

They’d taken the short loop and found themselves once again at the main artery of the connecting paths. Continuing around to the other side of the pool, Sharon told Maggie about her plans for an anniversary weekend in Galena while the rolling lawn of the English landscape garden emerged on their left, taking them from the familiarity of their everyday surroundings to a foreign, almost imaginary world. Bordered by groves of evergreens, the rich green carpet swept around an oblong pond, and pockets of forsythias punched their vibrant tint into the otherwise serene palette. Half hidden by a stand of cypress was a narrow, round structure encircled by stone columns. It was a replica of a classic Greek
tholos
. Maggie stopped and stared at it.

“Thinking about getting one of those for your yard?” Sharon joked.

“Looks more appropriate for my tombstone.” Maggie stepped off the gravel path and onto the lawn toward the structure.

“What are you doing? Are we even allowed to walk on the grass?”

“I think so. Yes. Look—there are people over there.” Maggie gestured toward a couple walking hand in hand near the opposite stand of trees.

“Well…is it soggy? It rained last night and I just bought these shoes.”

Maggie looked down and pressed the toe of her shoe into the grass. A small pool of water squished out of the dirt. “A little bit. You don’t have to come. I’ll just take a quick peek, and we can meet back at the greenhouse.”

“Okay…but,
why
are you going?”

Maggie had already turned and resumed her trek. “I don’t know.” There was nothing inside the structure from what Maggie could see, and she had no particular interest in getting a closer look at the trees or pond. Yet she was compelled forward. The bottom edges of her jeans were getting soaked, but she didn’t let that stop her from climbing the modest incline to where the
tholos
stood at the highest point of the garden. She stepped onto its dry surface and slipped between two pillars to discover that something actually was in there—a stone urn. It was partially filled with rain water and crumpled leaves that must’ve blown into the deep bowl during the past fall.

She turned and peered between the pillars, down upon the expanse of earth spread before her. When she moved to the edge of the circle, she looked upon the rose garden, and to the right she caught a glimpse of the prairie. Between them, set back, were the formal Japanese gardens leading to the mansion. Her lips spread into a smile when she imagined the large house belonging to her, and all the gardens her personal playground.

She pictured her children playing croquet on the lawn with their friends. Her parents would live with her and host tea parties in the rose garden. Everyone would be abundantly happy. There would be no more endless new projects at the church, no more jealousy or nagging sense of failure tickling the edges of her consciousness—just Maggie in her gardens. Anyone who visited her here would be free of the worries of this world.

A cloud drifted through the April sky and temporarily blotted out the sun. As the grounds darkened, Maggie’s longing for the bright vision intensified. The urn. She had an urge to look into it again. She turned and went to the center of the structure to stare down at the murky water, searching for…something; she didn’t know what. Leaning to grip the edges of the urn, she felt a force coming from inside it. Calling to her. Her knees bent with the desire to kneel and ask for the sunny vision to become reality.

The cloud passed and Maggie bolted up straight.

“What the hell?” She shifted her eyes back and forth, checking to make sure no other park visitors were close enough to have witnessed her temporary hallucination. Or whatever it had been. She spotted someone standing in the trees, about fifteen feet away.

Maggie gasped. It was him. The angel, or rather the guy she’d seen in the coffee shop who resembled the angel. He stared earnestly back at her with that same questioning eyebrow slanted just as it had been in her dream. No—at Starbucks. Except he hadn’t had a questioning look at Starbucks. It had definitely been in her dream. He turned and hurried away, and Maggie noticed that he was wearing all white.

“Wait!” She hopped down from the circular pavilion and followed him. He picked up his pace, and she picked up hers, trailing him deeper into the trees and out the other side into the grove of fruit trees. Without even glancing back at her, he dashed into a long tunnel covered with thick, woody vines. Maggie didn’t want to look like a lunatic, so she didn’t scream for him to stop or run at full speed like she suddenly wanted to.

Brushing past the fading blossoms of the cherry and apple trees, she entered the tunnel to find a handful of visitors dappled in spots of sunlight. He wasn’t among them. Figuring he must’ve sprinted through the tunnel, she too threw off decorum and ran the rest of the way, halting once outside to scan the grove. No sign of him. She rushed to go around the high boxwood hedge that blocked her view of the main path, but just before she cleared it, a diminutive figure in black stepped out from the other side of the hedge.

“Monsignor Sarto,” Maggie said, stopping in time to avoid slamming into him.

“Good afternoon, Magdelyn. Enjoying your…jog?”

“Oh.” Maggie gave a dismissive chuckle and stopped her eyes from flicking around the path, where she didn’t see him anyhow. The chase was over. “I thought I saw an old friend and was trying to catch up. Instead I—
literally
—ran into a new one.”

Sarto’s thin lips pressed into a small smile. “I’m glad you think of me as a friend. Has Father Reardon spoken to you about his upcoming presentation?”

“Not in the last couple of weeks.” It struck Maggie how odd it was to be looking straight across at the monsignor. Typically she was seated at her desk with him hovering and intimidating above her, but somehow he was able to evoke a faint sense of unease even at equal level.

“You should speak with him as soon as possible,” he said. “There are a few changes.”

Sarto had already put the kibosh on hosting the Biblical archeology talk anywhere other than St. John’s, and now it sounded like he was making changes to the presentation itself. Maggie felt a wave of indignation on behalf of Father Tom. “I’ll stop in to see him tonight after I drop off the flowers,” she promised. “Enjoy the rest of your stroll—it’s the perfect day to be here.”

The line of his mouth stretched into a wider smile. “That it is. Be sure to talk with Father Reardon.”

Maggie headed in the opposite direction of the priest to meet Sharon in the greenhouse. After loading the potted plants into the back of her minivan, Maggie enlightened her friend. “You’re not going to believe who I ran into out there.”

“Who?”


Mwahahahah!”
She didn’t tell her about the other visitor or the odd occurrence at the urn.

After running Kirsten and Liam to their various appointments, fixing dinner, and getting the kids settled down to do their homework, Maggie drove to St. John’s to arrange the plants on the altar. Father Dominic helped her carry them in from her car.

Inside the church, a couple of people prayed in the adoration chapel, and a few parishioners knelt at the regular pews, silently reciting their penance. It was the designated evening hour for the sacrament of reconciliation, so an additional four people stood along the far wall while waiting for their turn in the confessional. Both lights were on above the doors, so Maggie surmised that the monsignor and the pastor were each taking confessions.

Up at the altar, Maggie kept her voice low and asked Father Dominic if he knew anything about changes to Father Tom’s presentation. “Monsignor told me to talk to him about it.”

Father Dominic set the last plant down. “What’s that they say in Proverbs? Rushing into a quarrel that is not my own would be like grabbing a stray dog by the ears.”

BOOK: Divine Temptation
12.23Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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