That was all he needed—irony from a priest. In the past months, his life had advanced beyond what any absolution could fix. Life was complicated, full of traps. A man trying hard to do the right thing would suddenly find himself doing exactly the wrong thing. “I always find myself exactly where I don’t want to be,” he explained weakly. Not just frequenting the saloons in Chicago or fleeing the battle in Cuba he’d been paid to witness, but seeing the mob at the Record office, witnessing the Gatling gun demonstration on the river, working at a newspaper office stacked with carbines, rolling around in the street with his hysterical wife.

“What?”

“I haven’t got anything against … They’re just trying to get along, I’m just trying … But on the river, and then my wife was angry, and there she was crossing the street under the lamp—it wasn’t my idea to go looking for him anyway.”

“Please, please,” Father Dennen said, his voice less sure.

“I’m trying, Father. But I don’t understand.”

Father Dennen sighed. “At least you’re honest.” He sighed again, and Sam heard his callused hand rasping against the stubble of his chin. “But for the love of God, son—take charge of your life.”

Sam said nothing. He waited for the lecture, the penance. But instead of assigning a penance, the priest said, “Why is your wife so angry at you? What have you done?”

It took him nearly half an hour to explain. “I left her alone when she needed me,” he began. “Then I was a coward.” He had never told the truth about Cuba to anybody but his wife. Now, he told Father Dennen.

When he had finished, he waited again for a penance. All he heard on the other side of the screen was the measured breathing of the priest. Now he knows everything, Sam thought. Now he can destroy me. Never again would he be able to face this man over a dinner table. He finally said tentatively, “A penance, Father?”

“If only the good Lord had supplied me a whipping post.”

Sam was afraid of his anger. “I am trying to be a good man.”

“No doubt. So are we all. It’s hard to be a good man in these times. But that’s no excuse. Marriage is a sacred institution. You are debasing it.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You want penance? Three things!” snapped the priest, the old ferocity back in his voice. Sam waited while Father Dennen milked the drama. “You will touch no strange woman.”

“Yes, Father.”

“You will do no harm to any man, black or white. Especially black.”

“Yes, Father.”

Father Dennen paused, breathing quick and shallow, like a prizefighter. “You will love your wife.”

Sam barely whispered it: “Yes, Father.”