Mercy by Alissa York Read Free Book Online

double chin—one of many dark profiles August had come to know.
    When the warning bell tolled, Father Felix followed the cruel boy into the chancel.
    “Introibo ad altare Dei,”
said the priest, and August mouthed along to the acolyte’s reply. He knew well enough what the dead words meant.
To God who gives joy to my youth
.
    He went early to confession as well, preferring to avoid the craning looks of those who stood before him in line.
    “It’s not me, Father,” he whispered hoarsely, having finally worked up the nerve. “It’s my mother.”
    Father Felix exhaled audibly.
    “Father, I’m worried for her soul.”
    “My son,” the old priest replied, “you cannot confess another’s sins.” He hesitated. “Perhaps you could offer up a prayer to the Holy Virgin.”
    “Yes.” And August resolved instantly to do so. From now on, his candy money would buy candles in his mother’s name, no matter how badly he craved something sweet. Still, if a sin went on unrepented, unconfessed—
    “You’re a good boy, August,” Father Felix said. “A good Catholic. You’d make a fine altar boy—”
    August’s heart leapt.
    “—but we both know the kind of uproar that would cause.”
    “Oh. Yes, Father.”
    “I want you to know something, August. As far as I’m concerned—as far as God is concerned—any time you need someone to talk to, even if you just need somewhere to feel safe, you are always welcome in the house of the Lord.”
    “Okay,” August whispered, unable to trust his voice.
    “Do you know who Saint Felix was, my son?”
    “No, Father.”
    “Patron saint of those falsely accused.”
    “Oh.”
    “I want you to listen to me now,” Father Felix said gravely. “While your mother is indeed living in a state of sin—” He paused. “—she is nonetheless a good woman. Can you understand that?”
    “But, Father, she doesn’t even go to church.”
    “She used to. I baptized her in this church.”
    “But—”
    “August, your mother has her reasons for staying home while you’re attending Mass. The truth is, if she ever tried to set foot in this church, her fellow Christians would drive her out.” Again the priest’s long, weary sigh. “Do you understand?”
    “I—think so.”
    “Good. Now, have you anything to confess?”
    The next morning at the Communion rail, Father Felix looked him dead in the eye. The host fell thickly on August’s tongue, and he could swear the old priest muttered the
Corpus Christi
twice. He knew it was breaking the rules, but he held his tongue down low on the way back to his seat and, once there, lifted his hand to cover a false cough. The top wafer was slightly soggy but still in one piece. He held it tightly the whole way home.
    He made Aggie close her eyes and hold out her hand. “Father Felix sent it.” He placed the damp host on her palm. “For you.”
    Her eyes opened wide and welled up shiny. Right there in the kitchen she went down on her knees. August watched his mother cross herself slowly and lift the Eucharist to her mouth. Watched her tongue come out to meet it like a cat’s.
HIS BODY
    Mathilda avoids Thomas gracefully, each day a series of evasions, variations on the central gesture of turning herback in their bed. His breakfast lies alone on the table, a pan lid keeping it warm. She’s reaching for the back door when he appears.
    “Off again?” He looms in the kitchen doorway, forcing a smile. “I thought they were getting a new housekeeper.”
    “They are.” She fiddles with the knob. “Soon.”
    “When?”
    “Thomas—”
    “No.” He draws himself up. “No, Mathilda, it won’t do. Tend to your aunt by all means, but there’s no reason for you to be doing her job. You’ve got to let all that go.”
    “All that? You mean my faith?”
    “You know that’s not what I mean. I mean—giving your life to the Church. So there’s nothing left.”
    “For you, you mean.”
    “Well, yes.” He reddens. “Is that a sin, for a man