The high altar had been prepared for the 7:00 a.m. daily Mass.

The white linen cloth was freshly pressed, the chalice and paten polished, the cruets of water and wine waiting in their places. Candles burned steady in their tall brass holders. The tabernacle lamp glowed red behind the sanctuary veil.

Father Damien stood at the foot of the altar steps in full vestments, alb, cincture, stole, chasuble, all immaculate black and gold. His hands trembled as he lifted them in the opening sign of the cross.

“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti…”

The words felt wrong in his mouth. Heavy. His voice cracked on the last syllable....