“It goes back further than that,” came a different voice. And, suddenly, Thomas was standing before them, light in his eyes, wearing a smile that Micha was sure could have only been meant for him. He wanted to catch it with his mouth. Hold it like a treasure somewhere safe inside himself where the world could not reach in and take it from him. “‘When in evening, ye say it will be fair weather: For the sky is red.’”
“Oh, everything’s in the Bible.” Esther waved a hand dismissively, and Ada gave a small, shocked meep. “That’s practically cheating.”
“I was not informed there were rules,” said Thomas so gravely that Micha knew he was secretly laughing. “I forfeit.” He crouched down, his leg brushing briefly against Micha’s, and stroked a hand down Ruff’s silky throat. The dog made a sound of pure canine ecstasy and rolled over.
Oh fuck. Micha should have been committing himself to Bedlam. It was the only possible explanation. He should not—should not—have envied a fucking dog.
Thomas glanced up, his voice as gentle as his hands. “How are you, Esther?”
“I keep busy,” she told him, rather grudgingly. “Ruff needs walking. Ada needs someone to stop her doing anything stupid. Young men need dragging out of streams.”
Micha, startled by her manner, opened his mouth to speak, but Ada shook her head at him, and he fell silent.
Thomas was still watching Esther with steady warmth. It was a look Micha knew well. He had felt its strange power, like a touch upon his skin.
Esther’s shoulders slumped. “But how many years for it to stop feeling like yesterday?”
There was a silence, and it was not quite comfortable.
“I don’t know,” said Thomas at last. And then, rather stiltedly, “You may be sure, though, that God understands.”
“How generous of Him.”
Somehow, Thomas had vanished in plain sight. All his passions, all his pains, all his kindness and his secrets, locked away behind words and a black coat. Micha wanted to take him by the hand and drag him back to them. Together, they could shake off Thomas’s God as though he was nothing but a shadow.
“It’s not a sin to grieve,” Thomas was saying, “only to grieve as though we are without hope, or that we suffer our pain alone. Remember, when Jesus came to the home of Mary and Martha, he wept with them for their loss.”
Esther said nothing for a very long moment. And then she gave a faint, dismissive smile. “How right you are, Thomas. I had not thought of that.”
At that moment, someone called Thomas’s name from across the room, and he climbed to his feet, brushing long red-gold hairs from the knees of his trousers. “Excuse me.” A polite nod and he was gone. Micha tried not to watch him walk away.
Esther shook her head. “Hopeless.”
“What do you mean?” cried Ada. “He was remarkably civil, even though everyone knows you are a complete raging harpy when it comes to Jack.”
“As,” retorted Esther, “is my inalienable right as a disgruntled widow. Mary and Martha, my arse.”
“Is it not a comforting story?”
“Only in the sense the Lord casually resurrects their dead brother for them. For the rest of us, it’s just adding insult to injury.”
“I’m sure Thomas meant well.” It was such a spineless, lovesick platitude that Micha was shocked to realise he was the one who had uttered it.
Esther gave him a look. “Of course he meant well, Michael. Why do you think I didn’t spit in his eye?” She sipped her tea. “If nothing else, the fellow tries.”
Micha wished he could pretend he did not understand, but he did. Where once he had looked at Thomas and seen only privilege, wealth, and ease, things Micha regarded with mingled envy and disdain, now he saw restraint, sacrifice, and duty. The price of being good carved straight from a man’s soul. And Thomas was too honest, too clever, and too worthy not to know his own failings and suffer in that knowledge. Micha could have told him,It is you they want to love, not your church. Love them as you would have God love them, and the rest will follow.But he had abandoned love long ago, as love had abandoned him, and there were not even embers spread amongst the ashes of his heart.
“I wish he would try a little less on Sundays,” murmured Ada and then covered her mouth with her hand, looking as shocked as if she had accidentally disgorged a live snake.
“God yes,” agreed Esther, “and I do not take the Lord’s name in vain. Those sermons.”
Micha frowned, the inclination to defend Thomas so terrifyingly natural he barely realised he was doing it until he spoke. “He can’t be that bad. I certainly can’t imagine him being all hellfire and damnation.”
“Nothing like that,” said Esther, quickly. “He’s just terribly dull. Most of us simply want to hear that God loves us and be sent home again. But Thomas, well, he discourses, as though faith is simply a matter of reason and good manners.”
“Can’t it be?”
“Sometimes. But what is intellect without passion, understanding without conviction?”
