When she finished, Jonathan clapped, and Hæra frowned. “That was short. There isn’t any more?”

“Hæra,” Jonathan sighed.

“What? I like her voice. Madeleine, is there more?”

“I only remember the first three verses,” Madeleine admitted. “It’s been a while.”

“What do the words mean?”

“It’s about a horse who’s brave in a thunderstorm.” As she said it, Madeleine bit her lower lip. She’d chosen the song deliberately, but now that she said it aloud, maybe it seemed heavy-handed.

Hæra sat up straight. Jonathan shook his head. “Best not to speak of that.”

Before Madeleine could look around in alarm, Hæra said brusquely, “Don’t be superstitious. It’s not as if the herd can hear or see us. Madeleine, thank you for the song. You have a beautiful voice.”

“She does,” Jonathan agreed. “Finer than any I’ve heard in church.”

“You don’t go to church.” Hæra darted a quick glance at Madeleine, as if making sure this topic wasn’t off-limits.

What could Madeleine do but shrug? Jonathan could talk as he pleased, and it was good for her to be with people whose lives didn’t revolve around worship. She herself hadn’t been inside a church since her disastrous attempt at confession. After today’s events, she felt no rush to return.

“There’s other ways to find what’s holy,” Jonathan said. He crossed his legs at the ankles and settled his weathered hands on his stomach. “Singing’s one. I sang a lot when I was a young man. Village kids would follow me about asking me to.” He glanced at Hæra. “He said that’s how he first noticed me, you know. Heard me singing. The song went out of me after him.”

Hæra stared at Jonathan. “You never told me that.”

“Must I tell you everything? Anyway, it’s true.”

Madeleine’s mother had taught her not to ask intrusive questions, even if people were speaking in front of her about something she didn’t know. It sure was a temptation now. Yet she held her tongue. If Jonathan wanted to elaborate, he would.

As if he’d read her mind, he smiled wryly at her. “Sorry. I’ll tell you more later.”

He must be referring to their talk tomorrow. Curiouser and curiouser. Madeleine nodded, already alight with interest.

“You should sing again,” Hæra told him, voice taut. “Don’t let him take away your pleasure anymore. I want to hear your song.” She leaned forward toward where Jonathan sat in the hideous Naugahyde chair, eyes narrowed.

I love Jonathan, she’d said. They never told me I could love.