DISCOVERY
The cell was dark and cool. Leona frowned, trying to concentrate on her sewing. The corridor was filled with noise and she wished they would all keep quiet.
The sound made her head hurt. It cut into the wall of silence that veiled her from the world, making it harder to escape her worries. Some people are in seclusion! She wanted to shout it, but she was in seclusion. She stayed where she was and listened to someone calling out in worry.
“Sister Allectia?”
“Yes?”
“Where is Sister Marcia? Have you seen her?”
“No, Sister.”
More calling, more running feet. Leona squeezed her eyes tight shut, feeling her last hold on her temper fray.
What is wrong with all of them? Don't they know this is a house of silence?
Leona looked up again as a new voice called at her door.
“Marjorie?”
Go away. She stayed where she was, curled up on the bed. Whoever it was, she didn't want to know.
“Marjorie!”
The voice called her again, insistent. Leona stumbled to the door. She had been in seclusion for three days. For all those days, someone had brought meals to her cell, leaving them at the door. She had seen no one and spoken to no one. Why would someone disturb her now?
She cleared her throat. “Yes?” Her voice was a whisper and she coughed. “Sister?” she tried again. This time a thread of sound came out.
“Marjorie!” Her friend whipped round the door as she opened it. Eyes huge, she stared. “Oh! Marjorie! There you are! I know...I shouldn't talk to you, but oh! I have to tell someone.”
“Tell someone what?” Leona croaked.
“Well, I shouldn't talk, I know, but I was in the orchard when someone came running up – messenger from Father Antoine at the monastery! He was calling out for bandages...they have a wounded man there! I came in to find Sister Marcia. The father needs help with a patient. Did you see her?”
“Is she with the children?” Leona asked. Why she would have seen Marcia was beyond her – she had not been out for three days. She sighed, guessing her friend was distressed and not thinking straight. She saw her smile, relieved.
“Thank you, Marjorie. I'll look.”
Leona sat on her bed after she had gone, thinking. “A wounded man?” she said it aloud. She was curious. All the wounded – male or female – were usually brought to Sister Marcia directly. It was unusual that they were taken to the monastery. The only reason for that would be if they knew someone at the monastery, or if they came from there. A thought flickered in the back of her head.
What if..?
What if it was Conn, coming back for some reason? Leona closed her eyes, shaking her head. Conn must have left weeks ago. Why would he have stayed in France? He's gone home, Leona. This is probably an outlaw from the woods.
She shuddered and drew her knees up to her chest, curling in on herself again. Just as she was building up the wall of silence around her, someone ran past in the hallway again. She found herself listening in.
“Sister? Oh! Sister Marcia! Thank Heavens! We were all in uproar, looking for you.”
“I know,” the gentle voice of Sister Marcia replied. “Father Antoine sent a messenger to fetch me. It's for the foreigner, isn't it? He's the patient.”
“I believe it is.” A voice replied.
Leona's hair stood on end. The foreigner. Conn.
“I will send over some poultices and some Valerian, so he'll sleep while they stitch it,”she heard Sister Marcia say.
“Very good, Sister. And mayhap we could send some honey for a poultice...” As Sister Marcia discussed her plans for treating the man, Leona tiptoed to the door. The foreigner. Could it be..? She found she could wait no longer. She had not sworn a vow, or promised to stay secluded. She tiptoed to the still-room.
There, she almost ran into Florentia, hurrying to pack a bag with things Sister Marcia had ordered.
“Oh! Marjorie! There you are!” she exclaimed, seeing her in the doorway. “I know I shouldn't talk...but I can't help it. Sister Marcia is sending bandages over. And Valerian! They're going to have to stitch his wounds, poor man. He’s unconscious anyway, though, so how they'll administer that I don't have any...oh! Sister! Hello!” She looked up, flushed and embarrassed, as her mentor, Marcia, appeared in the doorway.
“Sister! What are you...oh! Marjorie!”
She stared at Leona in surprise. There was no real reason for her not to be there, or for Sister Florentia not to be talking to her: she had sworn no vow. The older woman still looked surprised, and then turned to her fellow nun. “Sister, if you could fetch the abbess for me please?”
“Yes, Sister!” Sister Florentia hurried out, blushing furiously, glad to be let off without comment.
“Marjorie,” Sister Marcia said, turning to Leona. “My child, I cannot tell you how pleased I am you are out of seclusion! I think I need your help.”
“My help?” Leona frowned.
“Yes,” her mentor said kindly. “You are the best seamstress among us. Your young eyes are much better. And you have taken no vow! Could I ask you to leave our precincts and go to the storehouse? I requested the patient be taken there, since no woman can enter the monastery. You can stitch this wounded man for us.”
What if he is Conn? Could I..? She swallowed hard, and then nodded. “I shall do this, Sister.”
How could she refuse? If it was Conn, and he died for lack of her help, she would never forgive herself.
“Bless you,” Sister Marcia said fervently.
