"Dios te salve María, llena eres de gracia..."
Hail Mary, full of Grace.... He didn't really speak Spanish, since his parents and Uncle Nat had used it as a secret language so they could talk in private about the kids and their problems, and Christmas and birthday presents. But somehow he knew the Hail Mary in Spanish. Maybe Father Alfonso had taught it to the students in grade school at Old St. Mary's.
He missed Father Alfonso. Mass wasn't the same without his long, rambling homilies that managed to be both human and humorous. Father Timothy had become a good friend, but Father Alfonso had been his mentor throughout the difficult years of adolescence. It had been Father Alfonso who had convinced him that God had not deserted him. "...El Señor es contigo,..." -- the Lord is with thee.
Bell picked up an onglette graver and began the delicate series of undercuts that would ensure that the inlay remained in place. The familiar work was soothing, a balm to his anguished soul. Five years -- it had been five years, and still the horror of Richard's death haunted him. Even though he'd known from the first that Richard wasn't his true mate. Across the workshop, Uncle Nat's sonorous voice boomed out instructions to Dottie, their newest employee. Five years had engraved harsh lines on his uncle's patrician features, and God only knew what irreparable damage Richard's death had done to his soul. Especially after losing both of his sons.
Five years had not erased Bell's "unnatural" yearnings, and every season sharpened the craving. Nest knew it, and Uncle Nat reluctantly acknowledged it. What was left to him but to pray? Although perhaps even the Blessed Mother would have no pity on him.
"...Bendita tú eres entre todas las mujeres, y bendito es el fruto de tu vientre, Jesús." Blessed art though amongst women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Please, Blessed Mother, he added to the prayer, if I am not lost to all grace, give me some sign of hope.
'Begging for signs of favor in prayer is self-serving,' Sister Cecilia would have said.
'Isn't all prayer self-serving?' Father Alfonso would have replied. 'Is God so vain that He needs our prayers?'
Bell rubbed at his eyes. Since when did priests and nuns hold dialogues inside his head? He thought he knew the answer to that question. It had all started five years ago. Until then, he'd been able to control the urges. A bit of over-confidence, too much faith in Richard, a small indiscretion, and then came the fear and the threats. And Richard had turned up dead in Fairmount Park.
"Santa María, Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros pecadores ahora y en la hora de nuestra muerte." Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.
"Bell! Can you come out here a minute? Someone appreciates your work!" It was Nest, calling to him from the showroom. Bell finished the cut he was making, and stood up from the bench, stretching the kinks out of his back. Sometimes he wondered why his brother felt obligated to let him show off his own creations. Reluctantly, he padded out of the workroom and onto the showroom floor.
"Always glad to see someone who has good taste," he said as he passed his brother behind the counter. Nest often told him his ego needed no boosting when it came to jewelry design. So why --
The sun through the plate glass window made a burnished halo of the new customer's long, blond hair. Just a trick of the light, surely. The man was tall in an almost gawky way, and young -- early twenties, Bell judged. His eyes were wide and blue, his expression honest and open. And still, his hair glowed golden, even when he bent over the display case. Bell frowned, momentarily taken aback. Angels don't wear T-shirts and jeans, he reminded himself. And he was fairly certain they wouldn't buy jewelry.
"What exactly are you looking for?" Bell leaned over the counter, mostly to keep himself from falling. His stomach felt vaguely unsettled -- even more so when he realized that his 'angel' was scrutinizing him right back.
"Oh." The blue eyes blinked almost owlishly. "I need something for a friend's birthday Ð I was thinking maybe a pendant or a bracelet -- maybe something like that one." He pointed to a yellow sapphire bracelet that was one of Bell's favorites.
Half an hour and two deeply-discounted sales later, Bell knew the man's name -- courtesy of his credit card -- and he'd been invited to see him again. He returned to his workbench, smiling. The Blessed Mother had given him his sign of hope.
"Amén." Amen