by Jamie Craig
On Saturday night, as they were rising to depart for bed, Micah touched Jefferson’s elbow to stop him from continuing.
“Are you going to be attending services in the morning?”
“Of course.” Jefferson gestured at the pew they just rose from. “I’m here by eight sharp. Would you like to sit with me?”
He had been ready to ask for the favor, but Jefferson’s offer made that unnecessary. “Yes, very much.” They began walking for the front entrance, their steps long and leisurely. “I must admit, I’m not keen on the ceremony, but something tells me that perhaps it was just the company I kept that made it so.”
“Perhaps. I enjoy the morning services. Reverend Deem always has thoughtful sermons. Are you not a…religious man?”
Micah contemplated the question, but it took only a few seconds to decide he could trust Jefferson to be honest with him. “Let us say I have difficulty with several of the religious dictates I’ve been taught. I do not understand how a deity who professes to love humanity can allow certain atrocities to occur, or deny others who lead moral lives but otherwise do not believe in His unfailing teachings.”
“I’ve struggled with the same questions in the past. I haven’t always been on the best terms with the church, but I have eventually found answers to my questions. Or at least, answers I could live with.” Jefferson’s voice dropped, a sure indication that he was about to impart a confidence. “I still feel the Spirit, and I have faith, but the God I answer to is not Deem’s God.”
“I pray I find the same contentment you do.” Micah smiled, unable to resist. “Does Jefferson Dering’s God have room in His heart for an overeager poet with a hunger for knowledge and a predilection for forgetting his gloves?”
Despite Micah’s smile and light tone, Jefferson’s response was solemn. “He does. I’m sure it would be remarkably easy for Him to find a place for you.”
“I think I shall like your God.” Micah tugged the door open, welcoming the fresh blast of cold air upon his flushed cheeks. The church was always as chilly as it had been the first night, but he’d long since discovered that discourse with Jefferson heated him more than thoroughly. “If He’s as benevolent as you attest He is, I’d even kneel before Him in worship and take pleasure in it, even though that is by far my least favorite part of the service.”
Jefferson shut the door behind them and buttoned his coat. “He is most benevolent. I don’t believe He needs that sort of worship, but He would take as much pleasure in your love for Him.”
“A God who would allow me to worship as I saw fit?” Micah beamed. “I think I love Him already.”
They parted company for the night before Micah could ask why Jefferson still attended church at all, if he had his own ideas of what God was, or should be. The next morning, he and Ewan arrived at ten to the hour, hoping to catch a few minutes alone with Jefferson. But he hadn’t lied about his arrival time. He entered the building at precisely eight o’clock and went directly to where Micah was waiting for him.
Jefferson greeted Ewan with a warm smile and a firm handshake. His greeting for Micah was equally polite, but he thought Jefferson held on to his hand for just a moment too long. Like Jefferson didn’t quite want to let him go.
As Reverend Deem stepped out to the pulpit, they took their seats in the pew. Micah leaned towards Jefferson, ducking his head and lowering his voice in order not to be overheard by the others.
“It’s lovely enough by daylight, but I think I prefer our church quite a bit more,” he whispered.
“I do, as well.” Jefferson’s mouth was near his ear, and he felt the warm words against his skin. “It won’t be the same for me when you return to Boston.”
Mention of his return sent a sharp pang through Micah’s chest. He had given little thought to his life in Boston over the past week; it was as if that person no longer existed. But Jefferson was correct in assuming he had to go back. At least he knew that he would be missed. He could not say the same about those he’d left behind in coming to Wroxham.
“You shall have to imagine I remain. And tell me in our correspondences everything I miss.”
Deem began reading from the scriptures, his voice growing louder and louder with each verse. But Jefferson didn’t sit back and pay the reverend the appropriate attention. Instead he murmured, “I will sit in this spot every night and compose letters to you.”
Micah knew it was unseemly, but he couldn’t restrain his small pleased smile. “Will you share your verses too? Or must I return to Wroxham at Christmastime in order to hear them personally?”
