Dinner began the way all good cathedral dinners had always begun—softly, warmly, with the scrape of chairs and the clatter of simple dishes filling the hall with its own kind of music.
The long table stretched almost the length of the dining room. At its head, seated at the short end like the quiet captain of a very lively ship, was Father Wingate. He always took that spot—not out of authority, but to see every face, every smile, every plate that needed refilling.
To his right sat the men and boys.
Closest to him, Luke took his seat, feeling the weight of nostalgia settle comfortably over his shoulders. Next to him, Gareth dropped into the chair with the casual confidence of someone returning home, flashing a smirk at the boys across the table. Then came Samuel, Henry, Andrew, Ben, and finally little Daniel, who wasn't little anymore, really, but still the smallest among the boys.
To Father Wingate's left sat the women and girls.
