Page 125 of Harvest of Sighs (Thornchapel 3)
I don’t know.
I’m trying not to panic. I’m trying not to read too much into her abrupt trip to her parents’ house, into the lack of kisses at the end of her texts.
How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly?
Lammas, I remember. She’ll have to be at Thornchapel for Lammas, and I can tell her then.
Auden’s birthday is next week. Will you still be there?
A pause.
Yes.
Can I see you there?
Another pause.
Yes.
It’s my turn to pause. I have to ask this next question, because I don’t think I can stand waiting the next seven days to learn the answer.
Are you still mine?
There’s no pause this time, as if she expected this question.
For as long as you want me to be.
So yes?
Yes, Rebecca.
And I suppose that will have to do. Until Lammas at least.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
St. Sebastian
“Do you suppose they’re okay?” I ask Auden, looking across the walled garden to where Poe and Becket sit close, their heads bent together. Poe looks like she’s about to cry.
Auden looks up from where he’s been resting his feet in the fountain. He’s rolled his trousers up to near his knees, exposing the strong bones of his ankles and the crisp, masculine hair covering his calves. The sun catches on his eyelashes and in his hazel eyes as he looks over to the others.
“I don’t know,” Auden finally replies. His voice is heavy. “Did she tell you about what happened up on the path?”
“Yeah.”
Auden frowns down at his feet in the water. “I worry about it.”
“Do you think the parishioner will tell someone?”
“I don’t know. They should.” Auden bends down to pluck a stray leaf from the fountain. He smooths it between his fingers as he talks. “No one should stay quiet about priestly sexual misconduct, no matter how consensual. But it’s unfortunate because Becket is a good priest—he’s a good pastor to his people. And he didn’t choose his vocation lightly. He needs to live his life close to God.”
I take the leaf from him. Not because I particularly want a small wet leaf, but because I want to touch his fingers, I want to feel his skin against mine, even if only for a second. “You think that he might not be able to after this?”
“If it gets reported? If he gets investigated? Then I don’t know. His uncle is a cardinal, and I imagine he could pull enough strings to keep Becket in the priesthood if he wants. He’d probably be asked to repent and then he’d be moved to some parish where he can’t cause any more damage. Or . . . ”
“Or?” I ask. Across the waving lavender and heady, bee-visited blossoms of the garden, I see Poe pull Becket into a hug.
“Or Becket’s uncle is a better priest than I give him credit for and will refuse to do that. Placing one’s nephew in the parish he wants is a very different kind of nepotism than covering up sex with a member of the congregation.”
