It was seven miles to the dock and the packet steamer, the St. Ange. After about a mile Father DeSmet broke the silence, “Christian, did the superior tell you to come back to us?”
“No.”
“He said it to me.”
“Did you have plans otherwise?”
Father DeSmet creased his lower lip ever so slightly as he replied, “No, not exactly…It’s only that, for many years I have hoped, even prayed, that I might die in the missions.”
Father Hoecken’s eyes serenely appraised his friend.
Father DeSmet never noticed, rather he continued to pull at the thread of his own thought. “The city anymore seems strange to me. Even the brothers… seem…different—like a childhood friend, who has moved away, or rather it is I who has moved away. The plains and the mountains, the vast open spaces and the Indians…that’s home. I love them. And when the time comes, I want to be among them. So every time I set out on a trip like this, to see the tribes of the North, I wonder if God …show more content…
But I am getting older and every time I return to St. Louis, it seems a little less likely that I shall set out again.”
Unexpectedly, the corners of Father Hoecken’s eyes wrinkled in mirth, though he kept the remaining lines of his face in mock seriousness. “Let’s be clear. If you die out there, I’m not dragging your old body back.”
Father DeSmet’s laugh ruptured the air like a summer cloud burst: sudden and without buildup. It’s force disturbed several nearby roosting hens who cackled back in nervous excitement. “Oh no, I want to die in the wilderness, but these bones are going into blessed ground. So you either bring my body back or build a church around it, your choice.”
The priests’ laughter lapped against the silence and eddied around them like the waters of the nearby Missouri. After the ripples of good humor had subsided, Father DeSmet once again turned to his fellow priest and asked, “Does that thought bother you, to die in the
“No.”
“He said it to me.”
“Did you have plans otherwise?”
Father DeSmet creased his lower lip ever so slightly as he replied, “No, not exactly…It’s only that, for many years I have hoped, even prayed, that I might die in the missions.”
Father Hoecken’s eyes serenely appraised his friend.
Father DeSmet never noticed, rather he continued to pull at the thread of his own thought. “The city anymore seems strange to me. Even the brothers… seem…different—like a childhood friend, who has moved away, or rather it is I who has moved away. The plains and the mountains, the vast open spaces and the Indians…that’s home. I love them. And when the time comes, I want to be among them. So every time I set out on a trip like this, to see the tribes of the North, I wonder if God …show more content…
But I am getting older and every time I return to St. Louis, it seems a little less likely that I shall set out again.”
Unexpectedly, the corners of Father Hoecken’s eyes wrinkled in mirth, though he kept the remaining lines of his face in mock seriousness. “Let’s be clear. If you die out there, I’m not dragging your old body back.”
Father DeSmet’s laugh ruptured the air like a summer cloud burst: sudden and without buildup. It’s force disturbed several nearby roosting hens who cackled back in nervous excitement. “Oh no, I want to die in the wilderness, but these bones are going into blessed ground. So you either bring my body back or build a church around it, your choice.”
The priests’ laughter lapped against the silence and eddied around them like the waters of the nearby Missouri. After the ripples of good humor had subsided, Father DeSmet once again turned to his fellow priest and asked, “Does that thought bother you, to die in the