Chapter 42 Elijah
ELIJAH
The Bishop’s words hang in the air like a death sentence, but something about his expression tells me there’s more to this story.
Sister Margaret stands by the door, her sharp blue eyes tracking our reactions with unnerving precision, her notebook clutched against her chest like a shield.
But the Bishop isn’t looking at her with condemnation. He’s looking at her with something that resembles…pity?
“Sister Margaret documented everything,” the Bishop continues, his steel-gray eyes moving between the four of us. “But she wasn’t the original source. She was following orders.”
My hands still their nervous drumming against my thigh.
Beside me, Adrian’s jaw clenches so tight I hear his teeth grind. Marcus shifts his weight, his tattooed arms crossing over his chest defensively. Charlie’s breath catches, her hand moving unconsciously to flutter at her throat.
The Bishop pulls another folder from his briefcase, this one thicker, more worn.
“The initial complaint came to the diocese six weeks ago. Vague concerns about ‘inappropriate familiarity’ between clergy and a young female volunteer.” He opens it, revealing pages of Mrs. Delacroix’s handwriting.
“Mrs. Delacroix’s jealousy over losing the parish bake-off twisted into righteous concern about Charlie’s presence here. ”
Mon Dieu. We had suspected her, but the confirmation still stings. Mrs. Delacroix’s bitter expression after Charlie’s pie disappeared while her lemon meringue sat untouched.
The way she’d been watching us during Mass, her pen scratching across that leather notebook.
The calculating looks she’d given Charlie whenever they passed in the hallway.
“But Mrs. Delacroix’s complaint was general,” the Bishop continues.
“Concerning, but not actionable. No specific allegations, no concrete evidence. Just observations about how much time Miss Davis spent with the clergy.” He pulls out more documents, and my stomach drops as I recognize Sarah Chen’s handwriting. “Then Sarah escalated everything.”
“Sarah found Mrs. Delacroix’s notebook,” the Bishop explains, his voice dropping to something that sounds almost sympathetic.
“Detailed observations about the four of you. Times, dates, locations. Mrs. Delacroix had been documenting everything for weeks, building a case in her own mind about Charlie being an inappropriate distraction.”
He spreads photographs across the desk, and I recognize them immediately. The manipulated ones of our misconduct. Sarah’s work, using Mrs. Delacroix’s observations as a blueprint.
“Sarah used that information to write additional letters to the diocese,” the Bishop continues.
“She forged her parents’ signatures on formal complaints about Brother Moreau’s conduct.
She documented ‘evidence’ through carefully timed photographs.
” His steel-gray eyes find mine, and I see understanding there.
Not judgment. “Her teenage obsession combined with Mrs. Delacroix’s bitter observations created a perfect storm. ”
My throat tightens.
I think about Sarah’s face when I rejected her in the choir loft, the way her expression twisted from hope to humiliation to rage.
I’d been kind, professional, and appropriate.
And she’d weaponized that kindness into something that could have destroyed me.
“We need to confront them,” Adrian says, his voice rough with barely contained fury. “Both of them. With you present, Your Excellency.”
The Bishop nods slowly. “I’ve already arranged it. They’re waiting in the sanctuary.”
The sanctuary feels like a courtroom as we file in. Mrs. Delacroix sits in the front pew, her steel-gray hair pulled into its usual severe bun, her hands twisted together in her lap.
She looks smaller somehow, diminished by the weight of what she’s done.
Sarah sits across the aisle with her parents, Robert and Linda Chen.
Sarah’s face is pale, her dark eyes red-rimmed from crying. Her parents look devastated, their expressions cycling between confusion and horror.
The Bishop takes his position at the altar, his presence commanding immediate attention.
Sister Margaret stands to his right, her notebook finally closed.
Adrian, Marcus, Charlie, and I arrange ourselves in the second pew, a united front against the accusations that have been tearing us apart, and off-center just enough so we can still see Mrs. Delacroix’s and the Chens’ faces.
“Mrs. Delacroix,” the Bishop’s voice cuts through the heavy silence. “You wrote to the diocese six weeks ago expressing concerns about inappropriate relationships at St. Michael’s. Do you stand by those concerns?”
Mrs. Delacroix’s thin lips press together, her gaze dropping to her hands. “I…I was concerned about the girl. About how much time she spent with the clergy. It seemed…improper.”
“Improper,” Charlie repeats, her voice steady despite the tremor I can see running through her body. “Or were you just angry that people preferred my baking to yours?”
The accusation lands like a stone. Mrs. Delacroix’s face flushes red, and I watch shame war with indignation in her expression. “That’s not…I was genuinely concerned about—”
“About what?” Marcus’s accent thickens with barely contained rage. “About a young woman who’s been nothing but kind and professional? Or about your wounded pride?”
The Bishop raises his hand, silencing the argument before it can escalate. “Mrs. Delacroix, did you give Sarah Chen access to your notebook? The one where you documented observations about the clergy and Miss Davis?”
Mrs. Delacroix’s face goes pale. “I…she asked to borrow it. Said she wanted to understand how to serve the parish better. I thought…” Her voice cracks. “I thought I was helping her grow in faith.”
