Tracing the Shadow (22 page)

CHAPTER 17

Winter at the convent was cold and dreary that year, drenched by frequent storms and persistent rain. The skies above the promontory on which Saint Azilia’s Convent stood were perpetually daubed with a wash of cloudy grey, and even though the girls labored hard to keep the fires burning, a chill dampness pervaded every room of the convent.

“Snow would be better than this constant rain,” complained Katell as she and Celestine carried firewood up the winding stairs to stoke the brazier in the Skylarks’ dormitory. “At least we could play snowballs.” The sound of persistent coughing echoed in the stairwell. “Listen to that!” Katell puffed. “Sister Noyale won’t be pleased if the entire choir falls sick.”

It was Katell’s last month as a Skylark; in the spring, she and Rozenne would be old enough to move to the Novices’ dormitory. The Novices followed a much more rigorous routine than the Skylarks, often singing for services late into the night. Celestine could not begin to imagine how she would endure life without Katell and Rozenne at her side. She had come to rely so much on the older girls that the thought of losing their companionship was hard to bear. There would still be Koulmia, of course, and a couple of others who grudgingly accepted her into their conversations, but Gauzia had divided the dormitory into factions, and Koulmia, fascinated by the charismatic Demoiselle de Saint-Désirat, was drifting away. Now there was whispering and nudging in the ranks whenever Sister Noyale singled Celestine out to sing a solo. Resentful glances, even snide comments could regularly be detected from Gauzia’s followers.

The two girls trudged across the dormitory floor toward the brazier, where Katell let her bucket of firewood drop with a clang. Koulmia wandered over to greet them, wrapped in her blanket. “It’s freezing up here,” she complained.

“We’ll get a good blaze going soon.” Katell knelt to rake the faintly glowing embers. “Pass me those little sticks first, Celestine.” A fierce gust of wind suddenly made the shutters rattle. Koulmia began to cough, a raw, ragged sound, and Celestine saw from the way she hunched her shoulders that it hurt.

“You don’t look so well,” said Katell, glancing up from the cinders she was raking. “Shall I take you to see Sister Kinnie in the Infirmary?”

“I’m just cold,” said Koulmia. Her teeth were chattering. “Besides, I heard all the beds are full. Rozenne’s gone to help.”

“I thought only the Novices were allowed to help Sister Kinnie.”

“All the Novices are ill. It’s the lung sickness.”

Celestine said nothing but a tight little knot of fear had begun to form in her stomach. Maman had fallen sick and she had never recovered. She glanced at her friends—Katell, a smear of ashes darkening her forehead as she stoked the fire; Koulmia, pale-lipped and shivering—and knew that she could not bear to lose anyone else she loved.

In the middle of the afternoon rehearsal, the youngest Skylark suddenly gave a sigh and crumpled to the floor. Sister Noyale shooed the others away as they hovered anxiously around her.

“Have you no sense, girls? Move back and give Karine some air!”

She knelt by the unconscious little girl and felt her brow and pulse. “Katell, run on ahead to the Infirmary. Gauzia, take charge while I’m gone.”

The instant Sister Noyale left the chapel carrying Karine in her arms, there was an alarmed burst of chatter.

“I’m not staying in this plague-ridden place a day longer than I have to,” declared Gauzia. “I’ve written to my father. He’s sure to come for me. Or at the very least send his carriage.”

“That’s all very well for you, Gauzia,” said one of her friends, red-haired Deneza, “but what about the rest of us? Will there be room for us in that carriage too?”

“Well, I couldn’t rightly say. It would depend on my father. If the decision were down to me, you would all come,” said Gauzia, pointedly addressing her adoring little circle, her back turned on Celestine.

Katell arrived back, out of breath, in time to hear this last remark. “I thought you were in charge here, Gauzia. Yet all I can hear is idle gossip. Don’t you know how to conduct the choir?”

Celestine woke in the darkest hour of night. Someone was coughing incessantly. Peeping out from under her blanket, she saw by the wavering light of a lantern that Sister Kinnie and her assistant, young Sister Eurielle, were bending over Koulmia’s bed.

