Rev. John Fenwick Kitto's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

The wagon rattled over rutted country roads. Kitto gripped the reins and squinted at the grey horizon. Cold wind bit at his cheeks. He had never traveled this far from Whitechapel before. The city's smoke and noise had faded hours ago. Now only empty fields stretched on both sides. He needed to learn these roads if he wanted to reach lost souls outside the parish. The estate gates appeared at sunset. Iron bars twisted into crosses and lilies. Beyond them, a stone manor rose from manicured grounds. Kitto drove the wagon up the gravel path. His heart hammered. He had prepared sermons and prayers, but Lord Ashworth might refuse him at the door. The wheels crunched to a stop near the entrance. A servant led him through marble halls to a private chapel. Gothic carvings covered every surface of the confessional that stood at the center. Dark wood panels reached toward vaulted ceilings. Red votive candles flickered in their rack near the doorway, casting shadows that danced across the floor. Kitto waited. His breath formed clouds in the cold air. Then he heard footsteps. Lord Ashworth emerged from behind the confessional, pale and thin. The man looked at him with hollow eyes. They walked outside to the gardens. A pond bordered by smooth stones reflected the last light of day. Flowers lined its edges in deep reds and purples. Kitto dipped his hand into the water. It was cold and clean. He spoke about baptism, about washing away the past. Lord Ashworth knelt at the water's edge. His shoulders shook. Kitto placed his hand on the man's head and prayed. The first step was taken. The soul he came to save had finally opened its door.