Marian pushed herself up further, wincing at the ache in her backside. Afternoon sunlight streamed in through the high window, illuminating the starkness of the chamber.
She couldn’t go on lying around. She had to get up today no matter how much it pained her, and she had to locate holy water. All she wanted to do was find enough to get home safely.
The soft footsteps and swish of robes told her Sister Christina was coming again. The kindhearted nun had been her only friend since arriving at the nunnery. But she remained resolutely silent since their first meeting.
Whenever Marian attempted to converse, Sister Christina cocked her head toward the hallway, as if to say they were not alone. The fear in the young woman’s eyes kept Marian from persisting, even though she had a hundred questions. Marian understood such fear all too clearly now, and she had no wish to subject the sweet woman to the prioress’s wrath.
As Sister Christina entered the room bearing a steaming mug, Marian’s stomach rumbled. Even if the fare was only broth, she was grateful, although she would have given just about anything for a big cobb salad with a toasted whole grain bagel. And coffee. She missed coffee. If one good thing could be said of her beatings, at least the pain in the rest of her body had dulled the throbbing from her caffeine-deprivation headaches.
With a smile of greeting that lit her eyes, Sister Christina gently helped Marian sit up the rest of the way and then lifted the steaming mug to her lips.
“Thank you,” Marian whispered and then allowed Christina to help her.
As Marian swallowed the last drop, she laid back against the pallet. Christina started to pull up the woolen blanket that covered the oversized undershirt Marian was wearing, the only stitch of clothing they’d allowed her.
“Would you help me get dressed?” Marian grasped the young woman’s hand before she could get away. “I think I should try to walk around today, don’t you agree? And regain my strength?”
Sister Christina nodded in acquiescence, which sent a breath of relief through Marian. Perhaps she could encourage the young woman to take her into the apothecary. Marian had to make use of the time up to discover something, especially if she had any hope of getting holy water to Ellen by tomorrow.
After Sister Christina helped Marian don a habit, the young nun brushed the tangles from Marian’s hair, plaited it, and then covered it with a long veil. In spite of Marian’s request to gain access to the apothecary, Sister Christina silently led her outside. As they shuffled slowly along the yard near the ivy-covered wall, Sister Christina tucked her arm through Marian’s to hold her up.
Marian lifted her face to the sun and let the rays warm her skin. After the days inside the unheated room on the cold floor, Marian hadn’t thought she’d ever be warm again. But the sunshine was pleasant, its presence as constant in the past as the present.
The scent of cherry blossoms hung in the air, mingling with the sweetness of daffodils and rosebuds growing in abundance along the walls. She breathed deeply, drawing in the fresh air.
Was it already almost June? If she calculated correctly—which was hard to do without the calendar app on her phone—tomorrow would be June 1. So much had happened since she’d left her lab in Connecticut. What must Jasper be thinking now that she was in a coma? Had he flown to Canterbury to be with her?
How was Ellen dealing with everything? By now, she was settled in at Chesterfield Park, maybe even at Marian’s bedside at this very moment, gazing at her comatose face. It was strange to think her sister was only an overlap of time away, so close and yet so far.
Had Ellen believed Marian’s notes about crossing time, or had she decided Marian was insane? And had the police found Harrison yet? Marian could only pray the investigators had uncovered the culprits and locked them away so Ellen wouldn’t have to face any threats.
The other nuns working around the yard appeared occupied with specific tasks, some weeding the herb beds, one tending grapevines, and still another inside a shed-like structure organizing its contents. They worked silently so that only the hum of insects and the occasional trill of a bird filled the enclosed yard.
She and Sister Christina had ambled away from the others. Thankfully, they didn’t have the worry of anyone else drawing near and disturbing them, since the other nuns kept their distance from Marian—likely having no wish to earn the prioress’s displeasure for fraternizing with her.
Marian tired much too soon and was relieved when Christina led her to a secluded stone bench and they sat down.
“I can speak a little bit out here.” Seated next to her, Christina spoke softly, her head bent. “If we are quiet and careful.”
“Are there any ancient wells or springs on the grounds of St. Sepulchre?”
“My lady?” Sister Christina’s whisper contained surprise.
Marian supposed she should have started with introductions. But she didn’t have any time to waste, not when the whispered conversation wouldn’t last long and might only afford her a few precious moments to glean information.
Marian nodded in the direction of the only well on the grounds standing near the convent. “Are there any other old wells? Dried springs? And if so, where would I find them?”
“I do not know. But if you have need of a drink, I can draw from the well—”
“No, I’m seeking an ancient well. The water from it was once bottled and sold to pilgrims.”
“Then you are a pilgrim visiting Canterbury?”
“I’ve heard of the holy water and would like to purchase it—so that it can heal my sister.” She wasn’t exactly lying. She did want the holy water for Ellen too. But of even greater urgency now was her desire to return home safely.
“Some of your memories have returned?”
Marian gave herself a mental slap. She was supposed to have amnesia. How could she have forgotten? She needed to be more careful lest she alienate her one ally. “I’ve begun to remember a few things.”
“That is good. Praise God.” Sister Christina’s whisper was laced with such sincerity that Marian sat for a few minutes in silence, fighting her guilt at deceiving this kind woman.
Finally, she forced herself to probe again. “Can you help me find holy water?”
“Yes, it is sold at the cathedral to pilgrims.”
“I need holy water from the original well here at St. Sepulchre that was used not long after St. Thomas Becket was murdered.”
Sister Christina was silent for a moment. “Do you think the old holy water is blessed more so than the present water?”
“Do pilgrims still report miraculous healings?”
“No.” Sister Christina’s whisper was barely audible.
“Then I must find the old.”
Before Marian could figure out how to convince Sister Christina to help her further, the young nun’s head snapped up, and she stared in the direction of the convent gate, listening intently. The other nuns had halted their work to do the same.
In the distance beyond the nunnery came the sounds of shouting and singing.
Sister Christina’s fingers tightened around Marian’s arm, and she pulled her up from the bench. “Something is amiss. We must hide.”
The clamor was growing louder with every passing second.
“Come. Make haste.” Sister Christina’s command was urgent, and she tugged Marian toward the heavily wooded area behind the raised beds, the same place Marian had gone the first night at the convent when she’d hidden the pouch of money.