As the sky lightened in the distance, Mary was standing as a lone sentinel on the highest part of the mountain.
Harry paused for a moment. The image, stark against the bare trees, was compelling.
BoomBoom gave a low whistle. The other two floundered toward her. She'd found a deer trail snaking down toward the gardens below Mary as well as to the stone pumphouse that serviced the gardens, the greenhouse, and the garden cottage. They fell in line, Tucker still right on Harry's heels. The going was better now.
Native Americans invented the snowshoe. Tribes in the Appalachian chain had need of them. Harry wished she had a pair.
The three women and Tucker arrived at the statue just as the sun cleared the horizon, a deep-scarlet ball turning oriflamme.
It always amazed Harry how fast the color of the sun changed, how the world suffused with light seemed to smile.
Chickadees, goldfinches, cardinals, and small house wrens tweeted, swooped in and out of bushes, many heading for the places where the monks had put out seed. One bold male cardinal flew to the top of the Virgin Mary's head. He peered down at the humans and canine.
BoomBoom's gloved hand involuntarily flew to her heart. "My God."
Alicia, without thinking about it, put her arm around BoomBoom's waist, as she, too, stared at the tears on that face, radiant in the sunrise.
Harry, even though she'd seen it before, stood transfixed.
"Is it blood?" the dog asked the cardinal, as birds possess marvelous olfactory powers. The hunters were especially keen, but even a seed-eater like this flaming cardinal had a sense of smell beyond anything a human could imagine.
The cardinal cocked his head, one eye on the intrepid corgi, snow on her long snout. He then cocked it toward the tears, bent over low. "Yes."
"Are you sure? Blood has that odd coppery smell."
The cardinal, knowing the corgi wasn't going to chase him, carefully walked toward Mary's brow, the little bits of snow that fell from his pronged feet catching the light, falling as tiny rainbows. He bent over as far as he could. "I know that, you dim bulb! It's blood, human blood. I can tell the difference, can you, doggie doodle?" He threw down the challenge.
"Of course I can." Tucker puffed out her white chest, then said, "To humans this is Mary, Mother of Jesus Christ, so she's very holy. Even a statue of her is holy. Her tears set them off. Not these three humans, but other humans."
"Mmm." The cardinal unfurled his brilliant crest as his mate flew onto a tree limb nearby. "I know about her. Jesus, too. You can't live among the monks and not learn their stories. Every species has its stories, I reckon." He puffed out his own plump chest. "The church has cardinals, you know, imitating us, which shows some sense, don't you think?"
"I never thought of that." Tucker had seen a Catholic cardinal, resplendent in his red cassock.
"Oh, yes" the bird confidently replied. "That's why they're called cardinals. They realize that we are closer to God than they are. I can fly nearer, you see. They're stuck on earth."
"Chirpy fellow, isn't he?" Harry whispered.
"Happy." Alicia smiled, pulling her scarf below her mouth.
"Never thought about flying." Tucker pondered the cardinal's remark.
"How could you? You're earthbound, too. I get to see everything."
"Have you seen God up there?" The strong little dog didn't think God sat on the highest tree branch.
"No." The cardinal, crest falling back down slick, lifted one foot from the snow, the tiny sharp claws on the end glistening. "The great cardinal in the sky is beyond my comprehension."
"How do you know it isn't a bald eagle?" Tucker had seen quite a few bald eagles in the last four years. The symbol of the United States was making a comeback along the great rivers of Virginia as well as near the incomparable Chesapeake Bay, one of the wonders of the world.
He blew air out of the two tiny beak holes. "Ha! What do they do but eat fish? Sit in trees, swoop down, and snag a fish. So self-regarding, those eagles. Wouldn't give you a nickel for the lot of them." He leaned forward a bit, toward the dog. "If the mature males didn't have that white hood—a little like the true Carmelite monks, you see, white hood over brown—well, you wouldn't look twice at them."
"They're pretty darn big." Tucker's brown eyes stared upward. Even she found the sight of the bloody tears peculiar.
"Piffle." The cardinal tossed his head and his crest again unfurled, which made his mate laugh. "Piffle, I say piffle. If I flew next to a bald eagle, you'd look at me first."
As the women examined the base of the statue, the huge boulder on which it was placed, and the area around it, they couldn't even determine where Brother Thomas's body had been found, because the fierce winds and snow squalls at this altitude swept away any depressions in the snow, depositing yet more snow.
"You say you can see everything when you fly? Did you see Brother Thomas's body?"
"Of course."
His mate lifted off the branch, landing gracefully on Mary's outstretched hand. "We saw everything," she boasted.
"What do you mean?" Tucker's ears pricked up and her mouth opened slightly, revealing strong, big fangs as white as the snow.
"Hour after twilight, and we, well, we live right over there." She indicated a knarled old walnut, big knobs on the sides. "Dark as pitch, snowing again, and we heard an odd sound, so I looked out and there he was"
"Came up to pray?" Tucker sat down, the snow cold on her tailless bum.
"I think so" she answered.
"Poor fellow must have had a heart attack, then froze to death." Tucker felt sorry for the old man, although perhaps dying in front of the Blessed Virgin Mother provided a comfort of sorts.
"Oh, no," the cardinal said. "No. He was praying. We snuggled back down but heard footsteps. Brother Thomas, being human, couldn't hear them in the snow. We roused ourselves in time to see what we could, but the flakes were flying; big ones, too, and thick. Someone snuck up behind him, put his right hand on Brother Thomas's mouth, and held him down with his left hand pressing on Brother Thomas's shoulder."
"What?" Tucker barked louder than she'd intended.
"It was hard to see; the snow swirled around. He bent next to the monk, then sort of arranged him back in his praying posture. Killed him, sure as shooting."
"Could you see his face?"
"His hood and cowl covered it," the female cardinal, who was a brownish chartreuse color with darker, reddish tinted wings and tail feathers, informed Tucker.
"A monk murdered another monk." Tucker thought this especially horrible.
"A man murders another man." The male cardinal hopped down to sit next to his mate. "When humans deny their essential natures, they get twisted."
"Yes, I agree, but I don't think murder is part of their essential nature."
"Ha!" He lifted his head back, emitting a warble. "They kill deer, they kill pheasants, they kill whales and dolphins, they kill lions and tigers, and they kill one another morning, noon, and night. All they do is kill."
"My best friend doesn't kill ."Tucker stubbornly defended Harry.
"She's a woman. Women don't go about killing things. The men do. I tell you, they live to kill." The cardinal noticed six goldfinches talking with animation to one another down in the old holly bushes.
"I don't believe that." Tucker wasn't rude, but she wasn't going to agree with something she found erroneous or wrong. "Most of them want to live and let live; the ones who don't cause all the trouble. And I don't see there's much we can do about it."