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 D. Lilac

Cowboy and His Second Chance

A Curvy Girl Romance
 First published by D. Lilac, LLC 2022

Copyright © 2022 by D. Lilac

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,

stored or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without
written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book,
post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without
permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and

incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination.
Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
localities is entirely coincidental.

D. Lilac asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this

work.

8 + (I prefer 21) due to mature content

If you know the author in real life, please do not read this book. If
you proceed, after being cautioned, understand that we will never
speak of the contents of this book - EVER.

First edition
 Editing by Illuminate Author Services
Cover art by Outlined with Love Designs

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

Find out more at reedsy.com
 Dedicated to The Texas Hill Country
…the land we love.

I would also like to dedicate this book to Tash Drake,

the cover designer. She hit it out of the park with one
mock-up. I fell in love!
Tragically, she passed away soon after. Her art will live
on.
 Contents

Preface
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Charlotte
Lincoln
Epilogue
Dear Reader,
Acknowledgments
 Preface

Not every book is for every reader.

Please note this book has a secret baby/child trope and
includes flashback scenes written in italics.
 Charlotte

“Good Lord, are you kidding me today?” I say, standing on the side
of a deserted road in po-dunk Texas, staring at my flat tire. I get
back in my old as dirt SUV and reach for my cell phone. I just moved
here two weeks ago for work—no friends, no family.
I’m due at my eight-year-old daughter’s school in less than
fifteen minutes, but that’s not happening. I open the glove box, pull
out my insurance verification form, and after a quick scan learn I
don’t have roadside assistance. I make a mental list—call a tow
truck, call Violet’s school, and then add roadside assistance to my
insurance policy.
Normally, I’m the type of girl who can take care of her own shit.
But in this moment, I choose to break down in tears. I moved across
the state of Texas, made my daughter change schools and to top it
off, we’re living in a motel until I find a place to rent. Why can’t one
thing work out in my favor?
With my head leaning on the steering wheel and hot tears
streaming down my face, a loud knock at my window makes me
jump. A woman with dark hair tied back in a ponytail and a gray T-
shirt that reads, Mama Bear, stands outside my car. She looks like
the perfect stay-at-home mom with a toddler bouncing on her hip.
Probably not a serial killer. She knocks again, and I roll down my
window.
“Do you need help?”
In my most sarcastic tone, I spit out, “Nope, I’m doing just fine.”
“You sure about that, Honey?” she asks in a sweet as tea Texas
accent.
I shake my head, and blubber, running the back of my hand over
my cheek, “I’m sorry. I’m having a shit day. I need to get my
daughter from school in ten minutes and I have a flat tire. I’m new
in town, so I don’t even know who to call.”
“Bluebonnet Elementary?” She asks, her chocolate eyes open
wide. I nod and she says, “I’m Britt, and this is Hudson. We’re on
our way to Bluebonnet and can give you a ride.”
“Charlotte, nice to meet you,” I say as I shake her hand.
“Charlotte, I’ll call my husband and have him come change your
tire.”
“I—I don’t think I have a spare.” My words come out in a sputter.
“He can take care of that. That’s what big, strong men are for.” I
watch on in admiration as she straps in her toddler while balancing
her phone between her shoulder and ear. She looks like the
quintessential mom. the kind I always aspired to be but was way too
tired to ever become.
“Honey, don’t be mad, but I was on my way to get Lainey from
school, and I saw this lady stranded on the side of the road with a
flat.” She pauses and looks back at me with a sugary sweet smile.
“She’s harmless. Babe, she’s new in town, no family. She doesn’t
have a spare, and she needs to pick up her daughter at Bluebonnet.”
She motions for me to get in the passenger side of her car. “Can you
get a spare and come change her tire? She drives a black Toyota 4-
Runner, it’s on Route 429. I’ll take her to our house, and we’ll wait
for you. Love ya, Honey.” The way she says honey is so quick, like it
has one-syllable not two. “All taken care of. He’ll get you a spare,
change the tire, then he’ll bring you back to your car.”
“You’re so sweet, thank you. I’ll have to repay you.” I’m not sure
how I would do that at this very moment, but surely, I can think of
something.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll figure something out. Where’d you
move from?”
I’m not prepared to share my life story with a stranger. “Near
Houston.”
She blows a strand of hair out of her face and pulls down the
shade to shield her eyes from the sun. I notice her plump, pink lips
and her flawless skin.
“What brings you to Dripping Springs?”
“Work. I’m opening a brewery in downtown called Moonshine.”
“That’s you? Everyone in town is talking about it.”
Dripping Springs is a small town outside of Austin, growing at
lightning speed. Far too rich for my pocketbook, but the perfect spot
to rake in the money.
“That’s good to hear. I took a big gamble moving here, but the
school has a wonderful program for Violet.”
“Your daughter?”
“Yeah, Vi’s eight, and my oldest daughter, Tessa, is eighteen.
She’s a freshman in college.”
 “Wow, you look amazing to have an eighteen-year-old. What’s
your secret?”
“I’m thirty-eight, definitely not a spring chicken. My only secret is
alcohol. Drink enough until you don’t care how old you are.” Our
laughter rings through the car as we pull into the school pickup line.
“Hi, I’m here for Lainey and Violet—” Britt pauses and looks at
me mid- sentence. “What’s her last name?”
“Love.”
“Violet Love,” she says the name like it’s her long-lost friend. Vi
and Lainey buckle in. I look in the rear-view mirror and my heart
skips a beat when I glimpse Violet sitting next to Hudson. They both
have piercing blue eyes with curls that most people have to pay for,
while Lainey looks more like Britt, with straight dark hair and big
chocolate doe eyes. Violet and Hudson could almost pass as siblings.
“Vi, I had a flat tire and thankfully, Miss Britt stopped to help
me.” I smile over at Britt and she smiles up at the rear-view mirror.
Her nose scrunches as she speaks to Violet.
“Hi, Violet, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Britt, that’s my daughter,
Lainey. She goes to Bluebonnet with you. And that little rascal is
Hudson.” Violet’s lips curl into a shy smile. Her eyes fall to the
superhero lunch bag in her lap and her fingers trace over the purple
ribbon that I’ve tied onto the handle.
“Well, here we are,” Britt says.
We pull into a long driveway and begin the descent toward their
family home. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires fills the
car. Finally, we arrive at a huge white farmhouse that looks like
something out of a painting. It looks peaceful and homey, perfect for
Britt’s family. After unloading her minivan, we gather around an
oversized country table set up in the kitchen.
“Lainey, show Violet where the bathroom is and you girls wash
up. It’s snack time,” Britt says, as she straps Hudson into an old
wooden highchair.
“Yes, ma’am,” Lainey responds. Violet doesn’t say anything but
trails behind Lainey.
Britt holds up a pod of coffee and asks, “Coffee?”
“Yes, please. Your home is picturesque.”
“That’s so sweet of you. It was my grandparents’ home. There’s
a never-ending list of projects. Keeps my honey busy.” She winks as
she pops the pod in the Keurig and the room fills with the aroma of
coffee. “Milk and sugar?”
“Milk is fine,” I say, as I examine the refrigerator’s array of stick-
figure drawings and finger-painted flowers. “Violet’s shy. Please don’t
take her silence for being rude.” Violet has social anxiety and her
previous school’s therapist moved to Dripping Springs. It convinced
me to move us here as well.
“Where are y’all staying?”
I let out a deep breath. “For now, a motel. I thought if I moved
my home search out to the country, it might be cheaper, but no such
luck.”
“Yeah, property prices have gotten out of hand over the last few
years. What are you looking for?”
“Nothing too big. Probably just a two-bedroom. I need something
close to the brewery and preferably not too far from the school. I’ll
have to pick Violet up and take her back to work with me.”
 “What about you moving here?” Britt asks, as she sits my cup of
coffee on the table. “Well, not here, in our barn. Hear me out. It
looks like a barn from the outside, but we had it converted into an
apartment for my sister-in-law before she ran off to Vegas.”
I raise my eyebrow and my mouth pops open, wanting to ask a
question, but she cuts me off.
“Oh, Lordy, that’s a story for another time. They call it a
barndominium and it’s not a two-bedroom, but it has a loft. I bet
Violet would love the loft. It also has a little patio off the bedroom
that overlooks the ranch. It would be perfect for morning coffee or a
glass of wine in the evenings.”
“Do the horses live downstairs?”
“Oh gracious, no. This place is bigger than it looks. Most of the
work is done on the other side of the ranch. There’s a stable, a real
barn, and a bunkhouse.”
“A bunkhouse?”
“It’s where the ranch hands live. A bunch of bedrooms and they
all share the living area and kitchen; similar to a dormitory.”
“I don’t know about Violet being around a bunch of strange
men.”
“The only people who live there are a married couple, and my
brother-in-law. I promise they’re harmless. Well, my brother-in-law,
he might stop your heart with his big blue eyes.” Her eyebrows flick
twice and her lips twist into a grin.
“I’m immune to big blue eyes,” I reassure her. Specifically, stormy
blue eyes that belong to Cowboys. “How much would you need in
rent?”
 “I’m sure we can work something out. I can also get Violet from
school if you need me to.”
“Britt, you might be an angel in disguise,” I tell her.
The girls return to the table and Britt pulls a fruit and cheese tray
out of the refrigerator that looks more like we’re enjoying an
afternoon of wine and cheese than an after-school snack. Britt fills
the girl’s plates, and they begin eating. Then, she places some on
Hudson’s tray and the look on his face seems so familiar. The girls
leave to play Barbies and Britt finally sits down beside me. She is
showing me pictures of the converted barn when her phone rings. I
get a glimpse of a tattooed arm wrapped around Hudson on the
screen. Sadly, it’s the most arm porn I’ve seen in a while.
“Honey, I was getting worried,” she coos into the phone. “Uh-
huh. We’re here.” She props the phone between her ear and her
shoulder, freeing her to stir the crock pot of chili. “Dinner’s on the
stove. Love ya, too.” She ends her call and places her phone face
down. “You’re all fixed up. He’s on his way back. He’ll take you and
Violet to your car after dinner. I made a huge pot of chili.”
“We can’t impose.”
“Don’t be silly. If you’re staying in a motel, I’m sure you’re living
on junk food. Stay and have dinner, then he can take you to your
car.”
Hudson tosses his blueberries on the floor and gives us a smirk.
His thick curls bounce on his head as his hands fly in the air.
“He’s so beautiful,” I say, mesmerized by the little blue-eyed boy.
“He’s something, alright. Charmer, just like his Daddy.” She rolls
her eyes.
 Britt gets up and heads to the refrigerator. Her hips are wide
from having from babies and we have the same mommy pooch.
“If we’re going to eat your food, at least let me help, Britt.”
“Can you make the corn bread?” She sits the milk, a carton of
eggs and three packages of Jiffy cornbread on the counter.

