CHAPTER 006

Ana’s Point of View

By morning the letter had disappeared.

No card. No note. No address. Nothing.

To a man who had pretended to possess all the answers in the world, Leo disappeared like a shadow sliding down into the dark. No warning. No promise. No trace of whither he might have gone, should I, at length, succumb to temptation and go in search of him.

And God help me, I was desperate.

Each hour which had passed appeared to squeeze against my breast. My own future was not the only one that was flying down the drain. The children. The women, who lived on that crumbling shelter, which was the only safe place.

Madre Rosa had done all and made everything. She had implored before the congregation on Sunday, and her voice had broken, when she recalled to them all the children we had fed, all the women we had sheltered with bruised faces and wrathful hearts. The good nature of people did not extend that far. They threw their coins into the collection basket, said prayers and returned to their warm houses and full tables.

The fact was popup painful: the shelter was closing. The funding had dried up. The church was no longer able to bear us.

The children had no idea. they were making fun in the court, and laughing, as though the walls were not caving in upon them. But the sisters talked in the corridors, with a face that was pale with worry.

Father Andrew would have known what to do, one of them said this morning.

The voice of another was heard, more precise. One of the men has already volunteered. He asked for Ana. Only Ana. And what does she do? She refuses. Then she would prefer us all to be out of the street.

The words are deeper than they ought to be.

The reason was that they were not all wrong.

I had never wanted to be here. Hated the veil, prayers, the sacrifices, the sacrifices. It was not my choice, and I had stayed, because I was obliged to stay, because I was frightened, because I was conscience. And now? Today, thanks to me, all those children who held onto the skirt of Madre Rosa could end up without a home.

That was my weight to carry. My curse.

I was in the kitchen and Madre Rosa appeared, and her hands were trembling as she reached out to me. The years of worry had been chiseled into lines that ran deep about her eyes, and had been written on her face.

We cannot feed them, Ana, we cannot feed them, she said. We need to prepare the children to be adopted. They have four days to go before they put us out. Do you hear me? Four days.”

No, I said and shook my head. “There has to be another way.”

She spoke tiredly, less than I had ever known her to. Child, I will not help you unless you are willing to help... there is nothing. The church has lost interest. I am old. I cannot fight them anymore.”

My throat closed. “You do not understand. He is dangerous.”

A hundred times you have said that. Her thumb stroking my hand in circles, her eyes swollen with something I could not bear to look at. “And maybe you are right. But what is worse? To allow these little ones to be thrown away? To find Maeve--sweet Maeve--in the clutches of a man who never is going to love her?

Maeve.

Her name came to my ears like a knife. The smallest, the tiniest, yet, who still whimpered at night, and crept into my bed, the fear of the dark being such that I think it frightened her.

My stomach twisted.

I used to be Maeve. Passed around like a thing. Hands too heavy, too rough. Smelling liquor, telling me to hush when I pleaded, breath.

A ghost had said to me in the back of my skull, You are beautiful.

No. I said, pushing my palms to my ears. Not here. Not now.

“So soft… so obedient…”

The walls leaned closer. Shadows were long and claw-like. I swooned and fell backwards and was held by the cold stone wall. My drawing of breath was rough and ragged.

No... no... no... do not come closer... do not come closer... I thought, hanging on to the wooden bench next me. and my nails clawed at it, and wanted to see something that was solid.

The air was thick, hot and cold simultaneously. The beating of my heart was pain.

My little dove, my phantom voice said.

I shook my head so rapidly the world went blind. “No… no, stop…”

Fingers caught my shoulders, hard, but not painful.

“Ana!”

I shivered with my spine and something tore my neck. My eyes flew open.

Madre Rosa leaned over me with a white worried face. Her fingers had caught me, but she had gripped me firmly and not hurtfully.

“It is me, child. Only me,” she whispered.

Throbbed it shook my chest, and the past was past, And the present all. I shakily dragged my hands down my face as I continued to feel the phantom touch of what was not touching me.

“What… what was that?” My voice cracked. “What just happened to me?”

I clambered up the steps, with a shake of legs. “You remembered something.”

“No.” I shook my head hard. “Not a memory. A warning.”

She reached for her rosary. “Then let us pray.”

I pulled back. “No. I just need to go to my room.”

“Will you be alright, Ana?”

There was a sour laugh wringed out of me. “No prayer can fix this. No doctor can take it away.”

Her lips were about to open with an attempt to protest, but I was already turning.

The small hands clasped my sleeve and the eyes opened wide and scared, and Maeve flashed through my brain.

Maeve, and still whimpering at night The creaking doors. Maeve, who put her in my hands.

The idea of her being carried away to some man, some stranger with dark eyes, brought bile up in my throat once more.

No.

Not Maeve. Not any of them.

I would not let it happen.

The night, when the house was silent and the smaller children at last asleep, I threw on an old coat and crept over the back gate.

The air was sharp, biting. My breath rose in pale clouds. Any snapping of a twig beneath my feet made me jump. All the shadows seemed to come near and the hands were reaching out to us in the darkness.

In case Madre Rosa would find me she would lock me up and pray till daylight. She would remind me to wait it was God.

The plan of God had lost me long ago.

I forced my way forward through the undergrowth, with my heart beating high in my chest, and I came to the broken chapel on the opposite side of the road. The rocks were inclined to fall down, but they held their own, obstinate and patient.

I scrambled up the steps With shake of legs. The heavy wood door whined and swung open, as though it had been waiting.

Do not be a fool, I said to myself. “There are no ghosts.”

The air in there was bitter, dusty and reeking with burnt wax. Through the broken windows was moonlight, casting the floor in broken colors.

The room was empty.

Of course it was.

I sat down on a bench, drawing up my knees. The entire body shivered, whether out of cold or emotion I knew not.

What was I doing? Seeking that a man such as that would simply turn up? Would he please make everything all right with the snap of his fingers?

Their faces scalded my brain. The little hand Maeve held in mine, her shaking voice when she whiskey-whiskered in the dark.

Unless he arrives, they will lose all.

Otherwise, I will be to blame.

My throat ached, dry as ash. I could not stop my palms shaking. I looked down at the broken pavement, and made myself believe it could answer.

But nothing came. Only silence.

Minutes stretched. The night grew colder.

He was not coming.

The shelter would close. The children would be dispersed. Madre Rosa would break. And all of that--all the weeping, all the starved stomachs--would be my fault.

Because I had refused. Because I had been afraid. Because I had been selfish.

And the first thing I heard Ana say was the thing she had been choking on for days, with the weight bearing more heavily on my chest.

But how could he save them, except by returning to him?

Would she dare? Would she survive it?

Or would going back to Leo be to lose herself forever?