Free Carolyn Jourdan - Nurse Phoebe 02 - The School for Mysteries by Carolyn Jourdan Page B

but her first thought was, Oh Lord, what have I gotten myself into? Fortunately she was able to keep her reflexive outburst to herself.
    The people of the Smoky Mountains were possibly the least hierarchical ethnic group on the face of the earth. Respect had to be earned. Their natural hyper-politeness and tendency to be amused would instantly leap to its polar opposite, insolence, when presented with anyone they deemed to be affecting airs.
    “I don’t think I can call him that with a straight face,” Phoebe said.
    She followed Arabella into the room and saw an elderly man lying in bed. He’d obviously heard their exchange because he gave her a gentle smile and said, “My name is É tienne.”
    Phoebe smiled back at him, and tilted her head to try to work out what he’d said. Whatever he’d said, it was pronounced with a honking sound she’d have to work on.
    “In English it is rendered as Steve .” He spoke with a strong French accent.
    Phoebe looked at the room and at her patient and decided it wouldn’t be right to call him Steve. Her patient’s room was light, and airy, but as stark as a monk’s cell. It contained a bed, a nightstand, and a single chair, all made of scrubbed pine that glowed with the warm golden patina of beeswax polish and age.
    She guessed the man was in his seventies. “Please have a seat,” he said. “Thank you so much for coming.”
    Books and papers lay all around him atop the covers.
    “I’m still adjusting to the new technology,” he said, flourishing a pencil in his right hand. “I am learning to dictate to voice recognition. It works almost perfectly, but I find myself unable to compose text unless I’m holding a pencil.”
    They both laughed.
    “I hope it wasn’t too difficult finding us.” He had an angelic smile.
    Phoebe shook her head, deciding not to make any comment on the extraordinary features of his driveway. She was suddenly too shy to meet his dark-eyed gaze, so she cast her eyes around the room.
    The only decoration was an exquisite miniature that sat on a small easel atop his bedside table. It was a painting of a knight in armor facing a dragon. Phoebe guessed it must be either St. George or St. Michael, but she didn’t know how to tell the difference. It depicted a charming scene where the two opposing figures seemed to be having a chat rather than a battle.
    “That’s lovely,” Phoebe said. “I’ve never seen one like that. The knight and the dragon seem to be friends.”
    “There’s no point at being angry at the Devil,” he said. “The Devil is only doing his job.” He gave her another sweet smile, then added, “But, of course it’s our responsibility to see him for what he is and not join in on the wrong side of things.”
    “Is this St. Michael or St. George?”
    “It is St. Michael, the archangel. He is the greatest spiritual being of his rank, the chief of the angels and the archangels. I am glad you notice the tone of the image. Only the relatively newer versions depict any aggression between the angel and the dragon. The oldest pictures show Michael not even looking at the dragon. He stands with his face raised to heaven, averting his eyes from the distractions of evil.
    “It is like the famous quote that no problem can ever be solved with thinking that occurs on the same level where the problem was created. Problems can only be solved with higher thinking . In the Bible, in Jude, the Archangel Michael speaks to the Devil, but he is careful in how he does it. He says, The Lord rebuke thee . He says this because it is not man’s task to rebuke the devil, but God’s.
    “St. George comes on the scene much later. He is the one you almost always see fighting. That’s because he is a man rather than an angel. He is a human trying to overcome evil. This task is more difficult, more confusing, for a human than it is for an angel. Angels don’t have free will.”
    Phoebe saw that her patient’s face was creased and lined. Careworn or