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The church has introduced a new service, inspired by the sort of things offered in bigger cities like Primeldorf, and the grand locale built around the white castle that Elise can often be caught staring wistfully toward.
The confessional can be utilized on certain days, at certain times, with the whispered words exchanged therein sworn to never leave its confines. It is a place, Father Hans says, that will allow Kieferberg and its residents to safely vent their sins, and hopefully reduce the spread of gossip. It’s a small town after all. Small towns only have so much to do.
”Well, I think it’s a whole lot of nonsense,” says Elise, who is never shy about her opinions…at least, when it’s just the three of them.
Lebkuchen already looks to be in physical pain. Freya’s heart goes out to her.
“At least it’s only for two days a week…?” says Freya.
Father Hans will do one day, and Lebkuchen the other. Their friend wears a look of long-suffering that is matched only by Elise’s perpetual weariness.
“I know, but if the townsfolk already like to gossip as it is, imagine what will be said in private…” She turns her cross necklace in her fingers.
“That’s one job that you couldn’t pay me enough to do. Imagine having to listen to those vapid comments all day long, as if talking about it in private absolves them of the ‘sin’? This isn’t like Primeldorf! You know every person that comes in, and every person that they’re talking about. Why isn’t anyone thinking about how you feel?”
Elise always gets angry on Lebkuchen’s behalf. Freya smiles at the sight. “Let’s not jump to conclusions too quickly? It might not even be that bad. There’ll be the initial rush, and then the townsfolk will probably only go in sometimes…ah, but I’m sorry, Leb…”
”It’s fine,” Lebkuchen sighs. “I only have to do it on Wednesdays.”
-
The confessional sits in the church like an upright coffin. It’s made of dark wood polished to a thunderous shine—it reminds Freya of the way black stones gleam in the river, worn smooth and bright by the rush of water. It’s only to be used when there’s no mass, and there’s a door on one side for the clergy, and a door on the other end for the confessor. Freya thinks it all looks rather ominous. Confessions have always been a service Father Hans has provided, just not like…this.
When Freya mentions quietly to Elise exactly what she thinks it resembles, the brilliant smirk she shows makes the blasphemy well worth it.
After the Sunday service, residents of Kieferberg line up like the confessional is an attraction at a fair. They stand a respectable distance from the box itself—perhaps fearing divine retribution will be visited upon them if they dare try to overhear what’s going on inside—and whisper quietly to their fellows about how it’s such a relief that such a thing has been brought to their fair town.
Freya supposes it’s…good?
“They do seem invested in it, don’t they?” Gustav chuckles, noticing her curious look. “What about you, Freya? Have anything to confess?”
Freya giggles. “Hmm…Nothing so serious as to require that, I think.”
Before she leaves to go to work with the chickens, Elise makes sure Lebkuchen sees her rolling her eyes. The nun has to fight to hold back her smile.
-
The promised day arrives like a hurricane, whipping the more talkative people of Kieferberg into a tumult worthy of any storm. They all know today is the day Lebkuchen works the confessional, and there’s something about Lebkuchen that makes the gossipers more open to speaking with her about that than Father Hans. Poor Lebkuchen is often victim to lacking either Hans’ seniority or austere demeanor. Freya’s already prepared for this, spending the morning rolling bread and chopping onions. Elise even drops by to contribute to the meal she’s making.
”I’ll be out until this evening,” she sighs, “but tell Leb I’ll see her tonight.”
”Don’t worry, Elise! I’ll make sure to check in on her as soon as I can.”
They are in unspoken agreement on this. Sisters-in-arms, as it were, against the inevitable clouds this would cast on Lebkuchen’s day every week. Once the afternoon rolls around, Freya heads for the church, the tolling of its bells filling the town with their deep, soulful clangs. Freya spots Bertha and Wilma departing for the inn together, and she catches the church’s door before it swings shut.
Mercifully, it seems the town has exhausted its time for the confessional for now. There’s still work to be done, no matter how tantalizing the rumor or handsome the traveler. Freya looks around for her, but when she doesn’t see any sign of a lacey habit anywhere, she knocks twice on that upright coffin.
”Leb? It’s just me.”
There’s a pause, a rustle, and then the door opens. There’s Lebkuchen, doubtlessly searching deep inside of herself for the sort of patience that saints would blush at.
”I brought you lunch!” Freya says with an encouraging smile.
”…Let’s go upstairs, Freya.”
Freya’s not often in the bell tower. She’s pretty certain it’s off-limits to most people, but Lebkuchen’s not concerned about that, so Freya decides not to be either. They sit together against the white stone walls, picnic basket between them, and Freya lets Lebkuchen finally speak her mind.
”How was it?” she asks, her tone admitting some curiosity on that front.
“About as dreadful as you would expect,” she groans, rubbing one of her cheeks as if to wash away a stain.
Freya doesn’t want to pry—she does have faith herself, if only mildly—but Lebkuchen continues of her own accord.
”It really just reveals how much of this town is so…”
”Two-faced?” Freya supplies, gentle.
”That’s a kind word for it.”
