XXIX

Jean could not sleep that night. She'd spent all day at home by herself. She gave some extra attention to her own garden, weeding and trimming and watering. She did laundry and she vacuumed. She took everything out of her refrigerator and gave it a good clean. There were two silver serving platters she had inherited from Doctor Blake that were getting tarnished, so she took to polishing them. All in all, a very full day doing chores she normally did not think of. It was rare that she had the day to herself at home during the week like this. Though it was the last thing she wanted.

All day, she had been at home and not working with Lucien. All day, she had worried about him. All day, she had missed him. And now, lying in her bed and staring up at the shadows on the ceiling, Jean could not get her mind to turn off. She was not the least bit tired, even after all the hard work she'd spent all day doing.

And so, for the first time since she had moved to this town all those many months ago, Jean threw off the bedsheets and put on her shoes and did up a light jacket—being summertime, the evenings were not so very cold—to cover her nightgown, and Jean left her house.

It was a beautiful night. Wandering around and breathing the fresh air would surely help. It would have to. She could walk and work off her nervous energy. The moonlight would surely help calm her down. A walk in the middle of the night was the perfect thing.

Her feet led her where they always seemed to. Each and every day, she walked to St. Catherine's. Depending on the day, she would go straight to the rectory to see Lucien or she would go into the church for Mass. Not tonight. No, tonight Jean stopped under the dark shade of the willow tree. Something about it still drew her in, still captivated her for a reason she could not quite understand. Even before she had first met Lucien underneath that very tree, the sight of a willow tree had been a comfort. Its thin, low-hanging branches whispered in the breeze. There was a beautiful melancholy about the tree. And resting her back against its trunk, caught amongst the rippling ocean of leaves, made her feel safe and secluded and at peace.

But that peace was quickly interrupted. A crash sounded from inside the church. It was the middle of the night, and if there was sound coming from inside St. Catherine's, there were only two possibilities of who could be making it: thieves or Lucien.

Jean hurried up the steps and found the door partly open. As quietly as she could, she slipped inside, tiptoeing so that her shoes would not make sound on the stone floors and she would not attract attention.

And there, beside the altar, was Lucien. He was wearing his dark trousers and a white shirt, untucked and rumpled and with the sleeves rolled up. Almost exactly as he'd looked that first night they'd met. He was crouching down and speaking softly. But given the quality of the architecture, sound traveled easily and Jean was able to hear him.

"Oh no, no," he said over and over. "I'm so sorry, my darling."

He was kneeling beside some flowers that he was trying to gently pick up. The crash Jean had heard must have been that: the vase with her newest flower arrangement must have fallen to the ground and shattered. Lucien was trying to rescue her flowers.

"I would say that this is a sign, isn't it? But no, of course it's not. If there were, You wouldn't be so ham-handed, would You? Me destroying the beauty she created?" he asked, walking from beside the altar to stand directly in front of it.

His words were directed at Christ on the cross hanging so majestically on the red curtain backdrop behind the baldachin.

"All the bloody years I wasted on You," he spat. "Like a foolish child believing in fairytales. I thought You gave me a sign. I was starving and half the bones in my body were broken and I begged for death. I thought death was the only comfort I could earn. But instead it was my mother. Masquerading as Your mother. Though it's not Christ I've got the problem with, is it? He was just a man, wasn't he? A man who tried to bring a bit more kindness into a cruel and unbending world."

Lucien turned and started pacing. Jean stood back in the shadows, hoping he would not see her. It was not right that she should watch and eavesdrop like this, but she could not bring herself to leave.

"What kind of Father abandons His children?" he shouted. "What kind of God allows suffering like that? Like this? Hmm? Do we deserve it? Do we deserve to be brought to the brink of death only to be rescued and cursed to continue living in pain?"

He shook his head and pushed his hair back. It was coming out in all directions, as it had been that very morning when Jean had run her fingers through it. Curly and blonde and wild.

Lucien paused right in front of the altar table, placed his hands down flat on it, and leaned forward. Jean could not see is face, but from the tone of his voice she could hear him sneer, "What did I ever do to You? How did I offend You so brutally that You subject me to this? I was arrogant, I was oblivious, sometimes uncaring. I know that. I won't deny it. I've lived a far from perfect life. But wasn't the camp punishment enough? Wasn't losing my family in front of my eyes enough penance for my sins?" He pushed off the table and started shouting. "I have served you faithfully! I have led your flocks! Why have You tempted me with love and happiness that You have forbidden me to possess? Is it a test? Well, surely I've failed. Surely I would fail any test because of her."

His voice cracked on that last word, and Jean gasped quietly to herself, realized that he was talking about her. The love and happiness he was forbidden, the test he was failing, it was her.

He continued, much softer now. "I suppose none of it matters. You don't exist, do You? No, You're not going to answer me. You've never answered me. You're not going to do anything about this. What's the point of asking for guidance? You've never cared about me. Probably because You're not really there."

Lucien started to shake. He fell to his knees and let out a visceral sob. He was crying and pounding on the altar.

"How can I be tortured by You when You're not even real?!" he cried.

Jean could hold herself back no longer. She could not bear to see him suffer like this. She would never abandon him when he was in pain, not when she was there to witness it.

She ran up the aisle, not caring about the sound she made. His sobs drowned out the noise of her shoes. Jean fell to her knees beside him, taking him in her arms. He looked at her through his tears, bewildered by her presence. "Jean?" he croaked.

"Shh, I'm here, Lucien," she assured him. "Please, please don't lose faith."

He was already starting to settle, his breathing coming in gentler waves now. "I have no faith," he said coldly.

Jean did not like to hear that. "Up we get," she instructed, helping them both to their feet. As they stood there in front of the altar, she reached up to cup his bearded cheek in her hand and brush away a stray tear. "Don't lose hope, then," she amended, knowing it would do no good to argue about his faith.

Lucien took her face in both his hands in turn, holding her like the precious thing she knew he believed her to be. "My only hope is for you, Jean," he murmured softly.

Something inside Jean cracked in that moment. Something contained deep within her broke free. Was it the remnants of her own faith that had finally extricated itself from her desperate clutches? Was it the love she felt for this man screaming to be known? Was it her own sense of morality that had been shattered beyond recognition? She did not know. She would probably never know. But there, on the altar of St. Catherine's, Jean Beazley was irrevocably changed forever. Precisely why and how were unclear and always would be. But there it was: a new beginning to her very being.

Jean reached up toward him, standing so close and holding her face and looking at her with bloodshot eyes full of wild emotion. And she closed the distance between them with hardly another thought.

Their lips crashed together, messy and hungry, all teeth and tongues and gasping moans. And Jean did not stop it. She couldn't. She didn't want to.