Page 16 of The Priest

I follow her outside and then I see it – the large black Renault driven by Father Etienne, who has always reminded me more of a mob boss from American films than a priest, and his job is similar: bully those who aren’t doing what the monsignor wants and extract information. I imagine sitting through confession with him is heavy on punishment, and meting it out is undoubtedly his favorite part of the experience.

I thank Anne and walk inside, going to my office, where he is already waiting.

“Shut the door,” he says.

I’ve tried hard to fight the masculine part of me that is inclined toward aggression and belligerence, but his rudeness grates on me and I’m in no mood to be generous. I ignore him and take the seat behind my desk. “What can I help you with, Father?”

He rises, jaw clenched, and slams the door shut himself.

“It’s come to our attention that you’re involved with a woman here, one Marie-Therese Durand,” he says, his disgust palpable.

I hold myself still. If I’ve tarnished Marie’s reputation, I will never forgive myself. But perhaps he is bluffing. There were rumors about us long before I’d ever touched her. There have always been rumors about Marie, none of them true. A woman as lovely as she is shines too brightly for a town of this size.

“I’m surprised you’ve nothing better to do than investigate idle gossip,” I reply. “There’s a war going on, after all. The town has chosen to make Miss Durand a scapegoat. It would take me an hour to list the ridiculous accusations that have been made against her.”

Etienne smiles. It’s not a pleasant expression, but the sort of smile meant to inspire fear. “Then perhaps you can tell me whose clothes I found in the woods behind your room,” he replies, and he reaches into the large bag beside him and pulls out a green wool dress Marie wore a few days prior. I have no idea how it could have turned up in the woods, but I feel the first, crushing strain of fear. I remind myself that Henri would have destroyed the town by now if any harm befell her last night on the way home. But someone must have snuck into her room to steal that dress, an idea that sickens me.

“You’ve assumed much based on a piece of clothing in the woods,” I reply. “I wonder what you’d say if you found a man’s boots or a child’s toy? Would those be some transgression of mine or Miss Durand’s as well?”

“I have confirmation that it’s her dress and she’s been seen leaving your room,” he says with a sneer. “She’s obviously the reason you’ve asked to leave the church.”

“I have asked to leave the church,” I reply, “and therefore I can’t imagine why you think I would sit here and listen to these spurious accusations. I’ve done you a favor by staying on until you find my replacement. I don’t need to be thanked but I certainly don’t have to listen to this. I’ve asked to be let go and now I’m demanding it.”

“You are not in any position to make demands, Father Bertrand,” he replies. “If you care about the girl at all, you’ll do exactly as I say.”

I freeze. Coming from him, I recognize it for the threat it is. “Or what?”

“Or I can’t guarantee her safety. The parties who lodged the complaint about you have promised no harm will come to her only if you leave now and follow our demands to the letter. If you refuse, well...I assure you, you’ll regret it.”

“You’d threaten an innocent young woman’s life simply to get me come with you?”

“Innocent?” He holds up the dress and arches a brow. “Hardly. Pack your things. We leave in ten minutes.”

My mind races to come up with an alternate solution. If I could beat him and whoever’s behind this to the farm and convince Marie to leave...what then? The car is not mine. We’d be caught by the time we reached the train station. And it’s possible they’d hurt Henri and Amelie in her place. Even if we could get away, I’d barely have enough money for a month’s room and board once we arrive. She’s due to leave for England weeks from now. If I play the church’s little game, perhaps I can keep her safe for that long.

I scribble a quick note and drop it on Anne’s desk as I say goodbye to her, praying she gets it to Marie. I thought I would miss this town when Marie and I left, but now I think I’d be glad to see it behind me – if only I weren’t leaving her here as well.

10

Marie

I’ve just put bread in the oven when a knock sounds on the door. It’s odd—we rarely get visitors midday because we’re so far from town, and certainly no one on foot. A little boy stands there with a piece of paper in his hand.

I recognize him – he’s the grandson of Edouard’s secretary. I tip him and tear open the envelope. My hands are shaking. If he’s sent word like this, it must be good news. It must. Perhaps he’s been replaced. Perhaps tonight we will leave. I wish I had better luggage.

And then I see the handwriting, and I know something has gone wrong. It’s from Edouard, but a messy, frantic scrawl has replaced his careful script.

A priest arrived from Reims this morning and told me to pack my things. They are forcing me to leave. I’m to see the monsignor in Paris. I have no other details. Go ahead with your plans. I can’t say more here in case this is intercepted. But I pray you know it already.

For a moment I can only stare at the words. I just don’t understand. Who forced him leave? And why did he agree?

And then the more important realization sinks deep in my chest: he’s gone, and whatever it is he thought I already knew...I don’t know. He said he wanted to marry me, he said he loved me, but if those things were still true, he’d never have just left me behind in this way. It’s not as if he didn’t have a choice.

I have no idea if this letter is goodbye forever or goodbye for now .

I press the paper against my chest, unable to get a grip on my emotions.

“Marie?” Amelie asks. “What is it?”