Death of an Adept

"Ah, si," Teresa breathed. "This belonged to my mother," she explained to Philippa, as she took the cloth from Laurel. ''It was made by the nuns at the convent school she attended outside Barcelona, and she and her sister were allowed to do a little of the stitching on the hem. I had it on the altar for my wedding, and Austen and Laurel had it for theirs, and I always promised Ximena it would be hers one day, to grace the altar at her wedding - and maybe be passed on to her daughter."

The cloth was accompanied by a pair of bronze candlesticks, lovingly polished, and a pair of tissue-wrapped wedding candles. Last to emerge was a carefully swathed bundle the size and shape of a large book.

"This is one of my dearest treasures," Teresa whispered, as she removed its wrappings.

What came to light was not a book but an iconographic painting of the Good Shepherd, executed on wood in egg tempera. The style of the painting, like the gilt-wood frame surrounding it, proclaimed its Spanish origin. Gazing down at the sensitively modeled features of the Christ-figure, as Teresa shyly laid it in her hands, Philippa silently commended the creative artistry of its maker, who had endowed the work with a tenderness and compassion that transcended any denominational labels.

"Teresa, it's beautiful," she murmured, shaking her head in wonder.

"Gotta run, Mom," Laurel broke in, before Teresa could comment. "Do you need anything else, or can Austen and I head out? We've got to pick up Emma from the day-care center and see that she gets changed into her party dress. I don't think she'd ever forgive us if we brought her to her Auntie Mena's wedding in a paint-splattered track suit."

Laughing softly, Teresa gave her daughter-in-law a fond hug.

"Oh, si, my darling. Go! Every woman, even the littlest, must be allowed her indulgence of vanity, especially on such a night! By all means, go and get changed - as Philippa and I must do, as soon as we have finished here. And assure my granddaughter that we will be looking forward to admiring her loveliest frock!"

Following Austen's and Laurel's departure, the two mothers set about dressing the altar, laying the damask cloth in place and then nesting the candlesticks amid arrangements of evergreen and white Christmas roses at either side. When Philippa had straightened the wedding candles in their holders, Teresa carefully placed the icon-painting on an easel at the back of the altar and then stood back to let Philippa make a final, minute adjustment to the drape of the white damask cloth.

"It is perfect," she said to Philippa, nodding to herself. "Thank you so much for all your help."

"It was my pleasure," Philippa said warmly, with a glance at her watch. "We've some time to spare yet before we get changed; and your husband shouldn't stir until Adam gets back. I expect he's showering and changing just about now. Shall we go and get a cup of coffee?"

"You go ahead, Philippa amiga," Teresa said. "I shall join you presently. I find my thoughts are scattered, and it is in my mind to remain here for yet a little while until I am able to collect them."

Her dark eyes reverted to the image on the altar, their expression suddenly sorrowful. Attuned to the sudden shift in the other woman's mood, Philippa cancelled any thought of leaving.

"I'll leave you if you like, Teresa - but I'd like to stay. The icon - did you bring it with you from Spain?"

Teresa nodded without looking around. "It was a wedding present from Father Olivero, who was our parish priest when I was a girl. Two years after my marriage, he entered the missions, and even now serves among the native peoples of Ecuador. I have written him a letter to tell him of this wedding. There is no knowing when it will find him, but when it does, he will be as pleased as Alan to know that our Ximena is at last to be wed to the man of her choice."

This disclosure gave Philippa pause for a moment's thought. "You must have been raised a Catholic. Was there opposition when you wished to marry outside the Church?"

Teresa smiled wryly. "It was far more complicated than that. But I knew there was never going to be anyone else for me but Alan, and so I told both my fathers."

She tilted her head reminiscently. "Had Alan not already been a Mason when we met, perhaps there might have been some room for compromise. But as you probably know, the Church does not approve of Masons, and Alan could not retire from his Order without committing a serious breach of his word.