There were not enough hours in the day for Malachi. This was something that had only become true after joining the priesthood.

Morning mass revived what energy he lost on his sleepless nights, but the summer days felt short once daily services were done. There was much to do, much to figure out before he settled in completely. The parish liked him well enough – from what he could tell – and yet he sensed a reluctance in so many of them to linger in the church. They avoided the confessional most of all, but a few had broken beneath the weight of their sins and called upon him to listen.

It made him wonder just how bad Father Kemble had been before him. What he’d heard of the man had been less than flattering, but that was just the way it went with some priests, wasn’t it? Some of them were too strict, too judgmental, too lax, too much. Some viewed the confessional as a means of shaming the unfortunate congregants on the other side of the grate, and others still took too much pleasure in it.

The parish would come around. Malachi was certain of that. Given enough time, they’d come around, and they’d see that there was nothing to fear with their new priest.

Not in that sense.

By the time he allowed himself to be done for the day, ‘day’ had already faded into the cooler twilight hours of the evening. While his parishioners were… meant to be his primary focus, his thoughts had been occupied instead with the young Reynolds siblings he’d just recently met. Were they doing alright? Had the owners of the hotel kept their word and given them meals when reasonable? Or had they wandered off into the night again, to find themselves in the dark of some other town’s streets?

Malachi was not an especially worrisome sort. He had, however, always possessed the tendency to obsess over the few things in life that brought him any sense of purpose: helping those in need, especially children, and…

And things that he really shouldn’t even think about anymore because he was a good priest, and he kept his vows, and if he ever hadn’t kept them then it was clearly just a rebellious phase and it didn’t represent him at all.

He made his way back to the hotel, dressed in his black vestments and his saturno, too, just because. He hadn’t caught sight of Edmund or Mable along his way, nor did he spot them hanging around the outside of the building, and he hoped that meant they were in the room. Once he’d found his way to it (and heard the muffled sound of something hitting off the wall), Malachi took a breath and knocked firmly on the door.

“Hello?” he called, low enough so as not to wake anyone should they be sleeping. “Are you in there, Eddie? It’s Father Brennan.”

Huh. It felt different to call himself 'Father' when the children didn't seem to have one of their own.