Lost and Found in Prague by Kelly Jones Read Free Book Online

added slowly, “I often advise my students to look to the past. Always good advice in seeking a solution. But perhaps the answers are in the future.”

• 6 •
    Father Giuseppe Ruffino and Father Giovanni Borelli sat in the garden, enjoying a midmorning coffee and Italian breads prepared by the monastery’s new cook, Brother Gabriele, a young Carmelite monk recently arrived from Arenzano. The spring weather, along with the just-out-of-the-oven bread mingling with the scent of newly mowed grass bordering the orderly beds of herbs and vegetables, made for a pleasant morning respite, tempering the agitation Father Borelli had felt that morning upon learning his suit and cassock had yet to arrive. Fortunately he had the clean underwear he’d slipped into his briefcase, or he’d still be sitting in his hotel room in day-old undershorts. The desk clerk assured him they’d contacted the shipping company and he would have his clothing, pressed and hanging, by noon.
    Giovanni Borelli had not visited for several months now, though the two priests corresponded frequently, the old-fashioned way, through handwritten letters, exchanging ideas on theology and politics, personal thoughts, and old family stories. The man was like a brother to him.
    Spreading a second buttery roll with homemade apricot
marmellata
, Father Borelli attempted to look at his friend in an objective way. In his mind, he always pictured Beppe as the young boy he had been, yet his hair had long ago turned silver, unlike Giovanni’s, which had all but disappeared.
    “How do you do it, my friend?” Giovanni took a bite of the fresh bread. “If I had joined a monastery with such daily offerings, I would be twice my size.” He licked his fingers, then patted his ample belly. “How do you remain so fit?”
    “Blessed be those with good metabolism,” Beppe replied. “I get my exercise. Each morning I walk as I read the Divine Office.” He waved toward the covered, columned path of the cloister just as Brother Gabriele returned with the coffeepot to refill their cups. With his halo of golden curls, he looked more like the archangel from whom he’d taken his moniker than an Italian monk.
    “
Grazie
, Brother Gabriele,” Beppe said. “You have made our distinguished guest from Rome feel very welcome.”
    “Indeed,” Father Borelli concurred.
“Grazie.”
    The young monk smiled humbly, tilting his head in appreciation before retreating back into the interior of the monastery.
    Father Borelli lit a cigarette. Beppe had found a receptacle for his ashes, a tin can large enough to hold sufficient beans or vegetables to feed a monastery of hungry men. He didn’t scold, but Giovanni knew his friend did not approve of this harmful habit.
    Gazing about the garden, Father Borelli took in a comforting drag and reflected on what an agreeable setting Father Ruffino found himself in. Years ago, when Beppe wrote that he was being uprooted from the Carmelite community in Italy to care for Our Lady Victorious in Prague, Giovanni knew his true wish was to return to his mission in the Central African Republic, where he felt his services were truly needed. But, an obedient servant, Giuseppe Ruffino had accepted with grace. The position as prior of the Church of Our Lady Victorious had been vacant for some time, the Carmelites having been driven from the city over two hundred years before. The church had fallen into disrepair. If anyone could revive the church and nurture the devotion to the Holy Infant, it was Father Ruffino. He had settled down in Prague, accepted this calling with an open heart.
    Giuseppe Ruffino was that rare gifted soul who seemed to have come into this world with an abundance of blessings—a superb athlete, a scholar, a handsome lad. He could have done anything with his life, but everyone knew that Beppe would be a priest. He was a good, compassionate man. He had been a good, compassionate boy.
    Giovanni himself had come to the priesthood in a more