Devil's Fire

by Melissa MacNeal

  He was showing the abbot and Brother Christy a quilt depicting a brilliant Colorado sky and a mountainside ablaze with bright yellow aspen trees at their autumn peak. The leaves, cut and stitched individually, shimmered like their live counterparts when he shifted the quilt to show it to full advantage.

  ‘Oh my,’ Brother Christy breathed, running a reverent finger over the shining satins and taffetas. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this! It reminds me of stained glass, the way the colours and textures are arranged to capture the light. You do beautiful work, Mary Grace.’

  My smile was genuine, but I was watching the abbot’s reaction. He sat forward in his chair, studying the detail while trying not to act excited. The attention he paid to his own appearance suggested a man attuned to line and balance and proportion, but while Brother Christy expressed his admiration for my artwork, the abbot saw cash.

  I didn’t need another cue. ‘I can complete a quilt like this in about three weeks,’ I said as I unfolded my second example. ‘I’ll be needing more scraps of exquisite fabric —’

  ‘We can supply that,’ Father Luc murmured.

  ‘— but otherwise, all I ask is a place to work and, as Hyde suggested, a part of the profits.’

  ‘What can we expect them to sell for?’

  Hyde grinned at me as I held up the jungle scene with the bright, sequinned parrots. ‘I bought this one six years ago for four hundred dollars, so they’re surely worth more now.’

  ‘And what percentage are you requesting, Miss Michaels?’

  The glint in Father Luc’s eyes made me bold. ‘Half,’ I replied, ‘because no one else’s work compares to it. If you allow me to create my quilts, without responsibility for other tasks — and without interference,’ I added pointedly, ‘I’ll produce six by the end of May. That means you can expect twelve hundred dollars, at the very least.’

  The abbot blinked, surprised that I could so quickly calculate the sum. ‘I’d be a fool to refuse you,’ he said in a low voice, ‘but what assurance do I have that you’ll carry through on your projections? You’re obviously attracted to Mr Fortune. A lot can happen in the next four months.’

  Hyde spoke on my behalf. ‘I’ve assured Mary Grace I’d cover any part of this bargain she fell short on, because as you’ve noted,’ he said, returning the abbot’s unwavering gaze, ‘she’s a beautiful young woman, and I have my own hopes for her future.’

  Father Luc raised a dark eyebrow. ‘Then why don’t you keep her in town? Why let her spend four months with us?’

  With a smile that put his dimples out to play, Hyde took my hand. ‘She’s asked for time to recover from her father’s suicide, and to adjust to becoming an undertaker’s wife. It’s best to give a woman what she wants, don’t you agree?’

  My heart leaped at his words, but I knew better than to show excitement the abbot could later use against me. In the moments before his response, I saw an almost diabolical purpose at work behind his eyes.

  ‘Miss Michaels shall have a workroom down this hall, with access to the fabrics she needs, and she’ll receive her food and lodging for four months,’ he decreed as he stood up. ‘Sybil will accommodate her as a room-mate. While I would enjoy continuing this conversation, I must prepare for the evening’s vespers.’

  With that he excused himself, as though no further explanation were needed. Hyde and Brother Christy let him pass in silence, but once Father Luc’s measured tread couldn’t be heard in the hallway, they exchanged puzzled looks.

  ‘Sybil won’t want to share her cottage,’ Hyde said quietly. He began to roll the blue and gold quilt into a tight bundle. ‘She’s the chief cook, as well as the creator of Heaven’s Gate’s most delectable confections, so she’s always been privileged with a place of her own.’

  Brother Christy’s expression confirmed his doubts, as well. ‘And she’s not terribly inclined towards bowing to someone else’s orders — even if the abbot himself made this decision. If we break the news to her now, she’s liable to ruin the evening meal for us all, out of spite.’

  Although this Sybil sounded as disagreeable as Mrs Goodin, I admired her attitude: I wasn’t keen on accepting the abbot’s commands, either. But instinct told me if anyone could influence Father Luc, the monastery’s chef certainly had the best leverage.

  ‘Shall we go to the kitchens and find out?’ I suggested. ‘And perhaps we can ask her for something to eat — before we announce me as her new room-mate. It’s been a long day, and I’m famished.’

