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cross on the roof. Willow entered the house of worship eager to speak to the only man she could trust.
    13
     
    “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” spoke the young English lady.
    Brother Andre’s chest swelled with guilty pleasure whenever Willow Pendleton addressed him as “Father.” Even though the young missionary was only twenty-five and not yet an ordained priest, Brother Andre accepted the title. It wasn’t as if he were being a charlatan. Andre was the only representative of the Catholic Church living inside Fort Pendleton. Sitting in the darkness of his cramped booth, Andre leaned toward the screened window. Willow was breathing heavily. The scent of her perfume made the booth smell like a rose garden.
    Is she wearing it for me? Oh, stop such boyish nonsense , Andre chided himself. He knew from Willow’s previous confessions that her vanity was to rouse the other men. It was a wicked game she played. A flirtatious gaze or swivel of her hips to get the fur traders and soldiers to look at her with hungry eyes. She did this to spite her husband, Avery Pendleton. But Willow never cheated, though she could have any man in the fort.
    “Tell me what’s on your mind, Madam.”
    Willow spoke with a shortness of breath, “I have been having impure dreams these past few nights. Certainly blasphemous.”
    Brother Andre’s loins tingled with anticipation. “Describe the dreams to me.”
    “They happened much like before. I’m in my boudoir, seated at my beauty table. I’m wearing nothing but my corset and knickers. I hear my door open. In the mirror I see a man who is not my husband. I feel butterflies in my stomach and…stirrings in places I dare not mention. The man puts his hands on my bare shoulders. I lean into him. His hands untie my corset…”
    Andre’s heartbeat quickened. “Go on…”
    Willow let out a soft moan. “I close my eyes. The stranger slowly undresses me, taunting me with soft kisses upon my neck. As I surrender fully, near to fainting, he carries me to the bed and ravishes me like a wild heathen. And then I open my eyes…”
    Andre released his breath. Willow had described this recurring dream several times this month. Each time the imaginary affair had been with a different man. Sometimes he had no face, just various shades of skin color, often reddish brown like the tribal savages. A few of the fantasies had been of Lt. Hysmith, although she swore the two had never done more than exchange proper words. But the last few confessions stirred Brother Andre’s own impure thoughts, for the mysterious lover in Willow’s dreams had been him .
    He said, “You open your eyes, and…”
    “The man making love to me is Inspector Hatcher.”
    Brother Andre’s smile dropped.
    “Ever since the inspector arrived…” Willow paused, breathless. “…my night dreams have turned into daydreams. When Avery’s not around, I lie in bed and imagine Tom is there with me. We are lying beneath the quilts, behaving like curious new lovers.” She gasped. “I know I shouldn’t have these dreams, Father, but they torture me.”
    Andre leaned his head back against the booth’s wall. His hand squeezed into a fist around his rosary. “God is listening, Willow. Keep sharing.”
    “Lately, on the nights Avery visits my bed,” she continued, sobbing now, “and I feel his cold hand touch me, I want nothing to do with him. I don’t understand why I can surrender to a stranger but not my own husband. I’ve been feigning headaches. I don’t know what to do.”
    “God hears you and forgives you. As well you should forgive yourself, for these dreams are caused not by you, but the Devil.”
    “Yes, Father.”
    “Only Satan would tempt you to sin against your husband.” Brother Andre rolled the rosary between his fingers. “I suggest you light a votive at the altar and pray to the Virgin. Ask Her to fill you with restraint and release you from the Devil’s grip.”
    “Yes, Father, thank you and