Historical setting 561 C.E. Gaul
It was a long journey from Poitiers here to the Liger Valley keeping watch through the night then traveling on most of this day. The donkey is resting in his stall below and I am able to find a fine rest in the straw of this loft. Now someone has come to the donkey shed side of this house.
“Eve, is that you?”
“Yes, Papa. Don’t come down. I’m not covered. I just wanted to talk with you.”
“I hope it is alright if I make my bed in the loft here. Your brother thought that would be okay with you.”
“It’s fine Papa. I have a blanket to give you. The nights are cold now and you will want a blanket. Your dinner tonight will be at my hearth. I’m a better cook when I can share with someone. I need to talk with you Papa but please don’t come down.”
“Dear Child it’s alright if I see you. I know you have scars from the pox. I have seen scars before. I won’t be put off by it.”
“So you say, Papa. But we don’t know do we? I want to talk with you. But I want you to know they call me a pagan now, Papa. I hope you will not hate me for that.”
“Eve, you are my child. There is nothing others can say of you, or that you can think or say or become that could ever make me not love you.”
“So you say, Papa. I will try not to strain your good intention. But I have a Jesus question and the priest says it is a Christian secret and it should not be revealed to a pagan.”
“I can’t imagine what could be a Christian secret.”
This is an uncomfortable conversation, me in the haymow and my daughter staying intentionally out of my sight as we try to work through nineteen missing years of relationship changing and hurting, hating and now speaking of differences of faith and of belonging as family once again. How can I be a loving parent to a shadow?
“What is your Jesus question, Child?”
(Tomorrow she asks)
Lazarus Ink 