He was careful not to linger near Tessa. He would smile at her in passing, but he was determined not to touch her or speak to her again till he had made his decision. Tessa had the perfect way to reply without saying a word. When she was certain only Joseph could see, she pressed both hands to her heart. She was signing:I love you.
Joseph retreated to his father’s empty office—not to stare at the Blessed Virgin’s bare breast or at Mary Magdalene reaching for the half-naked Christ but to meditate on the painting that had beenhere the longest: Saint Denis picking up his own severed, haloed head. This third-century martyr had lent his name to Joseph’s great-granduncle Denis, who perished during the Terror, and to Joseph himself at his Confirmation. His great-granduncle’s presence at an Ancien Régime salon had inspired the famous exchange between the Cardinal de Polignac and the Marquise de Deffand. When he was a child, Joseph’s great-grandmother Marguerite had passed the story on to him.
First, Cardinal de Polignac had described Saint Denis’s martyrdom: even after pagans beheaded him, Denis remained undeterred. He was a Bishop, and his work was not yet complete. His decapitated body stood up and reclaimed his head, which preached a homily as he walked. Denis refused to die until he’d finished this homily. By that time, he’d carried his head an entire league.
“Some say it wastwoleagues!” Cardinal de Polignac had exclaimed.
“The distance doesn’t matter,” the Marquise de Deffand had observed. “It is the first step that is difficult.”
Joseph forced himselfto finish rereadingDignity and Duties of the Priest. “Let us tremble: we are flesh,” admitted Saint Alphonsus. He related:
Blessed Jordan severely reproved one of his religious for having, without any bad motive, once taken a woman by the hand. The religious said in answer that she was a saint. But, replied the holy man: “The rain is good, and the earth also, but mix them together and they become mire.”
No, Joseph thought, as he watered the soil around his pomegranate tree and admired the scarlet buds.Mix rain and earth together, and they becomelifeandbeauty.
As long as there was nottoo muchrain. That was the key. Even Father Wallace had assumed Joseph and Tessa would not fully consummate their union.“You’ll find a line and you won’t cross it,”Liamhad said. Joseph would never ask Tessa for more than she wished to give him. He wouldtakenothing at all.
On the Feast of Saint Joseph, the day he completed his thirty-first year, he returned to his father’s house and climbed the stairs to his sister’s dressing chamber. He opened the drawer of her wardrobe and found the key to Tessa’s garden still nestled inside, like a seed awaiting planting. Joseph searched Hélène’s jewelry-box for a long silver chain. He threaded the key onto it and fastened the chain around his neck. He undid his choker and tucked the key beneath his shirt. No one else would know the key was there. But he would know.
He resisted the temptationto try the key in advance; yet throughout Passiontide, Joseph haunted the corner of Church Street and Longitude Lane, watching for the blue lamp. He would not answer till after Lent, but he wanted the assurance that Tessa would still welcome him.
On Good Friday, Joseph finally saw the lamp in the right-most window on the second floor, just as she had promised. Even across the front garden and through the wrought iron fence, the double-burner lamp shone like a beacon. Calling him into her bedchamber.
Joseph could not answer it—not on Good Friday, even if this was his last chance. It might well be. Surely Tessa’s husband would return from Stratford-on-Ashley tomorrow. His appearances at the cathedral were erratic, but he’d always managed Christmas and Easter. After that, Edward might remain in Charleston till the fall. It was already the middle of April, and planters never spent summers at their plantations—the risk of fever was too great. By fall, they might have a new Bishop, who might send Joseph to a faraway parish. He might never see Tessa again.
Apprehension descended instead of sleep. Joseph’s total fast made waiting no easier. He would consume nothing but Christ until after Easter Mass. At Lauds the next morning, his breviary directed him to pray Psalm 62: “For thee my soul hath thirsted; for thee my flesh, Ohow many ways!” Joseph wondered if King David had meant those words only for God, or for Bathsheba, too.
For reasons that were not entirely clear to Joseph, over the centuries the timing of the Easter Vigil had shifted to earlier and yet earlier on Holy Saturday. Once, the long rite had begun late in the evening and reached its climax at midnight Easter morning. Now, they lit the Paschal Candle and celebrated Christ’s nighttime resurrection when the sun had barely risenSaturdaymorning. This was the greatest moment of the Christian year; by the end of the Mass, it would be Easter, liturgically. But most of Joseph’s congregation waited till Sunday morning to celebrate. Only the truly faithful gathered in the Biblical garden for the Easter Vigil.