  Chapter Six

  Sybil

  ‘Father Luc thinks I need a room-mate, does he? Well, Father Luc can eat shit for dinner!’ The vixen standing alongside the bubbling pots of stew ripped off her apron and headed for the back door. ‘And he’d better watch out. I’m just pissy enough to poke him a new arsehole!’

  The handful of helpers who were slicing bread smiled among themselves, and then looked to Brother Christy for his reaction. The monk let out his breath, relieved nothing more catastrophic had happened.

  ‘Well, you’ve met our Sybil,’ he remarked, running a spoon through the nearest kettle. ‘Don’t take it personally, Mary Grace, but I wouldn’t be surprised to find your belongings thrown out the window when you return to the cottage.’

  ‘I’d probably react the same way to having a newcomer foisted upon me.’

  I hadn’t said so, but when we took my valise to the bungalow nearest the Heaven’s Gate kitchens, I had immediate doubts about the arrangement. While the large room was immaculate and cosily furnished, there was only one narrow bed. I considered bunking in my workroom instead, using the aspen quilt for a pallet, because sleeping so close to a stranger would be an adjustment: except for napping with Mama while she was so ill, and last night with Hyde, I’d slept alone all my life.

  Yet something drew me to the woman who’d stormed out. With a little wave to suggest Hyde and Brother Christy stay behind, I meandered between the work tables and the hearth where black, bulbous pots hung over the fire. The evening meal smelled heavenly, redolent with beef and vegetables and brown gravy. What a shame if a surly cook spoiled it for everyone to spite Father Luc!

  I stepped out into the cool evening air, cautiously looking for Sybil. Had she been a man, she would have impressed me as the type who might carry a knife in her boot. Standing in silhouette against the abbey wall, she appeared small but formidable: she was indeed wearing boots, with dark trousers and a man’s black shirt tucked in at her slender, belted waist. And she was smoking a cigarette!

  As I approached, she scrutinised me, her cigarette cocked in the corner of her mouth. Its tip glowed red and then she exhaled through her nostrils, like a dragon looking for a fight. ‘What’re you staring at?’

  I stopped a few feet away. ‘I’ll answer that question when you do, Sybil. It’s not like I asked to share your cottage, you know.’

  Her laugh was short and cynical. ‘All right. I’m staring at a naïve little girl who follows all the rules because she’s too unimaginative to know better. She never shows her true feelings because she’s too busy indulging the sensibilities of others, hoping men will adore her for it. Hyde loves that type. He fancies himself a protector of fallen women.’

  ‘And did Mr Fortune bring you here?’

  ‘Nope. I showed Father Luc my tits and told him my bourbon-pecan pound cake would make his cock throb. I’ve been the mainstay of this monastery ever since.’

  Now I knew why Papa had loved that expensive confection, and why he’d been so unwilling to share it. And I felt somewhat relieved that Hyde wasn’t counting this sultry little elf as one of his success stories: although she wore male attire, Sybil exuded the aura of a tigress in heat. She leaned against the back of the abbey with one leg bent so her boot sole rested several inches up the wall, which thrust out her bosom in provocative profile. No wonder Father Luc was impressed. No wonder she was accustomed to having things her way.

  ‘So now — what are you staring at?’ she challenged again.
>
  I considered Sybil carefully, noting kohl-rimmed eyes and tinted lips I wouldn’t associate with monastic life. Not to mention a mane of untamed henna waves flowing back from her fine-boned face, and gold hoops like gypsies wore. She was everything the abbot had instructed me not to be. He’d had a subversive motive in mind when he assigned me to share her cottage.

  ‘I see a woman who plays devil’s advocate to make herself feel superior, and to get herself noticed. A woman afraid to trust — or to love — anything she can’t control. Perhaps because her heart’s been stomped on once too often.’

  Where that conjecture came from, I didn’t know, but Sybil’s eyes widened. Perhaps I was an unimaginative type, but I’d just risen a notch in her estimation, even if she would never admit it aloud.

  ‘Is it true what Mrs Goodin told everyone? That you were sucking Fortune in the orchard, and you gulped him down?’

