then, when the embers die down, it becomes too cold. Countryside is a terrible place. We wake with fleas, you will see."
"Now, now, Mai Lin," Grace said as she peered harder up the black street. "That is he, is it not?"
Mai Lin huffed, "Mistress still searches for her husband even when she is with him. Yes, that's the Reverend."
Grace glared at her but then reached out a hand, and Mai Lin took it. "You will help me to sleep tonight?" she whispered.
Mai Lin made that tsking sound, but Grace knew by the squeeze that the old woman gave to her fingers that she could count on at least one creature in this world. Grace felt the only relief she knew anymore.
The Reverend sauntered closer with one hand held behind his back, the other swinging a lantern. His long coat swished, and the amulets he wore on his belt swung freely. Grace noticed a new scabbard at his hip. Its sheath glinted in the lamplight. She wanted to ask him about it, to insist he not be armed like some barbarian, but she began to cough, and besides, she knew it would do no good. He was who he was now.
When she finally drew in a clear breath, she looked up with a feeble smile and asked in as cheerful a voice as she could muster, "Whatever took you so long?"
"I have something for you," he said.
From behind his back he brought forth one of the ancient Chinese vases, a simple porcelain one with no handle and no decoration, just a pale green glaze that caught the lamplight.
"They gave you the most beautiful one?" she asked.
"They did. That was their purpose in inviting us to see their collection. They had hoped you might accept it, too."
"I would have if they had allowed me to sell it and give them the proceeds."
"My darling, I know it is hard for you to grasp this, but they want to live and die here."
The Reverend offered the small vase to her, but she did not take it.
"You are most stubborn," he said.
"I, stubborn? It is you and these foolish people who will not help themselves. They will die out here because of their pride."
"You're right." He smiled down at her. "It is pride that will kill us all."
His voice did not sound one bit sorry. Whatever could have gotten into him?
He set the vase on the rough table. "They wish for this beautiful object to become a part of our inheritance. They want us to pass it on to our children."
Grace flinched at the suggestion of more than one child. The coughing began again, and this time she did nothing to hide it.
The Reverend sat quickly at her side on the bench and put his hand on her back. "You're not well," he said.
She brushed him away, although it pained her to do so. Yet she could not bear his pity. She would not have him thinking of her as the weaker one. It occurred to her that she was no better than the foolish peasants with their precious porcelains. Perhaps it was she who wouldn't allow herself to be saved.
"Here," the Reverend said, taking the animal cloak off his shoulders. "You will catch a chill sitting outside like this."
He draped the heavy thing over Grace's shoulders, and she flinched, smelling its wild odor. But then she settled into it and let herself lean against her husband's side as he spoke.
"Would you like to hear why it is that I brought you to this hamlet?"
Grace nodded, and although she was warming up now, she still trembled from the cold.
"The last time I was here, I sat with the ancient grandfather and listened to him into the night. He and his son, the innkeeper, had not spoken to one another for fifteen years. Can you imagine living in this miserable little village and having a relative so near and yet not speaking to one another? Shortly before midnight, the old one agreed to meet his son, but only if we did it at that hour and at that moment. When the Lord knocks, we must answer, so I returned with him to this inn, and together the three of us sat up until dawn. The grandson, who escorted our donkey to the stable today, stood in the corner watching, rubbing his eyes from tiredness but also, no doubt, trying to tell if he was dreaming at the sight of the two patriarchs finally speaking to one