I manage a smile. Seeing Gabriel has brought back too many memories. They fill my mind as he leads me down the hall, and my mood dips ever lower.
Father Gabriel had been the bishop of our parish for close to five years before he left the country for missionary work a few months ago. My father, the priest of our local congregation, had known him since the start of his seminary training, where Father Gabriel had been one of his tutors.
Gabriel was at our house at least three times a week, and often ate dinner with us. He was my parents’ closest friend, and from what I could gather, their confidant when their marriage became a little rocky. That was way back before I was even born.
“I must apologize for not meeting you when you arrived. This close to summer, I have a hundred and one tasks.” Gabriel laughs. “I’m sure the staff is looking forward to this break as much as the students.”
I laugh with him and it sounds strange out here in the dimly lit hallways. “This place is enormous. How many students are here?”
“Just shy of five hundred.”
My mouth sets. I shouldn’t be ungrateful, but it begs the question. Before I can bring myself to ask it, though, Gabriel says, “You’re wondering why you don’t have your own room.” His mouth forms that all too familiar neutral line. “As much as I’d like to give you one, doing so would set a bad precedent. Students at Saint Amos must earn their privileges.”
“And a private room is a privilege,” I say, nodding along. I guess it would be unfair for me to be elevated above students who’ve been here for years already. And the last thing I want to do is stand out.
“So…does that mean Jasper lost his privileges?”
“God rewards our faith in many ways, Trinity. But he also demands penance for our sins.”
“What did Jasper do?” I ask, voice hushed. I’m guessing a private room is one of the best privileges around here. I could be wrong, but it would make sense why Jasper is acting so damn sulky.
“That’s between him and God.”
Gabriel pauses by a window. It’s the first one with clear glass I’ve noticed, and the first with a latch. I glance down both sides of the hall. I have no idea where I am. How long is it going to take me to figure out this place?
He pushes open the window and breathes in the air rushing in from outside, then beckons me over with a flip of his hand.
I go to stand beside him. My breath catches.
“Oh my Lo—” I cut off, biting down on my lip just in time.
Blasphemous little slut.
“If you think it’s beautiful now, wait till the leaves turn.” There’s a reverential hush to his voice.
“I can’t wait.”
Even though we’re on the third level of this majestic building, trees soar up and around us. It’s as if the school was dropped into the middle of the forest and left to its own defenses.
“Can you see where the grounds end?” Gabriel points, and I follow his finger.
“Yeah?”
“Anything past that fence is out of bounds,” he says firmly. “Understand?”
I look at him and nod. “I understand.”
“It may look innocent, but the forest is a dangerous place,” he adds, his brown eyes searching mine. “We’ve lost more students than I care to admit out there. I wouldn’t want that to happen to you, child.”
Lost them?
My neck moves like a rusty joint when I turn to look out the window again.
The forest doesn’t look like a place I’d want to go anyway. Why on earth would anyone have to be warned to stay away?
“Come on. Lots to see before lunch.”
This time, Father Gabriel doesn’t hold out his arm. I wish he had—the dark and the cold of this place is pressing in again. I suppress a shiver as I follow him down the hall, and glance back at the window. From this angle, only a sliver of gray sky is visible.
What happened to those kids? Did they lose their way and starve?
Or did something else find them first?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you when your parents passed,” Father Gabriel says out of nowhere. We’ve been walking for about ten minutes, and passed another two windows—both with dramatically different views than the first.
Saint Amos is more like a small town than a school. This building contains the staff quarters, the student’s rooms, the administration office, the kitchens, the washrooms, and the dining hall.
Outside, there’s a chapel, a building that houses the classrooms, and even a crypt. From the window we viewed it at, the rectangular shapes of concrete slabs placed on the handful of graves beside the crucifix shaped building were visible.
Yet another place I have absolutely no interest in visiting, although Father Gabriel hadn’t warned me to stay away this time.
Further back on the property are the stables and some sports grounds—even a gymnasium with an indoor pool.
“Trinity?”
I snap out of my thoughts. “The social worker said you were away on missionary work?”
He smiles at this. “South America. It’s so rewarding to share God’s message to impoverished nations.”
Father Gabriel did a lot of missionary work. My father’s even been overseas with him more than once. They would stay away for up to months at a time. Dad always seemed different when he came back, but I could never figure out why.
I guess spreading the gospel changes you.
“Judging from your grades, your parents did an excellent job homeschooling you.” Gabriel chuckles. “Our classes are slightly larger, but trust me, your academics won’t suffer. We have excellent teachers. Some of them past students, in fact.”
Dad taught me scripture. Mom taught me everything else. But I don’t say anything—I’ve never been one to pick a fight.
We descend a stairwell and arrive in a vast hallway. Several yards away, it ends in a set of double doors. Through the small windows set in them, I can make out a bustle of activity beyond.
The dining hall? My stomach grumbles. When was the last time I ate something? It might have been yesterday, but I can’t remember if it was breakfast or lunch. They’d served supper on the train last night, but I’d been too nervous to eat anything.
I start forward, expecting Father Gabriel to move ahead. I come up short when he grasps my elbow and gently turns me around to face him.
My chest grows tight at the look on his face. “What?” I ask quietly.
He releases me and grasps his hands in front of him.
I know Father Gabriel well. He looks older today. He’s still far from an old man, but his face has lost some of its youthful glow.
“Anyone can lose their faith, Trinity.” Tiny creases form at the corners of his eyes. “It happens so quickly. So, so easily. But that’s exactly what the devil wants.”
My chest closes. I can’t speak, or think, or breathe. Pressure builds behind my eyes as Father Gabriel presses his mouth into a thin line.
“We can never comprehend the full extent of God’s plan. Especially if we turn our back on Him during difficult times.”
Difficult times?
Sadness turns to anger. The pressure is still there, scalding my eyeballs. Moisture builds, but these aren’t tears of mourning.