The thick heels of Sister Mary Immaculata’s sturdy leather shoes echoed through the cavernous empty church. It was late. The rows of pews were empty of the repentant, or those seeking solace in prayer.
Father Peter had divested himself of his confessional robes hours earlier, but he was around here somewhere, possibly tending to the devotion candles or putting prayer books away.
He tended to this old church with the same constant devotion as the older priests. Only, he wasn’t nearly so old. No, Father Peter wasn’t old and Sister Mary constantly wondered why a man like him had taken to the cloth. He looked like he belonged in a rock band, not that she paid attention to those things. Or maybe his broad shoulders would be better suited for fire and rescue. He was big, and strong, with sev