“I love this stuff. My Granny only used Jiffy,” I tell her.

“Mine too.” Her smile stretches across her face and I silently send
up a thank you for crossing paths with her today.
Over the crunch of gravel, she says to Hudson, “Looks like
Daddy’s home!” His hands bang on the highchair tray. “Calm down,
big boy! He’ll be inside soon.” Hudson smiles his toothy grin and I
have a flash of baby Vi. I chalk it up to baby fever and continue to
pour the cornbread into two cast iron skillets, grab the handwoven
potholder and put it in the oven.
“Hey Honey! I missed you.” The sound of her kiss lands on his
cheek. I smile to myself, wishing I had this to come home to as I
load the skillets into the oven. “Hun, this is my new friend,
Charlotte.”
I turn to greet my new landlord. It is official., I have done
something horrible in a past life, and karma is out to get me. The
room begins to fade to black, and I grab onto the oven handle to
steady myself. Britt moves in front of Hudson to clean his face and
her husband’s eyes widen in surprise.
“What are you doing here?” He mouths.
Britt unbuckles Hudson from his highchair, not paying much
attention, “Charlotte Love, this is my husband, AJ Maxwell.”
 I’m pretty sure everyone in the room can hear my heart beating
in my chest. The first time I met AJ flashes in my mind—him tied to
a chair covered in glitter with two sets of boobs in his face.
He takes a deep breath and says, “Nice to meet you, Kit–, um,
Charlotte Love.” AJ corrects himself as Britt shoves Hudson into his
arms.
What did I do to deserve this cruel hell?
“Took care of your flat,” he says, avoiding my eyes, and I nod at
Britt, who is oblivious to the growing tension in her kitchen. “Willing
to help new neighbors any time.” He emphasizes the word new.
Yeah, jerk, I get the point. You want us to act like we don’t know
each other.
“Charlotte, y’all should come to Church with us this Sunday,” Britt
says, drawing me out of my trance. She looks so pretty and
innocent. My stomach turns, knowing I’m lying to her.
“Baby, let the woman settle. Maybe she’s not a Church goer,” AJ
states as he wipes Hudson’s face. I watch in awe as he so
effortlessly takes care of his son.
“You could meet new people. Even a few single men.” Britt
wiggles her eyebrows at me and I return a flat smile. “Charlotte is
the manager at the new brewery, Moonshine.”
“Owner,” I say under my breath. I push my hands into my jean
pockets and rock on my heels.
“That’s cool.” He moves around easily and sets the table with
bowls and spoons. I want to blurt out, “I thought you didn’t want a
wife and children?”
“And she’s going to rent out Arizona’s barndominium.”
 “She’s what?” His voice booms through the kitchen. Ah, there’s
the AJ Maxwell I knew.
“Charlotte and her daughter need a place to stay. It’s vacant and
I’m going to help her.” Her calm words seem to put him under a
spell, and he nods in response.
“Britt, I appreciate everything.” I hug Britt’s neck and squeeze
her tight. I’m not sure I’ll see her again, but today I am grateful she
was the one who found me on the side of the road. “We’ll just grab
something for dinner. I don’t want to intrude on your family. You’ve
been so sweet already. We should go. Britt, if it isn’t too much
trouble, can you take me to my car?” I grab my purse and head
toward the stairs.
She squeezes AJ’s arm and says, “AJ, I’ve got cornbread in the
oven, and it’s time for Huddy’s bath. I also need to get Lainey
started on homework. How about you take Charlotte to her car? Can
you help me out, Hun?”
“I can do bath time tonight,” AJ says, trying to avoid my gaze.
“AJ, I love that you want to help out, but we both know you can’t
multi-task.” Britt gives him puppy dog eyes. AJ throws his hands up
as if he’s surrendering.
“Violet, come downstairs it’s time to go!” I yell up the stairs and
turn to grab her backpack. The minute he sees her, the cat’s out of
the bag. Her messy dark curls, bright blue eyes and crooked little
smile that matches Hudson’s almost to a tee.
Violet notices his watchful eye and buries her face in my side.
“Violet, this is Sarah’s Dad, Mr. Maxwell. He helped fix our tire. Can
you say thank you?”
 Violet peeks out from behind my thigh, and AJ squats down to
her level. “Violet, I’m sorry if I scared you. I’m Lainey and Hudson’s
Daddy. It’s nice to meet you.”
“She’s shy,” I explain, rubbing her back.
“By-let is my new bestest friend, Daddy,” Lainey says from the
top of the stairs. I turn and smile up at her, grateful that Vi has
made a friend at her new school. But the look in AJ’s eyes reminds
me they aren’t just friends, and I might have made a huge mistake
moving here.
“We’re ready if you are,” I tell him.
“Okay,” he nods, as dread fills my belly. The walk to his truck
feels like I’m walking the plank.
After we pull out of the driveway, he looks in the rear-view mirror
and asks, “How old are you, Violet?”
Her gaze meets mine, and I answer for her. “She just turned
eight last month.”
“Well, happy belated birthday,” he says, with a smile and turns up
the radio so Violet can’t hear us. “Are you married?”
I shake my head and say, “Still single.”
“Lincoln works at the ranch.”
The words I was dreading. I close my eyes and calm my rolling
stomach. “I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have–”
“You’re gonna have to tell him, Kitten.”
“Charlotte. It’s Charlotte.” I bite the inside of my cheek.
Do I have to tell him?
I could dye Vi’s hair red and get her brown contact lenses.
 “Is he, um,” I close my eyes and muster the courage to say the
word as my heart pounds in my ears. “Is he married? Kids?”
AJ looks up in his mirror at Vi, and smiles at her and then looks
toward me and shakes his head. I let out a breath I didn’t know I
was holding. In an effort to shield my face, I turn and watch the
golden sun set in the distance. “Britt is…sweet, very sweet.”
“She’s got a big heart. Likes to take in strays.”
Asshole.
After he pulls up next to my car, Vi and I climb out of his truck. I
hand him my number scribbled onto a Dairy Palace receipt.
“Can you do me a favor and give my number to Britt? And can
you do me a bigger favor and not mention any of this to him? I need
some time to think.”
 Lincoln

On my third chore for the morning, I shovel hay from the trailer to
the feed bin. I toss the pitchfork in the trailer and jump behind the
wheel of the Ranger. On my final stop, I open the chicken coop, dip
the red coffee can in the bucket of feed and spread the corn out
over the ground for the chickens. I gather their eggs in a basket and
head back to the main farmhouse.
“Mornin’ Linc,” My sister-in-law, Britt stands on the back porch,
my nephew propped on her hip.
“Morning, Sis. Brought you some eggs.” With a smile on her face,
she side hugs me. Her hair is pulled back into a ponytail and her
face is uncharacteristically make-up free.
“Oh good. I’ll add them to breakfast,” she says, as she tucks the
basket under her arm and leads me to the kitchen. She places
Hudson into his high-chair and hands him a sippy cup of milk. I
playfully take it from him and pretend to drink from it; causing him
to burst into a fit of giggles.
“Where’s my lazy brother? Still in bed?” I ask as I hand the cup
back to Hudson. I push wild curls out of his face and kiss his
forehead.
“He’s, um, in the shower.”
 “Ah.” I look back at Britt over my shoulder with a smirk plastered
on my face. “Y’all had a good mornin’ I take it.” My words cause a
blush to creep across her chest and her head dips, hiding her eyes
from me. How my brother ever ended up with a sweet girl like Britt
is beyond me. “So, what’s for breakfast?”
“Biscuits and white gravy, with scrambled eggs now.”
“Sounds delicious. I’m going to go clean up.” I look down at my
hands, dirt sits in my cuticles.
“Thanks, Linc.”
I leave my dirty boots at the door, so I don’t cause more
housework for Britt. With each step, the stairs creek beneath my
feet. I pass by my brother and Britt’s room where he’s sitting on the
bed, a goofy smile plastered across his face. Bastard. It’s been years
since I woke up with a woman I loved in my arms.

