Sunday morning came cold and gray.
Aaron stood quietly by the farmhouse door, buttoning his coat as Jacob and Ruth prepared for church. They spoke little, moving with a slow, steady rhythm, like people who had done the same routine every Sunday for their entire lives. The wagon ride into the heart of the village was short. The mist was still thick between the trees, clinging to the wooden houses and narrow paths.
The church was small, made of dark, weathered wood, its steeple crooked against the heavy sky. Aaron followed Jacob, Ruth, and their daughter inside, the old doors creaking loudly as they entered. The pews were already half full. Plain-dressed men turned to glance at him as he walked in, some with curiosity, some with something colder. Aaron kept his head down and slid into a seat near the back.
The service began with the low hum of hymns sung without music. The preacher- a tall, gaunt man with deep-set eyes- rose from the pulpit and began to speak. His voice was calm but heavy, like stones dropping into deep water. Aaron tried to focus, but he felt the weight of a gaze pressing against him. He shifted slightly, glancing across the aisle.
A woman sat alone, her bonnet shadowing her face. She wasn't singing or praying, straight at him. Her face was pale, her eyes too wide, unblinking. Her hands were folded neatly in her lap, unmoving. Aaron looked away quickly, pretending to adjust his coat. When he dared to glance back a moment later, she was still staring, cold, direct, as if she could see something inside him he didn't know was there.
The preacher's voice rose and fell, speaking of sin, pride, and obedience. But Aaron could barely hear it, because now the woman's mouth was moving slowly and deliberately. Her voice barely reached him, a thin, mocking whisper carried across the aisle: "Where's the boy?" Aaron froze. The words sank into him like cold water, pulling all the air from his lungs. He leaned toward Jacob, his voice a frantic whisper.
"Who is that woman?' Jacob didn't look up. He bowed his head lower, his hands clasped tightly together, as if he hadn't heard the question. Aaron sat stiffly in his seat, his hands gripping the edge of the pew. Across the aisle, the woman's lips curved into a faint smile-too wide, too sharp-and then she bowed her head like all the others, as if she had never spoken.
Outside, the mist thickened against the stained-glass window, swallowing the world beyond into a colorless void. Inside, the church felt smaller, colder.