Adveniat regnum tuum, Fiat voluntas tua…” Duncan MacRae faced forward, looking into the open grave, heedless of the rain dripping onto his face. He barely registered the words of the prayer as it was chanted around him. “…Sicut in caelo et in terra. Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie, Et dimitte nobis debita nostra…” A few of the ladies watched him warily, scolding expressions on their downcast faces. Duncan wondered why. Should he be crying? He wasn’t sure. He didn’t trust himself to alter his expression in the slightest, or even to register the sight of the plain pine coffin as it settled in the earth. He stared, unmoving. He concentrated all of his energy on hardening his heart and forcing himself not to feel. “…Sicut et nos dimittimus debitoribus nostris, et ne nos inducas in tentationem…” Duncan was numb. The sensation was familiar. Bringing himself to this blank, empty space was a skill he had mastered through the years.
