30
“Aha!” Elijah crows over the hand-drawn map. “It’s this way!”
It’s a few hours later, and we’ve relieved ourselves of the remnants of our picnic, and we’ve also wandered through the ruins intertwined with the modern Semois Abbey. Ruins that we learned were not actually the first Semois Abbey, but the second.
Elijah sets off and I follow him, wending between the trees. “So do you believe the story of the first abbey?” Elijah asks, finally dropping the hand holding the map to look around us.
“You mean do I believe that there was a talking bird sent by God to help a stranded Italian countess find a cave to hide in so she wouldn’t have to get married? And then she dedicated a monastery here in thanks?”
“Isn’t it your job now to believe in miracles?”
“I believe in miracles,” I say,
