Merlyn’s was a farewell fittingly given to a child and it irked me as little else he might have done. On principle alone, I did not follow him to the door, nor did I watch him go. Instead, I paced back to the altar and prayed for some aid in this matter.
The wind blew in a gust and wood rattled against wood.
I tipped my head back and looked for the source of the sound. A wooden rosary had been hung over one arm of the crucifix hung behind the altar. Those beads swung in the wind and slapped against the crucifix’s center beam.
I had not noticed the rosary before, but there was a patina of dust upon each bead. And the wooden beads were dark, of the same hue as the carved wood itself, as well as hanging in the deep shadows beneath the window.
Indeed, there was nothing remarkable about it
