Chapter 9
All due to the kind spirit of Father Alonzo.
Ben had little exposure to clergy, though his father had talked often about his faith, especially right before his death took him away. From his stories, though, Ben had always envisioned men of the cloth as older, someone to look up to, someone to lead, much like the elders his mother had described. Father Alonzo was nothing like he’d expected.
He was too young to begin with. And his hands were too firm, too used to toil to be clasped in prayer for extended periods of time. The dark ridge of his brows did little to hide the shine in his brown eyes, and his mouth was too full, too ready to smile, to be someone eager to foretell damnation. Granted, he was older than Ben, but not by much. Even now, with the dying embers of the fire casting half his face in shadows, he seemed too innocent for such doomsaying.