The Miracle at St. Bruno's by Philippa Carr Page B

never have taken us into the chapel had Kate not lured him into it.
    We had gone through the secret door to find Bruno waiting for us. I believe he looked forward to these meetings as much as we did. I suppose it was because had it been known that we were trespassing on the Abbey grounds and that Bruno was meeting us, there would have been such an outcry, that we all found the meetings so exciting. Bruno fascinated us both because we could never forget the mystery of his birth. For this reason I was in awe of him; so was Kate. I believed she would have refused to admit this and to deceive herself constantly attempted to lead him into some kind of mischief. She told me once that she could well understand how the Devil felt when he tempted Christ to cast himself down and prove his divinity because she was always wanting to make Bruno do something like that. “There must be quite a bit of the Devil in me,” she said; and I assured her that she was no doubt right about that.
    We were lying on the grass and Kate was talking as she often did about the Queen’s coronation and how she had lain in her litter of cloth of gold.
    “She sparkled with jewels such as you’ve never seen,” she told Bruno.
    “Oh, yes, I have,” he replied. “I’ve seen better jewels than hers.”
    “There aren’t any better. These were royal jewels.”
    “I’ve seen holy jewels,” said Bruno.
    “Holy jewels! There aren’t such things. Jewels are a symbol of worldly pomp. So how could they be holy, pray?”
    “If they’re the Madonna’s jewels they’re holy,” said Bruno.
    “Madonnas don’t have jewels.”
    “They do. Our Madonna has. She has finer jewels than the King has.”
    “I don’t believe you.”
    Bruno plucked a blade of grass and began to chew it in a very unholy manner. He remained silent and there was nothing like that kind of silence to infuriate Kate.
    “Well?” she demanded. “You’re lying, aren’t you? You’re making up stories about your silly old Madonna.”
    Kate looked over her shoulder as she spoke for she was very superstitious and she wondered whether she had gone too far in referring to the Madonna as silly and old.
    Bruno said: “I’m not. I wish I could show you. You never believe anything that you’re not shown.”
    “Then show us,” cried Kate.
    “How could I? It’s in the sacred chapel.”
    “All things are possible,” said Kate virtuously.
    “The jeweled Madonna is in the sacred chapel and only those monks who are enclosed visit it.”
    “Then how have you seen it?”
    “I was taken there. I blessed her and she blessed me.”
    “Oh,” said Kate, “the Holy Child of course.”
    “Brother Valerian has the key and it hangs on a chain he wears round his waist.”
    “You could steal it when he sleeps. He often sleeps when you are doing your lessons. You told us so.”
    “I could not do that.”
    “You mean you dare not. You call yourself a Holy Child and you are afraid of an old monk! Where are all your miracles? If you’re really a Holy Child you should be able to get the key…just like that.”
    “I never said I could work miracles all the time.”
    “But it’s what we all expect of you. How dare you appear in a Christmas crib if you’re not a holy child? It’s sacrilege. You ought to be turned out of the Abbey. You’re not a holy child, you’re a fraud.”
    I had discovered that there was one thing Bruno could not endure and that was to have his holiness doubted. I was beginning to realize how much it meant to him to see himself apart from others. His face was suffused with fury. I had never seen him so put out before.
    “I am,” he cried. “And don’t dare say otherwise.”
    Kate, who could not learn a few lines of poetry, who could not without great difficulty add a few figures or memorize a Latin verb, was knowledgeable in the ways of people. She was immediately aware of their weaknesses and knew how to exploit them. She was determined to see the jeweled Madonna and