He imagined Deem must be looking at them, must be noticing their private conversation. The entire congregation must have noticed. Jefferson’s voice was so low Micah could barely pick out the words, but their bodies were much too close. Heat crawled up the back of his neck. He realized it was not Jefferson’s words that warmed him. He assumed Deem must have stoked the fire prior to the service.
“You’ll have to return. I won’t share any verse in correspondence. Otherwise, how could I compel you to visit again?”
“All you would have to do is ask. Who am I to deny you if that’s what you desire?”
“Would you deny me anything I desire?”
“Of course not.” Micah felt Ewan’s foot nudge against his, trying to prod him to pay attention to the sermon, but the need to impress upon Jefferson how sincere he was kept his focus on him. “I only wish I could give you more.”
Jefferson sighed, his warm breath fluttering over Micah’s skin and sending a chill down his spine. He glanced down to Jefferson’s hand, which was less than an inch from his. Jefferson’s fingers twitched, and Micah suddenly became certain Jefferson was going to touch him. Jefferson’s finger seemed to move in slow motion as he touched Micah’s forefinger.
He barely had the chance to process the contact before the church doors slammed open with enough force to make the entire building shake. Micah jumped and turned to look. Deem’s voice stopped. Nobody in the church made a sound or even took a breath. One by one, the window shutters flew open with the same force. Each strike against the wall boomed through the small building, and a sharp autumn wind swept through the building.
In all the time he’d spent in the church, Micah had never seen an occurrence as violent as this. Had somebody failed to secure the latches? The wind was brisk, but he didn’t think it was that brisk.
A small child’s whimper cut through the silence. The sound shattered the spell that seemed to surround the congregation, and two men in the rear rushed to close the doors again.
Reverend Deem chuckled, though its nervous timbre did nothing to settle the race through Micah’s veins. “It would seem God felt it necessary to wake us up this morning—”
The candles on the altar suddenly extinguished. All at the same time.
Childish whimpers turned to cries. One toddler in the pew in front of them covered her ears, her face twisting with discomfort over her mother’s shoulder. A mere second later, wind roared down the stovepipe, sending smoke and ash into the room. Micah knew better, but for a moment he thought some animal had been trapped in the pipe. An injured animal.
Jefferson stood without warning. Micah opened his mouth to stop him, but Jefferson wasn’t looking at him. He forced his way to the aisle, muttering halfhearted apologies as he narrowly avoided trampling on toes.
Jefferson’s exodus spurred others to rise as well. People swelled from the pews to blockade the path behind him, and too quickly, Micah lost sight of the familiar ginger hair.
“Come, sir.” Ewan tugged at his arm, dragging Micah to his feet. “We should away while we have the opportunity.”
Micah had no choice but to follow. By the time he exited the church, Jefferson was nowhere to be seen.
* * * *
For the rest of the day, the inn was abuzz with the doings at the church. Everyone had a theory. Mrs. Ruark especially seemed eager to share her opinions of what exactly had caused the sudden unnatural ev
ents.
Micah heard none of it. He was too concerned about Jefferson. He’d gone to Jefferson’s house in an attempt to find out what was wrong, but no amount of banging on the front door drew a response. Ewan dragged him away, as assuredly as he had done at the church. Micah’s feet felt like lead every step he took away from Jefferson and his friend’s obvious distress.
Night fell. Micah stood at the window, staring out into the darkness, while Ewan stoked the fire behind him.
“Perhaps it’s time for us to return to Boston,” Ewan said. “Your studies can’t wait indefinitely, sir.”
“No, they can’t.” But his heart wasn’t in it. His heart was elsewhere, wondering what exactly he could do for his new friend.
“Should I pack?”
Ewan had to repeat the query before Micah answered.
“Not tonight.”
“Tomorrow then?”
“We’ll see.”
The floorboards creaked. “If Mr. Dering is half the poet you are, Micah, you shouldn’t worry. If I’ve learned nothing else knowing you as I do, it’s that a poet’s temperament is capricious at best. He’ll be himself by morning. You usually are.”
