The days were still bright and the heat rather scorching in those first days of September. Yet, the heavy stones of his church always provided freshness when the outside world burnt. His chambers, though, didn't benefit from the temperate climate. Needless to say that Tristan had not slept soundly for the past two months. That blasted heatwave, in July, had even sent him sprawling on the tiles of the corridor in hopes of cooling his skin. The two weeks break had brought a little respite – retreating to the countryside to spend some time with cousins and his father, Tristan had taken advantage of the luxuriant nature to breathe some fresh air. But despite his attachment to his backcountry, he noticed, year after year, the gap that now resided between himself and his family.

The youngest cousins got lost in the excesses of youth, drinking, playing, partying until late when he was an early riser. Every day, Tristan had left at dawn to walk the paths of his childhood, returning for breakfast around 9 only to find himself facing his father and his sister whose kids always woke up early. Debates, politics, economics were set aside in favour of sour jokes and references to movies and talks he knew nothing about, concerns he couldn't understand. Most of them were foreign to him, not because he didn't grasp the necessity to save money for school, or choose between a gray pant or a blue one on sale, but rather because he didn't place much importance in such things.

He had watched 'Equilibrium'. Twice. Once with his cousins who found the movie 'sofuckingsupercool', and once when he got back in the quiet of his rooms. He even spotted a little inconsistency in the scenario; he would have to discuss it with Frances… if she ever came back to his church. Would she ? The young woman had promised to catch up upon her return, but Tristan couldn't help but doubt. The youth, now, seemed rather fickle. Perhaps she would go on with her life.

Tristan had told no one about the young woman who had barely left his thoughts this summer. How could such a fleeting acquaintance held such sway over his thoughts ? What would she think of this ? He wondered, each time he contemplated a view. Would she reprove, or turn a blind eye to the marihuana passed around the fire amongst the youth at night ? What was she doing, in the very same moment when he sat on a boulder and watched the mightiness of God's work ? Was she the kind of woman to get drunk on a beach ?

Tristan did not move an inch when a lone figure came to stand by his side, watching the altar without saying a word. He should have remarked that, now, he knew her gait well enough to recognize her steps on the polished stones. He had, after all, always been an observant man. And while his heart danced in giddiness to realise that she kept her promise – yes, Frances was a reliable woman – Tristan barely allowed his lips to form a fond smile. In truth, he had missed her. It took a few seconds for him to school his features well enough to turn to her.

She looked… incredibly good. Her sunkissed skin showed more freckles than usual, and the tan gave her a glow than swallowed the dark circles she had sported before her vacation. Time away had done wonders for her inner peace; she seemed much healthier.

— "Welcome back, Frances."

The young woman fixed her warm chocolate eyes upon him before giving him a slight bow. A gesture a noble lady might have done centuries before their time.

— "Good afternoon, father Tristan."

She did not speak until he led her to 'their' bench, fearful of disturbing the few people praying in the aisles; Tristan was grateful for her consideration. But again, he had never found her wanting in this domain, and this was the reason why he kept this acquaintance going. And took the time to answer her questions. Truthfully, Frances was a breath of fresh air into his life. And so, knowing how awkward she always felt when he granted her some time, father Tristan was the one to offer an aperture.

— "I am glad to see you, Frances. Perhaps you have found new subjects for us to discuss while you were away."

The young woman gave him a cheeky grin and he knew he had broken the ice successfully.

— "Really, are you not getting bored of being questioned at every turn ?"

There. One minute back, and she was already pushing him in a corner. It wasn't difficult to respond with good grace, but he kept silent the fact that, sometime, she really shook his beliefs to the core. Under her gentle pressure, his faith stumbled sometimes, the fundations reworked. Yet, in the end, he only grew stronger in his belief that God was testing him. Hence the smooth reply.

— "I am glad for the challenge. Who else to cause me to open theology books I had abandoned for years ?"

The young woman gave him a searching look, skepticism shining in her eyes. Was she doubting him ? Or her welcome in this church ? When her eyes returned to the statue of Marie, Tristan exhaled slowly. Would he ever know the tempest that always waged inside this lovely skull ?

— "How was your summer ?", she eventually asked.

His summary of country hikes and debauched cousins caused her lips to quirk up and her eyes to sparkle. Her frowns and huffs at hearing about the soft drugs they partook in taught Tristan everything he needed to know; Frances didn't indulge in such things. And when he started describing the countryside behind his father's house, her gaze became unfocused as she tried to picture it.

