God's gift

Music

1. Music

They rose in the air, deep voices with such mystical intent that she shivered. Perhaps it was the cold weather, wetness seeping in her bones.

Truth be told, she shouldn't even be here. But it felt good. Good to leave her workload behind, and expectation larger than life. How was she going to survive this blasted semester? She had no idea. Classes and assignments were piling up without any light at the end of a tunnel. The autumn break was going to be filled with work, work, and work again. If only it held purpose ... like those voices that surrounded her. But try as she might, none of it seemed to make sense. Frances was lost.

The young woman sighed; she was fed up.

— "This is a mighty sigh for one so young."

Frances turned to greet Father Tristan; she would recognise his voice anywhere. Deep, soothing hues, even tone, solace and concern mingled in intent. There was something surreal about him and his presence, just like the laments that echoed in between the strong pillars of the little church.

Frances smiled.

— "Good afternoon, Father Tristan"

The priest returned her smile, albeit his was just a quirk of his lips. And just as he gestured to her side, asking silent permission to sit, a beautiful voice rose in the church. A woman's voice, so high and pure that it nearly called tears to her eyes. How could a mere human being sound like an angel?

They both sat in silence for a while, and she was grateful that Father Tristan didn't feel the need to pry. He was just there, a sturdy companion to guide her thoughts in his beloved church. Only when the song ended did she turn to him. His eyes bore holes into her, and a slight frown creased his eyebrows.

— "You look tired, Frances."

— "Not the best way to compliment a lady," she retorted.

A slight smirk lifted the corner of his mouth, hidden in his chestnut beard.

— "It is not my habit to compliment ladies, Frances. But forgive me if I offended you."

— "You didn't," she smiled. "I was just pulling your leg."

His eyes twinkled in the greyish light of late autumn.

— "I know"

His easy retort caused her to pause. Yes, he knew, didn't he? And she marvelled that a priest she met every second or third week could see her so well when her parents and friends failed at seeing how she withered. He was such a good listener, and she felt compelled to let him know of her errand.

— "I came to rest my mind," she eventually said.

Father Tristan returned his intense gaze to the confines of his church, releasing the pressure upon her.

— "Church is a great place to soothe and clear one's spirit."

Frances nodded.

— "Are you not fed up with listening to my grievances? Perhaps I should get a psychologist."

His eyebrows rose high upon his forehead; never before had someone so blatantly stated it ... yet, she had, once more, nailed it sharply. Something flickered behind his eyes, a bout of uncertainty before he answered:

— "On the contrary, Frances. People seek God and solace when they step in church. Some want to be left in peace, and some are curious. Any guidance I may provide is my pleasure"

Frances' eyes narrowed; she knew she was being petty, but she sure as hell needed to get to the bottom of this.

— "Your duty, you mean?"