It doesn’t seem like a great plan. But if I’m in the scriptorium, it could be convenient, maybe even safer than the chapel. I can get to Alice through the church’s back door, get food to her, parchment, books from the library, and we can keep watch from the window. Mason will be right next door if I need him, and I can throw myself into drawing. It’s as good an option as any other.
“All right,” I relent. “I’ll come.”
“We’ll have to trust the Divine Will,” says Anne. “Let’s go to our cells and gather our things, and meet up in the scriptorium in twenty minutes—discreetly. Don’t talk to anyone. We’ll lock the door from the inside.”
Meanwhile, outside, panicked sisters and pilgrims zigzag with the crazy bells—
No! I was just leaving!
I never did want to be a nun! Let go of me!
I simply wanted to venerate Holy Eustace and go home!
—trying to figure where to breach the gates, how to get out, how to get in. The few remaining laborers, conscripted as guards, put their bodies between the crowds and the gates, but people try to scale the walls on both sides.
Most of the sisters, of course, go to the church. Everyone’s scrupulously checked for signs of the illness and let into the sanctuary only after washing in cold water from the fountain. No one would admit their need for the infirmary. To be sent there is a death sentence; the bodies piled up in the churchyard are warning enough.
In my cell, I take a last look at the mural on the wall, shaking my head at my failure to decipher the vision. I put everything I can fit in Da’s canvas satchel and shut the door with finality. I wait by the back door until all the nuns have vacated the dormitory, then hurry past the infirmary.
“Edyth!” comes a sharp whisper from behind the chapel.
“There you are!” I embrace Mason, relieved. “Where were you this morning?”
“I was packing,” he says. He pulls away and looks at me urgently. “This is our chance, Edyth. We have to go now!”
“How? The gates are locked! Just stay in the chapel until the evacuation’s over!”
He shakes his head. “I can only hide for so long. You’re already packed, and I have food and some money. I can get us both out of here. We can go over the field wall. Come on. Let’s go now, before they see us!”
“I can’t, Mason—I can’t leave Alice.”
“Edyth, now’s our chance. If we don’t go, I’ll be nothing but a gravedigger here until I fall into the pit myself.”
“Mason, I can’t. I’m sorry. I made a promise. I can’t let Alice rot in there. God be with you…I’ll pray for you.” I start briskly toward the scriptorium, and Mason follows close.
“God’s forgotten us,” he says. “Maybe you should make a promise to me instead.”
I stop walking and turn to meet his gaze. The bells have stopped, but a cacophony of lapis blue waves up my neck and over my head.
“Mason, please, don’t make me do this.” I thrust through the heavy door, and he follows me up the spiral staircase. I push the scriptorium door closed, turning the key just as Mason pounds on the other side.
“What is going on?” Anne springs toward me.
“Come out, Edie, please,” Mason shouts. “I’m sorry. I should have done this all differently.”
I sink to the floor against the door. “I know,” I say. “Me too.”
“I love you, Edyth.” His voice breaks.
“Mason, don’t,” I plead. “We can’t let anyone hear us. They can’t know we’re up here.”
He stops knocking and lowers his voice. “I don’t want to face this without you.”
“Maybe we’ll make it through,” I offer. “Maybe God will be merciful.”
I hear the ground-floor door creak open and heavy footsteps climbing the stairs.
“Who’s there?” It’s the voice of Agnes de Guile.
“I was just checking the locks,” Mason lies. “The building is empty.”
“Oh, good, stonemason. We’ll need you to stand guard at the gates, and there are dead to be buried. Tell the other men, you’ll each take two-hour shifts. Now get back to work!” She storms out and I hear the door slam.
“Mason,” I say softly, my cheek pressed against the door, “you can leave. You have to. If you have a way out, take it.”
“Edyth,” he says, “this is our last chance. Who knows if either of us will survive?”
“We have to take that chance. We have to say goodbye.”
“No.” He’s resolute. “I’ll never say goodbye, Edyth.”
A familiar softening returns to my body, the passive resign of childhood, when I’d let Mam and Da make hard decisions for me. With all my heart, I want to open this door, run into Mason’s arms, let him carry me away from all this. Because he’s strong. He hasn’t gotten sick. And despite my chastisement, I know he loves me.
But he’ll survive. His strength can save him, and mine can save me. I can’t say the same for Alice. Mason may want me, but Alice needs me.
So I screw up my will, and turn myself to iron.
“Goodbye, Mason. God protect you.”
— 34 —
Terce drags on forever this morning, breathing the endless psalm back and forth on a dull gray note. The three of us sit in the center of the scriptorium, our stools drawn together in a circle. It’s been days since our confinement, and the air’s getting so close, I feel like I’ll lose my mind.
“Amen,” we close.
“I’ll go out for food,” I volunteer. Alice will be needing more bread. Maybe I’ll see Mason. Maybe we can figure out a better plan.
If he’s still here, that is.
“Stay out of sight,” says Anne. “Take the back way. Don’t breathe too deeply. Oh, and remember to pick those medicinal herbs.”
I grab a cloth bag and sneak down the staircase into the sunlight. The September heat blasts against my skin like a bread oven. The infirmary doors are usually kept closed to muffle the cries and moans, to keep out the bad air, but today is so stifling hot that they’re flung open, and the full tableau of human misery is spread before me. I stand staring for a moment, forgetting myself.
A girl sits cross-legged against the shady infirmary wall, barefoot, in only a linen tunic. Her two brown braids hang limp and loose against her shoulders. The rest of her frizzled hair radiates from her head like sun’s rays, and her downcast, ashen face is covered in blotches, like purple clouds in a gray sky. Her lips are white, dry and cracked. She clenches her toes, muttering to herself. I feel sorry for her, but there’s nothing that can be done now. The disease is in her mind, and she’ll be dead soon.