Cat's Eyewitness by Rita Mae Brown Page B

refuge from his perceived inadequacy.
    “I’m sorry,” Brother Frank said genuinely.
    “I tell myself it was God’s will.” Brother Andrew put his hands on his knees. “Back to Harry. I see her more than you do when I go out to clinics. I’ll stop by Crozet sometimes for fruit or an ice cream, my guilty pleasure. I’ll talk to Harry at the post office. She would keep her promise. Someone else has disturbed our peace here. Would the other men have been indiscreet, not kept the promise?”
    “I don’t know. I can’t imagine Brother Prescott doing this. I can, however, imagine Brother Mark, who is convinced this is a miracle, the Miracle of the Blue Ridge, Our Lady of the Blue Ridge.” He grumbled, “People will pour through that gate once Brother Handle unlocks it, as he must sooner or later. How can we handle the numbers and the hysteria? Keeping silent, pretending the Blessed Virgin Mother isn’t weeping, isn’t going to cut it.”
    “I agree, but perhaps our leader thinks this diffuses the situation among ourselves.”
    “And perhaps it gives him time to think.” A long pause followed. “We could make a great deal of money from this, you know.”
    “Ah.” Brother Andrew nodded appreciatively.
    “Will it fatten our coffers without violating our order?” He held up his hand as if in supplication. “As one who wishes to withdraw from the world, I don’t like the idea of people beating their breasts, crying, making a spectacle of themselves in front of the Blessed Virgin Mother or, I confess, in front of me.”
    “She’s seen worse,” Brother Andrew wryly said.
    “Ha.” Brother Frank allowed himself a rare laugh, then stood up, his feet feeling slightly numb, tiny little pinpricks of pain slowly awakening them. “At least Brother Handle lets us wear socks with our sandals in winter, but my feet never feel warm. I hate it.”
    Brother Andrew stretched his feet out again. “I do, too. I think I can pray in here as easily as in my room, and it’s a tad warmer.” Brother Andrew wiggled his toes to make his point.
    Brother Frank replied, a hint of playfulness in his voice, “Best foot forward.”
    “Quite right.”
    Brother Frank crossed his arms again, then slipped his hands back up the long folds of his sleeves. “So you haven’t treated anyone in the last two days?”
    “No. Why?”
    “Well, I counted one head missing tonight.”
    “No, no one’s sick that I know of.” Brother Andrew now stood up. “Let’s check the rooms. If someone was too sick to come to our evening meal I should know about it. It’s quite possible in this aura of silence”—he tried not to be sarcastic but was anyway—“that someone is ill and told no one. We’re all concentrating so hard on remaining silent, we aren’t paying attention to one another. I didn’t notice anyone missing.”
    “Someone is.”
    “Then I suggest, Brother Frank, that we get to it.”
    Together the two men walked down the east corridor. All was well there. Then they inspected the west corridor, nodding and smiling as they looked in on each brother. When they reached Brother Thomas’s cubicle, it was empty.
    “If we ask the other brothers whether they’ve seen him, we break the vow of silence imposed by Brother Handle,” Brother Andrew whispered.
    “Let’s go to Brother Handle.”
    The two knew they’d find him in his office, books and papers piled high, his computer screen blinking. If they were lucky maybe the TV would be on. It was turned only to the news. He glanced up, not at all happy to be disturbed from his work—scheduling, which he loathed doing.
    “Forgive us, Brother.”
    Brother Handle glared at Brother Frank. “What is it?”
    “We can’t locate Brother Thomas.”
    “Look in the carpenter’s shop.”
    “He wouldn’t be there, Brother Handle. He’d be in the chapel or at private prayer in accordance with your orders.”
    Remembering his recent order, Brother Handle’s expression changed. “Where did