It was an unusually cold November evening in Peking, a few minutes after ten. Of the six benches in the chapel, two of them had been pushed together to create a makeshift bed for the young bat Amy and Sally had brought in two days ago. Cixin, that was his name. The boy was awake now, and though he sat closer to the stove, Vanilla could still hear his teeth chattering from across the room. Vanilla herself kept warm under a few layers of wool and linen. She was at her desk with an oil lamp now, bent over the smooth, creamy paper of her diary. She began drafting:

Beloved,

I profusely apologize for the lateness of my letter. Things have gotten rather hectic lately, and I haven't had the time to write you.

That wasn't quite the whole truth, but enough. As with every letter to Amadeus since September, she left out the fact that he had left a child in her belly. She continued:

For Miss Rose's sake, I attended a Mass at Nan Tang Cathedral last week, on All Saints' Day. I gather that it's a celebration of those who have passed on to Heaven, the priest spoke much of the martyrs in his homily.

She paused. Did she really want to talk about martyrdom now, with that terrible news from Shangdong still fresh in her mind? She continued:

I was reminded of that fanciful Bavarian castle you drew for me; it soars above all the surrounding buildings, and the front entrance looks much like your gatehouse and towers had been pushed together. And the interior! It was so ornate, so lavishly filigreed and decorated, that I am surprised its builders had not included a moat and drawbridge to protect it.

She paused again. It sounded so shallow, so much like a lie, talking about architecture when she had much more important things to tell him. I've already told him about Knuckles, about Amy finishing nursing school, Sally's Mandarin lessons... Slowly, she tore out the page she was using, quietly crumpled it in her fist, and dropped it into the basket beside her. Another bed letter would make him happy, I haven't sent one of those in a while. She began on another page:

Meine Zückerfüchs,

It's terribly cold tonight. Unfortunately for you, the stove is broken, and we have no blanket to spare here: we must

She stopped, not at all feeling randy enough to conduct such a writing project. I should tell him, she decided. We only agreed to secrecy from the community, not from each other. It's unfair to not tell him. On a new page, she wrote:

Beloved,

I am carrying our child.

Her mind blanked. What else could she say? It was that simple, and that enormous. How would her sweet fox react to this? She tried to imagine. Would he be angry with her? She knew Hazel would have put on a happy face, but his heart would have soured more so than it already had. They'd married young, and after giving her one son- now a young man, about Sally's age- Vanilla had quickly discovered that Hazel wasn't at all fond of children.

But not Amadeus. When given the choice between an unhappy but intact marriage and raising his own son, Amadeus had chosen the latter, and Vanilla loved him for it. And he would choose you too, little one. Unconsciously, she put a hand on the soft swell of her stomach. Vanilla Woundwort had always been a thin woman: two months along, and her belly was already quite noticeable.

The whispers had already begun to spread through the neighborhood, too. Vanilla was raped. Vanilla had been single for too long, and had fallen for Knuckles's muscular body. Vanilla had been strong-armed into fornication by some Qing official, in return for protection. Or was it in return for money? It wouldn't be long before one of these whispers became popular enough to become truth in their minds. She would have to set the record as straight as she could, but how?

Focus, she chided herself. She sat up straighter, and stared down at the page as if a scorpion had wandered onto her writing desk. Why am I hesitating? Why don't I want to tell him so badly?

Vanilla heard Sally's voice to her right then, speaking soft Mandarin with the young bat. As she contemplated what to write next, Vanilla listened.

"How's your foot?" Sally asked, "Did Amy take care of your dressings?"

"It's starting to hurt again," Cixin replied, "but yeah, she did. I'm still cold, though."

"Let me find you a blanket."

"Miss Sally?"

"Yes?"

A pause. "What's going to happen to Ping?" Cixin asked.

Vanilla turned her head a little, to observe them.

"What do you mean?" Sally asked.

"I told him what you told me, about Shangdí and thieving and all the other stuff we did that He doesn't like. Ping said he didn't believe me, and then he called me names."

Vanilla slowly closed her eyes, and felt her heart break a little. Though Christ said that mockery for His sake is part and parcel of having faith in Him, it still didn't make the mockery hurt less. Especially if that mockery comes from someone you called "friend", she thought sadly.

When she opened her eyes again, Sally had seated herself beside Cixin. "So what are you worried will happen?"

"What if he gets hurt worse than me, and he...you know, what if he dies? "

Another pause. "You're worried for his soul."

"Yeah."

A longer pause. "I see."

Vanilla felt the break in her heart widen. It was a subject that made Sally go quiet whenever it came up. Vanilla had once asked if she, like many believers, feared for her own salvation; Sally had assured her that wasn't the case. Was it Amy she feared for? Though her attachment to Catholicism- with its rich iconography and its countless mediators between God and His people - did concern both of them, Sally did not fear for her. So what troubled her, then? Vanilla had never gotten a straight answer. The only other subject that would make Sally grow so reticent was her deceased father... A thought dawned on her. She fears for him.

