The pounding on the door was loud but brief. Priest Fransisco, in a nightshirt and holding a candle, groggily shuffled through the mission church to the front door.
It was around four thirty in the morning and Fransisco could hear some of the orphans rustling from the noise. The last thing Fransisco wanted to deal with at this hour of night was a dozen, cranky eleven year olds. He breathed a deep sigh of relief when the knocking stopped. He paused for a moment and listened. Silence. The orphans were back asleep. Fransisco quietly shuffle up to the door.
The sound of the door opening echoed through the adobe building. The high ceilings of the church were reflecting the slight glow of the early morning. There was a large mahogany cross in the sanctuary behind a simple wooden alter and a bookshelf with bible, hymnals and various book of catholic philosophy. The orphanage was a large timber framed adobe wing off the back of the church and adjacent to the rectory.
Fransisco opened the large