— "So this is it. Nothing too exotic, as you can see, for we cannot afford to loose sight of our calling"

The young woman nodded, cocking her head aside as was her wont whenever she was deep in thought. Tristan didn't give her time to ask for more as he prompted her to reciprocate.

— "How did your vacation go ?"

Her eyebrows scrunched up slightly as she wondered where to start; nine weeks were quite a long time after all. And if he recalled properly, she tended to travel with her family; she had told him much of Mexico where her brother resided. A little pink tongue darted over plump lips before Frances' soft voice rose in the silence.

— "I took an internship in a lab, in Chambéry… It was great"

And Frances endeavored to describe the beauty of the alps where her tutor had dragged her to dig and survey peatlands, and the perks of working in a nuclear lab when they took her below the Fréjus tunnel.

— "It's right in the middle of the tunnel, there's a concrete door and they stop the traffic between France and Italy so that you can cross the road by foot. It's just surrealist. And they work here, in this great cave under kilometers of mountain rock just to avoid interference. Like a set of dwarves"

Her eyes sparkled at the recollection of this hidden laboratory; to think she had crossed this tunnel a dozen times and never knew it was there ! Her geekiness expressed in her hands gestures and chirpy tone as she told him about neutrinos, and nuclear elements, and the pollution left by the romans as they grilled ore from the Alps to extract silver. And the spike of Cesium in peat cores that allowed to date Chernobyl's catastrophe. Tristan was in no way a dumb man, but when she rambled like this, he felt humbled by her brain capacity. No matter how she tried to hide it, Frances was too clever for her own good. When thrown off guard by a new concept, he found that she returned a week later with her own version of said idea. Internalized, digested, and assimilated.

The questions of nuclear isotopes were left aside for a fond recollection of her time spend with her family in Switzerland. Frances loved hiking just as much as she loved bathing. The mood shifted gradually, with Tristan absorbing information and leading her with simple, quiet questions until he eventually found the source of her uneasiness. Namely, her boyfriend's behavior. She mentioned him, from time to time, whenever her deigned visiting her. Most of the time, she was the one who took the train – 3 hours or so – to see him on weekends.

— "So you left with him ?"

The pause told him he had breached a sensitive subject.

— "Yeah, Wednesday. I cried so much on the way that he had to take me back, and we stayed a night more with my parents. Like when I was little. I just wanted to stay in the mountains so badly, and spend time with them… anyway"

Shameful. Embarrassment oozed from her in waves, as if her emotional outburst called for contempt. Her hands were tightly woven together, her back too straight to be comfortable.

— "So you spend one more day with your family?", he asked.

— "Yeah. We hiked up, then met to have a fondue with a view over the Mont Blanc. It was amazing, truly. My boyfriend wanted to get back then, so we drove home on Thursday evening."

Frances was silent again, her knuckles white over the long skirt she wore. For a moment, the priest wondered if she only dressed like this to get in the church, out of respect ? For it was still 35 degrees outside. The prolonged pause caused him to ponder; something didn't add up here. Frances had probably fought with her boyfriend over the week end.

— "So you had the week end for yourselves ?", he prodded gently.

Her wide chocolate eyes turned to him, and Tristan's heart lurched. Her gaze was sad, devoid of the light he so enjoyed in her usually sparkling orbs. Filled with rejection, and incomprehension. Begging him to tell her …

— "No. He left me there, stating he needed some time for himself"

Tristan frowned then; had he missed something in her recollection ?

— "I am not sure I understand."

Frances lifted her chin, her cheeks ablaze with repressed anger this time as she struggled to keep her voice low.

— "You're not the only one ! I didn't either. I thought we would spend the week end together. Instead… he took me away from my family, only to drop me in an empty home and leave me there. I was so angry…"

Her pants suddenly caught in her throat, and she resumed her previous position, eyes set upon the statue before them.

— "Sorry, father Tristan, I shouldn't burden you with…"

The priest's fingers tickled, urging him to cover her hand with his to calm her down. But he would never touch her. Distance was key in his line of work. Neither too close, nor too far from his parishioners.

— "Nonsense. I was the one who asked. I see that his behavior hurt you greatly"

The knowledge that priests sometimes replaced psychologists had landed on his lap pretty early when he took over the church. People talked to him as they would use a professional. Understanding the need of a sympathetic ear, Tristan had read a few books to practice active listening. Today, Frances needed him to understand her relationship. Stating the plain truth – her heartache – allowed her to verbalise the issue.

