Chapter 4 - Father Burke's Shock
The muddy countryside roads were a bit bumpy—even more so along the path leading to the St. Carta Monastery in the mountains.
Villagers considered the monastery an ominous place, and even the horses pulling carts refused to go near it.
During the ride, Roy kept glancing at Sister Irene.
He couldn't help but notice her striking beauty; seeing her in person was far more captivating than her appearance on the movie.
Especially in her white nun's habit, she exuded an almost unearthly holiness.
Yet for Roy, this sense of purity didn't inspire reverence; if anything, he found it strangely alluring.
Sister Irene felt Roy's gaze.
Uncertain why he stared so intently, she clutched her clothes tighter, lowered her head, and blushed.
A fully ordained nun might have admonished Roy harshly for such behavior, but Irene wasn't a formal nun yet.
She'd been raised in a monastery since childhood and had rarely seen men apart from her instructors.
This investigation trip to Romania with Father Burke was her first real chance to venture beyond the church walls.
Surprisingly, Sister Irene was still quite naive.
Seated near the back of the carriage, Father Burke took note of the tension between them and cleared his throat to break the silence.
"Your name is Roy, correct?"
Hearing Father Burke's voice, Roy tore his eyes away from Sister Irene.
"Yes, Father Burke."
"You've always lived around here?"
"No, I arrived only a month ago."
"I see," Father Burke mused.
"No wonder you don't look Romanian."
"Yes, I'm from Britain."
"Britain? That's quite far…"
Father Burke studied Roy more closely. "You must be a very devout Catholic, right?"
Roy responded with a small smile. "Not fully devout."
"Really?" Father Burke's eyes widened. "Not fully devout?!"
Had the carriage ride not been so bumpy, he might have stood up from his seat.
His outburst startled Sister Irene, who looked on with curiosity.
"Father, what's wrong?"
Father Burke cleared his throat, the expression on his face complex.
He slowly sat back, coughed again, and shook his head. "It's nothing…"
The carriage fell silent once more, the only sound the wheels rattling over potholes.
Roy, however, sensed what was going on.
Father Burke, as a senior clergyman, must have noticed something odd.
Roy discreetly glanced at his right palm.
He shrank back slightly, resting his hand on his knee. He suspected Father Burke's suspicions centered on the stigmata.
For someone who only slightly believed in Catholicism, having a stigmata was beyond extraordinary.
Unsurprisingly, Father Burke was lost in his own thoughts.
When he first met Roy in the village, he'd noticed the mark on Roy's right palm.
Though he wasn't certain at first, his close observation of Roy's hand (while Roy was busy eyeing Irene) had confirmed his suspicion.
The mark was indeed the legendary stigmata that according to the Church, appears only on the bodies of the most devout believers.
In Catholic history, out of tens of millions of followers, fewer than three hundred have ever borne the stigmata in two thousand years—and all of them were known for unwavering faith.
Yet here was Roy, who openly admitted he wasn't devout, bearing a holy mark.
It contradicted everything Father Burke believed.
Taking a steadying breath, he rationalized, Maybe Roy was once devout but experienced something that shook his faith.
Either way, he must have been deeply faithful once, or he wouldn't have received the stigmata.
His turmoil subsiding, Father Burke calmed himself.
***
"We're here," Frenchie announced from the driver's seat as the wagon rolled to a halt.
They had arrived at a stretch of road flanked by dense forest.
"We're here?" Sister Irene and Father Burke looked the area.
There was no sign of the monastery.
Frenchie tied the horse to a sturdy tree trunk and turned back to them with a rueful smile.
"For some reason, whenever my horse gets here, it refuses to go any further."
"No matter how much I whip it, it won't budge. We'll have to walk the rest of the way. Don't worry—it's less than ten minutes on foot."
"I see…" Sister Irene and Father Burke exchanged glances.
Father Burke's expression was noticeably grave.
Animals like horses have an instinct for danger, and this one refused to approach the monastery at all. That didn't bode well.
After a quick check of their supplies, the group took a narrow trail veering off the main road.
Their shoes made soft rustling sounds against the damp, dark grass.
Before long, a dense white fog settled around them.
The combination of fog, deep forest, and mossy ground lent the surroundings an eerie air.
Finally, they emerged into an open clearing—and gasped.
Sister Irene drew in a sharp breath.
They had arrived at the monastery grounds, and the sight before them stole the words from their lips.