“Mornin’, baby,” I say as I snuggle into her warm body. She cocoons
herself around me. “Merry Christmas. How much time do you think
we have until Tessa wakes up?”
“Not much. It’s already daylight,” she groans.
The room glows with multi-colored Christmas lights, the morning
sun coming through the dingy mini blinds in the kitchen window. I
push strands of blonde hair from her face, revealing her dark eyes.
“I want us to be a family,” I say as I kiss the side of her mouth.
The vision of Charley with a baby in her arms makes my heart skip a
beat.
“I love you,” she says, tears filling her pretty eyes. “I’m not sure
what I did to deserve you.”
 My hands cup her face, and our lips meet. Her mouth opens to
allow me access. Our tongues dance with each other, while my
fingers slide into her wetness, stroking against her tense walls.
“Tessa’s going to wake up any minute,” she pants.
I lean down and whisper in her ear, “This pussy is mine. I know
how to make her come quick. She likes this.” I stroke her a little
harder and moans slip from her lips. “She likes this, too.” I quickly
alternate tapping two fingers on her g-spot and her mouth falls
open. I kiss below her ear and blow lightly. “See, I told you. Come
on my hand, baby.” I rub lazy circles over her g-spot and her hips
buck forward. My circles grow quicker and quicker until she comes,
her thighs squeezing my hand, her mouth parts slightly.
“Goddamn you’re beautiful,” I tell her as I remove my hand from
the warmth of her body and kiss the tip of her nose. Her eyes flutter
open and she runs her hand over my shaggy curls.
“Merry Christmas!” Tessa’s morning voice squeaks from the
hallway and we both smile at each other; happy we didn’t get
caught.
We spent our morning watching Tessa open gifts and eating my
famous banana walnut waffles. Tessa goes outside the small trailer
to practice in her new dance shoes, and we sit at the table drinking
coffee and watching her twirl and leap.
Our quiet morning is interrupted by the phone ringing.
“Hello. AJ, hi. Yeah, he’s here.” Standing in the tiny kitchen, her
blonde hair pulled into a ponytail, Charley turns to me and says, “It’s
AJ. Your Dad is in the hospital.”
I miss Charley every day, but I felt like I had no other choice but to
let her go. The important thing is that she’s happy now. I could
never have given her the life she deserved.
“Can I use your bathroom?” AJ nods at me as he ties the laces of
his work boots. I wash my hands with gritty soap and then use
Britt’s citrus smelling face wash to wash my face.
I lean on the door jamb and watch AJ sitting on the end of the
bed with his head bowed. “You okay, brother?”
He turns his head toward me, wringing his hands. “I need to tell
you something.”
“What happened?” The lines carved deep in his forehead tell me
something bad has happened.
“It’s Charley, she’s here–.”
White spots fill my vision as his voice echoes and grows farther
and farther away. I grab onto the door jamb, holding myself up. I
can’t count how many times I’ve talked myself out of jumping into
my truck, driving to her, and begging for her forgiveness.
One time I couldn’t help myself, I had to see her. It’d been
almost two years since I left her standing on the front steps of her
trailer and promised her I’d be back as soon as I could. Determined
to tell her the truth and win her heart; I sat outside her job and
waited. Her hair was longer, and her hips were wider, but she looked
just as beautiful as I remembered. I watched her get into an
unfamiliar car and drive to an unfamiliar home. After sleeping in my
truck, I planned to knock on her door, drop to my knees, and beg
her forgiveness.
 Instead, I watched a shiny black sports car pull into her driveway
and a tall man dressed in workout gear knocked on her door. Tessa
answered the door, and he scooped her into a giant hug. Seeing
Charley walk outside with a happy baby in a stroller in front of her,
knocked the breath from my lungs.
The man and Tessa held hands as the happy little family walked
down the sidewalk. Charley stopped to pick up a stuffed animal, the
baby dropped and kissed his or her forehead.
Charley’s entire face lit up with a smile, and I knew she had
found happiness. I spent countless nights hoping she’d find
happiness and leave the memory of me behind. But watching it
unfold in front of me was gut wrenching.
AJ takes a deep breath and says, “She’s gonna fuckin’ kill me.
She’s not alone, Linc. She has an eight-year-old daughter, Violet.” He
looks down at his boots and back up at me. “She’s yours.”
His face fades in and out of focus, forcing me to back up and sit
down on the side of the tub.
“Linc!” AJ’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a tunnel. He
bends down so we’re on the same level and he puts his hands on my
shoulders, “Linc!”
“Mine?”
“Remember yesterday when Britt called and asked me to change
a tire for her friend? When I got home, they were both at my house.
I knew the minute I saw Violet, she looks like the girl version of
Hudson.”
“Fuck!”
The baby was mine?
 Why didn’t she tell me?
“What is going on here?” Britt asks from the bedroom. AJ quickly
stands and begins wringing his hands again. He’s a terrible liar.
“Lincoln, are you alright? Are you sick?”
I barely have the strength to look up at her. The thought of
having to tell Britt the whole story makes me want to crawl into a
hole and die.
“Why don’t we give him some space, Babe?” AJ wraps his arm
around her and ushers her out of the bathroom, but her eyes never
leave mine.
“I’m worried about him,” is the last thing I hear her say.
Yeah, me too, Britt.
My gut rolls and I lunge for the toilet. I missed eight fucking
years with my daughter.
 Charlotte

It’s been just over a week since I met Britt and she’s already coaxed
me into moving onto her property and going to church with her
family. I swear I thought AJ and I might burst into flames for lying to
the sweetest person on earth.
The preacher’s wife almost made me cry when she made the
comment, “God knew exactly what he was doing when he put Britt
in AJ’s life.”
After church, Britt demanded that I use my day off to move into
the barndominium, as she calls it. I spent the week before searching
for a reasonably priced rental. After wiping out my savings, building
the brewery, and sending Tessa to college, I just don’t have the
money to afford this housing market. I finally gave in and took Britt
up on her offer. I spent the entire day looking over my shoulder;
wondering when Lincoln would show up.
He didn’t.
She was right. It’s the perfect place for me and Vi. It’s an open
plan downstairs, the living area and the kitchen only separated by an
island, and a beautiful two-story vaulted ceiling. The loft is small, but
Vi loves it, and within the first week, the patio connected to my
bedroom has quickly become my favorite spot to drink my evening
wine.
Moonshine, my brewery, is celebrating our Grand Opening this
Labor Day weekend. Tessa came down and picked up Violet for the
four-day weekend. I didn’t tell her about Lincoln because she would
have probably tracked him down and killed him with her bare hands.
He hurt her just as much as he hurt me.
For the Grand Opening, I decide I need an outfit that screams
hip but professional. While shopping, I video call my sister Caroline
to get her opinion on my outfits.
“Charlotte, hot pink is definitely a power color. Go for it,” Caroline
says when I hold up a V-neck shell that will show off my cleavage. I
have a short black blazer I can pair with it to give off a professional
vibe.
“What about heels?” Caroline asks.
I hold up a pair of shiny zebra flats. “Nope, I can’t stand all night
in heels anymore. What about these?”
“Those are fine. They aren’t boring,” Caroline says. Before getting
off the phone, I remind her regardless of what I wear, I’ll look like
my grandma dressed me compared to all the twenty-something girls
that wear scraps of clothing.
She tells me about her love life with her ex, Luca, and his
legendary magic wand. She brags about all the multiple orgasms
she’s having and believe me, I’m as jealous as Blanche Devereaux
because I haven’t had an orgasm that wasn’t battery powered in
years.
 I arrive at the brewery in the early afternoon to prep the staff
and ensure the bar is set up. An hour before the doors open,
standing behind the bar, I eat an apple pecan salad.
“Everything looks great, Kitten!” Hank, our brew master says.
Hank and I have worked together since I was eighteen and he’s
known me my entire life. For years, Hank talked about brewing his
own beer. When I took the leap and opened a brewery, Hank was
the logical choice for brew master.
“It’s Charlotte,” I remind him as he side hugs me. “Thanks,
Hank.”
“Mayor is coming tonight,” he informs me.
“Really? Well, let’s hope we impress all the locals, not just the
bigwigs.”
We open our doors to a huge crowd. The brewery buzzes with
energy. I’m so relieved that it’s going well.
I’ve been on edge all week–I’m not sure if it was nerves about
the opening or the possibility of seeing Lincoln again. A part of me is
terrified that he’s going to show up at my front door and a tiny part
of me prays every time I open the door that his beautiful face is on
the other side.
This weekend we are showcasing locally brewed beer and my
favorite, apple cider. Our biggest sellers tonight are the flights that
feature samples of our beers and ciders. It’s hot in Texas and cold
beer is always a winner, but salty food makes people order more
beer. So, I ensured this weekend’s limited menu is full of salty food.
And for the random sweet tooth, we are currently featuring my
favorite, deep fried Oreos.
 The evening is going perfectly. I finally get a chance to run
behind the bar and check on Hank and his bartenders.
“Don’t look now, but the bigwigs have officially arrived.” Myles,
our newest bartender, a local boy, announces.
I look up to find a group of men entering the brewery.
“Who are they?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Mayor and city council members,” Myles mouths. I nod and
watch them find a table.
“Hank.”
He reads my mind and finishes my statement. “I’ll send over
some flights on the house.”
“Thanks, let the brown nosing begin.” I take a deep breath and
walk across the brewery toward the group.
“Good evening, gentlemen, welcome to Moonshine. I’m
Charlotte, the General Manager. Our Brew Master, Hank, will bring
over some sample flights.”
“I’m Alberto Salvador, the Dripping Springs Mayor,” He extends
his large hand, and we shake. The mayor is a big burly man with
black hair that is perfectly styled. He introduces the men around the
table who all smile warmly when introduced. After I’m introduced to
the city council members, AJ, in his Wranglers and clean cowboy
boots, walks to the table and stands next to the mayor.
“This is AJ Maxwell. He joined the council a couple of months
ago. Best guy you’ll ever meet.” I beg to differ.
“We’ve met,” I pause purposely to give AJ time to let it sink in.
“He and his wife Britt helped me with a flat the other day.” I remark
as Hank delivers the flights. “Mayor Salvador, this is Hank, our
Brewmaster. I hope you and the City Council will enjoy trying all of
our locally brewed beers and ciders.”
Hank tells the table about each beer and cider in detail.
“Charlotte, thank you for your hospitality. We will be joining you
for lunch soon. Perhaps we can arrange a council meeting here as
well.” The mayor suggests.
“Sounds wonderful. We’ll be open for lunch in about two weeks,”
I tell him and politely excuse myself, making my escape.
Around ten, I stand in my one-way office window and watch the
floor. I built my dream office. It’s enormous and the perfect mix of
modern gold accents and rustic charm with a white-washed brick
wall and exposed cedar beams. My favorite piece is the huge
chandelier that lights up the entire room. One wall is massive one-
way windows that allow me to look over the brewery. People move
around, the servers work quickly to get the orders out from the
kitchen. Everything looks like it’s in order until I see a Cowboy hat at
the bar.
I can’t see his face, but I know it’s him. His strong back. His
beautiful profile. Damn, life was easier when I believed my made-up
story that he was dead. I lean forward and grab my knees as my
stomach rolls. I reach for my phone in my back pocket and dial my
sister Caroline.
“How is the Grand Opening going? I was going to call you
tomorrow morning.”
“He’s here,” I whisper, staring down at my new zebra printed
flats. The black lines begin to move and my hand grabs onto the wall
to steady myself.
 “Who’s there?”
“Lincoln,” I hiss his name. “He’s here in my bar.”
“What? Why is he there? Hold on Charlotte.” It sounds like she
puts her hand over the phone when she says, “Shit, Luca, I gotta
take this call.” I hear rustling noises and the sound of a door closing.
“Okay, I’m back. Did you talk to him?”
“I fucked up, Caroline. He lives here.” Holding my breath, I stare
up at the ceiling; waiting on her response.
“Charlotte, you knew he was from that area.”
“Ugh… he’s been missing for almost a decade. How was I to
know he’d be here?”
“Well, it’s not like he’s going to be at her school. Any chance you
can keep them apart?”
“I moved into his sister-in-law’s barn.” I fall onto the leather sofa
in the corner of my office.
“You moved into a barn? What the hell, sis?”
“It’s not a horse barn. It’s been renovated. But the houses here
are like half a million dollars and with all the bills at the brewery, I
needed a place to live. Guess who her husband is?” I pause for
effect, and then state, “AJ, the horndog, Maxwell.”
Caroline bursts out laughing. I stand and begin pacing in front of
the windows. I suck my bottom lip between my teeth and nibble on
the soft flesh.
“Charlotte, have you been drinking? You’re living on his family’s
ranch. How do you expect not to run into him?”
“Stone cold sober, unfortunately.” Standing in my office, staring
down at his perfectly sculpted back, I mumble, “I’d hoped that I
would never have to see his stupid, beautiful face.” I release a loud
sigh and ask, “Caroline, what is wrong with me?”
“Well, sis, the past caught up to you. What are you gonna do?”
“If I said I’ve considered running off to an island and declaring
bankruptcy, would it shock you?”
“What’s the worst thing that can happen if you just tell him the
truth? Hey asshole, you got me pregnant, left town, and
disconnected your phone. I had a baby, and now she’s eight years
old.”
“He could want custody of her.” My stomach rolls at the
possibility.
“He wouldn’t do that, Charlotte. He’s an asshole, not a monster.
Just make sure not to look directly into his eyes when you do talk to
him.”
“Why?”
“He might hypnotize you back into the bedroom.” Caroline does
her best to lighten the mood, but how will he see it? How would a
court see it? What was I supposed to do – waltz into town, a swollen
belly and blonde pre-teen by my side; stand on the courthouse steps
and ask strangers if they knew him? Sadly, in my weakest moments,
I considered it.
“I promise, no matter what the outcome, that is definitely not
going to happen.”
“Charlotte, those famous last words have come back to bite me
in the ass. Whose bed do you think I just crawled out of?” Caroline
is dating her ex, Luca. They have always had a love-hate relationship
that I never quite understood. Caroline is independent, like me but
she’s a spitfire and neither of us has ever had good luck with men.
But if she’s going to settle down for anyone, it would be Luca.
“I’m not crawling back into bed with Lincoln Maxwell. That’s a
promise.”
She makes an amused sound and says, “Enjoy hiding out in your
office.”
After almost two hours, I’m still in my office. My phone rings and
my heart skips a beat, hoping it’s him on the other end. I shake my
head at myself. He doesn’t have my number. I push the call from my
distributor to voicemail. I watch as Lincoln leaves. I never saw his
face, but I knew it was him. He was wearing the navy-blue button-
down shirt I gave him for Christmas the last time I saw him.

