Chapter 38 Jude
Jude
Jude woke while it was still dark. He blinked back the last foggy vestiges of sleep before rolling over and stretching one leg close to his chest, then the next.
Beside him, Maeve had managed to tuck into a near-perfect ball with arms wrapped around legs and braid strung out behind her.
It reminded him, with a fond lurch that had nothing to do with his cat, of Olive settling into a warm patch of sun. An unerring seeker of warmth.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted and rosy.
Feeling like a small bird had taken up residence behind his sternum, Jude got up and left the stable.
Restlessness chafed at his limbs as he strode up a hill towards where the outline of a church steeple rose against the purpling dawn.
The air was crisp in his lungs, each breath beating back his anxiety like a broom to cobwebs.
Exhilaration surged in his muscles. A flash of being alive, like the lurch of a dreamt fall in the moments before sleep.
Soon, the countryside spread out before him like a patchwork quilt. He’d never been any further than the Abbey. His existence was narrowed to this – moors and woodlands, memories of the sea and salted wind burning his throat.
The countryside was dotted with tiny hamlets and more populous villages, each an individual community all their own.
Except for children leaving home to join the Abbey or occasionally pursue higher education, people rarely left the place of their birth.
They married locally, bore children who would have their accents and carry on their trades, dreaming of the same landscape they saw day in and day out.
Consistent, steady lives with a comfortable lack of variation.
A part of Jude envied them. If he ever managed to free himself from the Abbey, he wouldn’t mind a life like theirs.
He lay back on the cold stone of a nearby bench, gazing at the faded stars above. A moment to ground himself, to keep from imploding into a hundred thousand pieces and drifting away. To calm his building worries, all centred around the woman asleep with her head on his pillow.
Jude breathed out, breathed in. Slowly, his muscles loosened. His lids grew heavy. Morning birdsong filled his ears and, in the far-off distance, bells.
He awoke to Maeve’s voice. The sun had risen fully, heating his rumpled jumper and drying the dew on the hems of his trousers as he slowly pushed to sit.
He scrubbed both palms over his face and squinted down at the path that cut between Caleb’s cottage and the church.
Surprisingly, Maeve and Elden were there, accompanied by a short, slight man dressed in a sweeping black robe.
Jude leapt to his feet and started down the hill. His heart thundered in his chest. ‘Maeve?’ he called as he neared.
She stopped, turning to face him. A smile pulled at her lips despite the tension bracketing her eyes. Beside her, Elden’s gaze coasted over his head, scouring the oncoming clouds.
‘There you are,’ Maeve said. ‘Mr Peters said he’d give us some of his already split wood and fire-starting supplies after the church service.
’ She jerked her chin towards the intimidating expanse of hills to her left.
The next part of their journey. ‘It might be hard to come by out there.’ Her mouth twitched. ‘Another thing we forgot to pack.’
‘Mr Peters?’ Jude echoed, gaze on the unfamiliar man. He studied his black robe and congenial smile. Despite his age, his hair was a shiny thatch of honey-brown, absent of grey. Not the right colour robes for Abbey elders… but still. ‘Who are you?’ Jude asked, tone sharp.
Mr Peters’ smile didn’t waver. ‘I run the church. Told Maeve you two were more than welcome to join for the service. We’d love to have you.’
Jude scowled at his aggressive friendliness. ‘We need to get going. Now.’
‘We need fire supplies more,’ Elden cut in. He nodded towards the church. ‘Won’t take long, then we can be on our way.’
Rolling his lips tightly together, Jude fell into step beside Maeve. Mr Peters and Elden continued on ahead. Jude didn’t like this one bit. Impatience picked at his seams. He turned towards her, lowering his voice. ‘Is the church connected to the Abbey?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied. ‘I don’t think so. I’m not the most… well-versed on anything outside the Abbey.’ She pinned him with a worried look. ‘Surely there are others, right? Other religious institutions?’
Jude returned his gaze to the stranger. ‘I don’t know. Elden seems to trust him.’
‘I’d like to go to the service,’ she whispered, something close to guilt on her face. ‘I just—’ she hesitated, worrying her lip. ‘I miss the community, I suppose. The togetherness of a service.’
Jude nodded. Whereas he wanted nothing to do with anything resembling organized religion, he saw how Maeve gravitated towards it. The saints’ loss left a hole in her life, and she wasn’t ready to have her prayers sent up to no one.
