The Miracles of Prato by Laurie Albanese Page A

longer, but I have important business today,” Fra Piero said after he’d taken a glass of wine. “In addition to the preparations for the Festa della Sacra Cintola, I’ve been asked to say a blessing over the newborn son of Massimo di Corona.” The procurator’s face dimmed. “The child is safe now but the mother is clinging to her life.”
    â€œPoor woman!” Spinetta said. “I shall pray for her.”
    â€œ Per piacere, Sister Spinetta.” The procurator smiled when he spoke, and his crooked teeth gave him a slightly impish look. “If you would be kind enough to accompany me on my visit, your prayers and simpatico nature might do much good for the child and his ailing mother.”
    Spinetta’s glance wavered across the sketches Fra Filippo had spread open on the table.
    â€œSurely Fra Filippo can spare you for a short time,” the procurator pressed on. “We won’t be gone long.”
    Spinetta gave a questioning look to her sister, who nodded slightly.
    â€œIt’s true, sister,” said Lucrezia, hoping the others couldn’t see how she felt at that moment. “No harm will come to me while Fra Filippo is working.”
    â€œIf it won’t be an imposition, I’d like to go,” Spinetta said to the painter. “And I’ve already made fine progress with my copying of the Rule.”
    The monk looked at Spinetta, her brown eyes rounder versions of Lucrezia’s blue ones, and said a silent prayer of thanks.
    â€œThat’s fine, my child,” Fra Filippo said. “Please, Sister Spinetta, go with my blessings.”
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    As the door closed, Lucrezia tensed. She and the painter were alone.
    â€œIs there something you’d like to see, Sister Lucrezia, something I might offer you?”
    â€œNo, Brother,” she answered so quickly that her tone startled him, and he responded at once.
    â€œSister Lucrezia, are you all right? Does something displease you?”
    â€œOh, no, Fratello.” She was glad to be alone with the monk, even though she was nervous. “Truly, I enjoy being here and being part of your work. It is only…” Her voice trailed off. She didn’t want to offend him, but if he was guilty of the crimes Spinetta said he’d been accused of, Lucrezia needed to know. She swallowed, and continued.
    â€œI’ve heard many things about you, and I’m confused. Please don’t think me rude, Fra Filippo. I have so much fondness for you.”
    Fra Filippo looked into her troubled eyes.
    â€œMany things are said about me, and you have a right to know what is true. There’s no shame in seeking knowledge, especially if it’s done without malice. Sit, Sister Lucrezia, and I’ll tell you whatever you ask.”
    The monk indicated the chair by the window, and found another for himself. They sat with the sun behind them, illuminating Lucrezia’s features and shedding a soft light on the monk’s brow. The window was high enough so that they could not be seen by passersby on the street.
    â€œIf you’ve been told that I’ve broken God’s laws, then it is true,” Fra Filippo said. He spread his knees under his robe and leaned forward, palms on his legs. He sat so close, Lucrezia could smell the soap he’d used to shave his face that morning. “But I’ve been poor and in desperate circumstance, and only in those moments did I succumb to the temptation of dishonesty.”
    In faltering words, Fra Filippo described the months after his father’s death when he’d been forced to scrounge for food scraps in the Florentine streets, and how those lonely childhood nights haunted him still.
    â€œThe Carmelites raised me, and in return I took the vow. You understand, Sister Lucrezia, how the cloth came to me, and I to God?”
    â€œI understand, Fra Filippo,” she said quietly.
    â€œI tell you, honestly, Sister Lucrezia, that