“The whole countryside of Spain is a huge market,” said Rubio Arzano.
Tomás Sanjuro grinned. “And it’s all for free.”
Sister Teresa was totally oblivious to her surroundings. Her only thought was to reach the convent at Mendavia. The cross was getting heavy, but she was determined not to let it out of her hands. Soon, she thought. We’ll be there soon. We’re fleeing from Gethsemane and our enemies to the new mansion He has prepared for us.
Lucia said, “What?”
Sister Teresa was unaware that she had spoken aloud.
“I—nothing,” she mumbled.
Lucia took a closer look at her. The older woman seemed distracted and vaguely disoriented, unaware of what was happening around her. She nodded toward the canvas package that Sister Teresa carried. “That must be heavy,” Lucia said sympathetically. “Wouldn’t you like me to carry it for a while?”
Sister Teresa clutched it to her body more tightly. “Jesus carried a heavier burden. I can carry this for Him. Does it not say in Luke: ‘If any man would come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me’? I’ll carry it,” she said stubbornly.
There was something odd in her tone.
“Are you all right, Sister?”
“Of course.”
Sister Teresa was far from all right. She had not been able to sleep. She felt dizzy and feverish. Her mind was playing tricks again. I mustn’t let myself become ill, she thought. Sister Betina will scold me. But Sister Betina was not there. It was so confusing. And who were these men? I don’t trust them. What do they want with me?
Rubio Arzano had attempted to strike up a conversation with Sister Teresa, trying to make her feel at ease.
“It must seem strange to you, being out in the world again, Sister. How long were you in the convent?”
Why did he want to know? “Thirty years.”
“My, that’s a long time. Where are you from?”
It was painful for her even to say the word. “Èze.”
His face brightened. “Èze? I spent a summer there once on a holiday. It’s a lovely town. I know it well. I remember…”
I know it well. How well? Does he know Raoul? Did Raoul send him here? And the truth hit her like a bolt of lightning. These strangers had been sent to bring her back to Èze, to Raoul Giradot. They were kidnapping her. God was punishing her for deserting Monique’s baby. She was certain now that the baby she had seen in the village square in Villacastín was her sister’s. “But it couldn’t have been, could it? That was thirty years ago,” Teresa muttered to herself. “They’re lying to me.”
Rubio Arzano was watching her, listening to her mumbling.
“Is something wrong, Sister?”
Sister Teresa shrank away from him. “No.”
She was onto them now. She was not going to let them take her back to Raoul and the baby. She had to get to the convent at Mendavia and hand over the gold crucifix, and then God would forgive her for the terrible sin she had committed. I must be clever. I must not let them know I am onto their secret.
She looked up at Rubio. “I am fine,” she said.
Moving on across the dry, sunbaked plains, they came to a small village where peasant women dressed in black were doing their wash at a spring covered by a roof resting on four ancient beams. The water poured into a long wooden trough and out again, so that it was always fresh, and the women scrubbed their wash on stone slabs and rinsed it clean in the running water.
It’s such a peaceful scene, Rubio thought. It reminded him of the farm he had left behind. It’s what Spain used to be like. No bombs, no killing. Will we ever know peace again?
“Buenos días.”
“Buenos días.”
“I wonder if we might have a drink? Traveling is thirsty work.”
“Certainly. Please help yourselves.”
The water was cold and refreshing.
“Gracias. Adiós.”
“Adiós.”
Rubio hated to leave.
The two women and their escorts moved on, past cork and olive trees, the summer air filled with the smells of ripe grapes and oranges. They went by orchards of apple, cherry, and plum trees, and farms noisy with the sounds of chickens, pigs, and goats.