#the davinci code

The day started like any other. You rose, dressed yourself in your habit, tucking away any stray hair. You were a rather young nun, always knew what you wanted from life even as a child. The church was your calling. As you emerged out of your small room, there was a buzz in the hall as your sisters talked amongst themselves. “Sister!” One cries and approaches you. “Sister Hannah, what’s the matter?” You enquire, gripping her hands in your own. “Oh, good news sister! His Holiness the pope is coming to our town!” She exclaims, clearly animated by the news. You were stunned to say the least. To have the pope himself come was no small thing. Glory to God that it has happened. “This is wonderful! Thank the Lord it will be!” You reply, tucking her arm in your elbow as you walk to the chapel for morning prayer. 

The priest of your church had come forth once the sisters had completed the prayers, raising his arm for silence. “Many of you have heard, but it is indeed true.” His old voice carried out far, and had a lilt of excitement in it himself. “His Holiness is coming to the town. I have also received information he will be visiting our own humble church.” He chuckles as you and many of your sisters murmur excitedly. “Now, go about your day as normal. Give thanks to the Lord and bless the pope’s travels.” With that, he nods and turns away to the chapels altar, bending down in prayer. Your sisters beside you shuffle out of the chapel to breakfast, and you say your prayer to the Lord, ensuring to also pray to St.Christopher for His Holiness’s protection during his journey. It felt like a honor. Your town was nothing of consequence or importance, and the visit should be made to last as long as it could. 

Your hands were coated in dirt as you pulled onions from the ground, making sure to leave the young ones to grow more. As you gathered them in your basket, the breeze washed over the garden, providing relief from the hissing sun. Finally, you stood and held your basket on your hip before wiping your hands on the apron over your habit. Sister Violet, an elderly nun was the only one in the garden with you, watering the plants on the other side of the area. Turning, your tomato plants are growing beautifully, and your basket is placed on the ground as you examine weeds growing along the base of the plant. Muttering to yourself, you babble softly at the weeds. “Sorry little guys, but you have got to go! Can’t strangle the others all day.” Pulling them is comforting, and it always pulls you into a different world it seems. Maybe that’s why you don’t hear Sister Elizabeth calling your name until she drops beside you and shakes your shoulders, exclaiming happily. “Sister, he’s here! Come, quick!” She’s back on her feet and you rise with her, laughing. You and her are similar in age, both coming to the convent young. She giggles and grabs your arm as you sprint across the parish to the chapel. Your hat is flapping in the wind, and your free hand presses it flat to keep on your head stable.

The rest of your sisters and the priest with other clergymen are gathered along the front of the chapel with some other townsfolk. The commotion is centered around His Holiness, whos greeting everyone. Elizabeth grins alongside you as he approaches with his Camerlengo. The man is tall, taller than you and he greets everyone with a smile along the way. He’s young, but still ordained. Not so unlike you. The pope greets others across the path and you fumble as the Camerlengo approaches near you and Elizabeth. He extends his hand and your heart swells with delight, but you pause. “Sorry father, my hands are dirtied. You shouldn’t.” The man chuckles. “That’s quite alright. It’d be a shame to not welcome the soil of the Earth made by the Father.” He grasps your hand gently from where it’s folded over your stomach and encloses it in his other, shaking it with a gentle grip. “Thank you father.” You say, smiling up at him. The sun shines brightly behind him, the rays extending away from his head. He looks every bit a saint or an angel. The Camerlengo releases your hand before blessing you, making the sign of the cross over your torso. Smiling, you lower your head as he moves along.

The other nuns and yourself buzz away with excitement the rest of the day, the ordeal celebrated. The sun lowers again, casting its familiar orange glow as you walk slowly to the chapel for your nightly prayers. It’s empty usually, and makes the perfect place for you to reflect and pray. Your favorite spot is under the icon statue of Mary holding her child in her arms in a small alcove of the chapel. You let your knees fall and rest on the kneeler before beginning your prayers. You give thanks, ask for protection and guidance, and everything in between. With your head bowed, you don’t even see someone kneel beside you until your eyes open and you release a startled gasp before sighing when you see who it is. The Camerlengo. He smiles softly and gives you a small peek out of his left eyes before shutting them again and resuming his own prayer, hands clasped in front of him. When he finishes, he turns his head to you and nods. Your hands grip the railing of the kneeled and you smile. “You frightened me father.” He chuckles, “I suppose I should have announced my presence.” His accent is odd, definitely not Italian. “Father, this church is all our homes, no need to announce yourself. I just believed myself to be alone.” You confess. “Please, call me Patrick.” He asks, rising. You lift yourself as well, murmuring your name back to him. “I must admit I poked around your garden earlier. The other sisters say it’s mostly your work, and you’re quite gifted in it.” He says, eyes gazing around the room before settling on you. “Yes. I’ve always had quite the green thumb.” walking out of the alcove, the chapel opens up and echoes your voices. “Clearly. I’ve never seen such beautiful work.” You feel pride creep in and smile. “God is the one who gave me the talent, it is His hand in it all.” You reply before opening a door leading to the courtyard. He follows behind closely, moonlight now painting the gravel pathway. “I must confess I did seek you out.” He says, sitting on a stone bench. Patrick’s look is almost a bashful one. “Why?” You inquire, sitting beside him. “To tell you the truth, I don’t know completely. It was more a calling, urging me to seek you.” Your brows furrow slightly. “But the intention became clear when your sisters told me more about you. I can see Gods plan now.” Silence fills the air as you fiddle with the rosary beads on your habits belt. “The Vatican is in need of someone to help run the gardens. A supervisor and overseer of sorts. A planner.” He says, resting his hands on his lap, palms down. Shock washes over you in waves and your eyes travel to the heavens where the stars glitter amongst blackness. Is this what the Father intended? “I’m honored.” You whisper. Patrick nods and rests his hand on the bench. “I will miss my sisters, but if this is the path that has been presented I will follow it.” The words fall easily from your lips, like they were always meant to be said. The Camerlengo nods and stands again before offering you his hand.

“I must follow the Pope into the next towns. We will be back in three days on the route back. Will you accompany us to the Vatican from there?” He asks, letting your hand fall before beginning escorting you back to the convent. You bob your head quickly. “Yes father.” Patrick nods and leaves you at the door with the lantern glowing above the frame, illuminating the small wooden crucifix. You duck inside, where Elizabeth and Hannah await you. “What happened?” Hannah asks lowly, tucking her hand into your elbow. Your voice is shaky with excitement. “I’ve been invited to take a position at the Vatican to oversee the gardens!” You exclaim, eyes screwing shut as a smiles warms your face. Hannah laughs and Elizabeth squeals before pulling you into a hug. “I knew God had a plan for the talent He had blessed you with.” She murmurs, stroking your spine lightly. As you retreat to bed that night, removing your habit, the reality sets in. Just not any church, the Vatican! Your prayers are surely overwhelming the Lord now, the amount you say to Him. 

The Camerlengo lays in a bed amongst the other clergymen and cannot help but think he’s made the perfect selection for the new garden supervisor. Surely no one could be a better fit. But why did still feel that pit inside him, something that called him to you? His hand splayed across his stomach and he looked out the window filled with moonlight and laid sleepless for hours, deep in thought.