The Leper's Return by Michael Jecks Read Free Book Online Page B

husband finding out. And in an age when many cuckolded men would grab for a sword first and ask questions only once limbs and certain members had been irretrievably lost, that was an important consideration.
    At the thought, John’s grin widened. He had always been careful; he had never let himself get caught. It wasn’t arrogance, but the cautious evaluation of dangers that prevented his capture. He always made sure that there was no chance that a husband could catch him. And the benefits had been there for him to take. Women had appreciated him for providing them with the affection they missed in their boring marriages, together with the thrill of the illicit. But no more.
    No, for John—the man who had enjoyed the favors of many ladies, the man who was free of the taint of falling in love, who avoided the wily snares of those girls who flaunted themselves at him and laughed at the very notion that he should ever remarry—was smitten. And he knew it must be serious, for he couldn’t regret the fact.
    When he glanced up, he saw that the sun was sinking. It would soon be getting dark. He paused to smile to himself before hurrying his steps. Coffyn was away again tonight, and that meant John’s path was clear once more.
    A week after Ralph’s arrival in Crediton, he was told he had a new inmate.
    Later he was to remember it as one of those crystal-clear autumn mornings that held the promise of a warm sun and no rain. When he opened the door of his little home, the hospital’s grounds lay under a fine coating of frost. He had to pause and inhale deeply, drinking in the view like wine.
    The small community was out at the western edge of the town, away from the busy center, and although he could see the smoke rising like columns in the still air, the houses and shops were invisible from here, hidden from view by the sweep of the hill and the trees which covered its side. The only proof of habitation was the clangor of the waking population as they rattled over the roads on wagons, or banged pots and pans together ready for the new day. Doors and shutters slammed, voices were raised as apprentices were called, or cursed for being late.
    Ralph smiled. The noise from Crediton was rarely so raucous, but when the morning was as still as this, the sounds drifted down the road so distinctly he could imagine the people were only a few feet away instead of over a quarter of a mile. It removed the sense of isolation that was the occupational hazard of his career.
    From the door to his house he could see the whole of his domain. Directly ahead was the gate to the outside world which his inmates simultaneously loathed for its rejection of them, and adored for the freedom—and health—it represented. On his right was the squat little chapel, with its sorry collection of wooden crosses to remember the men who had died here. The lepers themselves lived opposite it. A few, he knew, the most godly, would even now be readying themselves for the first service of the day. Their only possibility of freedom would come from the chapel: either they would enjoy the miracle of returned health through God’s kindness, or they would be released. He would mercifully grant them death, and an end to their suffering.
    But others would not join him in St. Lawrence’s to attend his masses. These were the incorrigible ones, the ones who had already given up. They had succumbed to grief, or had become angry with their God for their living death. Ralph felt he could understand their misery, but could not forgive their loss of faith. They should, he felt, put their trust in Him. It was with a kind of abstract disinterest that he wondered how he himself would react if he became a leper. It was always possible that he might succumb to the malign disease. He only prayed that he could be like the first group, and would relish the opportunity for praising God that its onset would provide—but he wasn’t sure.
    The message came late in the morning, while he