The Sumerton Women Read Online Free PDF Page B

pain of loss.
    Father Alec’s eyes revealed fondness as he cast them upon the child. “That we are.”
    “Yet I suppose no Christian is really orphaned. God is always our father,” Cecily added then, her face brightening with hope. “And He sends us people to look after us and help us, even though our parents were called to Him. Like the Pierces and you for me. That way we need never feel all alone.”
    Father Alec’s eyes softened with unshed tears. “No ... we are never all alone.”
    Mirabella’s gaze darkened. She had spent hours discussing matters of faith with Father Alec and with unending patience he had indulged her, all while praising her intellect. Yet Cecily’s oversimplified generalization, along with the mutual loss of their parents to the dreaded sweat, connected her to the priest in a way Mirabella’s devoutness and keen mind never could.
    She should not resent her for it. It was unchristian, uncharitable. She was above such things. Yet her gut wrenched and ached with unwelcome jealousy. Cecily was endearing; she was sweet without pretense. Her light permeated the darkest reaches of any room and any heart. Mirabella could not emit these qualities, not because she was not in possession of them but because she preferred her solitude. Her light was secret, sacred, preserved for God and a handful of others, one of them being Father Alec. To see his eyes light with admiration for another seized her with a sense of envy new to her.
    She blinked several times. She must not think this way. Cecily was to be a sister to her and to resent a sister was tantamount to resenting Brey or her mother and father.
    Besides, Cecily was just a little girl and everyone was sweet to little girls. Mirabella had no reason to fret.
     
    Grace needed another distraction. Curse Lent and its damnable deprivation! It was all observed with falsehood, as was most everything Catholic. It was a religion of pretense and ritual, meant to satisfy the illiterate multitudes grasping for visuals. Those with any intellect at all did not appreciate with awe the carefully calculated “miracles” the priests concocted to keep their parishioners in thrall. Grace was never impressed. As it was, whenever she attended mass she could not stop calculating the cost of the exquisite chalices, statues, and other artwork gracing the chapel. And the extravagance of the bishops and priests she had encountered had filled her with unholy envy of its own account.
    Grace had heard of Tyndale and Luther, and though she agreed with their various suggestions for reform, she was not a woman impassioned by conviction. Her beliefs were not fervent enough to pursue the New Learning any more than cling to the so-called True Faith. She valued her life, after all. Grace could admit with a dark chuckle that one of the only reasons she resented the wealth of the Church was because she wished to appropriate it.
    Thus the matter of the New Learning was only reflected upon during Lent as she wondered what these reformers would do with the season. She couldn’t imagine it being made any worse; however, given the reformers’ views on simplicity it likely would not be any better.
    So it was that Grace needed another diversion; the melancholy was lurking again in the shadows of her mind and brooding over religious and philosophical doctrine would not assuage it. Matters of religion became too heady for Grace and were best left to Father Alec to puzzle out with moony-eyed Mirabella. Meantime, Grace would plan an entertainment for May Day to usher in the spring.
    The girls would need gowns. Grace lay back in her bed, steepling her fingers beneath her chin in thought as she envisaged little Cecily and Brey in another matching ensemble. The two were a perfect pair! What a boon the little baroness was! Not only did she bring in a worthy dowry, but she was the presence of beauty and poise. And Brey loved her; they were together all the time, playing as children do. Grace could not