The Truth Shall Make You Free

POV Oliver

Oliver blinked and looked up at her.

How dare this mere mortal disturb me at the moment of my enlightenment?!

For one ridiculous second, Oliver felt like Meng Hao in some overly dramatic cultivation scene and had to stop himself from grinning.

"Sorry to bother you," Oliver began, briefly studying the woman. Mid-thirties, brown hair, slim, with a tired but friendly face. "Is there a deaf girl who lives here?"

Helen blinked in surprise. "You mean Beatrice?"

She knelt down in front of Oliver until they were roughly at eye level. "Do you know what happened? She just came home crying."

Oliver nodded. "Yes, and it's my fault." He hesitated briefly. "It was a misunderstanding. She thought I was laughing at her."

"I wasn't," he added seriously. "But I don't think she knows that."

Helen opened her mouth to say something, but Oliver continued before she could.

"That's why I need your help. I want to explain what happened and apologize to her."

Helen stepped aside and opened the door wider. "Come inside first."

Oliver followed her into the living room and perched on the edge of the sofa. He explained what had happened in the dining hall, and when he reached the part about Margaret and the spaghetti, even Helen couldn't suppress a short laugh.

"Wait here," she said eventually, getting to her feet. "I'll get Beatrice."

A few minutes later, Helen returned to the living room with Beatrice beside her, her eyes still red from crying. The moment she spotted Oliver sitting on the sofa, she stopped dead.

Her expression darkened, and she was already beginning to turn away.

Shit.

Oliver jumped off the sofa. He didn't know sign language, but before Beatrice could disappear, he remembered the only sign that had somehow stuck with him from his previous life.

That one damn scene from A Silent Voice. He quickly raised his hands, forming one into a fist and closing the other around it, exactly as he remembered it from the movie.

Beatrice blinked and stared at his hands. Then she slowly looked up at her mother. Helen returned her daughter's gaze without saying anything. For a moment, the two simply stared at each other before turning back to Oliver at the same time.

Oliver slowly lowered his hands. "What did I just say?"

Helen signed the question to her daughter. Beatrice's eyes drifted back to Oliver's hands. Her lips began to twitch, and then a bright, uninhibited laugh burst out of her.

Helen managed to hold out for another moment before she started laughing too. Oliver simply stood there and waited for the two of them to calm down.

"Okay," Helen finally managed, wiping at her eyes. "Let's try that again."

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

She gestured toward the sofa and waited for Beatrice to sit down. Oliver took a seat opposite her while Helen briefly disappeared into the kitchen. A little later, she returned with three glasses and placed them on the table.

"I'll interpret for you," she explained as she sat down beside her daughter. "You can just speak normally to me."

Oliver nodded and looked at Beatrice. Now that she was no longer on the verge of running away, she suddenly seemed uncertain again. He had originally planned to apologize first, clear everything up, and explain what had happened in the dining hall.

Somehow, none of that seemed important anymore.

"My name is Oliver," he said instead.

"I don't know how to talk to you yet." Oliver glanced briefly at his hands, then back at Beatrice. "But I'll learn."

Helen simply stared at him.

Oliver waited. So did Beatrice.

Only when Beatrice impatiently nudged her mother's arm did Helen seem to snap out of it. She blinked, turned to her daughter, and signed Oliver's words.

Beatrice froze. Her gaze darted from her mother's hands to Oliver and back again, as though she needed to make sure she had really understood. Helen repeated the signs.

This time, she understood.

Tears welled in her eyes as a broad grin slowly spread across her face. Then she raised both hands, clasped one around the other, and moved them gently up and down in front of her body.

Oliver watched the movement until Helen quietly translated.

"Friends."

***

POV Oliver

"Sister Margaret, I am truly, incredibly sorry," Oliver said, struggling to suppress a grin. Apparently, she hadn't yet had time to remove every last trace of spaghetti from her hair. Before she could even respond, he continued, "Galatians 6:2."

Margaret paused and regarded him suspiciously, waiting for him to continue. Oliver cleared his throat. "'Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.'"

Margaret slowly folded her arms across her chest. "And what exactly does that have to do with you disappearing from Mill Grove?"

"Beatrice was obviously in distress," Oliver explained as though that settled the matter entirely. "I followed her because I wanted to help her. Therefore, I merely did what the Bible tells me to do." He paused briefly before adding, "So I don't understand why you should be angry with me for that, Sister Margaret."

"You don't understand why I should be angry?" she asked in a dangerously calm voice, gesturing toward her filthy uniform. "And what about this?"

Oliver considered her for a moment before replying with complete seriousness, "That wasn't my fault."

Margaret's eyes narrowed. "And that explains why you laughed at me?"

"Ecclesiastes 3:4. 'A time to weep, and a time to laugh.'"

This time, Oliver couldn't hold it in. His mouth twisted into a grin, and a moment later he started laughing again. The whole situation was simply too absurd. Margaret's eyebrow began to twitch suspiciously as she watched him.

"Good thing you believe in Buddha rather than Jesus Christ," she finally said dryly.

***

POV Oliver

Oliver scrubbed the last table in the dining hall with a damp cloth and shot Margaret a dark look. She sat only a few feet away on a chair, watching him with a degree of satisfaction he was increasingly beginning to take personally.

I could have saved myself the damn half hour I spent looking up Bible verses before I dared come back.

"There's still something stuck over there," Margaret remarked, pointing to a spot at the other end of the table.

Oliver closed his eyes. No more hesitation. No more regrets. Slowly, he opened them again. Maybe a little regret.

He walked around the table and started scrubbing the spot. After a few seconds of silence, he wrung out the cloth. "Starting tomorrow, I want to sit in on Beatrice's lessons."

Margaret straightened slightly. "You want to what?"

"Sit in on her lessons. I want to learn sign language so I can talk to her." Oliver kept scrubbing. "And I want to see what she actually learns there. I'm completely unchallenged here anyway, Sister Margaret."

For a moment, the corner of Margaret's mouth twitched. "All right. I'll speak to her teacher tomorrow."

Oliver nodded and turned back to the table. "Thank you."

"Oliver?"

He looked at her. Margaret studied him for a moment, and for the first time since his return, there was nothing stern in her expression. She simply looked calm. Almost warm.

"John 8:32," she said softly. "And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free."

Oliver stopped with the cloth still in his hand. Margaret held his gaze for another moment, as though making sure he understood what she was really telling him, then rose from her chair and walked away without another word.

Oliver watched her go before eventually turning back to the table and continuing to scrub in silence. A tired, almost sad smile tugged at his lips. "Good thing I believe in Buddha," he murmured quietly to himself.