Death of an Adept

"My father understood and accepted this, for he, too, was a man of honor. And Father Olivero was more understanding than many, for he had come to know Alan personally and believed in his integrity. But there were others of our family who did not know Alan as my father and Father Olivero did, and there was much bitterness toward my father that he did not takes steps to forbid the marriage. It was years before many of those old wounds were healed. I am glad my daughter will have the loving blessing of both our families from the start."

Smiling, she lifted her gaze to meet Philippa's. "You have a son greatly to be proud of, Philippa amigal For all the strength I see in him, he is a man of gentleness and fine sensibility. I could ask no better match for my Ximena. I am confident that he will make her as happy as Alan has made me."

She held out her arms to Philippa, who returned the embrace with unfeigned affection.

"You've been very lucky to have a man like Alan," Philippa murmured. "One of my few regrets in this life is that Adam's father could not be at my side tonight."

"Your husband is dead, then?"

"Yes, many years ago," Philippa replied, drawing back to gaze at Teresa.

The other woman nodded gravely. "Then I am lucky, indeed, that my husband has been permitted to live to see this day," she said. "When it is over, I know he will be content to die whenever our Lord sees fit to call him. My heart tells me that it may well be this very night. If that is true, so be it: I would not for all the world see him suffer any longer, and I am confident that the hosts of Heaven will receive him kindly."

Toward seven o'clock, with all preparations complete, the wedding party began to assemble. The bride had not yet arrived. Adam stationed himself outside the door of Lockhart's room with his mother and Ximena's to greet their guests, a white rose boutonniere pinned to the lapel of his grey three-piece suit. Shortly, Jenny Carstairs joined them, vested in a white chasuble and stole for the coming nuptial celebration. The celestial sounds of Gregorian chant drifted into the corridor through the open doorway, along with the gentle murmur of conversation.

Adam could see the guests if he turned to look - only a select few at short notice, and limited by space. Austen and Laurel sat to the left of the elder Lockhart's bed with little Emma, who was turned out in a frilly pink party dress and patent leather shoes. Teresa had gone inside to wait, and stood on the other side of the bed, holding her husband's hand and looking strained. Saloa, one of his interns, and several nurses were gathered behind Teresa, adjacent to the Christmas tree.

Seen mostly by candlelight, and with the altar set up along the wall with the window, the room had, indeed, taken on something of the aspect of a chapel. The room's overhead lights had been switched off, leaving only the soft night light above the head of Lockhart's bed, the tree lights, the altar candles, and a row of red votives lined up along the windowsill above, with the lights of San Francisco spread like a sparkling net beyond. In a corner of the room, with the aid of a small flashlight, Vance Lockhart tended the CD-player providing the music.

After a few minutes, Teresa Lockhart came out to peer searchingly down the corridor toward the distant elevators. Sneaking another look at his watch, Adam noted that it was nearly eight o'clock. Word had come half an hour earlier that Ximena was just finishing an emergency surgery but would be there as soon as she showered and changed. Teresa was getting anxious. As Adam pocketed his watch, Philippa slipped an arm through his and leaned up to kiss his cheek.

"You're fidgeting, darling," she murmured, pretending to adjust his boutonniere. "She'll be here as soon as she can."

He nodded without comment, casting his gaze restlessly up the corridor to the nurses' station, where a white-draped table held a small wedding cake, paper plates and napkins, plastic forks, and champagne glasses. Beneath the table, the champagne was chilling in several ice chests - half a dozen bottles, for the modest wedding reception would be shared with the entire staff on the floor. Beside him, his future mother-in-law adjusted the tortoise-shell comb that held her black lace mantilla - dramatic contrast to her Christmas-red suit. Philippa wore royal blue, with a sprig of holly pinned in her platinum hair.

Just then, a flurry of motion at the far end of the corridor heralded the emergence of two white-coated women from one of the elevators, carefully screening a third as she followed them out.

"There she is," Teresa murmured, breaking into a relieved smile as she stooped to pick up a wreath of red and white roses from their box on the floor.

At the same time, Jenny Carstairs set a hand under Adam's elbow and began drawing him toward the doorway.

"Time for us to make our escape," she said to Adam with an elfin grin. "You aren't supposed to see your bride until she's ready."