Noah had not foreseen the extent of the priest’s determination to refuse the bunk. He was unbending on it. Perhaps it was a Catholic foible to choose discomfort? Or a priestly one? Well, he would argue it no further. In truth, as he knew sleep would be difficult, the floor would have proved more of a trial than usual, though he was no stranger to sleeping on one. He listened to the murmurs of Tommaso’s prayers and the click of his beads, much as he had done to Raphael’s in the cabin on their sails around the Caribbean searching for Penny.
There was something comforting in the sound. He understood what Susannah had meant all those months ago when she talked of having faith in Raphael’s God when she could not find such in her own. It was admiring a strength in another that one did not posse
