Wolves Among Us(6)

Bjorn closed his eyes, his shoulders slumping forward.

“Bjorn, what is it?” she asked, a little fear pricking at her heart. Bjorn was not a weak man. He did not stumble under his burdens.

Bjorn reached for her skirts, pressing his face into her stomach.

“Bjorn.” She pushed him back to look at him, her hands trembling. “What has happened?”

Bjorn watched the fire. “I am tired,” he said.

“Bjorn, come,” she said, putting her hands on his shoulders. “Go back to bed, husband. There will be no more mischief for now. It’s daylight.” She pointed to the window. He did not move.

“Unless you would wish me to come with you.” She teased, trying to make him abandon this dark stupor.

He recoiled as if she had bit him. He stood up, glaring down at her.

“You don’t know what you are saying,” he said.

“Bjorn.”

“You have a child to tend to,” he said.

“Aye, and I’d like another,” she murmured, stung. Other women flirted outrageously with their husbands, and they found it delightful.

“Look at her, Mia,” he said, pointing to Alma. “Look at your sick daughter and say that again. What good is another child when you can’t care for the one you have?” He turned his back, walking into the bedroom.

Mia sank down onto the floor, burying her face in her hands. Little Alma came to her and rested her head in her lap. Out of habit, Mia pressed a hand on her back to feel her breathing. Tiny ribs rested under her palm, each taut and sharp under the linen shift. Margarite banged her spoon, probably wanting explanation, not more pottage. Mia kissed the top of Alma’s head and set her mind on the day ahead. It would not do to weep for any of them, and if Mia stopped for one more moment like this to think on their plight, she might never get back up.





Chapter Four


The rains came in the night, without thunder or wind, soaking into the cold earth, making the morning air crisp. The next morning Mass was well attended, more for the hope of fresh gossip than for forgiveness of sins, Stefan knew.

He was hungry. He had searched the cellar below the church, but he and Erick had eaten the last of the vegetables stored from the last harvest. His stomach grumbled as he climbed the steps and locked the door for the last time this season.

Hard work would make him forget his hunger. He swept straw away from the church aisle onto the street. One of the altar boys trimmed the wicks as Erick, who was his main attendant, polished the wood altar. Erick had been abandoned in the market square years ago, just before he sprouted up into a tall, lean young man. His parents probably had not been able to afford to feed him, but he never mentioned them or spoke of his previous life. Still, he bore the shame with silent grace, even as he quietly rebuffed Father Stefan’s confused attempts to help him. Erick was often a mystery to Father Stefan, who taught on forgiveness weekly but had never had to forgive a great debt himself. Erick also worked harder for the church than anyone else in his parish. Stefan liked that very much. He nodded at Erick before closing the doors and walking back down the center aisle.

“You off to check the beer?” Erick asked. Stefan eyed the stairs that led off to the right of the sanctuary. Shaking his head, he sat instead on the first bench and removed a boot. His feet were swollen, one toe cracked and bleeding. Stretching his leg out, he groaned.

Erick came closer to sit next to him. Stefan grabbed his broom and shooed him away.

“You haven’t earned a rest.”

Erick sat anyway, one corner of his mouth turning up. “You’ve had everyone working all morning. Is Jesus returning today?”

Stefan swatted his legs with the broom, and Erick laughed, turning his body away.

“Women have their children, and men have their work, Erick. That’s what life is.”

“This isn’t work, Father. This is cleaning. I should have a real job. You know you can trust me with one. I’m much stronger than you by now.”

“For his sake and mine,” Stefan said to the saints immortalized in the frescoes around him, “grant him humility.”

“I may not be humble, but I am honest.” Erick grinned, but Stefan sensed no real mischief in it. “Father, listen to me. You need to rest more. Let me do the hard work. I’d like to pay you back.”

“For what?” Stefan frowned.

“Giving me a place to live.”

Stefan turned to look up at him. “Is that all the church is to you? A place to live?”

“Father Stefan?”

The woman’s voice made Stefan and Erick stand and turn. Mia stood there, clutching her hands together. Stefan sat back down with a grunt and wrestled his boot on, avoiding another look at Erick.

“Father Stefan,” Mia said, “I came later than usual today, but I did hear Mass. I would like to confess.”

Stefan gestured toward the confessional, and she followed in obedience. He glanced back at Erick, jabbing a finger back at the altar. Erick nodded and got back to work.

Ushering Mia into the confessional, Stefan settled his back against the wood wall of the dark chamber. He slid open the lattice window frame that separated them and stretched out his legs, wiggling his toes.

“Forgive me, Father,” she began, “I have sinned. I have provoked my husband to anger again. I did not mean to. I promise I will try harder. I know what is required to be a good wife. I always fall short, Father. That is my sin. But I will try harder. I want to please the Lord.”