Without Moonlight
She heard footsteps coming down the hall. The slow tapping of leather soles on the stone floor echoed through the quiet church. The candles that were always left burning through the night stood strong, not flickering from the movement. Completing her prayer more quickly than she’d wanted she turned her head.
Without sunlight to pour through the stained-glass windows the church seemed dark and ominous. Shadows fell across the faces of the statues and leaked onto the floor where the rows of pews blocked the candle light. Checking the hood of her habit to be sure it covered all her hair, she stood and turned to face the stranger.
In the light it was hard to tell, but she was certain she’d never seen this person in church before. The long, dark jacket and hair that splashed down about the shoulders cloaked the gender of the individual, leaving her unsure how to greet him or her.
“Good evening, is there anything I might help you with?” her voice was soft and clear, ringing against the stone walls and flying into the rafters.
The figure paused and turned to face her, a smile gentle on a gentle face, “I’m afraid I have no business here at all, really,” the masculine voice echoed cleanly between the remains of her own.
She smiled and opened her arms to indicate the interior of the church, “The Lord welcomes all who enter his home with open arms. Please be at peace here for as long as you like.”
The man strode a few steps closer, his eyes on the fixtures that hung on the wall and on the carvings in the pews, “Thank you, Sister, but I’m sure I don’t belong in your beautiful church.”
His mannerism was so secluded that she felt she must pull his hands from his pockets and welcome him properly, but the benches that separated them were enough that she could merely stand and speak, “All people belong under the house of God.”
He grew steadily closer, but his eyes remained far away from her, touching every other fixture they could without freeing themselves from the veil of dark hair that threw shadows over them, “It really very beautiful, this church.”
“Built many centuries ago by Father Christopher as a refuge for those who had lost their way,” she looked to her side at a framed portrait that hung in the candle light to the right of the alter. The kindly face of the church’s first father smiled down upon all who attended the church. The portrait showed a young man’s face, for no older image could ever have been captured of him, as he died at a young age.
“A good man, Father Christopher must have been, to have built so wondrous a place.”
“Yes, a very good man. Very much in love with his Lord and his people,” she replied.
Again the man paused and she realized how very close to her he was now, hands still in his pockets he was gazing up at the portrait. The pale color of his skin made her wonder how long it had been since he’d last had a decent meal. His eyes were sunk back, leaving dark shadows around them giving him a sign of age that didn’t fit his gentle features.
Suddenly her heart caught in her throat and she reached up on instinct to clutch the silver cross she wore around her neck. His eyes rolled over to where she stood, and he smiled sadly again before sweeping a glance over the alter.
A cross stood erect in the center of the alter and he touched it gently, letting his fingers glide across its elegant surface, “I’m sorry, Sister. I should not have bothered you so late at night, you were probably intending to leave.”
“Nonsense! This church is always open,” she said, calming herself in the knowledge that his fingers could easily touch the Lord’s cross.
“I’m glad you say that, Sister. Night is the only time I can come here. It’s been so long since I’ve been inside,” his voice trailed off and swum amongst the other words that had lost themselves between the pews and the stones that made up the church.
She let her hand slip to the bottom of her cross, holding it between only her thumb and forefinger, “Only at night? But why? You aren’t a-“
He smiled, “Yes, yes I am, see?” turning his head to face her he pulled at the edge of his lip with his middle finger, stretching it away from his teeth, giving him a comical appearance that was dulled only by what she saw in among the clean white teeth that lined his mouth. Canine teeth longer and more pointed than they should be so that they ran down over his lower jaw smiled back at her.
She raised her right fist to her forehead and touched it, then her chest and shoulders, forming a cross over herself and chanted a short prayer, “God Almighty,” she murmured, “But… but how can you touch the crucifix?”
Eyebrows furrowing he rubbed the edge of the standing cross between his fingers, “It’s only a statue,” was his short reply.
“Only a statue?” she echoed back, as though the walls had not done so sharply enough, “That is the Holy Cross blessed by our own Father Linus! And your hands are soiling it’s … it’s…” she couldn’t find the words to continue when his hand dropped off the statue and fell back into the deep pocket of his coat.
He looked back at the image of Father Christopher and then at the cross again, “A symbol is only mighty when there is faith to back it up,” he murmured.
Struck suddenly by what he had said she lashed back, forgetting her vows for anger at his nerve in the church of her Lord, “Father Linus is a good man, chosen by God Himself to lead the good people on the path of riotousness and you! You have no right to speak against anything Holy, you sinner!”
The accusation seemed to pierce him, “I’m sorry, Sister. I didn’t mean to cause you grief,” after a thought he added, “And I didn’t come here looking for blood.”
Still holding tight to her silver cross, she looked out upon the church. Empty as it was she could almost feel the spirits that had been brought to peace by this Holy House floating about. Angel with kindly hearts coming to her aide, she liked to think they would protect her if she needed it, “Then what did you come here for?”
“This church is beautiful,” was his simple reply, “Only a decade ago I couldn’t even set foot inside. I’m glad the high priest has changed since then.”
Insult though it was the soft smile on his face curved her anger. “You cannot be saved, if that is what you seek,” she whispered so that only his ears, and not the ears of the watchful walls could hear.
“I know,” he smiled, “Someone like me could never wish for something like that,” he looked at her squarely, “Despite what you may have learned, those like me are not bound by the rules you set us. We live our lives as they are meant to be lived and nothing more. I just,” his eyes again fell to linger on the image of the church founder’s soft eyes and thankful smile, “I just wanted to be in here again. It’s so beautiful.”
“It is beautiful,” was all she could murmur back. Her fingers still clung to her cross, but her heart had moved beyond its shield. Bowing slightly she mumbled, “The Lord thanks you for your visit, sinner or no.”
The dark eyes fell upon her now, and they were grateful, “Thank you, Sister. I’ll close the doors when I leave.”
Knowing she was being dismissed from her own place of worship didn’t hurt so deep knowing she was of no use here at the moment. A few of the candle flames flickered as she passed, walking down the aisle between pews to the doors that were left slightly open. She heard him kneel before she reached the door, and heard him stand as she opened it enough to slip out through.
The eyes of a sinner had always been so harsh in her mind, but here they were, laced with proof of his sin and they had been so kind. Kind more than those of any mortal she knew. She made a note in her mind to pray for forgiveness for the sinful thoughts she was allowing to roam her mind.
The light was not yet breaking the horizon, though it was closer to morning than night now. With guidance from the air about her she breathed deeply, feeling the angels’ forgiveness rush about through the night.
Turning back to push the door more closed than it had been she saw the man in the long, dark coat pull away from the portrait of Father Christopher, his fingertips remaining on the very edge of painted cheek. Averting her eyes she closed the door only enough to leave a crack for a mouse to slip in, and turned fully to face the street.
Holding up the hem of her habit, she walked carefully down the stairs just in time to miss the words the man inside spoke before he too bid the church farewell and left, dipping his fingers in the basin of Holy Water as he exited the room.
Alone now among the candles the portrait seemed to smile all the more. A church open for everyone, a refuge, for those who did and could never believe was all he’d ever wanted, and in it he would forever sleep, more at peace than anyone could ever know.
