"Because I am a woman and my brother is set to take over the vicarage when father dies." She gave a slight shrug. "I barely know either of them, so it is no great consequence to me whether I stay at the church or not. I don't particularly wish to go back to Cornwall, either, to do so. I know he loves me, as does my brother, but they see the world differently." She gave a sad smile and bowed her head. "My mother died when Alexander and I were infants... My father sent me away to be raised by someone else because I was a girl and he didn't know how to take care of me." And he'd kept my brother like he was the apple of his eye --- was left unsaid. There was a note of hurt in her voice, nevertheless.

She looked up at the man--- he was very easy to talk to. "Father sent me here to this town to make something out of myself." What she didn't know was that she was the spitting image of her mother and that was why it was so hard for him to look at her.

Miss Mason's father was a vicar? Malachi supposed he must not have been a Catholic one, then... but she did say that she hadn't grown up with her father. It was entirely possible that she'd simply not learned her father's ways because she hadn't spent any real time with him. He dipped his head forward as the woman spoke, encouraging her to go on, to tell him whatever she wished. If it eased her mind in any way, then he was more than willing to listen.

"I'm sure that your father had your best interests at heart," began Malachi, tone suggesting that he might have been more skeptical of that fact than he claimed. "But I'm sad to hear that he would say you have no place in the church, just because you are a woman."

He could not speak for the quality of her father's spirit, nor for his integrity, but his desire to keep his daughter from the church did not sit well with Malachi. Shifting to sit more comfortably against the back of the pew, he took a moment's consideration before continuing.

"What do you want, then, Miss Mason? Not what your father wants, or what Miss Harlowe wanted, or what the lawyer wants of you -- what would you do, if you had the choice?"

That was a good question he asked her. She gave a long pause to consider it before replying, "I want to know what love is," (Cue the damn song) she said. Here eyes half closed and she envisioned some faceless man at her side. "But I probably wouldn't recognize it if it bit me." She looked down then at her hands, folding them in her lap. "It's probably the silliest thing, but it's tiresome being unwanted." She gave a slight smile.

Her head lifted then and she steadied her stormy gaze on him. Oddly enough, she was dry eyed.

Though the woman had smiled, when she lifted her head, Malachi could only frown in return. Of all the things he could have offered practical advice for, love was not one of them, not truly. It pained him to hear that she suffered so, and that her wish was one that he could not easily grant with a few kind words.

"I understand," Malachi practically whispered for how softly the two words escaped him.

Because he did -- he understood what it was like to be unwanted. To want something that he, at least, could never have, and not because of his vows.

But her? Miss Amelia Mason, beautiful and composed as she was, even as she mourned?

She could be loved.

"It isn't silly at all, Miss Mason. Love is a wonderful, powerful thing, and all of God's children are deserving of it. There is someone out there for you, waiting for the moment when you finally step into their life, as much as you long for them to walk into yours."

"I don't think I'll recognize it for what it is, though," she said softly, then bowed her head and sighed. "Love is something so very elusive to me. It can be compared to the quest for the holy grail for me." She turned her head again to look at him, stormy eyes glittering now with those blasted drops of saline. She said, "I do wonder if Constance... If Miss Harlowe had even liked me." She sighed, "Or if I was simply her employee and doing what I was paid to do."

In truth, there was a lot she didn't know. And now she was tired, she thought. She just remembered the blanket that was still around her and she let it drop. The gray color of the drab gown she wore did nothing to detract from her face, it only accentuated her eyes.

Miss Mason's ponderings were... almost familiar, to Malachi, in the sense that he'd pondered similar things himself over the course of his life. Not for very long, if he could help it, but some things would not be eternally quieted.

"I'm certain that you will," Malachi assured in spite of himself. The blanket fell away from the lady's shoulders, and one of his hands went to reach for it before he hesitated. There was always a tiny chill that swept through the church in the later hours of the day, but what if the blanket felt constricting?

Then again, what if it could give at least some small comfort?

Malachi lifted the blanket. As gently as he could, he pulled it back over her shoulders, and for a moment his hands held the ends where they met beneath her chin. Even her eyes held that same beautiful gloom.

"Whether Miss Harlowe liked you or not, you are still deserving of love."

His fingers slipped free from the blanket, returned to fold habitually on his lap.

"It might be hard to see now, while you're surrounded by tragedies, but the Lord provides a path for everyone to walk out of the storm. And for having made it through, you will know that you are worth more than what your father, or the lawyer, or Miss Harlowe ever gave you."

She went quiet for a long time after his last words. The way he tended to her made her feel a jolt that she wasn't particularly familiar with. It bothered her but she said nothing of that either. She did close her eyes for a moment as she contemplated what was happening. Finally, she said, "Thank you. I needed to hear that." And she had.

The warmth of the blanket made for an interesting situation. She was starting to get sleepy. Perhaps it was the combination of crying and the blanket, but the young miss' head tilted forward while her eyes were closed. Was she dozing? Yes, yes she was.

Oh.

Oh no, this wasn’t good. Was she asleep? Had she truly just fallen asleep?

Malachi could not blame her. It sounded like there was a lot on her mind, after all, and with the loss of her employer, along with everything else, she must have been awfully exhausted. He waited a moment in silence, watching her for any sign of wakefulness that he’d simply missed – but as suspected, she looked as if she’d drifted off.

With a light touch to her shoulder, Malachi whispered, “Miss Mason?”

If she were in a place more conducive to comfortable sleep, he would have left her alone, but as it was… if she slept like that for long, she’d wake up with a terrible pain in her neck.

She opened her eyes and peered at him sleepily. "Must have drifted off. Should walk home." She sighed. "I am sorry," she murmured and made no move to stand yet. Her body was exhausted, she thought, perhaps from crying so much in the last several days. Ahh, she wasn't sure what she was going to do next, but whatever it was... well... she would have to see.

"I should go home," she repeated, more to herself than to him. Home. Where was home?

Amelia pushed the blanket away from her gently and got the fresh air she needed to wake up just a little more.

"Thank you for listening to me." It was after dark and that was probably a bad idea.

Malachi opened his mouth to tell her not to apologize again, that it was all still fine, that she had absolutely nothing to apologize to him for -- but he suspected that it would not make a difference. Apologies must have been a part of her routine, for how easily and frequently she gave them.

As soon as Miss Mason began to move, Malachi shifted away from her, allowing her space. He stood after she did, and took the blanket into his arms as he followed her out of the pew.

"Please, it's no issue at all. I am always here to listen."

He hesitated then, as if he had more to say but wasn't all that sure of how to say it.

"Ah- are you certain? You are more than welcome to stay, if you would prefer," but somehow he figured that the offer would not be taken. So, taking another step to follow, he insisted, "if not, would you allow me to walk you home, Miss Mason?"