— "If he had warned me… I would have stayed with my family. I even considered taking a train back to Switzerland, but I would have arrived on Friday and they were leaving the rental on Saturday. Plain stupid. I got to spend some time with my brother that lives on the other side of the world, but no… I had to throw it away for a man who didn't want to spend time with me in the first place"

Tristan nodded twice, his intense gaze resting on the distraught woman by his side. Why did his chest tighten when he saw her eyes glisten with unshed tears ?

— "That young man had some progress to do when it comes to communication"

Frances snorted then, an unladylike, angry sound.

— "He's not that young, you know"

He knew Frances to be twenty-two years old; she had told him herself. How old could her boyfriend possibly be ?

— "Humor me", he whispered, his gaze fixed upon the virgin Marie.

Frances' cocked her head aside, as if to tell him a secret.

— "He was born in 1977"

Tristan internally started, struggling to keep his composure. He, who was born but two years prior, felt so much older than the man she described. He felt positively outraged on behalf of Frances, and reined his anger quickly; it was not his place to judge.

— "Have you been able to discuss it with him ?"

— "I tried. He talked, and talked, as he tends to do, and in the end I didn't know north from south anymore. I felt like a whining little girl that had no right to be angry"

The priest frowned then, gazing as Marie's statue in hopes Jesus's mother would give him a hint. Somehow, he wondered of Frances wasn't dealing with a manipulator. Isolating her from her family only to leave her on the sidelines… With her earnest nature and will to believe the best of everyone, she could be an easy prey for such a man.

— "You need to trust yourself, Frances. What doesn't feel right to you isn't right, no matter how well explained they seem"

Her chestnut eyebrows scrunched together in an adorable expression.

— "But people always have different points of view, right ? When you listen to a wife rambling about her husband, and the husband rambling about the same wife, you can judge the two of them separately, only to realise you never had the full picture in the end"

There she was; she woman that always wanted to do the right thing, and refrain from judging without knowing all the facts. The truth was that she analysed people's behavior like a math problem, but humans were much less logical than that. Emotions, for one, weren't reined by any kind of sense. They reflected past hurts, and hopes, sometime entirely decorrelated from the initial situation.

— "That would be correct. But you must trust in your heart… On judgment day, we trust Jesus to judge with his heart, and not with his head."

— "Yeah. Good luck to him"

The priest shook his head, amazed that she always managed to treat sacred figures with such casualness. It wasn't disrespectful, per se, but she crushed the distance between sanctity and humanity too easily for his own comfort. A result of her anticlerical education.

— "Sarcasm will lead you nowhere, young lady", he told her sternly.

Chastised, Frances let her eyes fall in her lap.

— "I know. It just keeps my wit sharp."

Her tone was clipped, defensive.

— "And I fear I have taken much of your time", she added, smoothing her skirt.

She had taken the amused rebuttal much too harshly and Tristan could only watch as she retreated in the recesses of her mind; she had spoken of her rejection, laying the wound at his feet, and his only response was to tell her down. He would have bashed in own head on the cobblestones, and rushed to soften the blow.

— "Not at all. It is always my pleasure"

She dismissed his attempt instantly.

— "Yeah. I have plenty of things to settle before class tomorrow, so I wish you a nice evening, father Tristan"

— "You are most welcome here, thank you for stopping by."

The young woman gave him a tight smile as she rose, one that didn't reach her eyes. Tristan followed her to the aisle.

— "Goodbye", she breathed.

And she meant it so strongly that the priest's breath caught.

— "God bless you, Frances"

The red braid danced away as she left the church, and Tristan couldn't help but feel bereft. There was a strange pit in his stomach, a pang of regret as he let her go. Her emotions had shifted so swiftly, grabbing on a very subtle hint not to make fun of his sacred figures to feed her shame and sense of worthlessness. How had he managed to hurt her with such a little retort ? He knew Frances to be a sensitive woman, but she couldn't possibly survive life, her teachers, and the rest of the world if she handled animosity this way… or perhaps, she wasn't only so open with the others. Perhaps the blow had been harsh because his opinion meant a lot to her, because she had lowered her shields around him.

That idea send Tristan's mind into a turmoil.

If she ever came back again, he would have to prod if her boyfriend wasn't dangerous to her. A manipulator. The worst kind, especially since, most of the time, they didn't even do it consciously.

Two weeks later…

She came back, popping at an unusual time without quite looking for him. He watched her from afar as she left a coin in the little box and alighted a candle. The flickering light illuminated her lovely features, bringing the fire out of her reddish hair. For a while, she just sat there, and he wondered if she was waiting for him, or if he should keep away. Usually, she swept the church in search of him rather than stubbornly sit.

