Angel

The Rosary

Hey all!!
No prologue here, so welcome to the first chapter of His Angel!!!!

I hope you all enjoy this book as much as I will enjoy writing and creating it!

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((((Side note!!
Although I am religious, this book is not in any way meant to push my religion or my beliefs onto anyone. I just came up with the idea for this book and wanted to see where it would go.))))

Mary POV 🌷

"Mary, my sweet lamb. Do you know why I called for you?" Mother Agatha questions me as I stand before her in her small office.

I shake my head softly no as I speak, "no Mother Agatha. I'm unsure as to why but, I can only assume."

She smiles, her hands grabbing mine gently in hers, "I have noticed you aren't yourself lately. I wanted to speak with you and see what's the matter. No matter the issue, it's nothing God and prayer can't help aid" she says softly. The wrinkles by her eyes deepen as she offers a small smile, but her brows furrow as I see the concern rise.

I beam a small smile at her wise words. Mother Agatha had taken her final vows over three decades ago. And with me, still being a novice, I have so much to learn from her. I'm very grateful to have her as a guide and mentor. This convent would feel much different without her. Much colder and unorganized.

"What is it my child?" She asks, and I realize I hadn't spoken, but rather lost myself in my head once more.

I take a deep breath, "it's the thoughts again Mother Agatha. I'm having a hard time controlling them."

She simply nods, leaning against her desk. She purses her lips to the side for a moment before her eyes light up and a small smile takes charge.
"I have just the thing that may help you." She releases my hands and walks around her desk, opening one of the wooden drawers. From it, she pulls out a small box prayer hands painted on the lid.
Opening the box, she pulls from it a beautiful pearl rosary. "My parents gave this to me when I took my first vow, and I was struggling with some thoughts of my own. I prayed this rosary every night for the last thirty years. And now, I want you to have it."

"M-mother Agatha, I-I can't. I can't have that. It's yours to keep." I insist, a wave of guilt surging through me at the thought of taking something so precious to her.

"Now, that's no way to accept a gift. I insist. I have over a hundred other rosaries dear to my heart. I can part with one, knowing it will be loved and cherished."

My eyes swell at her kindness, something so pure in her heart that I know she meant every word she spoke.
"Thank you. Thank you so much." I sniffle as she hands me the rosary.

The opal beads shine due to the small lamp in the corner casting it's rays upon the rosary. The silver cross with my lord, Jesus, swings gently back and forth.

I know many people don't believe in Jesus, or have a faith of their own. But this is all I have left.
My parents died on a mission trip when I was only seven. They drilled into my head the importance of the Catholic faith, and how a good Catholic woman serves her lord before anything else.

But then once my parents died, I starting having thoughts. Dark, ungodly thoughts.
The kind that would have my parents find a priest to preform an exorcism I'm sure.

Allowing my eyes to take in the beauty of the rosary, I feel a wave of calm rush over me. "I think this will truly help me, I feel as if it's already starting to."