On their last day at the fair, Honest found a carrier going to the widow’s village. Chris’s father brought his letter and counted the money once more. The small pile on the table took him longer to count than a box full of gold once had.
“How much will you still owe after sending that?” Chris asked.
His father slid the account toward him. “This is the cloth money. This is for the missing length. These are the costs of making the journey to complain. I can repay most of it now.”
Chris checked the figures. Christiana noticed that her husband had included money needed for food on the road. He was unwilling to take it back, as though each coin kept would make his repentance less sincere.
She laid her hand gently on the paper. “We must repay what we owe and tell the truth about the rest. But you cannot send the children’s food money and expect other people to pay for us afterward.”
He flushed. This time he did not treat her words as an obstacle. He asked Honest and the host to help work out what they must keep for the journey.
He rewrote the letter. He explained how he had ordered the short measure, without blaming a worker. He gave the sum he was sending and the lodgings through which she could reach them. When they were settled, he promised, he would go on paying.
Christiana added a paragraph. She had known customers were being wronged and had cared only whether business was good. She did not ask the woman to forgive them immediately. She asked her to point out any figures they had got wrong.
As he sealed it, her husband stopped. “I’m afraid she’ll show it to other people.”
Christiana looked at the money. “So am I.”
They sat together for a while. Outside, a guest complained that his cake was too small. Someone from the kitchen was explaining the price of flour. The sounds were ordinary. Nobody stopped for a letter of confession.
Honest read that whoever covered his sins would not prosper, but whoever confessed and forsook them would find mercy. “The Lord calls us to live in the light. That light reveals our shame. It also lets us stop living by concealment.”
At last Chris’s father sealed the letter. Christiana watched the carrier put it in his bag. She felt hollow for a moment, and also a little steadier. This was no longer a piece of paper designed to win them praise. It was going to someone who had truly suffered a loss. Her answer was not theirs to arrange.