“Instead, you gave a teenage girl with an unhealthy obsession the tools to fabricate evidence and forge documents.” The Bishop’s voice is cold, precise. He turns to Sarah, whose face has gone completely white. “Miss Chen, did you forge your parents’ signatures on formal complaints to the diocese?”
Sarah’s mouth opens and closes, but no sound comes out. Her father stands abruptly, his face red with rage and humiliation. “Sarah? What is he talking about?”
“I didn’t…” Sarah’s voice is barely a whisper. “I just wanted…he rejected me. He made me feel like I was nothing. Like my feelings didn’t matter.”
She turns around, her gaze finding mine across the sanctuary, and the pain in her dark eyes makes my chest ache despite everything. She’s seventeen. Heartbroken. Desperate. And she nearly destroyed my life because I won’t return feelings I never asked her to have.
“You forged our signatures?” Linda Chen’s voice breaks completely. “You lied to us? Made us think Brother Moreau had…had done something terrible?”
Sarah dissolves into tears, her body shaking with sobs that echo through the empty sanctuary.
Her mother pulls her close, but I can see the devastation written across both parents’ faces.
Their daughter, their baby, had become someone they didn’t recognize.
Mrs. Delacroix stands on shaking legs, her face crumbling as she looks at Sarah’s broken form.
“I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know she would…
I just wanted…” She turns to Charlie, and the shame in her expression is devastating.
“I was jealous. Bitter. You’re young and talented and…
I’m sorry for what this has spiraled into. ”
The confession hangs in the air, pathetic and honest in equal measure. Charlie stands, moving toward Mrs. Delacroix with a grace I don’t expect. She stops a few feet away, her hazel eyes holding the older woman’s gaze.
“I never wanted to take anything from you,” Charlie says quietly. “I just wanted to belong somewhere. To be useful. To matter.”
Mrs. Delacroix’s face crumples completely. “I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Charlie leans forward and gives the older woman a hug, surprising everyone. Mrs. Delacroix freezes for just a second, then wraps her frail arms around Charlie as tears leak from her eyes.
The Bishop’s voice cuts through the emotional chaos.
“Mr. and Mrs. Chen, I’m arranging counseling for Sarah.
Professional help to address her obsessive behaviors and the underlying issues that led to this situation.
” His steel-gray eyes find Sarah’s tear-stained face.
“What you did was wrong, Miss Chen. Dangerous. You could have destroyed an innocent man’s life and career. ”
Sarah nods mutely, her body still shaking with sobs.
“However,” the Bishop continues, his voice softening slightly, “I believe you can learn from this. Grow from this. Become someone better than the person who forged those documents.” He turns to Mrs. Delacroix.
“And you, Mrs. Delacroix, will be meeting weekly for spiritual direction. Your jealousy nearly caused irreparable harm. That requires serious reflection and penance.”
Both women nod, their faces pale with shame and relief in equal measure.
The Chens gather their daughter, preparing to leave, but Mr. Chen approaches me. His eyes find mine, and I see genuine remorse there.
“Brother Moreau, I…I apologize. I believed my daughter without question. I threatened you, accused you of terrible things.” His voice cracks. “I hope you can forgive us.”
I stand, extending my hand. “Your daughter needs help, Mr. Chen. Not condemnation. Get her that help, and we’ll call it even.”
He shakes my hand, his grip firm despite the tremor running through him. Then they’re gone, Sarah’s sobs echoing down the hallway as her parents guide her toward the exit.
Mrs. Delacroix lingers, her gaze moving between the four of us. “I’ll make this right. Somehow. I’ll tell everyone the truth about what I did.”
“That would be appreciated,” Adrian says, his voice carefully controlled. But I hear the strain beneath it, the violence he’s barely suppressing.
When the sanctuary finally empties, leaving just the four of us and the Bishop, the silence feels different. Lighter somehow. Like a weight has been lifted, even though I know we’re not out of danger yet.
The Bishop gathers his documents, preparing to leave. But he pauses at the door, his steel-gray eyes finding Charlie. “Miss Davis, I’ll need to speak with you privately tomorrow. About your…situation.”
Charlie’s hand moves to her stomach, protective and instinctive. “Yes, Your Excellency.”
He nods and disappears through the doorway, Sister Margaret following close behind.
And then we’re alone, the four of us, surrounded by centuries of prayer and the weight of everything we still need to face.
Charlie turns to look at us, her hazel eyes moving between Adrian, Marcus, and me. “We need to talk. About the baby. About what happens next.”
Adrian’s jaw clenches. Marcus’s hands curl into fists. Something cold settles in my chest. A question I’ve been avoiding since she told us she was pregnant.
Can I accept a child that might not be mine?
Can I love a baby that could be Adrian’s or Marcus’s, knowing I might never know for certain?
Can I be a father to someone else’s child while pretending it doesn’t matter?
I look at Charlie’s face, at the fear and hope warring in her expression.
At the way her hand rests protectively on her stomach, already loving the tiny life growing there.
At Adrian and Marcus, who are looking at her with the same fierce possessiveness I feel burning through my own chest.
And I realize with devastating clarity that I don’t know the answer, but I will do it for her.