Battle for His Soul

by Theresa Linden

  He faced Roland. “Juan was your mother’s guardian at that time. And she had an old map and a hunch about an abandoned turquoise mine. So she took her Jeep all over the place, searching for it, narrowing it down. She’d be gone for hours, sometimes days. She was that determined.” He sat on the bed and ran a hand through his graying hair. “Juan thought if I helped her, she’d find it that much quicker. And he could stop worrying over her.”

  Papa looked him in the eyes. “Your mother despised me. She hated the interference, considered me a babysitter.”

  Roland sat next to him on the bed. Papa had never spoken to him like this about Mama, and he didn’t want to break the mood. “Well, somehow she fell in love with you.”

  “Yeah, that was hard work. She was stubborn. We found the mine, though. And soon after, we married.” Papa’s eyes held a distant look, his mouth the hint of a smile.

  “I’d like to hear how that came about.”

  Papa blinked and shot Roland a glance that told Roland he wouldn’t get that story today. “That mine supplemented our income for quite a while; well, and a diamond mine in Arkansas. I couldn’t seem to rope me an archaeologist’s job for quite some time.” He rubbed Roland’s shoulder. “But you’re not interested in all that. What’s up? Did you want me for something?”

  “What? No, I am interested. You never talk about Mama.”

  Papa nodded and averted his gaze. “Yeah, I guess. I was terribly in love with your mother. Sometimes it still hurts.”

  A thought occurred to Roland, and he blurted it out. “Is this about Miss Meadows?”

  Papa shot a glare. “Come again?” His jaw tensed and an eye twitched.

  “Well, I know you love Mama, but she’s not here anymore. And we all know you and Miss Meadows got along well. What Jarret told you wasn’t true, you know, when he said we didn’t like the idea of you two getting together. He only said it to avoid telling you about Zoe, uh, you know, when he got her pregnant.” Roland paused, hoping Papa would be open to his advice. “It’s really okay for you to fall in love again.”

  Papa’s face muscles had grown increasingly tense as Roland spoke, and now he shook his head with obvious irritation. “You’re wrong, son. My visit here has nothing to do with Miss Meadows.”

  “Am I? I think you’re here to remind yourself of Mama and your love for her. I think you’re here because you’re afraid of falling in love with someone else.”

  Head shaking, Papa went to the window. “Not really your business, Son.”

  “It is my business. Tell me, are you in love with her? With Miss Meadows? With Anna?”

  Still facing the window, squinting into the sunlight, Papa sighed. “I don’t know. There’s not a whole lot I can do about it right now.”

  “Why?” Roland jumped up from the bed, his blood boiling. “Because of Jarret? Because he doesn’t like the idea? It’s like the whole world revolves around him.”

  Papa spun to face him. “Jarret has needs and challenges that I don’t understand. But I won’t alienate him to please myself.”

  The hard look in Papa’s eyes made Roland stop pressing. He stood down, his gaze flickering to the floor, and the two of them left the room.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  WHAT WENT WRONG?

  Jarret

  Jarret took a sip of lukewarm coffee, settled back in a chair at the dining room table and gazed at Selena. He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

  She looked hot in a denim skirt and a white tank top, her hair playing around her shoulders whenever she turned her head. And that smile, that flirty smile . . . Why wouldn’t she smile at him today? Had he made her mad last night? Was she suspicious about Roland? Is that why their date had ended the way it had?

  She probably noticed his attention but made no show of it as she casually followed the grumpy old maid Eremita around the dining room. The two of them spoke to each other in Spanish, probably thinking he didn’t understand. They talked about the storm clouds that had been rolling in all morning, about the dirty footprints that one of the stable hands had left in Señor Juan’s study, and about what the cook was going to make for dinner. When they spoke too fast, he missed what they said. His Spanish was rusty, but he got the gist of their conversation.

  After saying something Jarret didn’t catch, Selena exploded in a fit of laughter. She threw him a glance, maybe to see if he was still watching her, then whispered to Eremita. Eremita swatted Selena’s arm and continued arranging decorations on the hutch in the back of the room.

