beginning to turn cold in the pit

Catherine said nothing. “Is it?” Father Jackson asked Rufus. “I don’t know,” Rufus replied. “I consider that a thoroughly uncivil answer to a civil question,” said Father Jackson. “Yes,” Rufus said, beginning to turn cold in the pit of his stomach. What was “uncivil”? “You agree,” Father Jackson said. “Say, ‘yes, Father.’ ” “Yes, Father,” Rufus said. “Then you are aware of your incivility. It is deliberate and calculated,” Father Jackson said. “No,” Rufus said. He could not understand the words but clearly he was being accused. Father Jackson leaned back in their father’s chair and closed his eyes and folded his hands. After a moment he opened his eyes and said, “Little boy, little sister” (he nudged his long blue chin towards Catherine), “this is neither the time nor place for reprimands.” His hands unfolded; he leaned forward, tapping his right kneecap with his right forefinger, and frowning fiercely, said in a voice which sounded very gentle but was not, “But I just want to tell ...” They heard Hannah on the stairs. “Children,” he said, rising, “this must wait another time.” He pointed his jaw at Hannah, raising his eyebrows. “Will you come up, Father?” she asked in a shut voice. Without looking again at the children, he followed her upstairs. They looked each other in the eyes; their mouths hung open; they listened. It was as they had begun to expect it would be: the steps of two along the upper hallway, the opening of their mother’s door, their mother’s strangely shrouded voice, the closing of the door: silence.