Eric came back to the office and threw his handsaw against the wall. Since Alan had long ago affixed a heavy canvas exercise mat there for just this sort of emergency, no damage was done to wall or scythe. The mat, however, was showing signs of needing replacement, especially since the entire Branch, all three shifts, used it at need. Those with motorized scythes were required to throw industrial-grade tea mugs instead. Grell used a half-brick kept on her desk. A second mat on the floor caught the fallout.
Alan handed Eric a mug of tea. "Bad one?"
"Aye. The worst sort of 'good' man, a self-righteous miserly bully who twisted all the sternest virtues to his own advantage. With a Bible verse to justify his every cruelty. His cowed, browbeaten family willna' grieve. I stayed a bit, don't know why. It isn't like I haven't reaped an army of these domestic tyrants." Eric banished his scythe to storage.
"Well, you've done the world a favor, then." Alan drew his partner into his office, lifted a stack of collection reports off a chair, and sat Eric down to rest.
"I suppose I have. The children are free to build their lives, the wife to live in blessed peace. She'll not risk marriage again."
"Was she was raised to be ruled by her father and husband?"
"Aye. But now as a widow she owns herself and her property unless she marries again. She won't. The neighbors willna' mourn him either. They'll all attend the funeral just to make sure he's dead. They'll cover the grave with a heavy stone to keep him down. The inscription will probably read "Praise God, Who Took This Sod."
"Let me guess. They left the bedside, went downstairs and cooked their first full meal in ages. And ate it hot, without having to watch it congeal while their patriarch delivered a fifteen-minute homily and then took most of the food for himself."
"Well spotted. They built up the fire, too. They'll be warm tonight for the first time this winter."
"Why are you upset, then? He's no loss to anyone."
"Because the selfish bastard lived so long. Because he lived believing that his will was the will of God. Because the youngest child, poor starveling, saw and thanked me. And because the son is going to be exactly like his father."
"That's his choice. Times are changing, though. The woman he marries may not stand for such treatment, especially if she's been a war worker or an army nurse. Picture this; she will lay him out in lavender the first time he tries to bully her. That's the traditional secondary purpose of a cast-iron frying pan. Her mother might move in, playing second skillet, and further educate him if he tries mistreating her grandchildren. Have hope, Eric."
"Och, aye, a duet for tenor and alto frypan...how sweet the sound."
"Give me the address. I will stop by and see if I can grant the youngest a little time. Decent food and warm clothing should do the rest if she's not yet on the List."
"What, you, me strict and lawful Light, interfere against the Rules?"
"Twice a year, by appointment, with careful planning to get the most out of it. If there is any complaint, Spears will blame you and I will prove you innocent. He will know exactly what has happened. He'll get even with me later."