Free Fire Watch by Connie Willis

eyes red with weeping. She was clutching a little black prayer book. “I wanted to tell you how grateful I am you came,” she said.
    Anne was suddenly furious with her tearstained face, her gentle words. He doesn’t love you, she almost said. He wanted to meet me at night on the island, and I went. He’s in the robing room now, waiting for me. He isn’t dead, but I wish he were and so should you.
    “Your kindness means a great deal to me,” Victoria said haltingly. “I—my father has just now gone to Hartford to attend to some business of Elliott’s, and I have no friends here. Elliott’s father has been kindness itself, but he is not well, and I—you were very kind to come. Please say you will be kind again and come to tea someday.”
    “I …”
    Victoria bit her lip and ducked her head, then looked straight up at Anne. “I know what they are saying about Elliott’s death. I want you to know that I don’t believe them. I know you didn’t …” She stopped and ducked her head again. “I know you pray for his soul, as I do.”
    He doesn’t have a soul, Anne thought. You should pray for his father and for yourself. And what is it that you don’t believe? That I murdered him? Or that I met him on the island?
    Victoria looked up at Anne again, her gray eyes filled with tears. “Please, if you loved Elliott, too, then that is all the more reason to be friends now that he is gone.”
    But he isn’t gone, Anne thought desperately. He is sitting in the robing room laughing to think of us standing here. He is not dead, but I wish that he were. For your sake. For all our sakes.
    “Thank you for inviting me to tea,” Anne said, and walked rapidly away.
    Anne went to the church after supper, taking ham and cake wrapped in brown paper. Elliott was sitting in the dark. “I had to wait until my father had his supper,” Anne said, lighting the candle. “I had to sneak out of the house.”
    Elliott grinned. “It’s not the first time, is it?”
    She put the parcel down on the pew next to the candle. “You cannot stay here,” she said.
    He opened up the package. “I rather like it here. It is dry at least, too cold, but otherwise very comfortable. I have good food and you to do my bidding. There will be few enough tears of joy at my resurrection. Why shouldn’t I stay here?”
    “Your father has taken to his bed.”
    “From joy? Has the bereaved fiancée taken to her bed, too? She never would take to mine.”
    “Victoria is caring for your father. Her own father has gone to Hartford to settle your affairs. You can’t let them persist in thinking you are dead.”
    “Ah, but I can. And must. At least until Victoria’s father pays my debts. And until you pay for not meeting me at the island.”
    “It is wrong to do this, Elliott,” she said. “I shall tell.”
    “I do not think so,” he said. “For I should have to say then that I had never gone on the river at all, but only hidden away with you. And then what will happen to my poor stayabed father and my rich Victoria? You will not tell.”
    “I will not come again,” she said. “I will not bring you your supper.”
    “And leave the minister to find my bones? Oh, you will come again, sweet Anne.”
    “No,” Anne said. “I won’t.” She did not lock the door, in the hope that he would change his mind, but she took the key. In case, she thought, without even knowing the meaning of her own words. In case I need it.
    Anne’s father answered the door before she could get halfway down the stairs. She saw the sudden stiffening of his back, the sudden grayness of his ears and neck, and she thought, It is Elliott.
    She had gone to the church every night for three days, taking him food and candles and once a comforter because he complained of the cold, taking the same useless arguments. Victoria’s father came home, spent a morning at the bank, and left again. Victoria went past every morningon her way to visit Elliott’s father, looking smaller