Along the A81 motorway. Paris-Rennes
"The only thing I don't like about this trip is the speed limit."
The man sitting in the passenger seat, who happened to be her father, chuckled. "Nicola, you're always in a hurry to get somewhere. Just enjoy the ride. This might be the last ---"
"Dad!" the lady in the driver's seat exclaimed. "What do you mean this may be the last? Of course I'll get to see you. It's not like Abbot Antony will turn me into ascetic and lock me in the abbey. He's Uncle Antony, after all."
Her father fell silent. The interior of the steel grey Peugeot RCZ Coupe suddenly felt colder than the 22-degree Celsius temperature that was indicated on the dashboard. He knew what awaited them at the end of this deceptively peaceful drive. He could feel the conflagration of conflict constricting his heart.
Can he go through this again?
As his daughter, Nicola Maine Dei, turned the car to Brûlon, he wondered if he should have just forgotten his promise to his late wife. Before she died ten years ago, she asked him to give her journal to Nicola when she turned twenty-one, and let her decide whether she wanted to pursue the life of an oblate for the order. Since that time, the Honourable Theodore Mendoza, Chargé d'Affaires, a.i., to France, dreaded this day. He did everything he could to let Nicola explore all her passions -- from race car driving, to a master's degree in Université Paris 13, to a life as a diplomat in Europe -- everything to let her feel that a life outside the order would be better for her vibrant and get-go spirit. But, then, she read her mother's journal, and learned about her exploits, her adventures, her brushes with danger, and got hooked to the idea.
Nicola clutched the silver medallion hanging on her neck. "Dad, I know you're worried. But don't you think my trips to Uncle Antony at the abbey helped me prepare for this day? And what do you think all those lessons in kendo and krav maga were for? Uncle Antony said it's time, and that there's a critical mission that he feels will be a good initiation for my foray into the oblate's life. This will be a good adventure, Dad. I know it."
Theodore sighed. "You are your mother's daughter, Nicola. Always wanting to live on the edge. Always in a hurry. Always wanting to be a foot away from danger. I'm proud of you, even if I don't agree with you going through this."
Nicola smiled, and reached out to hold her father's hand. "I'll be fine, Dad. And I want to do this. For you and for mum." Her mother's worn journal was on her lap. It never left her since her father gave it to her on her 21st birthday.
She took a turn to the entrance of the abbey, and admired the garden, the lake, and all the venerable statues that greeted them.
"How deceptive," her father said. "You'd think that all they do here is pray for the world, where in fact, they train oblates-to-be such as you to ---"
"Save the world?" she laughed. "But Dad, it is the appropriate place. Ah, here we are. I see Uncle Antony's balding head. Come on, let's go."
So out of the car they went, father and daughter, and approached the kindly abbot, who was waiting for them at the entrance of Abbaye de Solesmes.
