Wolves Among Us(14)

Mia had prayed in the name of every saint she could think of, but no help came. She stood condemned in their eyes of some unnamed sin. Any hope she had of a miracle for Alma became more distant with every passing season. Alma should have been much taller and stronger. If she did not gain in strength this spring, Mia knew the next winter would be waiting for her. Winter was never satisfied here, taking new children every week. It had waited three times for Alma. It would not wait again next year, Mia knew. She knew the saints heard her pleas for her child, but the battle would be determined by who fought for Alma with greater force: the bitter winter or the vanished saints.

Bjorn looked at the pottage but did not eat.

“May I get you something, husband?” Mia asked, sweeping the filthy straw on the floor into a corner so he would not smell it tonight as he slept.

“Bread?”

“Oh. I did not make bread today. I’m sorry. I stayed up with Alma and fell asleep this afternoon.”

“You are either a good wife or you are not.” He slammed his fist down on the table, making the pottage slosh out of the bowl. “What do you do while I work? Why can I not trust you?”

“Bjorn.” Mia scolded. She didn’t mean to.

“You raise your voice to me in my own home?” He dumped his pottage on the floor. “That will give you something to do,” he said, walking to the bedroom. “Keep you at home.”

Mia felt the rage shooting up through her veins, taking control of every last ounce of common sense and decency. She had no control, her exhaustion eating through the last of her self-control.

“I am kept at home! I am busy! I have a sick child! And I feed and wash your mother who cannot even thank me. Other wives would roll her down the hill and straight into the river. Then they’d be free to make your bread. Is that what you want?”

He was on her before she blinked, his hand around her throat.

“You were nothing but a filthy cow when I married you.”

“Is that why you don’t love me anymore? Am I too dirty for you?”

“You know what you are.” His grip grew tighter. “Say it.”

“What am I today? Shrew? Cow? Nag? What does that make you?”

“A fool.”

He dropped his hold on her, grabbing his cloak as he walked out. “You will regret talking to me like this. When you cannot stop Alma from coughing and you are on your knees saying your rosary, begging God to hear you, you’ll remember what you said to me in my own home. You’ll know why God won’t answer your prayers.”





Chapter Seven


Stefan polished the altar until his arms burned, not knowing when his secret rebellion would be made known. He saw that Erick had already spread fresh straw and polished the wood doors and had done a fine job. After Stefan checked that his robes were clean and his hair combed, he sat on the first bench, staring at the altar with the picture of Christ hung above it. The air in the church rested still and cold, faint scents of straw and incense tempting him to close his eyes, just for a moment, and savor a brief, secret rest.

Instead he stood, walking back up to the altar, turning to look down at the pews. Everything must look perfect before the Inquisitor’s arrival. He mentally noted where he would like to see certain people seated for the next Mass. He wanted his esteemed guest to have a stunning first impression. He rubbed his chin, considering what else must be done.

He remembered an errand he had to run in the square, so he walked down the church steps. He turned around to look at his church and took it in with a grin. It had never looked better. Everyone would be impressed, even those who usually slept through Mass. But that would not happen again. Never again, once his guest arrived.

Opening the church doors, little Marie squealed to see him, rushing to grab his hand. She had been on her way in.

“Come and see, Father Stefan! The sheriff caught the wolf last night! He was enormous!”

A wolf’s limp body hung from a stake in front of the church, visible to all in the market. Shepherds who killed predators would hang the carcass near their flock as warning to other animals. Stefan wondered why Bjorn chose this spot; his flock was behind the church, farther out where the pleasant grazing was.

Stefan had never seen a dead wolf, and he approached it with cautious steps. It held a strange beauty. Stefan stood under it, fascinated as he reached up to touch its paw with a deep sigh. He had not realized that he had been holding his breath, and the sudden gasping exhalation left him light-headed. The wolf was so beautiful. Had he been wrong to have it killed? How could an animal of such majesty and beauty be evil?

Stefan ran his hand over the ridges of his paws, through the soft sable perfection of his fur. He ran his hand next over the velvet muzzle and saw a flash of red wipe across his palm. Lifting one side of its thick black lip up, he saw the flesh of one of his own lambs shredded between the sharp teeth of the wolf. Stefan dropped his hand and stumbled backward. Appearances deceive, he reminded himself. Nothing is as it seems in a fallen world.

“What will you do with him?” Marie chirped. He looked down, realizing she was at his side. She was unafraid of the dead wolf. She seemed more fascinated by Stefan. He wondered how he must appear to her, how the young saw the old. He probably seemed like a living relic.

“I will have Bjorn take it down and carry it into the woods to dispose of it. He has made his point to the village.”