  Starting to feel a little obsessive, Jarret forced himself to look away. Heavy clouds had raced into the sky, muting the sunlight and giving the landscape a surreal, reddish aura. It had rained on and off in the early morning, though all seemed dry now.

  Where had he gone wrong on their date? They’d made small talk on the drive there. Then he let her pick the restaurant. He’d wanted Mexican, but she—having had home-cooked Mexican food every day—wanted something else. So they ate at a family-owned Italian restaurant with red-checkered tablecloths and stained-glass light fixtures, Frank Sinatra songs playing in the background.

  At first, conversation came slow and awkward, both of them glancing at everything but each other. But it wasn’t like him to be shy, and he knew how to talk to girls. So he made himself relax and started asking her questions about herself.

  She had told him she spent much of her time at the stables and knew every one of their fifteen horses. Her favorite was a buckskin quarter horse she called Blaze, short for Trail Blazer. She rode Blaze often and—he’d already guessed it—out past the boundaries of her family’s property. “Out to where the wind made the only sounds,” she’d said. “Out where the land became unpredictable.” She had climbed to the top of mesas and down into lonely canyons, once stumbling across a thin stream and a secluded little pool. She knew the names of snakes and insects, plants and cacti, and how to treat poisonous bites or a sprained ankle.

  He soaked in every detail, becoming more and more infatuated. He so wanted to ride with her.

  After dinner, they had strolled through two different malls. He tried to buy her things—a turquoise bracelet that she said she loved, a hat that matched her cocoa sundress, a book about Arizona wildlife—but she wouldn’t let him. So he got himself a vented, straw cowboy hat that she said matched the color of her buckskin horse.

  They had gotten along so well all evening, laughing and finding things in common. When her mood shifted after they returned home, it confused him.

  “So what if he can’t come riding with us?” Jarret had stood, hands on his hips, glaring at his sleeping brother, despising even the look of his pale, motionless body. Roland hadn’t moved an inch, it appeared, since he’d gone down.

  “Well, I’m kind of tired anyway. We got home later than I thought we would, later than I told Papá I’d be.” She jerked her face to the open bedroom door. “I should tell him I’m home.”

  He slipped his hand around her arm before she could get away. “Ride with me. I’ve been dying to go riding. It’s dark, and I don’t know the land.” He paused to let his next words convey his deeper meaning. “I need you.”

  She twisted her arm free. “Good night, Jarret.”

  He went after her and grabbed her again, stopping her in the doorway. “Take a little walk with me. It’s too early to go to bed.”

  “It’s after ten.”

  “So?”

  Her eyes narrowed and her mouth curled up into something between a smile and a sneer. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”

  He took a chance and leaned to kiss her.

  She shrunk back, giggling. “Good night, Jarret,” she said in a singsong voice as she walked away.

  Forcing himself to the present moment, Jarret took another sip of coffee. Selena was still whispering to Eremita. Eremita was wiping a window with a big rag.

  “Why don’t we go swimming before the rain comes again?” Jarret’s manly voice sounded crude to his ears, unwelcome amidst their femi
nine Spanish chatter.

  Selena and Eremita jerked their faces toward him.

  “Aren’t we waiting for Roland?” Selena sauntered to the table and sat across from him. “He’s been up early every day since he’s been here. Is it like him to sleep in so late?”

  Jarret shrugged, not looking at her. “Worried about him? I told you that he doesn’t sleep well. It all caught up to him. Maybe he’ll sleep till noon.” He met her gaze. “He can find us out at the pool.”

  She shook her head, her eyes narrowing the way they had the night before. “Maybe he’s not feeling well. Could he be sick?”

  Jarret shrugged. “If he is, I’m sure he’ll get over it. The rest will do him good.”

  “Was his forehead hot?”

  “What? How should I know?”

  She stood up. “Let’s go check.”