***

Our second day of the Grand Opening has me exhausted. I barely

slept the night before, wondering if Lincoln knew I was upstairs,
avoiding him.
After he drank his beer, he vanished into the night. When I finally
left work at two in the morning, I had an inkling he might be waiting
by my car, but he was nowhere in sight. I drove home angry. Angry
at him for not being there, and angry at myself for wishing he had
been.
I promised myself a pedicure if I make it through tonight without
searching for his blue eyes in the crowd. I wish I could say I didn’t
spend an hour scouring Pinterest looking for an outfit, but I did. I
decided on shredded jeans, my red power blazer, and animal print
booties. I straighten my long hair and add a cat eye to my black
eyeliner. I’m going for the ‘I’m a bad bitch, don’t mess with me’ look.
Again, we open with a line out the door, convincing me I need to
hire more servers. I’m in the kitchen checking on our chef when
Myles, my new bartender, texts me.
Myles: Table 2 is full of hotties. Get out here and take
their order or I’ll poach your table.
Me: Meet me, we’ll tag-team.

I walk out of the kitchen and look toward table two. Shit, Myles
wasn’t lying. Three well-built men are on stools surrounding the
high-top table. I take a deep breath and throw on my smile.
“Hello gentlemen, welcome to Moonshine. I’m Charlotte and this
is Myles. We’ll be helping y’all tonight.” I put coasters and napkins
around the table without focusing on their faces. “Gentlemen, our
specials tonight a…” A weird noise leaves my mouth, and I stop
talking when Lincoln’s steel-blue eyes find mine. My mouth goes dry
and my stomach fills with butterflies.
Myles steps in when he sees I’m stumbling. “Gentlemen, what
brings y’all in?”
A.J. says, “This is Noble, and he just got hitched. Kitten, can we
get a round of Crisp Crimson IPAs and two orders of pretzel bites?”
“Okay, boys, we’ll be back,” Myles says as he grabs my arm. I put
in the order, print out the receipt and hand it to Myles. “Charlotte,
why do I feel like there’s something you’re not telling me? Why did
he call you Kitten?”
 “Myles, it’s a story for another day. Can you take table two?”
“And if I say no?”
“You’re doing dishes this week.”
“Fine,” he agrees.
When it’s finally time for table two’s order, Myles is busy behind
the bar. I put on my big girl panties, grab two baskets of pretzel
bites, and head toward Lincoln’s table.
“Gentlemen, your pretzel bites. I put some extra dipping sauces
for y’all. Enjoy!”
Noble, the one getting married, is tall, lean with muscle built
from working the ranch. He’s simply beautiful. I can’t stop looking at
his warm smile.
“Hey, I’m Noble, welcome to Dripping Springs.” Oh shit, beautiful
guy is talking to me.
“It’s nice to meet you. I’m Charlotte. You have a beautiful smile.”
What is wrong with me? I feel Lincoln’s eyes on me.
“I’m glad someone as pretty as you noticed.” His smile grows
wider.
After my dumb luck meeting Lincoln Maxwell, I made a rule
never to date guys from my job.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to the bar.”
I busy myself re-filling drinks until I look up and see Lincoln
standing across from me. It feels like time moves in slow motion as
we stare at each other. His messy hair makes me ball my fists to
keep my fingers from reaching up and running through it. His eyes
are dark, like his denim pearl snap shirt. And his scruff is turning into
a beard, just the way I like.
 “Can I get you some, something?” I force the words from my
lips.
“I’ll take another Crimson.” His eyes don’t leave mine. He didn’t
drink when we were together. He’s a complete stranger to me.
Did I ever know who he was?
I turn to grab a mug and feel his eyes track my body. My too
wide hips, my extra-large ass. I’m a fluffy girl with two kids pushing
40, not exactly every guy’s fantasy. Is he repulsed by me and this
body his child gave me?
Lost in thought, the mug overfills, sloshing cold beer down the
sides. I grab a cloth and wipe down the mug. As I hand him his
beer, his fingers graze mine, sending a warm flood through my body.
My eyes zero in on the spot where his fingers were touching my skin
only seconds ago. My heart aches for his touch.
 Lincoln

Looking at Charley, my brain fills with unanswered questions, but

she looks calm and collected. Does she not feel this pull I’ve always
felt with her?
“Charley, we need to talk.”
“Not here.” She grabs a napkin from the bar and a pen from her
back pocket. She jots down her number and says, “give me a call,
we’ll set something up.”
Casually, she walks away, leaving me in shock. Does she expect
me to make an appointment?
That evening, I toss and turn in bed. Hours after midnight, I
finally give in and text Charley.
Me: Hope you made it home safe.
Charley: Who is this?
Me: Lincoln
Charley: It’s late and I don’t have the brain capacity. Can
we do this some other time?
Me: I need answers

I chuck my phone across the bed and watch it skitter across the
floor. My dog, Red, quietly walks over and sniffs at my phone until it
goes dark. I flip over and stare at the wall until sleep drags me
under.
Daylight wakes me. Realizing I overslept, I grab my jeans and
pull them on. I throw on a flannel shirt and shove my feet into
cowboy boots. I search the floor for my phone and snatch it up only
to realize it’s Sunday, the only day I get to sleep in. With Red still
asleep at the foot of the bed, I tug off my boots and fall back onto
my bed. I scroll through the pictures I secretly took of Charley last
night. She’s still beautiful. Her hair is darker and hangs long down
her back, but her eyes are the same that still haunts my dreams. I
flip to the next picture. One of her turned around, talking to a group
of people. With age has come curves and I want to spend my time
getting to know each one.
The final picture shows her laughing with Hank. He’s looking
dead at me, and the look on his face is murderous. Yeah, buddy I
know. I would want to kill me, too. I lay my phone down and a
minute later; it dings with a message.
Charley: If you’d like to grab breakfast, let me know.
Me: I’ll pick you up in ten.
Charley: thumbs up emoji

