He could hear her sliding back into that abyss. “Three centuries ago, a Cardinal named Cajetan postulated that a child still in the womb might be baptized through the desire of itsmother.”
Her eyes snapped up to his. “Truly?”
The Council of Trent had debated whether to condemn Cajetan’s theory. The Bishops were split in half. Finally they decided that the Council had more important matters to address. “Even if Cajetan was wrong, I’ve been rereading Ambrose Politi, who believed that those admitted to Heaven would be able to associate with the inhabitants of the New Earth.”
“You mean…I could visit my children? I could hold them?” In an instant, Tessa was holdinghim: she flung her arms around Joseph and clutched him in a thoughtless, exuberant gesture. “Bless you, Father!” She nearly knocked off her cloak.
It took all of Joseph’s strength (and ten years of seminary) not to return her embrace. That would have been selfish and sinful. He’d already given her what she needed. After Tessa let go—too soon and far too late—Joseph reminded her: “But you will be able to see your children only if you yourself reach Heaven. You understand?”
Tessa nodded and secured her cloak, which was still inside-out.
CHAPTER 30
A canter is the cure for every evil.
— Benjamin Disraeli,The Young Duke(1830)
Joseph still dined with his family every week. He did so on his twenty-eighth birthday. While May cleared away the plates, Hélène asked eagerly: “Could you come out to the stable for a minute, Joseph?”
He smiled. “Have you braided Rocinante’s mane again?” He was their father’s carriage horse, whose name wasmostlyin jest.
“Yes—that’s it.” Yet she’d hesitated.
“I have sick calls to make.”
“On your birthday?”
“Just like last year and the years before that.”
“Surely your parishioners can spare you a little while longer.” Hélène looped her arm inside Joseph’s, not giving him much of a choice.
Their father followed them to the back of the lot. There, a young negro sat rubbing some kind of oil into a saddle. But Joseph’s father never rode;he always drove.
Hélène interrupted his thoughts: “Do you remember Nathan, Henry’s nephew?”
Joseph did. “How old are you now?”
“Fifteen, sir.” At a nod from Joseph’s father, the young man went toward the stall that had always been used for storage.
“Papa bartered with Nathan’s master,” Hélène explained, “so he can come every day to visit his aunt, uncle, and grandmother and help tend the horses.”
As she spoke, Nathan led a new horse from the stable: a stunning dapple grey with dark points, perhaps sixteen hands. His conformation looked flawless. Even across the short distance, the animal seemed to prance, his silky grey tail carried high.
“Watch this.” Nathan stopped suddenly and backed up a few steps. He kept the lead rope slack, yet the grey not only halted on cue but also backed without being asked.
Nathan praised him. The horse lifted his head proudly and stretched his long legs behind him. He radiated ease and alertness at once. Hélène cooed at him and scratched his withers. The grey did not shy but leaned into her, closing his eyes in pleasure.
“Are you boarding him?” Joseph asked. “Was that the barter?”
His father grinned. “Yes, and no. What do you think of him?”
Joseph frowned. “He’s quite handsome. What did you mean: ‘Yes and no’?”
“The barter was my medical services for Nathan’s grooming services.”
“Then…you’re replacing Rocinante?”
At Joseph’s confusion, his sister was inexplicably giggling.