“She’s too sick to move,” Sister Kinnie said in a low voice. “Besides, where would we put her? All the Infirmary beds are taken.”

“But the risk to the other Skylarks?”

Sister Kinnie gave a weary little shrug. “What can we do? Like as not, they’ll catch the sickness too.”

“We just have to pray that they’re healthy enough to pull through.”

“Please get better, Koulmia,” whispered Celestine.

The astringent medicinal odor of fumigating herbs made Celestine’s eyes sting when she returned to the dormitory after completing her day’s work in the kitchen.

“You must drink some of this chicken broth,” insisted Rozenne, holding a cup to Koulmia’s lips. “It’ll give you the strength to get better.”

Celestine saw Koulmia pull a face and turn her head away.

“Koulmia must be really sick,” remarked Katell. “She usually eats anything.”

“Do not…”

“You do so!”

“I helped Rozenne make the broth,” Celestine said coaxingly. “We put in thyme and bay leaves, the herbs we picked and dried in the summer sun. Remember?” A draft shivered through the dormitory, making the door and shutters creak. Koulmia began to cough again, a harsh rattling sound. “Summer seems so far away now.”

Rozenne rose from Koulmia’s bedside. “I’ll bring you some of Sister Kinnie’s coltsfoot linctus. And another poultice to ease your throat.” As she moved toward the door, she staggered, slopping broth onto the floor. Katell and Celestine hurried to her and caught her by the arms, supporting her.

“What’s wrong?” demanded Katell.

Rozenne managed a weak smile. “Just tired. I haven’t had much sleep recently.”

Celestine felt a little stab of apprehension. Had Rozenne caught the fever too? She looked very pale, just as Koulmia had done before the heat of the fever began to sear her.

“Go and lie down. We’ll fetch the linctus, won’t we, Celestine?”

Celestine nodded vigorously.

“But there’s so much to do…” Rozenne began to protest as Katell steered her toward her bed.

“Sleep. That’s an order from Doctor Katell!”

Celestine took the cup from her and Rozenne slumped down onto the bed without any further protest. Katell tucked the blanket around her and beckoned Celestine away.

All night long, the raw, repetitive sound of Koulmia’s coughing infiltrated Celestine’s dreams. Toward dawn, she woke suddenly, sitting upright in bed, certain that someone had called her name.

Someone was coughing, but it wasn’t Koulmia. It was Rozenne.

Celestine wrapped her blanket around her against the penetrating draft and shuffled across the cold floorboards to Rozenne’s bedside. Her friend lay huddled up in the bedclothes, her body shaking with suppressed coughing.

“Rozenne,” Celestine whispered. “What’s wrong?”

Rozenne half opened her eyes. She seemed to have trouble focusing on Celestine’s face.

“Shall I get you a drink?”

Rozenne nodded. Her face was pale, with hectic blotches darkening her cheeks. Celestine poured boiled barley water into a beaker and brought it to her. Rozenne seemed barely to have the strength to raise the beaker to her lips, and as soon as she had drunk a mouthful began to cough again.

“Oh, Rozenne, you’re sick.”

Rozenne nodded. “I thought I was strong, Celestine.” She managed a weak, self-deprecating smile. “You should stay away from me. I don’t want you to get sick too.” She sank back onto the mattress. “You must protect your voice…”

Celestine felt another little twinge of fear. Rozenne had been like a big sister to her. She stretched out her hand to stroke Rozenne’s head and felt how hot and damp her temples were beneath the unplaited strands of hair. She remembered how helpless she had felt standing at Maman’s bedside as she lay murmuring incoherently in fever. If she acted now, there was still time to save Rozenne.

A bell tolled softly in the dawn. Sister Kinnie’s face looked drawn and grey as she leaned over Rozenne’s bed to take her pulse.

“She’s too ill to be moved to the Infirmary. Although now there’s two spare beds…” She spoke in a low, distracted voice as if she were talking to herself.

“What?” Gauzia said sharply, sitting up in bed. “Two?”