  Would there be no end to this infamous tale? I sensed another effort at intimidation, so I feigned nonchalance. ‘Why would she make up such a story? She impresses me as a seeker of the truth, so she can shape it into a whip and flog us repeatedly. In the interest of our immortal souls, of course.’

  Sybil’s laughter sounded like the tinkling of fairies’ bells — which didn’t match her decadent demeanour. She took a last draw on her cigarette and flicked the butt away, never taking her eyes off me. This seemed an improvement in her attitude, until the gaze continued beyond the boundaries of proper conversation.

  I shifted my weight, determined not to back down. ‘Does this mean you like what you see? Or that you’ve changed your assessment of me?’

  ‘I think not!’ she jeered, pushing herself from the wall. The shadows were lengthening, and as Sybil stopped in front of me, some animosity remained in her dusky gaze. ‘But I no longer feel like adding belladonna berries to the cobbler, just to wreak revenge on our fine, upstanding abbot. No sense in giving everyone a bellyache on your account.’

  I let her enter her domain alone, taking a few moments to breathe the refreshing air. Heaven’s Gate was not at all what I’d expected. Considering the way Mrs Goodin greeted us, and then humiliated me during my audience with the abbot, and the reception I was now receiving from my room-mate, going home with Hyde sounded like the rational decision. He kept corpses in the bowels of his house, but at least none of them would treat me with such scorn! From what I’d seen of the abbey so far, these residents had no concept of brotherly love or compassion. Each one I met seemed more arrogant and demeaning than the last, except for Brother Christy.

  I was pleased to sit across from this cheerful friar at one of the long tables in the dining hall, where everyone assembled at the tolling of the large bell in the front tower. As we passed baskets of fresh bread and heaped our plates with steaming stew, the pudgy monk again complimented my colourful quilts. He suggested that Hyde buy more of the fine velvets, satins and brocades which made the scenes glimmer so richly, using some of the money he collected from merchants for the abbey’s cakes and jams.

  ‘Some day soon I’ll show you the catacombs — which we now use as storage,’ he added when he saw my hesitant expression. ‘No old bones there any more. But over the years we’ve accumulated clothing no longer in fashion, and you might as well put it to good use.’

  I considered this as I chewed my stew. Heaven’s Gate again presented me with an enigma, because Brother Christy spoke as though the catacombs dated back at least a century, an image confirmed by the abbey’s ancient architectural details. Yet the territory that included Colorado was populated only by Indians and wild animals — and the white trappers making a profit from them — less than fifty years ago. And why were the grass and vineyards at their peak here, when at the base of the Rockies we fought the cold and snow of a typical winter?

  ‘…It would seem our Mary has fallen asleep on us.’

  I blinked, realising the round-faced monk was addressing me. ‘No, simply drinking things in, Brother Christy. It’s been an unusual day.’

  He nodded wisely, reaching for another chunk of bread. ‘Here at Heaven’s Gate, one day feels pretty much like the next. We tend our vines and orchards, we garden, we produce jars of jelly or bake cakes. With Christmas behind us, we can relax a bit. It’s a long stretch until the Vernal Equinox, when we take time out to celebrate the rites of spring.’

  I nodded, smiling. I would be nearing the end of my stay by then, and perhaps would fit into the ebb and flow with Brother Christy and the others, rather than feeling like such a spectacle. Although the roomful of men wearing brown tunics, and the women scattered among them, seemed amiable enough, I still detected a glimmer of interest in my unorthodox arrival. Every few moments, I caught someone looking at me with a secretive smile.

  ‘And how do you celebrate?’ I asked, hoping our conversation would keep me alert. The long day was making itself felt in my tired back and muscles.

  The monk’s eyes lit up. ‘Oh, it’s quite a festival. A little different each year, yet always a madcap party by the time we sample our new wines and offer up a celebrant.’

  Was he referring to a sacrificial offering, like ancient pagans made of virgins? Something about the way he gazed at me quelled any further questions — although being established as Hyde’s latest lover would certainly disqualify me as pure and untouched.

