Erick brought Alma from the cellar, where he had hidden her. Alma ran for her mother at once, kissing her face and stroking her hair while Mia tried to hold back her sobs.
Stefan could not watch without tearing up himself, and he needed a clear mind. Looking at the plain window of the church, he saw the gray sky pressed down in a long, single layer over the last of the afternoon’s white clouds, streaming pink rays to the earth below. Stefan looked out the window from inside the church, grateful now he had never had the prestige and money to afford stained glass treatments for every window. He only had one stained glass window, and he had not been thankful for even that back then.
He wondered what color the sky had been in Gethsemane, what Jesus thought as He looked up. Jesus knew what hid behind the dull, gray clouds of earth. Jesus knew the splendor of a raging sun. Stefan wondered if that made Gethsemane harder, or easier, to bear.
He returned to caring for the women. Erick stayed near his side, diligent in his attentions, not minding the stains that smeared across his clothes, the sweat that rose along his hairline as he lifted the weak to help them drink. Stefan realized then that Erick had always known the Shepherd’s secret. He watched as Erick continued, carrying water for washing faces, fetching vinegar for the wounds. He tore apart his linen belt, using it to hold up Mary’s arm, which looked broken.
His tenderness surprised Stefan. He had never taught him that, never done that himself. But he was grateful. Erick had been listening for God all those long years while Stefan slept. Erick had grown into more than a man. He had become a shepherd. The thought brought Stefan another outpouring of peace.
Mia nuzzled Alma with her cheek, clearly thankful Erick had washed her face. She still couldn’t move her arms. Alma looked up at Stefan, a curious expression on her face. She did not look afraid, though her mother was in pain and had been abused, though angry villagers waited outside the church. Alma just smiled at the image of Jesus in a painting hanging from a wall near the altar. Alma looked at it as if it was a holy relic, a shy awe on her little face.
“The women are hungry,” Erick told him. “What should we feed them?”
“Give them what we have with us. Do not go to the dormitory for fresh supplies. Do not leave them again.”
“We have nothing left, save the bread and wine for the Sacrament.”
“There must be something else. Check in the cupboards.”
“Already did.”
“Ah, Lord,” Stefan muttered. “I had hoped you would make this easier on me.” He could preserve his proper office or give life.
He motioned to the altar. “Fetch the Host and wine. We will give them the Sacrament.”
Stefan fetched a clean white linen and laid it across the altar, waiting for Erick to bring the bread. He opened the wine, inhaling the aroma of earth and grapes and sun.
The women smelled the bread as it went past, reaching for it, groaning in pangs of hunger. Stefan watched Erick pick his way through the women, gently removing the grasping fingers that caught him by his shirt hem.
“Almighty God,” Stefan began, “the body of Christ, broken for our sins.”
He motioned for Erick to begin tearing the bread. There was not enough to feed these starving women. Stefan had counted eight when he left the jail, and until their faces had been washed, he had struggled to remember each as she truly was. Now with the others, he saw they were all his women, the women who had sat through many Masses and sermons and lectures, the women who probably knew his words by heart and had profited none.
“Divide it between them,” he whispered. “The body of our Lord Jesus Christ, given for thee,” he said for the women to hear.
Erick began circulating the bread among the women, trying to hold his legs steady as they reached for bread. Dame Alice took a larger share but dumped it in her lap and began feeding it to Mia. Mia only took one bite, turning her head to resist more.
“Feed Alma first,” she whispered.
Stefan knelt in front of her. “Alma has been well fed by Erick. Do not worry any longer about her. It is time for you to regain your strength.” He took a piece of bread from Dame Alice’s hand and pressed it to Mia’s mouth. She did not raise her eyes to look at him, so he stroked her cheek with the back of his hand as he spoke. She looked exhausted, and he worried she had no more strength to eat.
“Eat, Mia.”
He fed her, then stroked Dame Alice’s arm before he stood to attend to the others.
All the other women ate with ferocity. They kept reaching for more, making the panic rise in Stefan’s belly. He had nothing else to feed them. With nothing else to do, he moved on to the cup.
“The blood of our Lord Jesus Christ, shed for thee.”