33
Somewhere after Sens, our train car empties out nearly completely, so that it’s just Elijah and me sitting across a table from each other, and a young woman fast asleep at the end of the car.
We’d had a fairly easy morning, if an early one. The brothers had already been awake for vigils when it was time for us to leave and so had given us all warm, friendly handshakes as we piled into the Renault with Brother Xavier at the helm. He’d even spoken a little—a very little—as we drove, asking how we’d enjoyed our stay and the beer.
I had joked that we’d be piping his spring water into Kansas, and he’d laughed, and then he’d told us a little about the French abbey we were visiting and the honey beer they brewed there. Apparently, it had been rated one of the best beers in the world, but
