Their meeting ended without the director finding the appropriate consoling words for the deacon. He was disappointed in himself, but he also didn’t want to take up more of Smit’s time than was necessary.
He’s just as tired as the others. He needs to rest immediately.
Smit had been leading the refugees all on his own. There was no telling what kind of toll that had taken on him.
When the director saw the snaking length of the refugee line, his motivation very nearly fled him. Instead, he steeled himself, the memory of Smit’s commitment and unwavering spirit burned into his mind.
Since living quarters were to be separated by family, the director and his team needed to interview all the refugees. There still wasn’t enough temporary housing to go around. They would probably need different households to room together for the time being. If there was any overflow, those people would have to sleep in carriages for now.
It was chaos.
At the very least, the director wanted to make sure everyone had a place to stretch out and sleep for the night. This involved him scrambling around all day. He didn’t make it back to his office until the sky was pitch-black. His subordinates complimented his efforts as he nodded off for a little while.
I forgot to eat lunch. His subordinates had eaten with the refugees, but he hadn’t found the free time to swing by and grab his portion. The director had known that they would be incredibly busy, which was why he’d told his wife not to come for the first few days.
He missed home. The refugees probably missed their homes even more.
The director couldn’t let sentimentality get the best of him. He needed to become a lifeless doll and focus solely on dealing with the issues at hand. That was what his job required of him right now.
A few days later, once he was able to summon his wife to the facility, he did just that. The director immediately threw his arms around her upon her arrival.
“I made sandwiches—that way you can keep at least one hand free for work,” she told him.
“That’s a huge help.”
His wife updated him on what his children had been up to, and once he’d relaxed a bit, the topic switched to the saint. He recalled what Smit had said about her before.
“You’re so busy with work that you haven’t heard, have you? The Canonization Ceremony was held the other day.”
“I know that much,” he replied. “It was big news.”
“Okay, but do you know what she said in her speech?”
The director shook his head. “No, why?”
“She said those with the ability to do so should help the refugees.”
“Hmm. Isn’t that only natural?”
“Well, yes. None of us can turn our backs on those who need help.” But then, with a conspiratorial note in her voice, she added, “There are some who are worried and asking, ‘What about the rest of us?’ Our neighbors have even popped by to ask. It’s that bad.”
The director rubbed his chin. Were there really that many people interpreting the saint’s words in the worst possible way? As soon as that thought crossed his mind, he froze. “Oh…”
Maybe he had no room to talk. The reason Smit’s words had bothered him so much was because it felt as if the credit for his efforts—and those of so many others, like the commander—had been stolen away by the saint. He wished he’d protested then, reminded the deacon that it was the people directly involved with the refugees who were doing all the hard work.
How blasphemous of me. Maybe it was because he’d spent days working himself to the bone.
His wife eyed him suspiciously, waiting for him to say something.
The director shook his head. “We’re lucky to have a duke who cares so much for his people. We wouldn’t have this peace and stability if not for his leadership. He isn’t one to be so influenced by the saint that he would turn his back on his own people for the refugees.”
“I agree—but the refugees aren’t the same as the Arakanerians, now are they? They come from lands riddled with war and death. Some of them are probably uncivilized.”
“Ah, I see what you mean. The people already had their doubts in the first place.”
What Virgil had written in his letter was communicated only to those within the administration, the director included. The director had no way of getting anyone outside his profession to understand they had nothing to fear. Likewise, he had no way of knowing what they were feeling. It was only because his wife was filling him in on the town gossip that he finally realized how widespread unease was among the public.
“There’s no need to worry about that,” said the director. “These people’s lives weren’t very different from ours before they became refugees. They even have a deacon with them. If you’re still concerned, you can consult him when he’s free.”
“That’s true,” his wife agreed. “I forgot about their deacon.” That alone was enough to reassure her. She hastened to add, “There’s no need for me to bother the deacon personally.”
Their conversation helped the director see the great importance of a shared religious creed. It was reassuring to know the other side carried the same moral values.
“Then try to calm the neighbors,” the director advised.
“I will, don’t worry.” His wife shook her head, more at herself than at her husband. “I was being silly. Really, I can’t believe myself. I should learn from your example and be more levelheaded.”
“You’re doing plenty. I can’t visit all our neighbors and reassure them—but you can.”
His sphere of communication was limited to his coworkers. His wife might have better sway, given her connections. She laughed, agreeing with him.
But even she has her limits.
She was only one person. As someone working directly with the refugees, the director could only pray that people’s fear didn’t balloon into a rebellion before anyone could stop it.
After that, his wife informed him that Claudia and Virgil would be visiting various towns to reassure the people. They were also planning to visit the refugees soon as well.
I knew it. They know how to be good leaders.
Virgil and his sister must have heard how uneasy their people were, hence the visits. He was immensely grateful to them for their timely response. Moreover, he appreciated their patience while the situation at the facility settled before they visited. It would have created additional chaos had they come any sooner.
The saint’s words had had a positive impact on the refugees. There were still petty squabbles between some, but nothing major. They understood Harland’s graciousness in taking them in.
I figured they would be different from the Arakanerians, but I didn’t realize how much.
Where the Arakanerians’ eyes had been full of hope, the refugees’ were devoid of it. This was what people were reduced to when they couldn’t see a future for themselves. The director’s heart ached for them. The way the refugees clung to each other, covered in filth, made them look like an inky mass. If not for the children’s voices breaking the silence, he might not have recognized them as human beings.