  “Are you kidding me?” His jaw tightened. Was she for real? She obviously wasn’t going anywhere until Roland showed his ugly pale face. “We’re letting him sleep. Ain’t you never slept in before?” His tone grew hostile. “He’s on vacation. Let him—”

  His cell phone rang, and he froze. It was Keefe; he knew it. What could he want? “I’m gonna . . .” he said to Selena as he got up from the table. Eyes on her, fumbling to get his cell phone out, he backed to the doorway of the foyer. “I-I’ll be right back.”

  She cracked a smile and dipped her head forward, her black hair falling in her face.

  What did she find so funny? He stepped into the foyer and, without bothering to check the number, brought the phone to his ear. “What’s up?”

  “Hey, Jarret. How you been?” Keefe spoke fast, sounding nervous.

  “Eh. What’s up?” He leaned against the wall under the open staircase, out of the line of sight from the dining room.

  “I, um, I wanted to talk to you. I-I need your advice.”

  Jarret huffed. Keefe never asked for his advice. Keefe only gave advice. “Advice about what?”

  “Well, this is hard for me to talk about. It’s personal, and I really need you to listen. Do you have the time?”

  Jarret stepped to where he could peek into the dining room. Selena and Eremita must’ve moved on, cleaning some other room. Or maybe . . . maybe Selena had told Eremita to stay with her so she wouldn’t have to be alone with him.

  His stomach tightened and a bad name for Selena came to mind. He leaned against the wall again. “Yeah, I’ve got time. What’s up?”

  “Don’t judge me before I finish telling you. Hear me out. I don’t know who else to talk to about this. I’ve always had you.”

  The foundation of a wall formed in his mind, growing higher with every word Keefe spoke. He wasn’t going to like what Keefe had to say.

  “You know I’ve changed my views some,” Keefe said, “my way of looking at life.”

  “Yeah.” He knew it all right. It’s what drove them apart after sixteen years of close friendship, more than friendship. A bond. Something only family, maybe only twins, shared.

  “Well, I-I’m coming to believe that God has . . . that he has . . .”

  “Has what? Spit it out.”

  “Plans for me.”

  “Plans? Really?” He rolled his eyes and let his tone show annoyance.

  “Well, what about you? Don’t you ever think about what God wants you to do with your life? Your vocation?”

  “Do we really need to have this talk? I thought this was gonna be about you.”

  “It is about me. I only wondered if you ever felt the same. You’re my brother, closer to me than anyone and—”

  “No. No, I don’t. Whatever I decide to do with my life, I’ll make that decision alone, and I’ll make it when I’m ready, which ain’t gonna be anytime soon. What makes you think you know what God wants anyway?” He found himself pacing in the hallway and running his hand through his hair.

  “I think He’s calling me.”

  “Calling you?” He snorted. “If you’re hearing voices, maybe you ought to think about finding yourself a shrink.” That was cruel. He shouldn’t have said it. But why was Keefe dumping this drivel on him anyway?

  “Don’t judge me, Jarret. Hear me out. I met these guys, these Franciscan friars, and when I hear them talk and see how they live and how happy they are—”

  “Uh, stop. Are you thinking about becoming a monk?”

  “A monk? No. They’re brothers. They’re Franciscan friars and they . . .”

  Jarret huffed. His ears closed and his mind reeled. What possessed Keefe? He was out of his mind.

  “You’re driving a wedge between us with this new faith of yours. I’d never see you again. What if they send you off to some foreign mission? Or to a monastery out on the edge of nowhere? You gonna devote your life to AIDS patients? Die with them? Don’t ask for my support. A monk? A brother? You’re way too young to be thinking like this. If you do this . . . I . . . I don’t ever want to talk to you again. We’re through.” He ended the call, spitting out, “Jerk.”

  Clutching the phone in a trembling hand, he slid down the wall and sat stunned, staring at a muddy footprint on the tile floor. His gaze fixed to the crosses in the center of the footprint. The rest of the pattern consisted of lines that looked like muddy rays shooting from the crosses.

  Keefe, a Franciscan Brother? He was only seventeen. Who made that kind of commitment at that age? He should be out having fun, living life, enjoying himself. Not tying himself down and closing all doors.

  Jarret inhaled and leaned his head against the wall. Keefe could ruin his own life if he wanted to. Why should he care?