  I suddenly felt very tired. And though I wanted to spend the night with Hyde, who sat as close to me on the bench as we dared, the thought of getting to that bed first — of being asleep before Sybil finished her kitchen duties — appealed to me. No doubt Mrs Goodin would make sure the roguish Mr Fortune spent the night in the abbey’s guest quarters, anyway. And, as much as I longed for the touch of the man I loved, I didn’t feel like defying our all-knowing, all-seeing housekeeper right now.

  ‘Time for bed,’ I suggested, stifling a yawn.

  Hyde’s cinnamon eyes searched mine with a yearning I recognised. ‘I’ll walk you to your cottage and say my goodbyes,’ he said softly. ‘The carriage is already loaded for the trip home, and Mrs Goodin’s a stickler for sending guests on their way at first light. Shall we go?’

  The night sky formed a canopy of azure velvet studded with silver sequins. All was quiet, since everyone else still sat at table, so for these precious moments I could pretend the grounds beyond the monastery were my private estate and Hyde Fortune was the man I’d invited to share it with me. We walked past the cottage, meandering along a grassy path where a stream burbled in the moonlight.

  ‘What are you wearing under your tunic, Mary Grace?’

  ‘Nothing.’

  The arm around me tightened. ‘What happened to your underthings? Your dress?’

  I hesitated, not wanting to spoil our last moments together. ‘Father Luc must have disposed of them while I changed. The bloomers were torn, after all, and that poor dress was smudged with flour and crumpled in some tell-tale places.’

  ‘You don’t like him, do you?’

  Again I thought before I spoke. ‘I get the feeling he and Mrs Goodin know my every move before I make it, and that they’ll try to catch me engaging in sexual behaviour, or pleasuring myself — both of which are strictly forbidden, you know. They don’t trust me. I’m too quick with improper, irreverent remarks.’

  Hyde’s laughter saddened me. Several days would pass before I heard it again, so I toyed with the idea of telling him how badly I’d been treated in his absence. He would offer to take me home with him, and I would jump at that chance.

  But the opportunity got lost in our kiss. Without missing a beat, he pulled me close, pressing his lips into mine. My hunger for him flared like wildfire. I coaxed him into the cover of some trees, away from inquisitive eyes that might easily find us in the moonlight.

  ‘Make love to me,’ I whispered. ‘Oh, Hyde, how will I survive a week without touching you, without losing myself in the luxury of your kiss?’

  He moaned softly, running his warm mouth down the column of my neck. ‘I’ll miss you,
too, Mary Grace. But I understand why you want to stay, and I know you’ll do well here.’

  How could I protest without sounding like an ungrateful coward? I set aside my doubts and longings, to glory in these last moments before he left me, by leading him deeper into the trees. We came upon a secluded spot where rock formations rose above the sandy creek bank, and a small waterfall marked the source of the brook we’d followed. A shared look had us shedding our clothes.

  ‘If this water flows down from the mountains, it’s too cold for swimming.’

  ‘We’re in luck,’ Hyde said in a husky voice. He grabbed my hand and led me to the silvery edge of the stream. ‘This is where Mrs Goodin does the laundry, and where the drinking water is drawn. It’s never been known to ice over. Not even a thin layer on the top.’

  Yet another natural wonder about this mountaintop retreat intrigued me, but Hyde’s smile invited me to forget everything except his wondrous loving. He walked me into the flowing water, until we stood waist-deep. Gathering me into a passionate kiss, he ran his hands all over my body, as though trying to wipe away the traces of our coupling in the carriage. Squeezing the halves of my arse, he pulled me against an erection that prodded my belly.

  I revelled in his caress because I would miss it, and because it soothed the places chafed by Mrs Goodin’s lye soap. Parting my legs, I moved against him as his hand sought the warm, slick skin there. The water felt so refreshing, rinsing away images of the cruel cleansing I’d endured in Father Luc’s office.

  ‘I love little pussy…her coat is so warm,’ Hyde whispered against my ear.

  I giggled at his nursery rhyme, matching the thrust of my hips to that of his hand.

  ‘And if I don’t hurt her, she’ll do me no harm,’ he continued, slipping only his fingertips into my hole to tease its outer rim. ‘So I’ll not pull her tail, nor drive her away —’