Sacred Sins

those last terrible years.
    “Take care of Laura. She breeds sin in her heart and listens to the devil.” His mother's skin had been pasty, her cheeks flaccid. But her eyes had been so dark and bright. Bright with madness and knowledge. “You're twins. If her soul's damned, so is yours. Take care of Laura.”
    But Laura had already been dead.
    He heard the last of the gospel. It spoke to him. “Lord, Lord, who will enter into the kingdom of heaven, but he who does my heavenly Father's will?”
    He bowed his head, accepting. “Praise to you, O Christ.”
    They sat for the sermon.
    Ben felt Tess's hand slip over his. He linked fingers, aware that she knew he was uncomfortable. He'd resigned himself to sitting through Mass again, but it was a different story when a priest sat a foot away. It reminded him, clearly, of the few times he'd gone to church as a boy and discovered, to his embarrassment, Sister Mary Angelina sitting in the pew ahead of his family. Nuns weren't as tolerant as mothers when little boys played with their fingers and hummed to themselves during Mass.
    “You were daydreaming during Mass again, Benjamin.” He remembered the trick Sister Mary Angelina had had of slipping her white hands into the black sleeves of her habit so that she looked like one of those egg-shaped, bottom-heavy toys you couldn't knock down. “You should try to be more like your brother, Joshua.”
    “Ben?”
    “Hmmm?”

    “The man there.” Tess's voice was light as a feather near his ear. “The one in the black coat.”
    “Yeah, I saw him before.” “He's crying.”
    The congregation stood for the Creed. The man in the black coat continued to sit, weeping silently over his rosary. Before the prayer was finished, he rose un-steadily then hurried out of the church.
    “Stay here,” Ben ordered, and slipped out to follow. When she made a move to go with him, Logan pressed her hand.
    “Relax, Tess. He knows his job.”
    He didn't come back through the Offertory prayers or the washing of hands. Tess sat with her hands clasped in her lap and her spine trembling. Ben knew his job, she agreed silently, but he didn't know hers. If they'd found the man, she should be out with him. He'd need to talk. She stayed where she was, acknowledging fully for the first time that she was afraid.
    Ben returned, his expression grim as he leaned over the back of the pew and touched Logan's shoulder. “Could you come out here a minute?”
    Logan went without question. Tess found herself taking a deep breath before she followed them into the vestibule.
    “The guy's sitting out there on the steps. His wife died last week. Leukemia. I'd say it's been a pretty rough time. I'm going to check him out anyway, but—”
    “Yes, I understand.” Logan glanced toward the closed doors of the church. “I'll take care of him. Let me know if anything changes.” He smiled at Tess and patted her hand. “It was lovely seeing you again.”
    “Good-bye, Monsignor.”

    They watched him walk outside into the crisp bite of the November morning. In silence, they went back into the church. On the altar was the Consecration. Fascinated, Tess sat to watch the ritual of the bread and wine.
    For this is My body.
    Heads bowed, accepting the symbol and the gift. She found it beautiful. The priest, his vestments making him large and wide at the altar, held the round white wafer up. Then the gleaming silver chalice was consecrated and lifted as offering.
    As sacrifice, Tess thought. He had spoken at length of sacrifice. The ceremony she found beautiful, even a little pompous, would only mean sacrifice to him. His God was the Old Testament God, righteous, harsh, and thirsty for the blood of submission. The God of the Flood, of Sodom and Gomorrah. He wouldn't see the lovely ceremony as a bond between the congregation and a God of mercy and kindness, but as a sacrifice to the demanding.
    She reached for Ben's hand. “I think he'd feel … full here.”
    “What?”
    She shook her head, not sure how to explain.
    From the altar came the solemn words, “… as you were pleased to accept the offering of holy Abel and the sacrifice of our father Abraham, and that of your high priest Melchisedec, a holy sacrifice, a spotless victim.”
    “A spotless victim,” Tess repeated. “White for purity.” She looked at Ben with a dull horror. “Not saving. Not saving so much as sacrificing. And when he's here, he twists all this so that it reinforces what he's doing. He