There was something about Edmund that reminded Malachi of himself. When he was younger – much younger – his eyes had strayed similarly from the gazes of those he met. Nowadays there was no room for such discomfort in his life. If he did not hold himself with the absolution of God-given authority, he knew that no one else would grant him that either.

Some people were born that way, but most weren’t. It was a learned discomfort.

His smile almost faltered as Edmund’s appeared. Just like Mable had sounded so pleased when she had mentioned eating food the night before, her brother spoke as if meals were a rare commodity, to be celebrated each time they had them.

If he were a more openly expressive man, the priest’s surprise might have shown on his face when a shilling was held out before him. As it was, there was a subtle lift of his brows.

They wanted him to have that? Even though they probably didn’t have any money of their own? And for the love of God, why did it feel like his eyes were watering?

Nothing fell, but a redness pricked at them as he stared at the offered coin. He wanted to tell them that it wasn’t necessary, they could put it to better use than he could, he didn’t want (nor did he need) it. But Mable sounded so proud of it, and Edmund probably needed to give it for pride’s sake.

Malachi took it, turning it over in his fingers. His voice was thick when he said, “thank you.”

He couldn’t help it. They were so kind, and they even came to church to see him despite not even being Catholic. After taking a breath, his smile was renewed, and he slipped the coin into his pocket.

“What are you two doing now? Have you had a chance to walk through town in the daylight yet?”