I love you, and I have always loved you, Teresa. For the sake of the rest of our lives together, I beg your forgiveness. I want…
She could not finish reading the letter. The thought of seeing Raoul again and his and Monique’s baby was unthinkable, obscene.
She threw the letter down, hysterical.
“I must get out of here,” Teresa screamed. ‘Tonight. Now. Please…please!”
It was impossible for her parents to calm her.
“If Raoul is coming here,” her father said, “you should at least talk to him.”
“No! If I see him, I’ll kill him.” She grabbed her father’s arms, tears streaming down her face. “Take me with you,” she pleaded.
She would go anywhere, as long as she escaped from this place.
And so that evening Teresa and her father set out for Ávila.
Teresa’s father was distraught over his daughter’s unhappiness. He was not by nature a compassionate man, but in the past year Teresa had won his admiration with her courageous behavior. She had faced the townspeople with her head held high and had never complained. He felt helpless, unable to console her.
He remembered how much solace she had once found in church, and when they arrived in Ávila he said to Teresa, “Father Berrendo, the priest here, is an old friend of mine. Perhaps he can help you. Will you speak to him?”
“No.” She would have nothing to do with God.
Teresa stayed in the hotel room alone while her father conducted his business. When he returned, she was seated in the same chair, staring at the walls.
“Teresa, please see Father Berrendo.”
“No.”
He was at a loss. She refused to leave the hotel room, and she refused to return to Èze.
As a last resort, the priest came to see Teresa.
“Your father tells me that you once attended church regularly.”
Teresa looked into the eyes of the frail-looking priest and said coldly, “I’m no longer interested. The Church has nothing to offer me.”
Father Berrendo smiled. “The Church has something to offer everyone, my child. The Church gives us hope and dreams…”
“I’ve had my fill of dreams. Never again.”
He took her hands in his thin hands and saw the white scars of razor slashes on her wrists, as faint as a long-ago memory.
“God doesn’t believe that. Talk to Him and He will tell you.”
Teresa just sat there, staring at the wall, and when the priest finally made his way out of the room, she was not even aware of it.
The following morning Teresa walked into the cool, vaulted church, and almost immediately the old, familiar feeling of peace stole over her. The last time she had been in a church was to curse God. A feeling of deep shame filled her. It was her own weakness that had betrayed her, not God.
“Forgive me,” she whispered. “I have sinned. I have lived in hate. Help me. Please help me.”
She looked up, and Father Berrendo was standing there. When she finished, he led her into his office behind the vestry.
“I don’t know what to do, Father. I don’t believe in anything anymore. I’ve lost faith.” Her voice was filled with despair.
“Did you have faith when you were a young girl?”
“Yes. Very much.”
“Then you still have it, my child. Faith is real and permanent. It is everything else that is transient.”
They talked that day for hours.
When Teresa returned to the hotel late in the afternoon, her father said, “I must get back to Èze. Are you ready to leave?”
“No, Papa. Let me stay here for a while.”
He hesitated. “Will you be all right?”
“Yes, Father. I promise.”
Teresa and Father Berrendo met every day after that. The priest’s heart went out to Teresa. He saw in her not a fat, unattractive woman, but a beautiful, unhappy spirit. They spoke of God and creation and the meaning of life, and slowly, almost in spite of herself, Teresa began to find comfort again. Something that Father Berrendo said one day triggered a deep response in her.
“My child, if you do not believe in this world, then believe in the next world. Believe in the world where Jesus is waiting to receive you.”