My entire shower, my heart races and my mind ticks through

questions.
Why didn’t she tell me she was pregnant?
Will she let me be a part of our daughter’s life?
What were her first words?
So many questions.
 I throw on ripped jeans and stand in front of my closet for a
minute too long, looking at my small collection of clothing. I choose
a navy-blue Henley, since Charley always said blue brought out my
eyes. I look closely at the new creases forming around my eyes and
push Noble’s pomade through my hair. I catch myself staring a little
too long in the mirror and laugh at myself. What the hell am I
thinking?
I ask Red, “Do I think a blue shirt or a new hairstyle will win her
back after I broke her?” He gives me a grimace that reflects my own
attitude.
I drive across the property, from the bunkhouse to the barn. I’ve
made this drive hundreds of times, but today my fingers tap the
steering wheel of my truck and my leg bounces near the gearshift. I
pull up next to Arizona’s barndominium with Charley standing on the
porch leaning against the door, her boot propped behind her as she
scrolls through her phone.
She looks up when she hears my truck, and I’m disappointed
when her familiar smile doesn’t appear. Instead, she tucks her phone
in her fringed covered purse and walks toward me. She’s covered
head to toe in black–a long sleeve back dress that goes to her
knees, black boots that hit mid-calf and her hair is up in a messy
bun. I wish I could say she looked horrible, but she looks just as
beautiful as I remember. She slides in and secures her seat belt. The
click echoes through the silent cab. We drive south in silence,
passing stone homes and pickup trucks along the two-lane road.
Charley never once looks in my direction. She’s biting her cheek,
proving I’m not the only one who’s nervous.
 “How is the barndominium?” My thumb thumps a mile a minute
on the steering wheel.
“Peaceful.” Well, at least she’s speaking to me.
We pull into a small stone building with a red sign that reads
Wimberly Café.
I follow behind her and the hostess, giving her plenty of space.
We sit at a round booth at the back with newly upholstered, shiny
red vinyl and a dingy table. The hostess hands both of us a menu
and walks away. Both of our attention is on our menus when the
waitress approaches us with two white mugs and a fresh pot of
coffee.
“Mornin’ folks, I’ll be back to take your order.” She’s way past
retirement age and in a faded red uniform. She fills our coffee and
leaves us in silence.
“The waffles are good here,” I say as I close my menu. I always
made her waffles on Sundays. She used to love them piled high with
bananas and syrup.
She bites her bottom lip and tells me, “I don’t eat waffles
anymore.”
I want to ask why, but I don’t. I’m filled with questions to learn
about who Charley is now. Our waitress returns and looks at Charley
first. “Are you two ready to order?”
“I’ll have a vegetarian omelet with a side of fruit,” Charley says,
and I scrunch my nose at her order. The Charley I knew would have
ordered waffles with bacon and extra syrup.
“And for you sir?” Her deep, smoker’s voice asks.
 “Three-meat omelet with a stack of pancakes and extra syrup
please, and can we get two waters?”
“Of course. Just give me a sec, honey.” She leaves, never once
writing our order. Within minutes, a young boy returns with glasses
full of water and places two straws on the table. Charley reaches for
a straw and peels the white wrapping off of hers. After placing her
straw in her glass, her fingers tear the thin white wrapper; before
long, a pile of shredded paper sits in front of her.
“AJ told me about Violet,” I say, breaking the heavy silence.
Charley looks me in the eye for the first time in over a decade
and says calmly, “I’m going to kill him.”
“He said you’d say that,” I tell her and give her my best smirk,
but I get no reaction whatsoever.
“I guess you have questions.” Her finger twirls, directing me to
ask questions.
“Um,” I look down at my coffee, unsure what to ask now that I
have the opportunity. “Why didn’t–”
She cuts me off before I can finish my thought. “Please don’t
waste my time and ask questions you already know the answer to.”
“What’s her middle name?”
Looking down into her mug of coffee, she says without emotion,
“Raye, r-a-y-e.”
An emotion runs through my body that I’m not sure I’ve ever
felt, maybe pride. She gave her my middle name, Violet Raye.
“Does she know about me?”
Charley shifts in her seat and pulls her mug to her lips. “I told
her you died.” She refuses to look me in the eye. I knew her answer
wouldn’t be pretty, but dead? How could she do that to me?
“Charley, you told her I was dead?”
“Look, Tessa and I made a decision.”
“Tessa? She was a little girl.”
“She is my only family, Lincoln, her and Caroline. I asked her
what she wanted to tell her sister about you, and she asked me if
you were ever coming back. I told her no, and she said that she
would have rather thought you were dead than know you didn’t
want us. So, we told her you died in a car accident on your way
home to visit your family. In a way, it helped us heal because it
became our narrative.”
“Narrative…” My voice trails off. “That’s some fucked up shit,
Charley.”
“Lincoln, I’m pretty sure you wear the crown for fucked up shit.”
“I didn’t tell your child you were dead!”
“No, you just walked out on me, the woman you convinced to fall
in love with you and a little girl who wanted to call you Dad. You
thought I was going to put another little girl’s heart in your hands
just so you could crush it? Maybe I’m a horrible person, but I’d
rather tell her you were dead than risk either of my girls ever being
hurt by a selfish asshole like you!”
Our waitress appears out of nowhere and informs us, “I’m sorry,
but we’re going to have to ask you two to leave. Your little lover’s
spat is causing our other customers to feel uncomfortable.”
Charley shoots daggers at our poor waitress. “He’s. Not. My.
Lover!”
“Well, you still need to go.”
 “Sorry about that,” I say as I lay cash on the table for the coffee.
I grasp Charley’s elbow to usher her through the restaurant with
every prying eye on us. As soon as we hit the pavement, she jerks
free of me and charges for the road.
“Where the hell are you goin’ Charlotte Mae?”
“As far away from you as I can fuckin’ git!” Her Texas twang
comes out as she continues walking down the street in the wrong
direction, making me smile. God, I’ve missed her.
“Funny how you moved onto my brother’s ranch!”
“I only knew it was Britt’s ranch, not your brother’s ranch when I
agreed to live there!” She yells at me while walking backwards. “How
the hell did an asshole like AJ end up with a sweetheart like Britt?”
“Must be the Maxwell good looks and charm. It runs in the
family.” I wink at her and she flips me the bird right before she falls
backward off the sidewalk in the middle of the street. I rush over to
her as she’s crawling toward the curb and spewing curses.
“Are you okay?”
She stops mid-curse and looks up at me through a curtain of hair,
unshed tears in her doe eyes, her lips rolled together. I haven’t seen
the vulnerable look on her face in such a long time. It almost breaks
me. All I ever wanted was to be the hero in her love story.
I clear my throat. “Let’s get you home.”
 Charlotte

After a silent ride home, Lincoln drops me off at the barndominium

and I rush inside. I lay out two ibuprofen tablets, grab a stemless
wine glass from the cupboard, and pour a sip of orange juice into it.
Then I pull a bottle of champagne from the freezer and pour until
bubbles seep over the side of the glass. I wash down the ibuprofen
and my phone beeps with a message. I look down and hate myself
for knowing that it’s Lincoln’s unsaved number that flashes across
the top of my phone.
“Motherfucker!” I say out loud and drink my entire glass of yellow
tinted champagne. “Motherfucker!” I yell into the vast emptiness of
the barndominium.
Knock-Knock.
“Charlotte! Are you okay?” Britt’s voice comes through the front
door. Of course, she would show up now. I wipe the tear that
threatens to fall and toss the champagne bottle in the trash before
opening the door.
“Hey Britt, what’s up?” I ask, a fake smile plastered on my face.
Her big doe eyes etched with concern. “Charlotte, what’s going
on?”
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 Paavi nousi äkkiä äkkiä istuimeltaan ja hänen kasvonsa kävivät
synkän ja huolestuneen näköisiksi.

»Davido Rossi», sanoi hän hätäisesti.

Roma alkoi vavista. »Niin», änkytti hän.

»Davido Rossi, kapinallinen?»

»Ei, ei teidän pyhyytenne, sitä hän ei ole.»

»Mutta lapseni, lapseni, hän on perustanut kapinallisen,

yhdistyksen, jonka pyhä isä juuri tänä päivänä on julistanut
vääräksi.»

Paavi astui huoneen poikki, ja Roma nousi seisomaan ia katsoi

häneen.

»Hän vehkeilee kirkkoa vastaan — kirkkoa ja sen ylintä päätä

vastaan.»

»Ei, ei, teidän pyhyytenne. Hän on uskonnollinen ja paljon

enemmän hallituksen ja kuninkaan vihollinen.»

»Pyhä isä», sanoi hän, »kerronko teille salaisuuden. Ei ole ketään

muuta maailmassa, jolle voisin sen kertoa, mutta teille voin sen
sanoa. Mieheni on nyt Englannissa järjestämässä suurta liikettä
italialaisten maanpakolaisten keskuudessa. En tiedä mitä se
oikeastaan on, mutta hän kertoi minulle, että siitä on seurauksena
koko valtakunnan valloitus ja hallituksen kukistuminen. Hän ei ole
sanonut, onko se tavallinen salaliitto vai muu suunnitelma, mutta
minä tiedän, että se on tähdätty Rooman politiikkaa vastaan eikä
uskontoa vastaan, ja sen tarkoituksena on kuninkaan, mutta ei
paavin, kukistaminen.»

Paavi joka oli seisonut selin Romaan, kääntyi ympäri ja katsoi

häneen kauhuissaan. Hänen silmäkulmansa olivat rypyssä ja hänen
kasvonsa muistuttivat vielä entistä enemmän eräitä toisia kasvoja,
jotka saattoivat Roman yhä hermostuneemmaksi.

»'Kun tulen takaisin, on mukanani sellainen voima, joka panee

vankilat avaamaan ovensa ja tyrannien valtaistuimet vapisemaan.'
Niin hän sanoi, teidän pyhyytenne. Tuo liike alkaa kohta, olen varma
siitä, ja silloin teidän pyhyytenne saa nähdä, että kansan johtajat
eivät ole uskonnottomia miehiä, vaan…»

Paavi kohotti kätensä. »Vaiti!» huusi hän. »Älkää jatkako, lapsi.

Jumala tiesi mitä minun tulee tehdä sille, mitä jo olette sanonut.»

Silloin Roma huomasi, mitä hän oli tehnyt hurjassa

liikutuksessaan, ja kauhistuen hän koetti peruuttaa sanojaan.

»Pyhä isä, älkää päätelkö siitä, mitä sanoin, että Davido Rossi on
kapinallinen ja kuninkaansurmaaja…»

»Älkää puhuko, lapseni. Te ette aavista, millaisen maanjäristyksen

te olette saanut aikaan jalkojeni alla. Minun täytyy ajatella. Minun
täytyy saada selville velvollisuuteni Jumalaa ja ihmisiä kohtaan.»

Syntyi hetken äänettömyys, ja sitten Roma koetti tyyntyä ja lausui:

»Minä olen vain tietämätön nainen, pyhä isä, ja ehkä olen sanonut
liian paljon enkä ymmärrä mitä olen tehnyt. Mutta se, minkä olen
kertonut, sanottiin minulle rakkaudessa ja luottamuksessa. Ja pyhä
isä on viisas ja hyvä, ja mitä hän tekee, on oikein.»
 Paavi palasi tuolilleen huolestuneen näköisenä eikä näyttänyt
kuuntelevan. Roma vaipui polvilleen hänen viereensä ja sanoi
matalalla, rukoilevalla äänellä:

»Mieheni luottamus minuun on niin kaunis, teidän pyhyytenne

Minä olen ainoa henkilö maailmassa, jolle hän on kertonut kaikki
salaisuutensa, ja jos hän saisi kuulla hiukankaan niistä muualta…»

»Älkää pelätkö, tyttäreni. Sen, minkä uskoitte minulle, pidän yhtä

pyhänä kuin rippisalaisuuden. Mutta te olette kertonut minulle
kamalan kertomuksen, ja taivaan isä yksin tietää, mitä hänen
palvelijansa pitäisi tehdä.»