Tessa was amongst them. Even before her Confession to him, he’d been careful not to look her way during Mass. But his eyes were starving for the sight of her even more than his stomach was aching from his fast. It took Father Baker a few moments to kindle the New Fire with a flint. While they waited, Joseph allowed himself a glance at Tessa.
She wore a simple white cotton dress, adorned only with pleats. She made it breathtaking. Framed by her mantilla, her own eyes remained intent on Father Baker; she did not look to Joseph. She held her hands just below the point of her bodice, yet they were not clasped in prayer. In fact, her small motions seemed out of place. Tessa had extended the first two fingers of her right hand. Again and again, she pressed them into her cupped left hand and rotated her extended fingers as if she were turning a key.
For a moment, Joseph forgot to breathe. Beneath his clothes, the key to Tessa’s garden felt as if it were burning his chest. His mother was standing behindTessa; she couldn’t see Tessa’s hands. The sign was for him.Safe!Tessa’s hands cried. Or perhaps she meant the pantomime more literally:Use the key!Either way, it was an invitation. Edward must have remained at the plantation. But how could she know he wouldn’t return before nightfall?
Joseph dared not risk confirmation. He dared not look back at Tessa. His part of the Easter Vigil rite had come. He discarded his violet vestments of Penance, melancholy, and sacrifice. In theirplace, he donned white vestments of purity and joy—light breaking through the darkness. If he’d looked down to see their key glowing bright through the linen and silk, he would not have been surprised.
They processed into the cathedral. Joseph genuflected and prayed: “May the Lord be in my heart and in my lips…” Joseph clasped his hands before him and sang for joy. But it was Tessa in his heart and in his lips, as much as God.
“Ex-ul-tet…” the hymn began:Rejoice…Joseph let the ancient words flow through him: the plainchant whose beauty belied its name. This was an aria to surpass Mozart and Donizetti, all the more elaborate for its lack of accompaniment. Lifted by jubilation and weighted with yearning, every syllable rose and fell, dipping and turning like the incense that billowed around him. For a quarter of an hour, he stopped time. For more than a thousand years, men of God had chanted the Exultet on this day.
Before celibacy became compulsory, how many of those men had been husbands? Ever since, how many had sung these words to a beloved hidden in the crowd? Even now, Father Wallace must be chanting the Exultet to Sarah.
“O truly necessary sin…” Joseph sang. “O truly blessed night… The sacredness of this night dispels wickedness, washes away sin, restores innocence to the fallen, and joy to those in sorrow…”
After Joseph bowed his head and the last note died away, the twelve lessons began. The first reading was from Genesis: “And God said: Let there be light. And God saw the light that it was good…” With his eyes, Joseph saw the Paschal Candle; but in his mind, he saw Tessa’s blue lamp.
When Joseph laid Christ’s Body on Tessa’s tongue, she closed her mouth so quickly, her lips brushed his fingers—like a tiny Baptism. The memory of her warmth remained with him beyond the last “Amen.”
As soon as he’d unvested, Joseph longed to run after her. But it wasn’t even noon yet. Tessa’s slaves would be in the house. He must wait the ten excruciating hours till sunset.
He blessed the homes he hadn’t blessed on Epiphany. He returned to the cathedral and heard the Confessions of parishionerswho planned to receive the Eucharist at the Easter Mass. It was only mid-April, and already the closeness of the booth felt oppressive. He did not visit his own confessor. Joseph knew what the man would say.
By late afternoon, Joseph was exhausted. He must conserve his strength, or he would faint before he even caught sight of Tessa again. He allowed himself a little water, since this was permitted during the forty-hour fast.
Before he lay down, he knelt by his bed and prayed for a sign. The key felt like a millstone around his neck. Was he truly about to do this: skulk into another man’s home to ogle his wife? OnHoly Saturday? It wasn’t too late. He could still decide not to go to her.
Somehow Joseph managed to rest; but he did not dream. He rose only to kneel in prayer again.“O God, be merciful to me, a sinner.” Above all, be merciful to Tessa. I am her Priest; her soul is in my care. If this is mortal sin, let the punishment fall on me alone. Give me a sign that whatever I do,shewill be saved…