Leona took the bundle from Florentia and followed her direction to the storehouse. She tiptoed through the door, holding her breath. It isn't. It cannot be.
Nevertheless, it was.
Lying stretched out on the bench was Conn. He was pale, his reddish hair matted to his brow. His shirt front was sluiced with blood. His arm was bent unnaturally and two priests hovered around him.
Leona bit her lip, too shocked to move. “Conn...” she whispered. “No.”
One of the priests looked up. He smiled hesitantly at Leona. “Ah! My child. Come. We have need of your assistance.”
“Father. Is he...”
“Yes, child, he's alive. We need to staunch that bleeding soon, though. And if that wound isn't closed aright, he might never use his hand again.”
Leona bent over, looking where the priest indicated. She gasped when she saw it. A slice had been cut from his right forearm as if someone drew a knife through butter. It left a great flap of skin loose, blood, black and life-giving, oozing from beneath it in a flow that had almost stopped.
“We have fastened a tourniquet over the elbow, here...” the priest indicated. “He is sedated, but I have not the eyesight to sew the wound.”
“Yes, Father.” Leona swallowed, the iron scent of blood wafting up from his shirt front. He had other wounds, evidently, though none, it seemed, as serious. She closed her eyes, not wanting to think of how much pain he might be in. She reached out and touched his hair. He stirred, and then his head flopped restlessly away.
“Come, my child. While he is sleeping.”
Leona nodded. Hands shaking, she took out the needle and threaded it, then bent to where the other priest had busied himself with sponging away the blood, revealing the slice wound in his forearm.
This is Conn. I played with him. Chased him up hills. He lifted me with those very arms, held me when I cried. I can't stitch him as if he was a torn piece of bed linen!
However, she had to. If she didn't, that wound would never heal and he could die. Leona closed her eyes, said a silent prayer and began to sew.
She felt Conn tense as she pushed the needle through the skin and heard him start to moan. She winced and wanted to weep. She had never actually done this before and the feel of her needle in skin revolted her. She pushed it through as fast as she could, gritting her teeth over the sob that escaped her lips.
“Imagine it's leather,” the priest said helpfully. “I do that. I would sew it, but my eyesight is much worse now. We need your young eyes, my child. I wish we didn't have to ask this of you.”
“I can do it. Father,” Leona whispered. She set her teeth and began the slow, tugging strokes. She was shaking and wanted to cry, but after what felt like hours, the wound was closed.
She stumbled back as she tied off the last stitch, sobbing with relief. She knelt on the floor, exhausted.
“Come, Father Tobias. Let us take the poor child back to the convent. She's done enough.”
“No,” Leona whispered. “I want to stay. Please?”
The priests looked at each other. They shrugged. “If you wish, my child.”
Leona nodded and leaned against the wall, looking down at Conn. “I do wish.”
“Very well. We must finish our work here first, though.”
Leona stayed where she was, drained of energy. They finished bandaging Conn's arm, and washed the blood from his chest and neck. They left then, casting worried glances at Leona, who stood by his bedside.
She waited until they had gone. Then she spoke.
“Conn,” she whispered. “Beloved. I lied to you. I am sorry. Now you might die. You might never know how much I love you. Conn,” she sobbed. “I love you. I love you as big as the summer sky and the mountains.” She laughed. It had been something they said when they were children. Then she sobbed wordlessly, the memory too painful, filled with their innocence and love.
Conn sighed. He stretched up, and then relaxed into his sleep.
“Conn,” Leona said, sobbing. “I love you so much. I cannot let you leave me. I didn't know, until now, that nothing else matters. It doesn't matter that I cannot come to you pure. It doesn't matter that you thought I had forgotten you. It doesn't matter to me. All that matters – all that ever mattered – is our love. Come back to me?”
Leona wept. She leaned back against the wall of the storehouse and sobbed until she thought she would never stop.
When the priests came back, she was still crying. They looked at her. Father Antoine came to take her hand. “My child, we have done all we can. You were superb. If he can ever move his hand, it will be thanks to you. But now, all we can do is wait.”
“I know, Father,” Leona sobbed. “I know.” She left after she had watched them salve his wounds: at least she knew every care was taken, as he had said.
Now all they could do was wait.
Leona sat down heavily on the bed in her cell. She didn't think she would ever move from there. She was exhausted: mentally, physically, and emotionally.
She curled up in a ball, and she must have slept, because the next thing she knew it was dark and she was hearing someone call her name.
“Marjorie?”
She sat up, blinking as a lamp was lit in her cell. “Yes? Yes, Sister?”
“I know I shouldn't talk to you, but I can't help it,” her friend whispered. “I just came to tell you that Sister Marcia just heard from Brother Antoine. The patient is awake.”
Leona stared at her. Wordlessly, she embraced her. He was awake! Conn was awake! He was alive. “Let us pray,” she whispered.
There was nothing else she could do except give thanks. Conn was awake. She also had the answer to her question: she would follow Conn wherever he went. To the ends of the earth if need be. She loved him.