taking pride in the fact that although she was celebrating her seventy-fifth birthday, she wasn’t short of breath when she reached the top.
Well, not very short of breath. Still, she caught herself taking a few deep ones as she hurried up the center aisle of the church. Dim light filtered through stained glass, but she made out a few people still lingering on the side altar where the statue of St. Francis stood enclosed in a glass case.
As her eyes grew more accustomed to the dimness, she watched the small group turn away and descend the steps. Then she spotted Father Mike still standing in front of the statue. Perfect, she thought again. She’d be in and out of here in fifteen minutes. Tops.
Her talent for timing things well had been helpful throughout her life and especially since her husband’s death twenty years ago when she’d taken over the job of running the Fortune family’s various business interests. In the corporate world, timing could be everything. And it was equally important in personal matters, too.
As she drew closer, Father Mike dropped to his knees to say a prayer. Not wanting to intrude, Maggie halted and let her gaze lift to the statue. It looked as small and unassuming as the first time she’d seen it. Originally, the marble figure had been donated to the Franciscan Capuchin order by an Italian family who’d immigrated to Denver from Assisi, Italy, where the saint had been born. Since that time, the statue of St. Francis had gained an ever increasing reputation for granting petitioners’ prayers. Nothing on the scale of a major miracle or anything like that. But people believed that the statue had some kind of special pull with God.
Back in February, the Denver Post had run an article containing story after story of how a visit to the statue had resulted in prayers being answered and lives being changed. The narratives ran the gamut of lovers being united, babies being conceived to families meeting up with lost loved ones.
Still studying the figure of St. Francis, she let her mind drift back fifteen years to the first time she’d encountered the statue. It had stood in the small garden next to the St. Francis Center for Boys. Father Mike had run afternoon and weekend programs there, and she still credited him with keeping her grandson Nash out of jail. Of course, Father Mike had always passed on any credit to St. Francis.
True, the prayers she’d said to the statue that first time in the prayer garden might have played a role. But Maggie was certain that if Nash hadn’t been able to occupy his after school and weekend hours at the center, and if it hadn’t been for the friends he’d made there, well…she doubted he’d be a captain in the Air Force today. And that had been his goal ever since he’d lost his father in the Gulf War.
That had been a terrible time for them both. Within a year, she’d lost a husband and a son. She’d had to take over the running of Fortune Enterprises and at the same time raise a seven-year-old boy who was a magnet for trouble.
Not that Nash was ever a bad boy. But he was impatient, impulsive and pretty damn creative when it came to getting into mischief. Qualities he’d probably inherited from her.
When his pranks had gotten him kicked out of two private schools in a year, she’d become desperate. And guilt ridden. She owed Father Mike big time. And the center. Okay, perhaps she owed St. Francis, too.
The priest rose and turned to face her just as she stepped to the foot of the altar. He hadn’t changed much at all in the time she’d known him. The eyes with their kindness and twinkle of mischief were still the same. Okay, the hair was definitely whiter, but his smile was just as brilliant as ever. And the aura of holiness was there as it always had been.
“Maggie, you look amazing.”
“I was just thinking the same about you.” When he held out his arms, she walked right into them and returned his hug. Her tension eased just a little.
Stepping back, he held on to her hands and studied her for a moment. “You said you wanted to talk to me about something. Is it your health?”
“No. I’m fine.” She’d had a recent bout of breast cancer, but so far she was on the winning end of that battle.
He gestured her toward the front row of pews and sat beside her. “What brings you to St. Francis?”
“The short answer is the same person who brought me to you and St. Francis eleven years ago.”
“Bianca Quinn?”
“Yes. I need your advice.”
“You’re always welcome to that—for what it’s worth.”
Maggie flicked a glance toward the statue, then met his eyes again. “Is it possible to reverse a prayer?”
“Reverse?” He asked the question in a musing tone and seemed to think about it for a moment. “Prayers aren’t like spells or curses. But you could certainly say a new one and tell St. Francis just what you want.”
“You remember what I asked him to help me with eleven years ago.”
“I do. You asked me to help you also. And you succeeded in persuading Bianca Quinn not to elope with your grandson, Nash. I was there in the room when she signed the agreement.”
Maggie studied him for a moment. She’d asked him to come that day because Bianca had thought so highly of him, and she’d known that his presence would add weight to her argument. But she’d never been sure that he’d entirely approved of what she’d done. She lifted her chin. “I did the right thing. I haven’t changed my mind about that. And,” she gestured toward the statue, “he answered that prayer better than I could have imagined. He filled in blanks I couldn’t have foreseen. Nash not only graduated from the Air Force Academy, he’s earned a medal of honor for his courage and is an exceptional pilot. And now Bianca is a published writer. She’s at the start of a wonderful career. If they’d gone through with their plans to marry, I doubt they’d be where they are today.”
“Then what’s troubling you, Maggie?”
She waved a hand. “I didn’t think to pray for all of that to happen. I only prayed that I could convince her to go away.”
“But you wanted them both to succeed in their careers and to be happy, didn’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose.” She wasn’t aware until Father Mike put his hand over hers that she’d clasped them tightly together in her lap. Why in the world was she still so nervous? She’d gotten through board meetings and negotiated deals without batting an eye. And all she had to deal with here was a saint and a statue that had so far answered all her prayers with regard to her grandson.
“What do you want now, Maggie?”
“I want them to find again the kind of happiness that they found with each other when they were younger. I think they might belong together, the way I belonged with my Thad. He was it for me. I knew it the first time I looked at him. I think it may have been the same for Nash and Bianca.”
“Why do you think that?”
“Well, they haven’t found anyone else. In spite of the fact that the Denver Post chose Nash as one of the area’s most eligible bachelors. He’s not even bringing a date to my birthday party tonight. And Bianca has been totally focused on building her career.”
He smiled at her. “You want St. Francis to bring them back together. There’s your prayer. Just say it.”
“I