Roma katsoi huolestuneisiin vanhoihin kasvoihin, jotka äsken

olivat olleet niin päivänpaisteiset, ja hän ymmärsi kuinka ääretön
vastuunalaisuus lepää tiaraa kantavan miehen hartioilla. Sitten hän
taas muisti, mitä kapusiinilaismunkki oli hänelle sanonut, ja hän
sanoi samalla matalalla, rukoilevalla äänellä:

»Jos voisin kertoa teidän pyhyydellenne lisää hänestä — kuka hän

on ja mistä hän on kotoisin — köyhästä, vaatimattomasta paikasta,
teidän pyhyytenne… jos saisin sanoa, kuinka hän on kärsinyt ja mikä
kamala varjo vieläkin himmentää hänen elämäänsä, niin isällinen
sydämenne rakastaisi ja säälisi häntä.»

»Älkää kertoko minulle enempää, lapseni. On parempi etten tiedä.

Sääli ei saa puhua siinä, missä velvollisuus minua käskee. Mutta
minä voin rakastaa Davido Rossia siitä huolimatta. Ja minä rakastan
häntä. Rakastan häntä kuin kadotettua poikaa, joka on kohottanut
kätensä isäänsä vastaan, vaikka hän ei itse sitä tiedä.»
 Roma aikoi taas puhua ja selvemmin kuin äsken, kun äkillinen
epäilys hänet valtasi. Olihan Leone sangen tavallinen sukunimi, eikä
Italiassa ollut tavallista antaa pojalle isän ristimänimeä. Se, mikä
hänestä oli tuntunut varmalta, saattoikin olla vain sattuma.

Paavin tuolissa oli soittokellon nappi. Paavi painoi sitä, ja

monsignor astui huoneeseen koputtamatta. Paavi nousi ja tarttui
Roman käteen.

»Menkää rauhassa ja ottakaa siunaukseni, lapseni. Minä siunaan

teitä! Isällinen siunaukseni varjelkoon sydäntänne pysymään
puhtaana ja vahvistakoon teitä kaikissa kiusauksissa, lohduttakoon
koettelemuksissa, pelastakoon pahasta ja johtakoon teidät vihdoin
Kristuksen lasten joukkoon.»

Monsignor astui eteenpäin ja viittasi Romalle, että hänen tuli

poistua. Roma nousi ja läksi huoneesta astuen ovelle, liian
liikutettuna voidakseen puhua. Hän ei huomannut ennenkuin ovi
sulkeutui, että hän kulki valtaistuinsalin poikki ja että pappi kulki
hänen vieressään.
V.

Kun paavi käveli puutarhassaan samana iltapäivänä kuten tavallista,

oli vanha kapusiinilainen hänen kanssaan. Vatikaanin ovelta he
ajoivat paavin vaunuissa, kaksi ylimyskaartin jäsentä ratsastaen
molemmilla puolilla ja yksi kamariherra vaunujen jäljessä,
laakerikäytävän läpi, kunnes he saapuivat kukkulalla olevalle
huvimajalle. Siellä molemmat vanhat miehet astuivat vaunuista,
paavi valkoisessa viitassaan, valkoisessa päällystakissaan ja
päässään punainen hattu, ja kapusiinilainen ruskeassa puvussaan,
päässä patalakki ja jalassa sandaalit. Paavin kissa, punertavan
ruskea eläin, joka seurasi häntä puutarhassa kuin koira isäntäänsä,
hyppäsi samalla pois vaunuista.

Huvilan pyöreän tornin edessä on korkea, oranssi- ja

magnoliapuiden suojaama terassi, jossa on ympyrään asetettuja
puutarha-istuimia. Kunnianarvoisat vanhat miehet istuutuivat sinne,
ja kissa asettui hiekkakäytävälle heidän eteensä. He olivat niin
korkealla nyt, että Pietarin kirkon korkea kupooli tuntui melkein
olevan samalla tasolla kuin heidän kasvonsa, ja Rooma näytti
ylhäälle ilmapalloon häämöttävältä kaupungilta. Tuolla takana levisi
laaja Campagna vihreänä kuin kesäinen meri. Vielä kauempana
siintivät ja punersivat Albano-vuoret, siellä täällä näkyi pieniä
valkoisia kaupunkeja pitkin rinteitä. Ja kaikkein kauimpana hohtivat
purppuran väristen haamujen tavoin juhlallisten Apenninien
lumipeitteiset kukkulat.

Paavi oli tavallista totisempi ja äänettömämpi. Pari kertaa

kapusiinilainen virkkoi: »Ja mitä piditte nuoresta tämänaamuisesta
ripitettävästäni?

»Bene, bene!» vastasi paavi.

Mutta vihdoin paavi vedellen viivoja hiekkaan kävelykepillään

rupesi puhumaan.

»Isä!»

»Teidän pyhyytenne!»

»Jumalan käsittämätön säädös, joka teki minusta paavin, ei

muuttanut meidän suhdettamme toisiimme ihmisinä, eikö niin?»

Kapusiinilainen otti nuuskaa ja vastasi: »Teidän pyhyytenne

ystävällisyydessään on vakuuttanut niin.»

»Te olette mestarini nyt aivan kuin kolmekymmentä vuotta sitten,

ja tahtoisin kysyä teiltä erästä asiaa.»

»Mikä se on, teidän pyhyytenne?»

»Olettehan ollut rippi-isäni monta vuotta, isä?» »Neljäkymmentä

vuotta, teidän pyhyytenne.» »Sillä ajalla teillä on ollut monta vaikeata
asiaa selvitettävänä?»

»Hyvin monta.»
 »Isä, onko koskaan tapahtunut, että ripitettävä on tunnustanut
teille salaliiton, jonka tarkoituksena on rikos?»

»Se on monesti tapahtunut.»

»Ja mitä olette tehnyt?»

»Pyytänyt häntä ilmoittamaan siitä viranomaisille tai kertomaan

siitä minulle rippituolin ulkopuolella.»

»Onko ripitettävä koskaan kieltäytynyt täyttämästä sitä.»

»Ei koskaan.»

»Mutta jos… jos tapaus olisi sitä laatua, että ripitettävän olisi
vaikea ilmaista sitä viranomaisille, koska hänen täytyisi ottaa
huomioon mikä rangaistus sitä seuraa… jos veren ja rakkauden
siteet saattaisivat tuollaisen tunnustuksen mahdottomaksi ja jos olisi
suorastaan julmaa pyytääkään ripitettävältä semmoista, mitä silloin
tekisitte?»

»En mitään, teidän pyhyytenne.»

»Ette sittenkään, vaikka aiottu rikos olisi hyvin vakavaa laatua ja

koskisi teitä hyvin läheltä?»

Kapusiinilainen levitti kirjavan nenäliinansa sanoen: »Se ei

muuttaisi asiaa, teidän pyhyytenne.»

»Mutta otaksukaapa, että kuulette rippituolissa, että veljenne

aiotaan surmata, mikä silloin on velvollisuutenne?»

»Velvollisuuteni ripitettävää kohtaan, joka uskoo minulle sielunsa

salaisuudet, on vaitiolo.»
 »Ja mikä on velvollisuutenne Jumalaa kohtaan?»

Nenäliina putosi kapusiinilaisen kädestä.

»Eikö rippiä voi käyttää väärin?» sanoi paavi.

»Epäilemättä.»

»Jos esimerkiksi ripille menijä puhuu jotakin vetääkseen papin

liittoon, jonka tarkoituksena on rikos?»

»Siinä tapauksessa sitä ei tietysti ole pidettävä rippinä.»

»Mutta eikö ripillemenijä myöskin voi tietämättään käyttää väärin

rippiä, kun hän puhuu varmassa uskossa, mutta samalla ilmaisee
papille aiotun rikoksen ja siitä syystä saattaa hänet rikostoverin
asemaan?»

»Eiköhän, teidän pyhyytenne.»

»Silloin ripillemenijä, joka ilmaisee salaliiton veljenne

surmaamiseksi, käyttää väärin rippiä, ja teidän velvollisuutenne
Jumalaa kohtaan on veljenne hengen pelastaminen.»

»Niin muutamat jumaluusoppineet väittävät. Ja niin on joskus

meneteltykin. Minä en pidä siitä, vaikka en voi osoittaa sitä
vääräksi.»

»Jos tuo on meidän velvollisuutemme, kun on kysymys

veljestämme, on se tietysti myöskin velvollisuutemme, kun on
kysymys vihollisestamme.»

»Tietysti, teidän pyhyytenne.»

 Paavi vaikeni, piirsi hiekkaan kepillään ja sanoi:

»Isä, minulle on tunnustettu liitto viholliseni henkeä vastaan.»

Kapusiinilainen työnsi nenäliinaa hihaansa ja nojautui istuimeensa.

Hetken kuluttua paavi kertoi hänelle, mitä Roma oli sanonut Rossin
toimista ulkomailla.

»Salaliitto», sanoi hän, »selvä salaliitto.»

»Minkälaatuiseksi arvelette tuota salaliittoa?»

»Kuka sen tietää? Ehkä se on sen keskiaikaisen tavan

uudistamista, että maanpakoon ajetut kansalaiset koettavat valloittaa
takaisin maan kiihoittamalla kotimaan puolueita.»

»Luuletteko sitä Rossin tarkoitukseksi?»

»Luulen.»

»Kapusiinilainen työnsi levottomana patalakkiaan ja sanoi:

»Pyhä isä, toivoisin että jättäisitte tuon asian sikseen.»

»Kuinka niin?»

