The Spirit Woman by Margaret Coel Read Free Book Online

here.”
    â€œNo more than other places,” Father John said. Less than some, he thought. As he followed the other priest up the walk, boots snapping against the snow, he assured him that his things had arrived safely and were in an upstairs bedroom. “Elena probably has lunch ready,” he said.
    â€œElena?” Father Kevin turned around, curiosity flashing in the blue eyes.
    â€œThe housekeeper,” Father John said. Did the man think he kept a concubine? “She’s been here thirty years or more. Does the cooking, looks after the house.” He walked up the steps to the stoop and opened the door, ushering the other priest inside. “Truth is, she pretty much runs things around here.”
    The odor of simmering chicken floated from the kitchen at the end of the hallway. There were the sounds of water cascading out of a faucet and pipes groaning beneath the floorboards, so familiar, he thought, that he would probably hear them after he’d left. He hung the other priest’s leather jacket over the coat tree and draped his own beside it, then tossed his cowboy hat onto the bench next to the helmet.
    Elena appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on the white apron draped from her neck. She stood just over five feet tall, part Arapaho, part Cheyenne, with the cushioned build of a woman who had borne and nursed eight children. The kitchen light glinted in the gray curls tightened around her head. Her face was in shadows.
    â€œMeet the new priest,” Father John said. He’d meant to say pastor.
    Father Kevin was already striding down the hallway. “Kevin McBride,” he said, taking her hand. “You must be Elena.”
    The housekeeper stared up at him as if she were trying to place him in some category: trustworthy, not trustworthy. Then she moved backward, managing to pull her hand free.
    â€œI got some chicken sandwiches,” she said, peering past the new priest toward Father John.
    Â 
    They sat across from each other at the oak table. Father John washed down bites of sandwich with gulps of Elena’s fresh coffee as Kevin went on about the ride from New York, gliding along the highways nose to nose with the best sports cars, the most determined semis. Elena moved between the stove and the refrigerator, preparing chili for dinner. The moist kitchen air was now thick with the smell of onions and seared hamburger and hot chilis.
    Two things he’d always known he would do, the other priest said. Well, three if you counted riding a Harley. Yes, he’d always wanted to ride a Harley. He munched thoughtfully on a bite of sandwich for a minute. And he’d known he would be a priest and an anthropologist. He was always interested in ancient people. A bit like historians, huh? He gave a long glance in Father John’s direction. You had to love the past to be a historian, wasn’t that true?
    It was true. Father John had nodded and taken another sip of coffee. Kevin hurried on. He intended to make the most of his stay here. Six years? He wasn’t sure he’d be around that long. As a matter of fact, he doubted it. He’d probably return to teaching before that. But there was a book in this assignment. Oh, yes, indeed. He intended to interview as many of the old Arapahos as possible. See how the Arapaho traditions have been transposed into the present. He had a new, state-of-the-art tape recorder that could pick up a pin dropping across a large hall. So small no one realized it was there. Never inhibited an interview.
    â€œWhat about you, John?” The other priest lifted up his mug and held it in front of his mouth. “You do any writing on the history of the Arapahos?”
    Father John laughed. He couldn’t imagine when he might have found the time. There wasn’t enough time to answer the letters stacked on his desk.
    Suddenly the other priest swung toward Elena, as if he’d just realized she was there.