“We lost Aoda and little Karine in the night.” Sister Kinnie wiped away a tear with her handkerchief.

“They
died
?” Gauzia’s exclamation echoed around the dormitory; now all the other Skylarks were awake and staring in shock at one another.

“Hush, Gauzia. You’ll upset the younger ones.”

“Upset them?” Gauzia echoed contemptuously. “Don’t you think they’ll want to know where Karine has gone? What do we tell them? Lies?”

“You will tell them that it was God’s will that the children were taken away from us.” Celestine had never heard Sister Kinnie speak so sternly before. “Now get started on your day’s chores, all of you. We will pray for our little sisters’ souls in chapel later today.”

“If the Abbess had called in a proper doctor, instead of relying on country remedies, this would never have happened.” Gauzia’s voice rose in pitch, unusually shrill and harsh. She gazed round at the other girls as they knuckled the sleep dust from their eyes. “And now we’re all like to die of the lung sickness because Rozenne is ‘too ill to be moved.’ We’re all breathing the same contagion in the air.”

Celestine, her own emotions dulled by lack of sleep, realized that even the indomitable Gauzia was afraid.

“So where’s your father and his famous carriage, then?” demanded a wry voice. Katell was glaring at Gauzia, her hands on her hips. “I thought he was coming to take you away from this plague pit?”

“He’ll be here. It’s a long way from our estate. But I know the carriage will come soon.” But Celestine noticed a distinct hint of desperation in Gauzia’s voice.

Celestine had never gone to pray in the chapel alone before. She pushed open the side door and stood a moment, gazing in wonder. A glow of saffron candlelight warmed the darkness, soft flames blooming like luminous saffron crocuses.

She took three slender candles from the box and lit them, placing them with the others before Saint Azilia’s statue. “One for Aoda, one for Karine, one for Rozenne…” The shimmer was reflected in the statue’s eyes of blue glass, glinting in the gold leaf gilding her long carved tresses. If she glanced up, it looked almost as if Azilia were alive and silently watching her.

But no…it must just be her imagination. She knelt and, clasping her hands together, raised her eyes to the saint’s painted features and whispered, “Please, Blessed Azilia, please don’t let Rozenne die.”

The statue smiled calmly, distantly down at her. “I’ll give you whatever you ask. I’ll cut my hair.” Celestine tried to think of some other, greater sacrifice that she could make. “I’ll stay here and become a nun. I’ll devote the rest of my life to the convent. Only please intercede for her. She’s…” and Celestine felt tears welling up, “…she’s always looked after me. Now I have to look after her.”

Still the statue graced her with its benevolent, distant smile. Celestine wiped her eyes on her sleeve and stood up. Would her prayers be answered? A flicker of doubt entered her mind. How did prayer work? She was addressing an inanimate piece of carved stone. Did the chapel act as a conduit? Were her words carried to Azilia’s spirit in the Ways Beyond mingled with the scented candlesmoke? And how could a spirit bring healing to an ailing mortal? Her own Faie had failed to help Maman when she lay dying…

Too many questions, too many doubts.

Celestine clapped her hands over her ears as if in doing so she could block out all these uncomfortable, troubling ideas that had begun to assail her. “Forgive me, Blessed Azilia. I shouldn’t be thinking such terrible thoughts.”

But if Rozenne doesn’t recover, what will it mean? That my prayers weren’t answered because I’m not worthy?
Still the questions kept coming and each one punctured another hole in her faltering belief.
Or will she die because I didn’t pray hard enough? Or because I dared to question your powers?

After Maman’s death, she had vowed never to let herself feel so vulnerable ever again. If only she had not let herself grow to care for Rozenne, if only she had kept herself armored against such strong feelings, she would not feel so weak and helpless now. As Celestine crossed the dark courtyard, shivering in the icy wind, she knew in her heart that no friend could ever replace Rozenne.

After all the lights were extinguished except the night-lights, Celestine slid out her father’s book from its hiding place beneath her bolster. The Faie, in its guise as Saint Azilia, gazed at her, its eyes luminous in the darkness.