Chapter 3
Behind the Express was a posse,
Bold outlaws on mustangs astride
Their black hats pulled low, ‘cross the sagebrush they go
Their lassos with knots ready tied
For two days did they follow this stage
On the wagon trail come with a load,
So heavy with riches the four wheels left ditches
In the hard prairie land of the road, lads,
The sun-baked packed land of the road.
But what will they do, these desperate thieves,
When the treasure they find is not what they seek?
Friar Thomas accidentally overslept. Somehow the dull tolling of the monastery’s bell had crept into his dreams in the form of the glorious pealing of a church bell, signifying to the world that two souls had been joined in the sight of God by holy matrimony. Sometime during the night he had stopped resisting the pure but tenacious advances of the beautiful Mary, to the delight of her father the Mayor. Forsaking his solitary life as a cowboy crime fighter, he had wed Mary properly and was just about to press his lips to the sweet pink petals of her mouth when a gentle but definitely masculine touch to his arm awoke him.
There he lay, habit still on backwards, broken star clattering from his startled hand to the floor, with the pile of old newspapers resting on his chest, and a monk standing over him looking at him with great concern. Two other monks peered in at the doorway.
Friar Thomas leapt to his feet, tugging his robe back into place. His face was red, his mouth was dry, and his palms began to sweat profusely. The nearest Friar had already picked up the papers and was reading them with some interest. The other two monks drifted silently in to join in the inspection. Friar Thomas picked up the fallen badge and was turning it nervously, guiltily, in his hands when the three Friars looked up at him with identical expressions on their faces. Friar Thomas felt his stomach lurch. He knew he was doomed.
The possession of these papers was not exactly the same as, say, sleeping in past the tolling of the bell. Sleeping in was the sin of laziness which could be corrected with chores. Friar Thomas’ Westerns denoted secrecy, idolatry, coveting, discontent…Thomas ran over the many sins in his mind, wondering what the punishment for them all would be. At the same time he didn’t know that he wanted to be punished for them. Repentance was far from his mind, for he didn’t want to forsake his sins. What would the punishment for that be? The three monks led him straight to the Abbot’s private study where the Abbot already sat studying the scriptures by the first light of day. The quaint picture of the grey-haired old man, his robes woolly with dust motes and his bald pate shining like a halo in the soft glow of early morning, made Friar Thomas with his grievous sins heavy on his conscience feel low and mean in comparison. Still, a defiant burning had begun in his bosom and he held it to himself the same way he held the broken star in his hand: as if he would absorb it into his skin if he could. The Abbot received the newspapers and the whispers of the three informers with placidity. He dismissed them with a gesture, then indicated to Friar Thomas that he should sit in a crude wooden chair. Friar Thomas somewhat reluctantly obeyed while the Abbot took a seat in the only other chair in the room, also crude and wooden.
“Friar Thomas,” he breathed, “what is the meaning of this?” His rough hands spread out inquiringly over the newspapers. Friar Thomas did not respond. He didn’t want to be rude, but he also didn’t want to condemn himself with his words. He didn’t know what to do so he started kicking one bare heel rhythmically against the leg of the chair, sticking out his lower lip while he thought. “My brother,” the Abbot continued after a pause, “I sense…unhappiness in your soul. You have been a Friar here for ten years now, is that correct?” Friar Thomas nodded. “You know,” the High Monk whispered, “being a monk is not for everyone. For some it is a lifelong calling, but others…” he trailed off as he glanced down at the stories before him. “Do you know,” he began again presently, “where our beautiful windows came from? No? You may have wondered before why a monastery, built for men who forsake all luxuries, located in the middle of nowhere, has such beautiful stained glass windows. A certain Abbot took a journey to the Old Country on purpose to salvage them from an abandoned monastery going to ruin. It was a much larger monastery than ours, converted from an old church. It was the monastery he had taken his vows in. The window you see, as well as those in the chapel and dining hall, came home without him. He had found another life while on his journey and chose to pass the reins of Abbotship on. Even an Abbot can find another calling in life, you see, but the works of God can still be glorified in the process.” He gestured above him to the window in his study.
Friar Thomas could hardly believe what he was hearing. True, he had known for at least a year now that someday he would leave the monastery, but he’d always imagined it would involve months of secret planning, the slow gathering of stolen supplies from the barren kitchen, and maybe an unwilling accomplice. After escaping in the dead of night he would run for days through the depressing landscape, trailed by an angry posse of monks running with their habits held high, frothing at the mouth with righteous fury. He’d never thought that he could leave quietly whenever he wanted with the Abbot’s blessing!
The Abbot had been watching him with a faint smile, as though he knew exactly what Friar Thomas was thinking.
“You mean,” Friar Thomas said hesitantly, “I can just…walk away? Forsake my vows just like that and leave the monastery with your blessing?” The Abbot chuckled quietly as he rose from his chair and put a gentle hand on Friar Thomas’ shoulder.
“My brother, of course you can’t just walk away,” he said with mild amusement. “We’ll provide you with a burro to ride. You would die on foot in this country. And as for my blessing, well…God will not accept an unwilling servant. It is not for me to force the priesthood upon anyone. Go with God’s blessing, if a blessing you would seek.”
His head whirled. He could leave! Would he leave? He looked at the SHE FF badge that lay in his palm, and the Abbot looked at it too.
“Would you like a pin for that?” he whispered. “I have one that would do. Perhaps it will prevent it from losing another owner.”
Friar Thomas’ eyes filled unexpectedly with tears. He swallowed hard as he accepted the pin, and in his heart the knowledge that he was leaving burst upon him with excitement and sorrow. He was leaving the life he’d known since the age of seventeen for the life he’d dreamed of for only a few years. His courage wavered for just a moment before steadying again: he was leaving!
The Abbot accompanied Friar Thomas to the kitchen and oversaw the packing of a satchel of their modest food. They then headed out to the stable where half a dozen burros were housed, and Friar Thomas was given an old female named Esther whom nobody liked to work with anyway, and who was too old to bear any more young. They did not return to Friar Thomas’ room for anything because there was nothing in there to take; all of his clothes and prized possessions were contained on his person.
Friar Thomas had mentally pictured himself leaving quietly on foot, leading the donkey, while the other monks carried on unsuspectingly with their chores. They wouldn’t miss him until dinner and would be left to wonder in silence whatever had happened to him. However, the twenty other brethren of the order lined up to bid a silent but cheerful good-bye to him. Friar Thomas hadn’t heard a word spoken to indicate what was going on, yet everyone knew. He had no choice then but to mount the reluctant donkey and ride off into the desert morning with his former brethren waving him off, armed only with a beaten up old SHE FF badge, a few old newspapers, and a sack of crummy food.
Is it any wonder, then, that his heart soared with the freedom of the hawks that circled above him? With his back now to the other monks he pinned the badge to his chest where it rested over his heart. The wind rustled his fringe of hair, the donkey picked up her feet bad temperedly at his request, and Thomas – Friar no more! – sallied forth bravely into the wild, Wild West.
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