»Lukiessamme historiaa huomaamme, että tuollaiset yritykset

tavallisesti ovat epäonnistuneet. Jos niin kävi keskiajalla, jolloin
sodankäynti oli kovin yksinkertaista, niin onhan luultavaa, että
tuollaiset salaisten seurain kapinat ja maanpakolaisten
pintapuolisesti järjestetyt hyökkäykset eivät voi olla vaarallisia näinä
vakinaisten armeijain päivinä.»
 »Se on totta. Mutta onko tuo kyllin pätevä syy olla toimimatta
mihinkään suuntaan tässä asiassa? Heikommillakin kapinoilla
entisaikoina on ollut se seuraus, että ne ovat lujittaneet despotismia
ja heikentäneet kansan asemaa kotimaassa. Ja se tulee olemaan
Rossinkin kapinan seurauksena meidän päivinämme. Hän ei valloita
maata, vaan kiihoittaa hallitusta, ehkäisee sivistystä, vuodattaa
viatonta verta ja pahentaa köyhien taloudellista asemaa.»

»Mutta ajatelkaa, pyhä isä. Te ette voi paljastaa niitä salaisuuksia,

jotka tuo tyttöparka on ilmoittanut. Hänen tunnustuksensa tosin ei
ollut rippi, vaan luottamuksen osoitus, mutta teidän pyhyytenne
tietää, että siveellisen jumaluusopin mukaan on olemassa n.s.
luonnollisia salaisuuksia, joiden ilmaiseminen olisi paha rikos.
Sellaiset asiat kuin tämä kuuluvat tuohon luokkaan. Ne ovat
salaisuuksia, ja niitä on pidettävä pyhinä.»

»Niin on.»

»Ei siis ole mahdollista, että teidän pyhyytenne voisi kertoa tänä
aamuna kuulemaansa tuottamatta ikävyyksiä niiden kertojalle ja
vaikeuttamatta hänen suhdettaan mieheensä.»

»Taivas minua varjelkoon sellaista tekemästä, tapahtuipa mitä

tahansa. Mutta eikö papin ole lupa puhua salaisuutena kuullusta
synnistä, jos hän voi tehdä sen siten, että tunnustajaa ei saada
selville?»

»Aikooko teidän pyhyytenne tehdä siten?»

»Miksikä ei? Eikö pyhä Alphonsus myönnä sitä, ja eivätkö melkein

kaikki jumaluusoppineet neuvo niin tekemään?»
 »Pyhä isä on itse jumaluusoppinut ja tietää tuon asian parhaiten.
Omasta puolestani, teidän pyhyytenne, pidän aina vaarallisena
kokeilla sielun salaisuuksilla, olkoonpa tarkoitus hyvän edistäminen
tai pahan estäminen.»

Kapusiinilainen katsoi sinne päin, missä hevoset kaapivat maata ja

ylimyskaartin upseerit seisoivat vaunujen vieressä.

»Kolmekymmentäviisi vuotta sitten meille annettiin kamala opetus

sellaisista vaaroista, teidän pyhyytenne.»

Paavi kumartui ja piirteli yhä hiekkaan.

»Teidän pyhyytenne, muistakaa sitä nuorta naisraukkaa, joka

kertoi rippi-isälleen aikovansa mennä naimisiin rikkaan nuoren
miehen kanssa. Rippi isä piti velvollisuutenaan kertoa yleisin sanoin
nuoren miehen isälle, että sellainen avioliitto oli tekeillä. Mikä oli
seuraus? Avioliitto solmittiin salassa ja päättyi tuskaan ja
kuolemaan.»

Paavi nousi levottomana. »Emme puhu nyt siitä. Se koski isän

ylpeyttä ja rauenneita toiveita. Tämä on aivan toinen asia. Mies, joka
on pirullisten mielikuvien orja, kirkon ja yhteiskunnallisen järjestyksen
vihollinen, hautoo yritystä, joka ei voi loppua muuten kuin
onnettomuuteen ja verenvuodatukseen. Pyhä isä tietää sen. Pitääkö
hänen sulkea tuo rikoksellinen tieto poveensa? Taivas varjelkoon!»

»Te aiotte siis varoittaa viranomaisia?»

»Minun täytyy. Se on velvollisuuteni. Kuinka voisin laskea pääni

levolle, ellen sitä tee? Mutta minä olen tekevä sen varovasti. En ole
ilmaiseva ketään, ja tuo tyttöraukka on pysyvä tuntemattomana.»
 Kapusiinilainen nousi. »Hänen pyhyytensä voi toimia ainoastaan
mitä jaloimmista vaikuttimista, ja taivas suokoon hänen toimiensa
päättyvän hyvin. Mutta 'epikeian' käyttäminen, kun on kysymys
sielun salaisuuksista, on kuin syöksyminen pimeän, ammottavan
jyrkänteen yli. Me tiedämme, mistä askeleemme alkavat, mutta
Jumala yksin tietää, missä ne loppuvat.»

Kunnianarvoisat vanhat miehet astuivat nojautuen keppiinsä pitkin

sypressien varjostamaa, kukkien reunustamaa tietä. Äkkiä kuului
pensaikosta siipien suhinaa ja linnun kirkumista, ja samassa paavin
kissa hypähti keskellä pensaikkoa olevalle marmoripatsaalle. Siellä
oli ennen ollut suihkulähde, mutta vesi oli kuivunut, ja aukko, josta
vesi ennen oli vuotanut, oli sammalten peittämä, ja sinne oli lintu
pesinyt. Kissa oli juuri alkamaisillaan vetää esiin munia sieltä, kun
paavi pääsi apuun.

»Voi Mirri, Mirri», huudahti hän, »millainen anarkisti sinä olet!…

Monsignor!»

»Teidän pyhyytenne», vastasi kamariherra tullen paavin luo.

»Ottakaa tämä gatto rosso vaunuihin ja pitäkää häntä _domicilio

coatto'_ssa kunnes tulemme sinne.»

Monsignor nauroi ja kantoi pois kissan, ja paavi laski kätensä

hellästi linnun pienille kirjaville munille.

»Raukat, kuinka lämpimiä ne ovat. Kuunnelkaa! Äiti valittaa tuolla

puussa. Kas! Se katsoo tänne ja odottaa, että menisimme. Kuinka
hyvin se luulee säilyttäneensä salaisuutensa!»
 Kapusiinilainen hengitti syvään. »Niin, luonto on opettanut saman
pelonhuudon kaikille lapsilleen.»

»Se on totta», sanoi paavi.

»Se tuo mieleeni tämänaamuisen tyttöraukan.»

Paavi astui takaisin vaunuihinsa sanaakaan sanomatta. Kun hän

palasi Vatikaaniin, soitettiin Angelusta kaikissa Rooman kirkoissa,
kaupunki hohti punertavassa valossa auringon laskiessa Monte
Marion taakse, ja pinjat sen kukkulalla kuvastuivat punaista taivasta
vasten kuin murtuneen temppelin katottomat pylväät.
VI.

Bruno haudattiin seuraavana päivänä. Vapaamuurarit olivat anoneet

lupaa saada toimittaa hautauksen, ja vaunut, joille kirstu oli asetettu,
oli koristettu vapaamuurarien merkillä sillä kohtaa, missä muutoin
tavallisesti on risti. Oli palmusunnuntai, ja ruumissaattoon yhtyi
hautausmaan portilla joukko, joka astui San Lorenzon kirkosta
kantaen palmuja ja puksipuun oksia.

Haudalla pidettiin puheita, joissa poliisin ja viranomaisten tekoja

moitittiin. Suuri rikos oli tehty, ja kansa vastasi siihen asettumalla
hallitusta vastaan. »Bruno Roccon veri», niin sanoi puhuja, »on
vuotanut kuin virkistävä sade kuivuneeseen maahan, ja sankarihenki
on kasvava siitä herättämään Rooman omantunnon». Siviilipukuisia
poliiseja oli saattojoukossa kuunnellen tarkkaan jokaista sanaa.

Roma ei ollut siellä. Poistaakseen kiusallisia ajatuksia hän

valmisteli veistokuvaansa, vaikka olikin sunnuntai. Kello yhdeksän
aikaan vanha Francesca tuli tuomaan hänelle kirjettä. Trinità dei
Montin portinvartia oli tuonut sen ja odotti alhaalla jotakin lahjaa.
Äkillisen ilon huumaamana Roma sieppasi kirjeen ja tyhjensi
kukkaronsa vanhan vaimon käteen.
 »Santo Dio!» huusi Francesca, »onko tämä kaikki kirjeestä?»

»Niin on, äiti», sanoi Roma. »Anna rahat sille hyvälle miehelle,
joka sen toi.»

»Onko se herra Rossilta? Onko? Sitä minä arvelinkin. Teidän

tarvitsee vain sanoa kolme kertaa Ave Maria aamulla, kun heräätte,
niin saatte kaikki mitä haluatte. Minä tiesin, että signora kaipasi
kirjettä…»

»Niin, niin, mutta mies odottaa tuolla alhaalla, ja minunkin täytyy

jatkaa työtäni ja…»

»Työtä! Ah, signorina, paratiisissa ei tuhlata aikaa työhön.

Semmoisella hienolla neidillä kuin te tulee olemaan harput ja
taivaalliset…»

»Mutta mies ei odota, hyvä eukko», sanoi Roma ja työnsi kuuron

vaimon pois huoneesta.

Mutta yksin jäätyäänkään hän ei ensin uskaltanut avata kirjettä.

Hän vapisi koskettaessaan sitä ja katsellessaan postimerkkejä. Ne
olivat ranskalaisia ja niissä oli Pariisin postileima. Tuo tuotti hänelle
hiukan epämääräistä iloa. Rossi oli ollut matkoilla eikä ollut ehkä
saanutkaan hänen kirjettään.

Vavisten suudellen kirjekuorta ja rukoillen lyhyen rukouksen Roma

avasi sen vihdoin, ja kun kirje kahisten putosi kuoresta, vilkaisi hän
loppusanoja:

»Sinun uskollinen miehesi.»

 Hän hengitti syvään, ja värähdys kävi läpi hänen ruumiinsa. Sitten
hän luki:

»Rakkaani! — Pariisin lehdissä tänä aamuna julaistu Roomasta

saapunut sähkösanoma kertoo Brunon tutkimisesta ja kuolemasta.
Jos sanon, että olen kauhistunut, en sano paljoa. Olen järkytetty
perustuksia myöten. Sydämeni on murtumaisillaan, ja käteni voi
tuskin pitää kiinni kynästä.

