Father Lancaster Merrin.
Rome, February 10, 1949
Forgive me father, for I have sinned.
I arrived at the British Mission in Kenya exactly a year ago, on my birthday.
But I was certainly moved by mercy or pity for those poor people.
I too had heard of the excavations in the region, the discovery of the church. Do not ask how I know, this is not important.
I was and still is a whimsical girl which was never said no. And I was told to not even one time, as witnessed in person.
I had read many essays and several books on archeology ... put on the Index by the Church. The discovery of the strange idol, so similar to Lucifer classically understood, I was intrigued enough to push me to leave London for a land that did not love at all.
But I already said that it does not matter, because as a man of the church can be considered reprehensible that a woman is pushed much beyond the limit of what can be known, the blame of which I have spotted is much worse.
I loved his father Francis.
I met him the day of my arrival.
He spoke to me, I explained the situation to the Mission, to which were the excavations, and was very amazed that I knew so much about it. And I more than the silver crucifix that hung on his chest watching his handsome face and looked into his eyes clear.
I loved him already, his father.
'll think that it was of infatuation, the feeling that the teenagers caught unprepared and can be awakened by a simple picture, but it is not. No, his father was not.
I spent with him every moment possible attend its harvest, helped him with the children, and if time remained I did tell the Vatican Archives and the beauty of Rome. I left for him to speak because his voice warmed my heart.
The desire that I tore the soul was excruciating, but resisted. Not to save my soul, because if the choice was up to me I would be prepared to burn in hell. To resist him. Voted his life to God I had to respect his choice. But as time passed more
my burden became unsustainable. I reached a point where even fathom from afar caused me endless sufferings.
And then decided to reveal a confession.
I know that failure is a sin even worse than commit the sin itself, but how could I have the courage to do it?
The fear of being despised I had made a coward and sacrilegious, to deserve the respect they showed me every day Father Francis, the fear was won.
I came out of my room and found him sitting in front of the hospital, lost in who knows what thoughts. I knelt before him and taken in my hands.
"Forgive me father, for I have sinned. I am not able to accept the will of God, and I need His mercy. " Then I looked up. "I love you."
Yes, I said exactly that. Clear and frank, as I was not more since for the first time I meet his gaze.
He just smiled.
"Agnes," he said in a whisper sympathetically. "My dear Agnes."
Just this.
I then shook hands stronger than beautiful and I replied with vehemence.
"Do not ever ask you to fulfill my desire. I felt compelled to confess to her and God, but I do not want change something. I beg. "
But apparently God had other plans, and preferred them to be more to get their hands dirty for Him
Father Francis died.
she was to take him from me.
remember that he wanted to keep me away from the body, which saw the destruction that the evil they had done.
But how could I not lay eyes on him one more time?
Thank you for what he did.
You saved my body then, and is saving my soul now.
Thanks to you I have permission to access the Vatican Archives and continue the research that Father Francis had begun.
Thanks to you I can feel close to the man who in spite of everything I love her. And I could
leave vent my heart with the few words written on the paper yellowed.
With the deepest devotion, Agnes his
Edgecombe.
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