Sally got up to retrieve a nearby wool blanket, all while Cixin stared at the flickering light behind the stove door. After Sally draped the blanket around him, she glanced at Vanilla. Help, her eyes said.

Slowly, Vanilla stood, and came over to them. She sat beside the young bat. "Shangdí's justice is terrible," she said quietly, "and it is well that the wicked fear it."

Cixin stared at her. Vanilla could feel Sally's attention on her as well, equally rapt. She made sure to look them both in the eye when she said: "Nonetheless, it is written: His mercy triumphs over His justice." She turned her full attention to Cixin. "Tell me, have you ever seen a man punished for theft?"

"They caught me stealing oranges one time. They beat me with a bamboo cane."

In this drought, any fruit was a dear commodity. "Could you pay for them?" Vanilla asked gently.

Cixin turned his eyes back to the stove.

"Could you pay for them?"

"Only one," he mumbled, "I took four, two for me and two for Ping."

"Do you know the Qing's punishment for murder?"

Cixin swallowed. "Death."

"Such is Shangdí's punishment for all crimes, be they murder, theft, or blasphemy. Eternal death, by fire."

Cixin slowly nodded.

"But there is a major difference between the Qing and Shangdí: Shangdí won't punish you the instant He finds you guilty."

"Why not?"

"He already knows your crimes, before they even happen. All of us would burn if He acted as the Qing does. Instead, He took your punishment on Himself, to make you innocent." She smiled at Cixin. "Your punishment, my punishment, Sally's, and Ping's."

"So Ping's innocent, too?"

"No." Her smile faded. "So long as he does not take the pardon Shangdí offers, he is not innocent. He will either take the pardon, or refuse it."

Cixin looked thoughtful. "Why won't he take it?"

"I don't know him well enough to know. But he knows in his heart that there is a pardon waiting for him, and Shangdí puts off his punishment for now, hoping he will take it."

Cixin chewed on that for a long time. "I hope he does."

"All of us do." Vanilla gently squeezed his hand. Then she decided. "I need to speak with Miss Sally. Do you need another blanket?"

"No, but thank you."

Vanilla gave him a reassuring pat on the back as she stood, and switched to English to talk to Sally. "Walk with me."

A wind, cold and dry as an old headstone, rushed through the dark neighborhood as the two women stepped outside, wrapped in voluminous wool robes. "What is it?" Sally asked.

Vanilla inhaled. "Before I tell you anything, I want your word that you won't tell anyone else. Not even Amy."

Sally hesitated. Then she said: "I can keep a secret."

"Alright." Vanilla took another breath, then exhaled: "I have a husband now."

It was interesting to watch Sally's face. Relief was the dominant expression, mixed with puzzlement and tinged with reproach. Sally asked: "Hazel came back to you, and you took him back? When did this happen?"

"If only it were that simple." Vanilla smiled ruefully, and as she descended the chapel steps, she motioned for Sally to follow. "No, I am done with Hazel, and he was done with me long before he left. I have a new husband."

They were about thirty feet away from the chapel when Sally spoke up again. "Then who is it?"

Vanilla stopped, and faced Sally squarely. "He's-" She decided to cut to the reason why Amadeus had sworn her to secrecy. "He's an old soldier." Just like your father.

Whatever Sally had expected to hear, this news plainly wasn't it. "Oh." She'd paused to think. "Is he one of our donors?"

"An anonymous donor, but yes. His generosity is the reason we have a stove instead of a hearth."

"Was that before or after you two married?"

Vanilla's smile was soft now, not at all rueful. "Before."

Sally chuckled, then sighed. "I'm happy for you both, I truly am, but-" She chuckled again. "How did he take it? You, with child at thirty-nine?" Slowly, Vanilla's smile faded, and Sally's humor with it. "Oh. Not very well?"

Vanilla swallowed. "I haven't told him yet."

The younger woman's eyes slowly narrowed. "Why not?"

Now that she had someone besides herself pose the question, it slowly dawned on Vanilla why she hadn't. "You're not ready. Not yet. Neither is Amy."

"Ready?"

"Neither of you are ready."

Vanilla saw wheels turning rapidly in Sally's mind. The younger woman said slowly: "You think that if you told him, he would make you leave, for the sake of your child." She thought further. "Because of the Boxers."

Nodding, Vanilla replied: "Before Shangdong, he would have asked me to leave with him, and I would have refused. Now..." Her eyes scrunched shut, pain welling up inside her.

Sally's face hardened. "He's going to find out at some point."

"I realize that, I just..." Vanilla sighed. "If he were to ask me just now, in the flesh, I would." The words came tumbling out. "He knows how much all of this means to me. I can't choose between God's work and my husband's will, not while there's so much you still need to learn, not while the Boxers-" She stopped to compose herself. "If I were to leave now, leave you unprepared, I would never forgive myself."

Sally wasn't looking at her. She was looking off into the darkness, contemplating what she was hearing. "I would forgive you."