a date slip by. So simple. So stupid.
"You don't have to go with me," Eve said as Plummerville's main street loomed before them. Was it his imagination, or was her voice softer than before? Kinder? "I know you don't care much for churches."
"I love churches," he argued. "The most magnificent architecture in the world can be seen in houses of worship. They're usually the grandest buildings in town." He gestured to the spiraling bell tower at the opposite end of Plummerville. "Is that it?"
"Yes," she said. "That's the Baptist church. The Methodist church is newer, and they haven't yet raised the money to build a bell tower."
"They will," he said, squinting at what he could see of the stately structure that was their destination.
Eve was quiet again, thoughtful, her eyes on the bell tower ahead. Once again she was tied up and proper, in dull green and sensible walking boots, her hair pulled back and up and secured with tortoiseshell hairpins.
Lucien knew he could say no more about the sensitive subject she had broached, and Evie would ask no more. While she was always receptive to his infrequent bursts of conversation that veered away from work-related subjects, she never pried. She had never been one of those who leaned in, hungry-eyed, and whispered, "What's it like?"
But if this was the woman he'd spend his life with, she needed to know more. She needed to know everything.
"I actually like churches," he continued. "God is everywhere, but it does seem that sometimes he can be felt more distinctly in a church. There's peace in a proper church. Serenity." He saw the unspoken why on her face. Evie knew he had an aversion for dealing with religious types.
"When I was five, my mother started taking me to preachers who might be able to fix me." Lucien took a deep breath.
"Fix you?" Eve asked incredulously, casting him a sideways glance.
"I was broken, after all. I had obviously been born wrong. Who better to repair a damaged soul than a man of the cloth?" He made the statement dispassionately, as if it no longer mattered.
Evie pursed her lips, bless her, and while she didn't say a word he saw the anger and disbelief on her face.
"For four years, she dragged me from one preacher to another, from one town, one church, one traveling revival tent to the next. I was blessed time and again, baptized nearly unto drowning, starved, burned..."
"Burned?!"
He glanced at the woman beside him. Eve wasn't curious; she was livid.
"My hands and feet. My hands healed well but you can still see the scars on my feet. They're faint, though. Almost completely gone."
They continued to walk, were passing by the first of the shops in town. Eve seemed not to notice that people stared at them as they passed. She was fairly new to Plummerville, and didn't know everyone well. He himself was a perfect stranger. Of course people stared.
"That's so horribly wrong," she said angrily. "How dare they... how dare she... Lucien..." Eve wasn't in tears, but she blustered and her eyes shone too bright.
Should he even bother to continue? This was a discussion he'd never had, not with anyone. He usually preferred to keep his past buried, where it belonged. But since he'd started, he might as well finish.
"When I was nine years old, she took me to a revival tent. She had great hopes for this one. This particular preacher was... different. More..." Intense? Powerful? Insane? Lucien shook off the need to describe the man. "When he found out what I could do, he wasn't afraid like the others. He saw a nice bit of profit in a child who could communicate with the dead. He wanted to make me part of his show." When he thought about it, he could still smell the tent. He could still smell that awful man.
"He got me on stage, but not being a showman, I didn't say what he wanted me to say. I refused to lie. I tried to explain to him that spirits came to me in their own way, and that it was different every time. Some I could see, others I could not. Some I heard as
"You don't have to go with me," Eve said as Plummerville's main street loomed before them. Was it his imagination, or was her voice softer than before? Kinder? "I know you don't care much for churches."
"I love churches," he argued. "The most magnificent architecture in the world can be seen in houses of worship. They're usually the grandest buildings in town." He gestured to the spiraling bell tower at the opposite end of Plummerville. "Is that it?"
"Yes," she said. "That's the Baptist church. The Methodist church is newer, and they haven't yet raised the money to build a bell tower."
"They will," he said, squinting at what he could see of the stately structure that was their destination.
Eve was quiet again, thoughtful, her eyes on the bell tower ahead. Once again she was tied up and proper, in dull green and sensible walking boots, her hair pulled back and up and secured with tortoiseshell hairpins.
Lucien knew he could say no more about the sensitive subject she had broached, and Evie would ask no more. While she was always receptive to his infrequent bursts of conversation that veered away from work-related subjects, she never pried. She had never been one of those who leaned in, hungry-eyed, and whispered, "What's it like?"
But if this was the woman he'd spend his life with, she needed to know more. She needed to know everything.
"I actually like churches," he continued. "God is everywhere, but it does seem that sometimes he can be felt more distinctly in a church. There's peace in a proper church. Serenity." He saw the unspoken why on her face. Evie knew he had an aversion for dealing with religious types.
"When I was five, my mother started taking me to preachers who might be able to fix me." Lucien took a deep breath.
"Fix you?" Eve asked incredulously, casting him a sideways glance.
"I was broken, after all. I had obviously been born wrong. Who better to repair a damaged soul than a man of the cloth?" He made the statement dispassionately, as if it no longer mattered.
Evie pursed her lips, bless her, and while she didn't say a word he saw the anger and disbelief on her face.
"For four years, she dragged me from one preacher to another, from one town, one church, one traveling revival tent to the next. I was blessed time and again, baptized nearly unto drowning, starved, burned..."
"Burned?!"
He glanced at the woman beside him. Eve wasn't curious; she was livid.
"My hands and feet. My hands healed well but you can still see the scars on my feet. They're faint, though. Almost completely gone."
They continued to walk, were passing by the first of the shops in town. Eve seemed not to notice that people stared at them as they passed. She was fairly new to Plummerville, and didn't know everyone well. He himself was a perfect stranger. Of course people stared.
"That's so horribly wrong," she said angrily. "How dare they... how dare she... Lucien..." Eve wasn't in tears, but she blustered and her eyes shone too bright.
Should he even bother to continue? This was a discussion he'd never had, not with anyone. He usually preferred to keep his past buried, where it belonged. But since he'd started, he might as well finish.
"When I was nine years old, she took me to a revival tent. She had great hopes for this one. This particular preacher was... different. More..." Intense? Powerful? Insane? Lucien shook off the need to describe the man. "When he found out what I could do, he wasn't afraid like the others. He saw a nice bit of profit in a child who could communicate with the dead. He wanted to make me part of his show." When he thought about it, he could still smell the tent. He could still smell that awful man.
"He got me on stage, but not being a showman, I didn't say what he wanted me to say. I refused to lie. I tried to explain to him that spirits came to me in their own way, and that it was different every time. Some I could see, others I could not. Some I heard as
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