Sain kuulla tuon uutisen jo eilisiltana, kun istuin eräässä

ravintolassa muutamien sanomalehtimiesten kanssa. Me olimme
juuri päivällisellä, mutta minun täytyi nousta pois ja palata
asuntooni. Olin melkein sekaisin koko yön. Yhtämittaa heräsin
unestani luullen kuulevani Brunon äänen, joka kutsui minua. Kerran
nousin ikkunan luo ja katsoin tyhjälle kadulle. Ja kumminkin tiesin
koko ajan, että ystäväraukkani makasi kuolleena vankilassa.

Oi Jumala, eikö maailmassa ole mitään rangaistusta noille

ihmisille, jotka iskevät itse oikeuden perustuksiin? He puhuvat
anarkiasta — tämä vasta on oikeuden anarkiaa. Olin
valmistautunut odottamaan paljoa sen jälkeen mitä kerroit minulle,
mutta Brunon kiduttaminen olisi tuntunut melkein mahdottomalta,
ellen tietäisi, että jokaisessa maassa vielä on voimassa tuo
vankilain hirmuvalta, joka asettaa poliisit kansan herroiksi eikä
heidän palvelijoikseen.

Bruno-raukka! En hyväksy itsemurhaa missään tapauksessa.

Ihmisen elämä ei ole hänen omansa. Kukin meistä on soturi, eikä
ainoakaan vahti saa surmata itseään työssään. Ken tietää minkä
käänteen taistelu vielä saa? Velvollisuutemme kenraaliamme
kohtaan on taistella loppuun asti. Mutta kun vahti mieluummin
kuolee kuin lausuu väärän tunnussanan, silloin itsemurha on uhri,
kuolema on voitto, ja Jumala ottaa marttyyrinsa armonsa siipien
suojaan.

Miesraukka kuoli siinä uskossa, että minä olin hänet pettänyt!

Minä olin tuntenut hänet kahdeksan vuotta, ja sinä aikana hän oli
uskollinen minulle kuin oma varjoni. Hän oli uljain, kunnollisin
ystävä, mitä saattoi toivoa. Ja nyt hän on jättänyt minut luullen
minun lopuksi pettäneen hänet. Oi veljeni, tietänetköhän nyt
totuuden? Eikö siinä maailmassa, jonne nyt olet mennyt, mikään
taivaallinen ääni sitä kerro sinulle? Eikö kuolema paljasta kaikkea?
Etkö voi katsella tänne alas ja nähdä kaikkea ja repiä pois sitä
harsoa, joka peitti katseesi täällä alhaalla? Ainoastaan hänkö, joka
jäi maan päälle, tietää, että hän oli uskollinen sinun rakkaudellesi.
Taivas varjelkoon! Niin ei voi olla.

Rakkaani, tulin Pariisiin äkkiarvaamatta kymmenen päivää

sitten…»

Roma kohotti kyyneleiset silmänsä. »Hän ei siis ole saanut

kirjettäni», ajatteli hän.

»Minut kutsuttiin tänne ei ainoastaan kokoamaan italialaisia uutta

ristiretkeämme varten, vaan myöskin järjestämään yhteiseen
ryhmään eri ranskalaisia yhdistyksiä, joilla on sama tarkoitusperä
— marksisteja, possibilisteja, boulangisteja, guesdistejä ja
keskivallankumouksellisia, joilla on jos jonkinlaiset eri tavat ajaa
asioitaan. Olin jo melkein epätoivoinen enkä uskonut, että noita eri
ryhmiä voisi yhdistää, kun uutinen Brunon kuolemasta tuli kuin
sotatorven toitotus, jonka edessä Jerikon muurit alkoivat murtua.
Jokainen tuntee, että toiminnan hetki on tullut, ja se, mistä minä
luulin tulevan italialaisen liikkeen, näyttää muodostuvan
kansainväliseksi liikkeeksi. Ääretön oikeudentunnon purkaus
murtaa kaikki rotu- ja kansallisuusmuurit.

Jumala johtakoon meitä nyt. Mitä sanoi mestarimme?

'Kapinoitsijan miekka ei ole koskaan niin terävä kuin marttyyrin
hautakivellä hiottuna.' Oma vereni joutuu kuohuksiin, kun ajattelen,
mikä saattaa olla seurauksena kaikista noista hirmuvaltaisuuksista.
Tietysti hallitsevat luokat siellä kotona pesevät kätensä eivätkä
syytä itseään tuosta tapahtumasta. Kun joku ministeri tahtoo
näytellä Macbethin osaa, niin hänellä on aivan riittävästi
tallirenkejä, joiden päälle hän voi ruiskuttaa Duncanin veren. Mutta
kansa ei tiedä sellaisista hiuksenhienoista erotuksista. Minä en
maksa paljoa kuninkaan hengestä, kun kansan omatunto on tullut
tuntemaan hänen rikoksensa. Eihän hän sitä tehnyt, sanotaan. Ei,
hän ei tee mitään, mutta hän on vastuunalainen kaikesta. Anarkistit
eivät ole keksineet kuninkaanmurhaa. Kansa on kaikkina aikoina
käyttänyt sitä aseenaan, kun sen oikeudentuntoa on haavoitettu. Ja
muutamien tuollaisen aseen käyttäjien nimet ovat kirjoitetut
kultakirjaimilla marmoritauluihin.»

Roma alkoi vavista. Oliko paavi ollut oikeassa kumminkin?

Miettikö
Rossi vallankumousta ja kuninkaanmurhaa?

»Oi oma armaani, sydäntäni pakottaa, kun ajattelen, mitä tuhoa

rakas isänmaamme ehkä saa kärsiä näiden tapausten tähden.
Kirkon pitäisi olla kansan puolustusmuurini sortajia vastaan, mutta
meillä ei ole mitään toivoa siinä suhteessa enää. Mitä Jumalan
nimessä kirkko toimii nyt tässä yhteiskunnan kuohumistilassa, joka
on suurempi kuin ikinä ennen? Se laulaa virsiä ja Miserereä
tuomiokirkoissa, hoitaa sakramentteja ja pukee pappinsa
kultakaapuihin, kun suurin osa maailmaa on kuolemaisillaan
henkiseen ja ruumiilliseen nälkään! Vähätpä tuosta! Jumala on
hyvä eikä Häntä petetä muutamilla latinalaisilla sanoilla ja parilla
sytytetyllä kynttilällä.

Täällä kerrotaan, että paavi konsistorionsa ensi kokouksessa

nimittää viisitoista uutta kardinaalia. Se on kirkon vastaus noihin
tärkeisiin kysymyksiin, joita aika sille asettaa. Elämän veturi on
liiaksi kuormitettu ja räjähtämäisillään. Hyvä! Asettakoot vain vielä
suurempia painoja varaventtiilille! Paavi on pyhimys. Tunnen
sanomatonta hellyyttä häntä kohtaan, mutta kun ajattelen tuota
vanhaa miestä, joka ei tiedä ajastaan, vaan elää menneiden
vuosisatain muistoilla miettien ajallisia etujaan, pientä hoviaan,
jossa on kahmalollinen sotilaita, ja on riippuvainen maailman
äärettömästä tietämättömyydestä, — kun ajattelen häntä
asettamassa heikkoa kättään tulevien sukupolvien päälle
hallitakseen heitä, hänen itsensä ollessa tomua ja tuhkaa, tekee
mieleni itkeä.

Voi, jos vielä olisin hyvä katolilainen, niin riippuisin kiinni

uskossani Pyhään Henkeen! Ajattelepa tuota vanhain miesten
yhdistystä, kardinaalikollegiota. Harvat heistä ovat tunnettuja
viisaudestaan, monet ovat julkaisseet kirjoitelmia, jotka puolustavat
sellaisia hullutuksia, joiden mielettömyyden kaikki tieteet aikoja
sitten ovat todistaneet, useimmat ovat edistyksen vihollisia ja
sellaisen valtiollisen suunnan puoltajia, josta kaikki sivistyneet
kansakunnat jo aikoja ovat luopuneet. Heitä peloittaa kansan
marssin kaukainen kaikukin — ja kumminkin heidän tulee valita
paavi, joka on oleva ihmiskunnan erehtymätön uskon ja siveyden
johtaja. Jumalalle kiitos, kristillinen rakkaus on siksi suuri, että
kirkko on voinut pysyä elossa kaiken tuon kurjuuden keskellä, joka
varmaan musertaisi sen, ellei se olisi taivaallista alkujuurta.»

Roma kohotti taas katseensa kirjeestä. Paavi oli varmaan

oikeassa. Rossi oli kirkon vihollinen ja pani ehkä kaikki voimansa
liikkeelle musertaakseen sen.

»Rakas, älä usko etten muista muita ja viehättävämpiä asioita,

vaikka nuo seikat nyt ovat niin paljon minua liikuttaneet. Ei kulu
hetkeäkään, jolloin ei sydämeni puhuisi sinulle, aivan kuin voisit
vastata minulle. Olen ollut levoton, kun en ole kuullut mitään
sinusta kymmeneen päivään, vaikka jätin osoitteeni Lontooseen,
jotta kirjeesi lähetettäisiin minulle tänne. Joskus ajattelen, että
viholliseni ehkä kiusaavat sinua, ja silloin moitin itseäni, kun en
ottanut sinua mukaani huolimatta kaikesta. Joskus arvelen, että
olet sairas, ja silloin tekee mieleni istua ensimmäiseen junaan ja
palata Roomaan. Tiedän, etten voi aina olla luonasi, mutta tämä
ero on julma. Onneksi se kohta loppuu, ja silloin loppuvat myöskin
surumme. Älä kärsi minun tähteni äläkä anna huolien painaa
mieltäsi. Tapahtukoon mitä tahansa, ei mikään voi meitä erottaa,
sillä rakkaus on ikipäiviksi yhdistänyt sydämemme.

Siitä syystä olen varma sinusta, Roma, varma sinun

rakkaudestasi ja uskollisuudestasi. Kuinka voisin muutoin pysyä
hetkeäkään pystyssä tuon kamalan tapahtuman jälkeen peläten
kaksinkertaista marttyyriutta, marttyyriutta itselleni ja sille, joka on
minulle rakkain maailmassa.

Kevät joutuu ja sen mukana minä joudun luoksesi, lemmittyni.

Etkö tunne jo orvokkien tuoksua? Hyvästi.

Uskollinen miehesi.»