Burning : A Tale of the Dark Apostle (9780698144743) by E.c. Ambrose Page B

for? His hand twisted in the boy’s shirt, then released him, stroking lightly over Elisha’s bruised shoulder. “For the love of God, boy, you’ve got to let this go—can’t you see that?”
    â€œOwain—” I tried again, but Owain slipped from my touch, dropping to one knee before Elisha, touching the cheek where he’d slapped the boy not an hour ago.
    Uncertainty edged white in Elisha’s eyes. “It was an angel I saw, Da—not the Devil. You’d feel if I were lying.”
    Owain winced as if the boy’s words hurt him more. “I believe you, but whatever you saw, give up saying it. I don’t care what you say to God in your own heart, but when anybody else can hear you, you keep your mouth shut.”
    I took a step back, feeling for the chair, my knees felt so weak—but I had to draw up my strength, and I told him, “Elisha, go quiet the dogs.”
    â€œYes, Mum.” Elisha dodged around his father, slipping out the door. He always had the touch with animals, too, just like his father, even after the Devil. But it was my husband’s madness I had to face.
    â€œWhat can you mean telling him that?” I folded my arms so he couldn’t see me shaking. “You don’t care what he says to God? You don’t care for your own son’s soul? Mary and all her saints preserve us, Owain Farmer, you’re sending your own son into damnation!”
    Owain lurched to his feet. “Where else can I send him, Edith—I’m already there.” His fingers knotted through his hair, his chest shuddering with every breath.
    I did find the chair, then, sliding into it without taking my eyes off of my husband. I crossed myself as careful as Easter. Father John had praised me: somehow, I would have the strength to face this. “What are you saying, Owain?”
    But he only shook his head, his loose hair tumbling against his shoulders.
    I clasped my fingers in prayer, pleading for my husband to come back to me. We’d been a love match from the start—or so I thought—until these last few months. “If you believe yourself beyond even the redemption of our Lord, Owain, then let Elisha go. Let him be taken to the abbey. How can the discipline of a damned soul ever serve to raise a child?”
    â€œYou would so easily let him go?”
    Every word he said seemed spoken by a stranger, and I searched for the clues to his madness. “To serve God? Not easily, but I would. What’s come over you, Owain? Tell me you don’t want our son’s soul in torment.”
    â€œMine is!” he shot back. “Mine is in torment! By God, Edith, I thought to save him! You don’t know how hard I’ve tried to keep from tainting my family. I never should’ve had children.”
    That hurt me from my heart to my loins, I tell you. Tears burned at my eyes, but I held back. “We don’t have to have more children, Owain.” I wanted them, to be sure, and I wanted the pleasure of the marriage bed. I always thought the fault was mine that we had only two who lived. “Even if Elisha goes—”
    â€œIf that priest takes him, Edith, we’ll never see him again.”
    â€œFor the good of the Lord, and the good of his soul, Owain.” And yours, I wanted to say, for I could see the boy’s madness tearing at his father’s heart. If Elisha went, and took his madness to the abbey, it might be the saving of all of us, if it brought back the husband I knew.
    â€œYou don’t understand, Edith! Father John—he’s like them, the ones that burned the witch! He doesn’t think Elisha can be saved at all, didn’t you see that?”
    I remembered the compassion of the priest’s look, and the faith he placed in me. I swallowed and spent a minute to collect myself, but my hands kneaded my apron as I spoke. “You believe Father John will burn our son.”
    Owain sighed