LIKE STEEL || Tommy Shelby

XIII. QUIET THE GUNS

- QUIET THE GUNS -

The rain was pouring in sheets by the time Rose arrived at the small church. As she left the clinic, her feet had barely touched the ground, leading her to the hidden building. Tucked in the shadows of Small Heath, the sanctuary was empty as she pulled open the oak doors.

Only a few burning candles and their flames flickering off the stained glass windows illuminated the room. Rose paused at the door, her eyes fixed on the small, golden figure of an angel placed on the altar.

Rose had never been a religious woman. When she was a child, her grandmother had dragged her and her brother to a service every Sunday, but it had never taken hold no matter how many hymns she sang or stuffy sanctuaries she sat in. As she walked down the aisle- her shoes clicking on the stone floor- she remembered the last time she had prayed.

It had been exactly a month before the war had ended. October was a rotten month to be on the front lines- mud caked every surface and the rain was seemingly endless. After a long day of no success, Rose had used her few moments of respite to sneak off to a small church only a few kilometres behind the trenches.

That church had been empty, too, but nothing could have stopped her from dropping to her knees in her blood-stained apron and crying out to whoever was listening. Crying out for something- anything- that would rid her of the cold that ached in her bones and for the ceasing of the endless screams of dying men.

As she sat in the small church years later, her mind wandered back to that night. Back to everything that had happened since.

Slowly once more, she dropped to her knees. The stone floor was cold through the fabric of her skirt and she could see her breath gently swirling in front of her face like smoke.

"God," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "I don't know what to do."

Her voice echoed through the empty sanctuary and she paused, waiting for silence again.

"I want to help, God. But my heart- I don't know what to do."

Her throat tightened almost painfully as she held off tears, lifting her head up to the ceiling.

"I am so scared," she whispered. "I'm scared and tired and everything is so...heavy. Everything is always wrong, but these people, God- they're good people."

She let out another shaking breath.

"I'm scared, Lord. Show me what to do," she begged. "Give me a sign that somehow something I'm doing is right. That my heart is going to be okay- that these people are going to be okay."

Tears streamed freely down her cheeks and she made no effort to wipe them away. They dripped on to her coat as she once again bowed her head.

"Give me a sign that this will be alright."

She waited, the silence echoing in her chest. The only noise was her shuddering breath. She stared at the flicked candles on the altar. Slowly, she closed her eyes once again, silently begging for her mind to change or for anything to quell the fear rising in her chest.

She lost track of how long she stayed there- kneeling- waiting for her heart to ease.

There was a quiet shuffle, but she kept her eyes closed, still silently pleading for answers.

The shuffling turned in to steps and, slowly, somebody knelt next to her, their shoulder resting against hers.

She could smell his cologne and cigarette smoke before she opened her eyes to look at him.