He knew Ewan only meant the best, but deep in his heart, Micah didn’t believe him. Jefferson wasn’t all right. The church held special meaning for Jefferson; he wouldn’t leave so abruptly without valid cause.
Turning on his heel, he grabbed his coat, ignoring Ewan’s frown. “I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up for me.”
After Ewan’s earlier assessments, Micah half expected to be stopped. But Ewan let the door click shut behind him without argument, and Micah fled the inn for the welcoming night.
Micah went directly to Jefferson’s home, though he suspected it would be a fruitless journey. The windows were dark, and nothing, not even a hint of smoke, rose from the chimney. The house didn’t look empty. It looked abandoned. Micah shook his head and tried to tell himself he was being ridiculous. Jefferson hadn’t fled Wroxham.
Micah narrowed his eyes and surveyed the area. Every window in the village blazed with light, as though nobody wanted to be alone in the dark. Every building seemed brimming with life, with smoke from the fire, with the smells of supper. Every building except Jefferson’s cottage and the church.
Micah didn’t hesitate. He crossed the small town square with long strides. A full moon sat, fat and white, just over the horizon, allowing enough light to move with ease. Even from a distance he could see the church door was not shut all the way. Had the hinges been damaged earlier? Micah certainly wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
Jefferson’s voice drifted from the dark shadows. “Not tonight, Micah.”
Though he paused on the threshold, Micah squinted in order to find his friend. “Why not? Would you really send me away?”
“I would. You should go back to your room.” The rising moon cast more light through the church windows, and he saw Jefferson’s familiar form in the middle of the aisle. “Perhaps we can meet tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to meet tomorrow. I wish to see you tonight.” Even to his ears, he sounded like a petulant child. Micah cursed his impatience and took a step into the church. “You’re my friend, Jefferson. As such, I refuse to look away simply because you wish to shield me from whatever is troubling you.”
Jefferson took a step back, maintaining the same distance between them. “Micah, if you are my friend, you’ll accept my wishes.” After a week of listening to Jefferson speak, he was intimately aware of each nuance in speech and tone. Each word seemed to come with great effort. “My wish is for privacy.”
“Then you would have stayed locked up in your home.” He pushed the door shut behind them, blocking out the moon. “I know you. I know you come here when you seek solace. Why is it so difficult for you to accept my solace instead of a cold, empty church?”
Jefferson made a short, strangled sound that might have been an aborted laugh. “You really have no idea what’s going on, do you?”
At least he wasn’t insisting Micah leave anymore. That was a good start.
“No.” Micah ventured further into the church, until he stood at the end of the aisle. It was then that he realized he’d been mistaken. The church wasn’t cold. It was as hot as an August day at noon, and he had to unbutton his coat in order to relieve the sudden discomfort. “Why don’t you tell me, Jefferson? Why did you flee this morning?”
“Because if I stayed, it would only get worse.” He walked to the front of the church, putting the length of the building between them. “There’s a spirit here, Micah, and I don’t understand how, but he…he responds to me.”
“A spirit?” More than one theory that day had posited such an option, but Micah had dismissed it as foolhardy. It was inexplicable that Jefferson would subscribe to the same theory. “Surely, you jest.”
“Do I look like I’m laughing?”
Since Jefferson still faced the altar, Micah couldn’t discern what exactly he was doing, though the harsh tone of his voice made it clear that laughing was not it. But he still didn’t understand how a rational man such as Jefferson could believe in spirits.
“Does he haunt you then?” Micah edged to the far right aisle. Jefferson might insist on keeping the distance between them, but he couldn’t hide from him completely. “How can you even be sure your spirit is male?”
“He doesn’t haunt me.” Jefferson seemed too distracted to notice him, and Micah inched closer to him. “He haunts the church, but he only manifests himself to me. Usually. I know who it is. His name is…was…Joseph Mather. He was a traveling minister. He helped build this church.”