Leaving the decision to her – especially today – father Tristan busied himself at setting back the decoration on the altar after his morning sermon. As of yet, Frances had never assisted to mass. Given her atheism, it wasn't so strange. The young woman eventually came to a decision, and circled the area where a few people prayed to come and greet him. Father Tristan bit his lip; how was she going to react ?

— "Good morning, father Tristan"

Too late to hide now. The priest turned around to face her, and the young woman inhaled sharply. Her wide eyes stared at him, a worried frown scrunching her eyebrows as she lifted her hand… and retracted it at once.

— "My goodness, what happened to you ?", she asked, appalled.

Father Tristan was grateful that the 'incident', had happened five days prior, for the swelling had greatly diminished. Given her state of flustering, she might have had a mighty fit. Still, his bandaged nose had gathered some pretty concerned look all morning.

— "Erm. An altercation at the youth house. Nothing to worry about"

— "Is it broken ?"

There was a slight pause, and Frances' eyes narrowed at him. Daring him to lie or disminish the wound. Right now, she seemed ready to bite someone's head off and he marvelled at the gleam of wrath hidden behind her warm irises. Better to soothe her now.

— "Just a little. But it's all right now."

— "Are you sure ?"

Father Tristan shrugged; the pain was but a dull ache now.

— "Yes. I've been through the predicament before, it will be fine in a few weeks. There's no need to fret"

An incredulous expression fleeted over her face, and she lifted a playful eyebrow.

— "Well, if that's a habit then it's fine, right ?"

Ah, sarcasm. Most refreshing. A smile tugged at his lips, and the priest fought to keep it from pulling at the broken appendage.

— "So what happened, really ?", she asked more gently.

— "There seem to be a gang waiting for some of my protégés after the Tai-Chi class. My pleas for peace remained unheard, hence the scuffle."

The look in her face grew more assertive, the 'brace for impact' moment left behind as she eyed him suspiciously.

— "Any damage other than your nose ?"

Tristan pursed his lips.

— "The kids are mainly fine."

The young woman nodded in acknowledgment. Had she noticed how deviously he had deviated the question from himself ?

— "Good. How about you ?"

Of course… she had noticed ! Tristan refrained from smiling as he responded to her obvious worry.

— "A few bruises, and the collar of my frock. I could sew the buttons again, and have to find a way to mend the tear."

Frances' features relaxed then, satisfied with her questioning.

— "I could have a look. Sewing is one of my favourite past time"

Taken aback, the priest considered the young woman with a new look.

— "Is it ?"

— "Yeah. That skirt is one of my creations, see ?"

And while Tristan took a good look at the stylish garment – a mid-calf skirt with adornments - he missed how her cheeks reddened. Truth be told, he would never have guessed she wore her own creation, for the craftsmanship seemed flawless. What kind of woman, today, took the time to sew her own clothing ? It was positively ancient.

— "You seem to master your art rather well, where did you learn ?"

She gave a nervous chuckle.

— "Oh, no. No mastering there. I'm self-taught so I mess up sometimes. But with sewing, there's always a way to patch it."

Her humility stroke a chord in the priest, and he attempted, awkwardly, to mend for past hurts and give the praise she deserved.

— "This skirt is flawless"

Frances' cheeks were ablaze, now, and she dropped her head, watching her feet.

— "It isn't, but you'd need to see the inside to spot it so… I learn by making mistakes"

Tristan smiled, turning to the light that flooded the alter on this fair Sunday morning.

— "This is the way of the world. Mistakes brings experience"

Frances followed his line of sight, contemplating how the colored glass created shadows and bright spots on the plain stone walls. They both remained silent for a while, she mulling about mistakes and experience, and he replaying the violent events of the previous week. He had been a tad too slow, but the few punches he had landed would ensure the makeshift gang wouldn't retaliate. Children, all of them… playing the big shots without the heart and harshness to plainly embrace illegality. His Tai-Chi students now knew he would protect them. Still… was the violence needed ?

— "Do you wish me to leave, father Tristan ?"

Her soft voice startled him, causing his faint eyebrows to rise high upon his forehead.

— "Why would you think that, Frances?", was his smooth reply.

— "You seemed lost in thought"

— "Ah, yes. This altercation, on Monday, threw me into many ethical considerations"

The young woman accepted his olive branch eagerly, begging for more of his inner musings.

— "And what is your conclusion ?"

Should he bare his doubts to her ? She was so easy to talk to, this young woman, that he wondered how far he should go. Yet, her warm chocolate eyes were expectant and Tristan relented.