Is it? Freya thinks she’s being harsh just saying it. Oh, but it does tug at her heartstrings in all kinds of ways, seeing Lebkuchen so exhausted. Freya knows between her, Elise, and Lebkuchen, that she has the fondest opinion of Kieferberg, but that doesn’t mean she’s blind to its faults. It wasn’t too long ago that she and Elise had some antagonism for the same reason that’s tiring Lebkuchen.
(Freya always winces at the thought that they had ever been at odds…and at no fault of Elise’s!)
“I’m so sorry, Leb…”
”Oh, don’t be, Freya.” She smiles, sipping some of the grape juice from the basket. “At the end of the day, I’d have heard it from the townsfolk one way or another. At least this way, I don’t have to worry about what expression I’m making.”
”Lebkuchen…!” Freya giggles, able to picture well the sardonic look on her friend’s face as someone complained of noisy neighbors.
“I recognize some of these knife cuts…did Elise make this too?”
”Yes! She brought some ingredients over. I didn’t even have to ask!”
A fond look settles into Lebkuchen’s eyes, warm as a sunbathing cat. “And you two did this just for me?”
”As if you wouldn’t do the same? Elise says she’ll see you this evening.”
Leb hums in acknowledgment.
For a few more precious minutes, it is just the two of them, secluded from the world with only each other and the birds for company. Freya just wishes she could do more. All too soon, they both must return to work.
”Thank you, Freya. I feel much better already.”
”Please, think nothing of it! It’s always nice to speak with you, Leb.”
”Much as I wish I could steal your smile for myself a little longer…”
The way she said it—voice low, and playful, and altogether unfair— is what makes Freya blush. Just a little. And that’s not a new thing, it’s a flower that blooms year round, sweet and delicate.
”I’ll see you later, Lebkuchen,” she says with an equally teasing smile, instead.
-
Next week, Freya’s struck with inspiration. She’s not always going to have time to eat lunch with Lebkuchen, much as she wants to, but she’s certain she can make time for this much.
It seems like late morning or early afternoon is when those that are really interested in confessing their sins will have already done so. Freya enters the church and walks up to the booth. In the utter silence of the room, the echoes of her footsteps must surely reach Lebkuchen. She opens the door and steps inside…not quite certain what to expect.
It’s dark, save for the light let in by a latticework pattern on the upper part of the interior. Freya imagines this must be a cramped spot for the larger lads in town. She takes a seat on a small shelf made to jut out from the wall, smoothing her dress with nervous fingers. For some reason, despite knowing she has nothing to worry about, the stern atmosphere puts her just slightly on edge.
”What would you like to share?” Lebkuchen asks in a careful, neutral tone. Her voice floats from a tiny hole. Freya can tell she hasn’t realized it’s her, or else she’d not be using that constructed politeness that her friends see right through.
”Well,” Freya begins, speaking as if she’s sharing a secret, “there’s just the most amazing person, and I don’t know how to tell her!”
There’s a beat, and then she hears Lebkuchen almost say her name, laughter lurking like the shadow of a beast behind every word that follows. “Is that so?”
And it’s not austere anymore, it’s not solemn. The gravitas flees in the face of familiarity, easy and natural as the first time they held hands.
”She’s always working so hard for everyone, even when she’s tired and should really take a day off to rest?”
Lebkuchen makes a noncommittal sound to show she’s listening. Freya can imagine her smile.
”Sometimes people take advantage of how kind she is…that’s something she’s told me to look out for as well, but I suppose that’s advice neither of us takes as much as we should.” Freya closes her eyes. “She’s kindhearted, but with such a wicked sense of humor…I just don’t know how to defend myself against it? But it’s impossible not to love every moment of it! She’s always such a delight to be around…I want to give her every reason in the world to keep smiling. I’d like to be the reason that she does.”
“…By the grace of Saint Walpurga, who works in the Lord’s name to assist in the holy act of reconciliation and penance, you can be absolved of these sins…though I heard nothing that sounds anything like the sort.”
Freya giggles, the laughter filling the small space when Lebkuchen joins in. She hears the door open, so Freya steps out too, and there’s Lebkuchen—smiling in that way that makes her eyes resemble the morning horizon.
”Freya…”
It’s such a fond sound.
Without warning, Freya pulls her into a hug, her embrace evidently causing Lebkuchen some distress, because she hears a wheeze and a small plea for her to ease up on her strength, just a little, please!
”Did that help any? I thought it might be nice to hear something positive for a change.”
”It helped, Freya.” Lebkuchen’s wincing. Oops. Freya knows she’s done this to Elise before, leaving the poor girl nursing what felt like broken ribs. Still, she looks quite happy. “I suppose that counts as a confession of sorts?”
Freya’s blushing at that blatant remark, and she can only laugh in reply. She supposes it does, doesn’t it?
”You should go, before Father Hans catches you lingering about,” Lebkuchen advises, and Freya’s quick to take the hint. She’s not usually the one Father Hans has to reprimand, and she’s not looking to start now.
Freya casts Lebkuchen a look over her shoulder as she opens the door, and Lebkuchen’s laughter follows her all throughout the rest of the day.
-
“You look even happier than usual, Freya,” Elise says, as they string bedsheets up to dry.
”Oh, do I~?”
”Are you going to let me in on the secret?”
”I was just able to get something off my chest, that’s all.”