Father George gently cradled the crucifix with his thumb and first two fingers, lovingly lifted it to his lips and kissed it and held it invitingly for Thomas.

“Unsanitary,” came the flat observation, absent accusation.

Father George smiled. “Salvatory,” he replied simply. “Stronger than unsanitary.” His hand remained, steady, his countenance calm, his smile confident.

Thomas' mother watched from the French door frame, a tear lingering on her cheek.