  Voices sounded in the hallway upstairs. He ought to get up before someone came down and saw him sulking on the floor.

  “I meant to tell you . . .” It was Papa. “I really appreciate your help. I’ll get done with this job in half the time.”

  “Really?” Roland, sucking up to Papa.

  Jarret stood and shoved his cell phone into his belt.

  “Yeah, really. So if you want to stay longer, you’d better slow down.” Papa chuckled. “I’m just messing with you. We’ll be here another few days, regardless. But your work is thorough and saves me a lot of time.” His boot landed on the top step. “Hey, I noticed you didn’t go with Jarret last night.”

  Jarret sneered, watching their feet as they descended the steps.

  “What? So they went without me?” Roland sounded genuinely shocked. Did he suspect that he’d been drugged?

  “They went all right, and Jarret got Selena home late. I need to talk with him about that. Next time you boys want to go somewhere, stick together. I don’t want him taking Selena out alone.”

  Jarret’s jaw tensed. As they reached the bottom step, he slid out into the open.

  “There you are,” Papa said. “What’ve you been up to?”

  “Living a nightmare. I’m trapped in some freaky nightmare that gets worse every day.”

  “Trapped?” Papa gave him an amused, unsympathetic grin.

  Jarret had no reply. He pushed between Papa and Roland to get to the front door. Once outside he fished a cigarette from the pack and lit up, not caring if anyone saw him. It’d been too long since he’d had a smoke.

  He hated feeling trapped. He had been physically trapped at the monastery, and he’d hated it. But this was even worse. Nothing went his way anymore. The more things slipped from his control, the more trapped he felt, trapped in a life he despised.

  A monk, a brother . . . Was Keefe out of his mind?

  ❖

  Jarret sat leaning against the big oak tree, watching Brother Maurus prepare picnic tables for the Mary Queen of Heaven celebration. Ever since he’d stolen the wine and gotten drunk, Papa had insisted that he help the monks with chores.

  Brother Maurus scurried from one side of a table to the other as a breeze lifted the white tablecloth at both ends. He finally got the idea to set a candle on one corner, but the wind blew the candle over before the monk reached the other side of the table.


  “Don’t you have any tape?” Jarret shouted.

  Brother Maurus stopped and gave him his full attention. “Tape? Why, yes. We have tape in the office. Do you need some tape, Brother Jarret?”

  “I’m not your brother, Brother Maurus.” Jarret couldn’t help but smile. He liked the goofy, old monk. He liked talking to him. The monk had even slipped up a few times and spoke during the hours of silence.

  “Oh, sorry. It’s a habit.” Brother Maurus abandoned the flapping tablecloths and waddled to Jarret, his brow wrinkling as he neared. “You shouldn’t be doing that.”

  Jarret exhaled smoke and glanced at the cigarette in his hand. “Are you gonna tell on me?”

  The monk pursed his lips but didn’t answer.

  “Don’t worry, it’s my last. After this one, I’m out. Any of you monks smoke?”

  The monk shook his head.

  “Didn’t think so.”

  The wind kicked up and blew two tablecloths into the grass.

  Jarret snuffed out his cigarette and got to his feet. “Let’s get tape.”

  As they walked, Jarret gazed at the monk’s white habit and the black scapular over it. It was like a uniform that every one of them wore, unless one was doing dirty work. They didn’t have a choice. They had to wear it. “Do you ever feel trapped here? You all dress the same. Eat the same things. Every day’s the same. There’s no freedom, no variety, nothing new.”

  “Trapped? Why, no. I love being here. This is my home. I have my struggles each day, sure, but this is where I belong. God has called me here.” His half-moon eyes lit up as he spoke, then his eyebrows lowered and his eyes turned to slits. “Are you feeling trapped, Jarret?”

  “Yeah, we’ve been here too long. I need to get back home. This isn’t where I belong.” Jarret yanked open the door to the winery and motioned for the monk to go in first. He took a deep breath of fresh air before stepping inside. The sour smell nauseated him, reminding him of how sick he had felt before he’d thrown up.