Wolves Among Us(15)

Marie nodded and saw something of interest in the market. She motioned for him to lean down, as if to whisper a secret, then pecked him on the cheek before dashing away. He shook his head. Mysteries abounded in the world.

Turning for the market as well, he concentrated on steady breathing, clasping his hands behind his back to maintain his dignity. He saw little work being done and very few sales being made. Yet he saw many people, mostly villagers, standing close to each other, mincing tender details among themselves, lurid speculations about poor Catarina and who her lover might have been.

“What are you doing?” Stefan said, tapping the villager Paulus on the shoulder. The man was standing in a circle of gossipers. “If we feed on the details of sin, we’ll stir up our own appetites. I suggest you direct your energies toward finer pursuits. Make ready your stalls; put out your finest merchandise.”

Paulus, red in the face now to be caught at a woman’s game of gossip, nodded and attended to his stall at once.

Stefan had preached on the destructive nature of gossip not long ago. Little good it had done. Bjorn would have appreciated the irony. Parishioners agonized over whether God heard their prayers, but priests agonized over whether the parishioners heard a word God said.

“We must present our best, our bravest faces today,” Stefan said to the remaining villagers in the circle. “What do we want to be known for? A terrible crime? Or that we ran evil out of this village—that we are the bravest, most devout people in all the land?”

They all probably thought him mad. He hoped they trusted him anyway.

He had made excellent arrangements for the Inquisitor. He cocked one ear to the wind, listening for the sound of hoofbeats, the sound of approaching deliverance.



Stefan noted with satisfaction that every pew was filled, except the very first ones. Only Mia sat on one of those. Soon, when neighboring villages heard, even the first pews would be coveted. Mia sat alone, seemingly unaware of anyone else, with her red face and puffy eyes, saying her rosary under her breath, her fingers flying over each of the beads. She probably does not even consider the words, Stefan thought. She doesn’t linger over them long enough to let them do their work in her.

She probably had disappointed Bjorn again and was feeling guilty. Stefan could tell. She would expect him to sit through a long confession, and in the end, she would not be a better wife to Bjorn. She only wanted Alma healed. She did not want to work harder. Stefan frowned. He could offer God’s forgiveness, but could he change God’s mind? Alma was as she was created. Mia was as she was created. Stefan could do nothing, really, except exhort Mia, once again, to rise above her own nature and learn to trust God. Much work needed to be done with Mia. Others surely knew that too, as they avoided sitting with her, filling in the pews just behind her.

Rose, the widow from the village whose husband had died early in her marriage, sat behind Mia. Though the women claimed the same age and Stefan had seen them once growing as close as sisters, it was clear that they were not friends anymore. Rose stared at the back of Mia’s head.

Women’s jealousy proved a strong sin to contend against. That’s what Stefan figured was Rose’s conflict with Mia. After all, Mia had a husband and a child, albeit a sickly one. Rose had nothing. Her husband, who had long been ailing, had died two weeks after their marriage. He had died working with the townsmen digging a new well, clutching his chest and falling over dead before anyone could call for help. Stefan had always said it was a blessing that the couple had not conceived, but now he doubted himself. A child would have made Rose happy in these years. Stefan did not know why Rose had turned nervous and withdrawn, more so recently, except that grief had caught up to her and overwhelmed her completely.

Stefan turned his attention away from the women. He had never seen this many souls in his church at once. Everyone stared at him as he prepared to begin. He concentrated on his posture, biting his cheeks for a solemn look. More money might come in today than all of last month. All the secret sin that Catarina hid, the final tragedy, and then the lingering gossip—that was what had filled his church. But his plans, yet to be revealed, would fill the church past standing room. Good would come from evil. That was the work of God.

Stefan licked his lips, beginning the Mass. All fell silent as his voice hovered above them. The empty, strident echo that had mocked him all these years evaporated today with almost every bench filled. “Lord,” he said under his breath as their upturned faces waited for his words, “whatever You must do through me, do. I am Your servant. I am their servant.”

A startling thought jarred his composure, one that did not seem like his own. Why had God called him to the priesthood? Stefan did not know. He’d never asked. Perhaps later, he thought, shaking his head. He smoothed his robe and took a breath, lifting his arms wide open so the gestures would not be missed.

“Blessed be God in heaven,” Stefan said. “May we be reminded of our sins as we sit in silence, that we may confess and be forgiven. I will begin our service.”

Heads pointed down now, everyone staring straight into their laps. Stefan continued with the Mass for several minutes, intoning the Latin perfectly.

He became distracted as he thought of Bjorn and the wolf.

Bjorn did not understand the burdens of a priest. A priest had to give answers, had to explain it all—unanswered prayers and death and misfortune. Of course no one ever questioned Stefan about good health and fine houses. He never had to worry about finding answers for those any more than Bjorn had to worry about being invaded by peaceful citizens and obedient women.