‘If you want to go more, in the future – I’ll go with you,’ he said.
Maeve looked up at him with eyes overbright and glassy.
The four of them entered the church. Despite the unfamiliarity of the high-ceilinged room with its rows of mahogany pews and white-plastered walls, a prickle started at the back of Jude’s neck. The subtle scent of incense tickled his nose with every breath.
‘Shall I show you around?’ Mr Peters asked, sweeping his hand across the space.
Jude frowned. ‘No, we need to—’
‘Wonderful,’ Mr Peters cut in. He made for the stairs. ‘I’ll show you the organ. It’s truly magnificent.’
Jude tried to catch Elden’s eye, to signal to him that they needed to get the fire supplies and leave, but he was already halfway up the stairs. Stifling a sigh, he reluctantly followed.
An admittedly stunning section of stained glass bordered the staircase, letting in a wash of diffused light across the steps, blues and greens and reds. Jude stopped. His gaze swept from the leaves and flowers curling around the border towards the middle, lingering there.
A man was depicted with his hands posed in front of him, one raised, the other hovering at his chest. The two fingers curled inwards. A saint. The corona around his head was as vibrant and yellow as an egg yolk.
And something about his face—
‘Maeve?’ he whispered. ‘Does he look familiar to you?’
She didn’t reply. Jude turned to look at her. Though her eyes were fixed on the stained glass, an odd vacancy lurked in her expression. A blankness he recognized. ‘Maeve,’ he repeated, a little louder this time. He took hold of her shoulder and gently shook. ‘Maeve. Look at me.’
She inhaled sharply. Her eyes met his. ‘Hm?’
Mr Peters’ voice broke the fraught silence. ‘Are you both following? The organ’s just up here.’
‘Coming,’ Maeve called. Before Jude could say anything else, she brushed past him, heading up the stairs.
He looked once more at the stained glass. Trepidation churned in his stomach.
This constant paranoia was eating him alive.
Seeing faces where none watched, sensing danger around every corner.
If he couldn’t even see a panel of stained glass without getting the urge to run, what did that mean for the remainder of his life?
Would he forever be waiting for the worst possible outcome?
With a firm word to himself to try to be fucking normal, Jude ascended the stairs to join the group on a narrow balcony looking out over the empty pews.
Mr Peters held a door open to a small, dimly lit space in the centre of the overlook.
‘And here’s where the organist sits. One of the finest instruments in the country.
We’re very fortunate to have it here in our modest congregation. ’
The metallic glint of organ pipes shone in the hazed light: silver, then faintly gold. Jude stepped closer, gazing at the instrument.
‘You can look if you’d like,’ Mr Peters said, catching his interest.
Jude moved into the stall, Maeve at his back. ‘Couldn’t wait your turn?’ he murmured, turning to put his back to the shining pipes. There was something far more interesting before him.
She reached around him to touch one of the ivory keys. A single, reverberating note echoed through the space. She closed her eyes, a smile on her lips. ‘We used to have a piano,’ she said. ‘My sister and I would play together. Una was far better than I was.’
‘You remember?’ Jude asked.
She shrugged. ‘Somewhat. Not as much as… before. But I do remember playing. How the keys felt under my fingers. Una’s shoulder against mine. But that’s it.’ She lightly dragged her fingers across the keys, too soft to urge any melody.
‘Maybe you’ll play with her again someday,’ Jude said. She was so close he could see how her smile rose higher on one side than the other. The heat of her body pressed into his chest. He shifted closer.
Bam!
Maeve jumped, the side of her head hitting his jaw.
Jude winced, rubbing it as he tried to turn towards the now-closed door, shuffling Maeve closer with the movement.
The sound of trailing voices broke through the stillness as Mr Peters continued telling Elden about the merits of mahogany over oak for choir stalls.
Their footsteps down the stairs rattled the organ room.
‘Did they just leave us?’ Jude asked into Maeve’s hair. He should probably be more concerned.
She made a quiet humming noise, still pressed against him from chest to hip.
Every shift of her body was a very visceral reminder that Jude desperately needed to think of something that wasn’t the soft curve of her breasts against his chest. His body determinedly reminded him that this level of closeness was a whole new experience, and one he ought to pay closer attention to.
He breathed in through his nose, thinking of Elden’s compost.
Dammit. All he could smell was Maeve.
‘Try the door,’ she whispered.