When Jeffrey arrived downstairs the next morning on his way to Gregor’s, he was surprised to find Alexander up and waiting for him. “I was wondering if you might permit me to accompany you this morning.”
“It would be an honor,” he replied.
Together they exchanged the hotel’s stuffy warmth for a bracing dawn breeze. Clouds scuttled overhead through a sky touched with the first faintest hues of the coming sun. A silver moon hung calm and peaceful upon the horizon, touching all the world with silver mystery. “Katya does not mind your traipsing off each morning on your own?”
“A little,” Jeffrey admitted. “But she knows how much it means to me, and she doesn’t complain.”
“An act of wisdom far beyond her years,” Alexander replied. “You are most fortunate in your choice of mates, my friend.”
“I’m not sure how much I had to do with it,” Jeffrey said. “It’s always felt like a gift from above.”
“Yet who was it who endured the difficult beginning, who sought answers beyond what was evident?” Alexander strode forward with a light heart. “Who made the choice to abide despite pain and emotional hardship? Who loved in defiance of logic? Who sought answers beyond the known and the comfortable?”
“You do me great honor,” Jeffrey said quietly.
“None that is not deserved. I am most proud of your endeavors, both with the young lady and with your work.” He pulled his scarf up around his neck. “As for myself, I seem to learn my greatest lessons in the loneliest of hours.”
“Me too,” Jeffrey conceded. “Some of them, anyway. I hope it’s not some unwritten requirement for being a Christian.”
“Oh, I think not. In my case, it is a need that I force upon myself. So long as all is well in my world, I feel little urge to struggle with uncomfortable questions.” He glanced Jeffrey’s way. “I have found myself comparing my own searchings with yours. I wish I had your strength of purpose.”
Alexander stopped further conversation by taking a sprightly step up Gregor’s front stairs and pressing the buzzer. The latch released; he pushed through, held the door for Jeffrey, then proceeded up the stairs.
Once tea had been served and Gregor was settled back in his bed, Alexander confessed cheerfully, “Your unspoken lesson has come through loud and clear, Cousin.”
“It was neither my lesson nor my voice,” Gregor replied mildly. “And you should not belittle the gift by failing to recognize the Giver.”
Alexander remained silent for a time, sipping at his tea. Then, “Why do I have such difficulty in accepting that I have heard God’s silent voice?”
“Because you are human.” Gregor smiled with genuine warmth. “You continue to surprise me, my dear Cousin.”
“Not nearly so much as I surprise myself.”
“No doubt.” He reached over to pat Alexander’s shoulder. “Nothing you might say could please me more, nor make me more proud of you.”
“A compliment.” Alexander showed mock surprise. “I do hope you are not suffering from a fever, Cousin.”
“You go against all of your worldly heritage to ask such a question,” Gregor replied. “Now tell me what lesson you have learned.”
“My lesson. Yes, well.” Alexander sipped from his glass. “I have spent numerous sleepless hours watching helplessly as my reputation was threatened, my life’s work torn asunder. And all because of a chalice that was not mine, for a gala I took on for others. Or at least, so I thought.”
“Such honesty.” Gregor smiled. “Go on, dear Cousin.”
“I have found the hours before dawn to be a powerful mirror,” Alexander said. “Most powerful. I have seen how much of what I did was for selfish pride, and pride alone.”
“You cannot imagine how your words stir the soul,” Gregor told him.
Alexander turned sharp gray eyes Jeffrey’s way. “And then a certain young friend tells me of a project he and his fiancée have begun in a nameless children’s hospital, out of sight of all publicity, in a crumbling corner of a region so polluted it is known as the Triangle of Death. He does not tell me with pride. No. He is embarrassed. Moved so deeply by the need he has discovered in an alien land that he is ashamed of his feelings. He tells me because he wishes to share his discovery with a friend. Yet he does so with shame for his own emotions, and with fear that I may scoff. He does not say so, but I hear it in his voice. And what he does not know, what he cannot imagine, is that he shames me. He humbles me. He teaches me. Not with words. No. Such a lesson cannot be taught by any means save example. He stands before the altar and honors the Father with a gift made with no expectation of receiving anything in return.”
Alexander nodded solemnly. “I listened to my young friend heed the call of his Lord, and I learned. I realized that the missing chalice was part of a lesson. I understood that I might also grow through the gift of humble, nameless service. Out of the light of publicity. Away from the adulating crowds. In the lonely reaches of others’ needs. Where the Father’s voice might be more clearly heard.”