— "That somehow, I couldn't find the way to turn the other cheek"

— "You offered your nose, isn't that enough ?"

— "Perhaps it was"

Silence settled again, heavy with meaning, doubts and tergiversations. Until the young woman took a step closer to him, and searched for his gaze.

— "My father told me once that he used to play rugby with a priest. When they asked him if he should turn the other cheek on the playing field, he simply answered that there was more pleasure in giving than receiving"

A small laugh bubbled in the priest' chest and he allowed the joke to wash his worries away. Yes. Perhaps he ought to let it go and accept that he had done his best. Seeing that she had lifted the mood effectively, Frances tackled the next subject.

— "So do you want me to have a look at your frock ? I can't fix your nose, but I can work with cloth"

— "I wouldn't want to impose", came the automatic response.

Frances' eyes didn't leave him, her voice carrying more conviction.

— "You won't. I sew when I need to take breaks from my studies. It allows me to think, and rest my brain"

— "If you are sure", he bowed.

— "I am. I can't guarantee I will manage, but if I can do it, I will"

She left with his torn frock, and Tristan wondered if he should have refused. Many a night, he guessed at what her family and friends would say is they saw her working on a churchman's suit. Little did he know that Frances didn't allow many people to penetrate her lair. No one would ever know she'd pricked her fingers sewing shut that stupid tear with a thousand of little crosses.

She returned the frock a week afterwards, thoroughly mended and reinforced with another set of self-sticking cloth on the inside. As they settled on Marie's bench, the student showed him the repairs and instructed him on the washing habits.

— "You can machine wash it, but avoid any tumble dry because it might take the iron-on fabric would go away"

Tristan turned the cloth inside out, watching as the neat stitches disappeared in the cloth, making a faint scar that could only be seen from up close.

— "This is remarkable", he said. "I can even wear it for mass and none would be the wiser"

As usual, Frances couldn't take the compliment, turning to self-derision instead.

— "If I knew how to cook, It'd be a marriageable woman, right ?"

Somehow, the idea of seeing Frances married didn't sit well with him. Tristan refrained from scrunching his nose, choosing the diplomatic approach instead.

— "Ah, you might be a little young for that"

The young woman left the frock in his hands, giving him a small, tender smile.

— "Yeah, times have changed. I'm glad I got this freedom, and the choice to have a career before I am tied down."

Tied down. Her view on marriage seemed rather disparaging, yet her tone wasn't pissed or clipped. Curious, Tristan asked her:

— "You do not seem to inclined towards marriage. Is it the religious meaning, or the engagement ?"

— "Oh no. I do not fear the commitment, really. I am pretty conservative compared to my friends… see, my skirts never lift above a knee. But I think that having children has even more impact."

The priest couldn't possibly argue with it, albeit religious marriage also was a contract with the heavens. Still… there was no stronger commitment than another soul.

— "Yes. Children ties people with a life"

— "My thoughts exactly. But I would love to get married in the future. I just have too many things on my plate at the moment to think about it. All in good time"

The future. Her future. Someday, Frances would walk away from here and have a brilliant career. She would become a fond memory of his past, with her incessant questionings and lovely smile. For once, Tristan didn't feel like playing the part of priest, and choose personal ground instead. He didn't want to talk about her future prospects in any company, nor her marriage to the current boyfriend. Instead, he wanted to know about her.

— "Mmm. So no cooking ?"

If she was surprised by the U-turn of this conversation, the young woman didn't show it. Instead, conversation just changed direction without the flow being disturbed. He couldn't help but marvel how easy it was to exchange with her, she adapted at every turn, like a fish with shiny scales that never allowed to be caught.

— "Just a bit. I don't have much time in between classes, and my workload. Do you cook, father Tristan ?"

The frock was heavy in his hand, and his fingers played with the heavy cloth.

— "I do, I love eating."

— "Isn't that a capital sin ?"

There, she'd nailed him again. Cheeky woman. The twinkle in his eyes intensified as he responded, a smile tugging at his lips.

— "Greediness is. But to appreciate food as a present from God isn't."

The young woman mirrored his expression, and in the dim light of the church he found her features so entrancing. Was she even aware of the light she radiated ? Of the fondess that shone in her gaze ? Of the warmth it called in his belly to have such a gentle expression directed to him ? The man soared here, leaving the priest behind for a few precious seconds.

— "Sugar, or salty ?", she whispered.

— "I do have a sweet tooth."

Tristan's admission caused her smile to widen knowingly.

— "Chocolate ?"

— "Heavenly"

And he remarked as she failed at pointing that, now, he was the one joking about religious notions.