The next morning Mass was well attended, more for the hope of fresh gossip than for forgiveness of sins, Stefan knew. He was hungry. He had searched the cellar below the church, but he and Erick had eaten the last of the vegetables stored from the last harvest. His stomach grumbled as he climbed the steps and locked the door for the last time this season. Hard work would make him forget his hunger. He swept straw away from the church aisle onto the street. One of the altar boys trimmed the wicks as Erick, who was his main attendant, polished the wood altar. Erick had been abandoned in the market square years ago, just before he sprouted up into a tall, lean young man. His parents probably had not been able to afford to feed him, but he never mentioned them or spoke of his previous life. Still, he bore the shame with silent grace, even as he quietly rebuffed Father Stefan’s confused attempts to help him. Erick was often a mystery to Father Stefan, who taught on forgiveness weekly but had never had to forgive a great debt himself.