“You said your grandfather built this church.”
“He did. They built it together. Joseph had been an apprentice to a carpenter before he decided to preach the Word. He died here. Before it was finished. He took his last breath over there.” Jefferson gestured at the pew—their pew as Micah was beginning to think of it. “I found letters of his once, tucked into the Bible my grandfather kept. They…Joseph and my grandfather…were very close.”
The ache in Jefferson’s voice drew Micah irresistibly closer. “Like us.”
“Yes,” Jefferson said hoarsely. “Exactly like us. Perhaps that’s why…”
Micah waited for Jefferson to finish the sentence, but it never came. Pain tore through him. He hated seeing his friend like this, in such obvious torment.
“Is the spirit hurting you somehow?” he asked, hoping to prompt more details.
“No, but I am likely causing him a good deal of pain.” Jefferson looked up and blinked. He moved to take another step back, but he didn’t have anywhere else to go. “And you…Micah, please, just stop. Don’t come any closer. Please.”
Micah obeyed. But to show Jefferson he had no intention of going anywhere, he slipped off his coat and tossed it onto a nearby pew. The heat wasn’t nearly as stifling, but his shirt clung to his shoulders, damp with perspiration.
“How could you be the cause of pain to anyone, let alone a spirit? You are the most generous man I’ve ever known.”
“I saw him die once,” Jefferson muttered, as though he hadn’t heard Micah’s question. “Joseph sent me a vision. It was like a waking dream. I thought I was having some sort of fit or nervous breakdown. They had just finished the framing, and they were talking about Grandfather’s upcoming wedding. Joseph had promised to conduct the ceremony once the church was completed. Grandfather was covered in Joseph’s blood and crying and begging him not to go.”
When Jefferson looked down at his hands, Micah knew he was seeing blood, blood that wasn’t his. “I’m sure that was dreadful,” he tried to soothe. “But why you, Jeff? It isn’t as if you killed him.”
“Because I’m Simon Dering’s grandson. He’s not trying to hurt me. I come here because he’s bound to the church, to my family, to me. What you witnessed today is a result of that connection. And he can feel all this…” Jefferson put a hand against his chest. “Everything ins
ide of me.”
“What? What do you feel?”
For the first time, Jefferson moved towards him. Micah expected him to stop, but he didn’t. He continued to advance until they were standing toe to toe. “I feel you, Micah.” He gripped Micah’s shoulder, and then he was walking again, pushing Micah backwards to the wall behind him. Any concept of personal space, of boundaries, was completely eradicated. “I feel you. And I would be angry about what you’ve done to me, but I don’t think you ever realized it.”
“What I’ve…”
Micah struggled to comprehend what it was Jefferson was saying, but all he could perceive was the sudden feel of the hard body pressing to his, the way Jefferson’s fingers flexed on his shoulder, the fervent gleam in those slate eyes. He swallowed, but that did nothing to loosen his too-tight throat. It only served to remind him of how hard he was struggling to catch his breath.
“I don’t want you to be angry with me,” he finally managed. “But I don’t understand what it is I’ve done.”
“You come here without warning and you flatter me. You look at me like I am literally the answer to all your questions. You touch me…” He reached up with his free hand and brushed his knuckles across Micah’s face. “You might not understand what drives you to me again and again, but I do. You show me everything I could possibly desire and remind me I could never have it in this lifetime.”
He couldn’t look away. When it came to the force of Jefferson’s gaze, he could never look away.
“I can’t believe there is nothing you can’t have if you truly desire it.”
“Do you want me to show you what I truly desire, Micah?”
“I want you to be honest with me. I loathe seeing you in this distress.”
Jefferson closed his eyes and moved his head to the side, as though he planned to whisper the answer in Micah’s ear. But he didn’t speak. His cheek brushed against Micah’s with enough deliberation to make Micah realize it was not an accident. He felt Jefferson’s chest expand as he inhaled, and he shifted his weight, pressing more firmly against Micah’s body.
