The Lord is always near thee

[Christine Daye]

Christine's eyes were closed, her gloved hands clasped properly in front of her, her head bowed to rest against them.

"Heavenly Father, thank you," she whispered. "Thank you for the blessing of love that you have brought into my life. Please, I beg you, make me worthy of the gifts you have given me, unworthy though I am. I am your instrument Lord. Grant me the strength... and the wisdom to... to find peace... to help others to find peace...

"Bless and keep Maestra safe, and care for my love. In the name of blessed Mary, ever Virgin, and your Son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen."

She opened her eyes and looked into the distance, unclasping her hands to bless herself with the sign of the cross.

[Revd Tweedy]

The almighty and merciful Lord grant you pardon and forgiveness of all your sins, time for amendment of life, and the grace and strength of the Holy Spirit.

"Those that love us," he rumbled, "don't always make it easy for us. An there's love, there's a way. A calm heart, Miss Daye."

[Christine Daye]

"Love..."

She spoke slowly, as if she were tasting the word.

"After so many years... all my life... singing about it... the greatest songs by the greatest composers... all for love... I... I... I thought there was... something broken... something wrong... inside me... that I... could not understand..."

She didn't look at the Reverend, instead staring into the distance.

"And now... now I have been blessed... the Lord in His Mercy has shown me... what it means...."

She tangled her fingers together and twisted them.

"But still I am broken... still a voice whispers... still I am unworthy... still I wake to the fear... that it will turn to dust and ashes... that I will be alone... always alone... and... and... worse... that it... it is my fault... always my fault..."

Her voice trailed away to a whisper, then she sang so very softly, hitting her fist against her chest three times.

"...mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa..."

[Revd Tweedy]

"Some things are our fault, some are not so." The burr in his voice sounded a little thicker. "Falls to us to bear them the same.

"I can't make your decisions for you, Miss Daye. I know that fear an' prudence seem very close; and courage and recklessness also. Pray for wisdom, then. And take solace: we are none of us truly alone."

The memory came unbidden of a young ghost, beaten beyond bearing, nursed to some semblance of health beneath the Abbey. Some wore their enforced solitude like a shield. If he'd said those words to Black, the young man would have spat them back in his face.

Tweedy bowed his head. The truth in those words felt palpable to him. He willed that this young woman might feel some of the warmth they brought him.

[Christine Daye]

She smiled, still staring into the distance, and sang:

"Be still, my soul: the Lord is always near thee;
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain.
Leave to thy God to comfort and to cheer thee;
In every change He faithful remains.
Be still, my soul: thy heavenly friend will steer thee
Through thorny ways to His own domain."

She quieted. Her manner was calmer, more peaceful now.

"Thank you, Reverend."

[Revd Tweedy]

The older man hrummed good-naturedly.

"God go with ye, Miss Daye." He slid along the pew to stand, giving her space to step out. "I'd best be about it," he added. "Trust we'll see ye again soon."

[Christine Daye]

She rose from her kneeling, and slid along the pew to stand. She fussed a bit with her skirts, fiddled with her gloves, tucked the handkerchief away in her music case.

"Until we meet again, Reverend, the Lord bless and keep you. Thank you for your wisdom."

She smiled, bright and slightly fae, and raising a gloved hand in farewell, calmly left the Abbey, out into the night.

[Revd Tweedy]

He watched her leave, face impassive; then looked down at the envelope he still held in his maimed hand.

Hn.