Who was the priest talking to? There hadn’t been anyone parked in the lot. And was his privacy about to be invaded, or was this only a momentary disturbance?
He waited, motionless.
A few seconds later, someone began whistling “Oh, What a Beautiful Mornin’.” Likely Father Murphy. And instead of fading away, the tune grew louder.
His solo interlude was over almost before it had begun.
Quashing his disappointment, he stood and eyed the circular path.
If he went the other way, could he escape undetected?
It was worth a try.
He took off down the stone walkway in the opposite direction, dodging from bush to bush, staying in the shadows as much as possible.
All at once, the whistling stopped.
Martin froze.
Without the melody, it was impossible to know where the whistler was.
He’d just have to continue toward the exit and hope Father Murphy had chosen to sit on the bench he’d vacated, which would be hidden from view as he high-tailed it to his car.
But when he looped around the last curve on the path, he came face-to-face with the pastor, who’d stopped to examine the fronds of a large fern near the entrance.
For an instant, Father Murphy seemed taken aback by the presence of a visitor. But he recovered quickly, a smile of welcome lighting his face as he straightened up. “Martin! What a pleasant surprise to see you here.”
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I was, uh, passing by and decided to take a walk through your garden. After hearing about it for years, I was curious.”
“I’m glad you stopped in. So what do you think of my little piece of paradise?” He swept a hand over his carefully tended domain.
“It lives up to its reputation. I imagine this takes a great deal of work.”
“Yes, it does. Like anything worth having. Yet a labor of love never feels like work. I expect you know that firsthand, running a business with a long family legacy. It must be such a blessing to walk in the footsteps of your predecessors. To carry on the tradition.”
He shoved his hands in his pockets, stomach kinking. “To tell you the truth, there are days it feels more like a burden than a blessing.”
As the admission hovered in the air between them, Martin’s breath hitched.
While that thought had flitted through his mind on occasion since he’d taken over the reins of the company, he’d never once voiced it. Why now?
If Father Murphy was surprised by his confession, he gave no indication of it. “I hear you. Trying to live up to the people who came before us can be a heavy responsibility.”
“It’s not that. I’m confident in my ability to run the mill.” Itwas important that everyone understand he was up to the task. “But it’s a demanding job, and it ... it can take a toll on a family.” May as well acknowledge the elephant in the room. Everyone in town knew about Lucas’s bad behavior during his teen years, and at this point most residents would have heard that Diane had walked out.
“Work can indeed be a hard taskmaster. One that sometimes seems to require tradeoffs.” The priest motioned to the path. “Would you like to sit for a few minutes? A garden bench is a wonderful place for conversation. Or you’re welcome to stay and enjoy the flora and fauna on your own if you prefer. Whatever suits you is fine with me.”
Silence fell, broken only by the coo of a dove and the splash of water from the fountain.
Martin fisted his hands.
Should he talk to the padre?
Truth be told, he could use a sounding board. He was getting nowhere trying to figure out how to proceed on his own. And if you couldn’t trust a priest to keep secrets, whocouldyou trust?
Martin exhaled, hedging as he weighed the pros and cons. “I hate to impose on your time.”
The priest waved that concern aside. “Don’t give it a second thought. To be honest, the homily I’m working on is giving me fits. I was almost glad a stopped-up sink distracted me this afternoon. But Bob Howard from the hardware store has a gift for plumbing, and when I called him, he walked over to take a look. Had the clog fixed in a jiffy. It’s such a blessing to live in a place where everyone looks out for everyone else.”
