“The same.” The abbess nods, her attention now distracted as she brushes some piece of dirt or insect carefully from her skirts. “I would have told you this before, but I did not want to compromise your relationship with the girl. You seemed to have such a …a connection with her that I hoped, despite it all, that she might change her mind. I involved you that night only because I was not privy to what had been arranged between them and because I could not watch her all the time.”
“I should have seen it myself. It was in front of my eyes.”
“No. The level of deception was too great. I would not have seen it if I hadn’t known.”
Zuana shakes her head. “I was thinking more of the poppy syrup missing from the dispensary bottle.”
“As always, you are hard on yourself, Zuana. You had been ill and the convent was mad with Carnival. There is no reason to blame yourself.”
“The thing I do not understand is why, having gone to such trouble to find and contact her, he had no qualms about suddenly deserting her.”
The abbess plucks a leaf from the hellebore bush and crushes it in her hand. “As I said, such young men do not care a fig for anything but their own pleasure. If he had had his way he would have taken her, ruined her, and cast her aside. We must thank God that He saw fit to let you save her from herself.”
Zuana sees the two of them standing on the dock, the black water in the background, Serafina fumbling with the ropes on the boat, while she herself does nothing to stop her. The abbess had known all along that there would be no one there to meet her. It had never been Zuana’s job to prevent her from escaping, only to bring her back from the edge when she realized she had been betrayed. “Thank you.” She hears the girl’s voice low in her ears. Surely the abbess must have heard something, too.
“Madonna Chiara, there is something I must tell you.”
“Actually, Zuana, I think that there is not.” She lets the leaf fall, wiping its juice off her hands. “As far as I am concerned, whatever faults you have committed in this matter, you paid your penance in the room with her that night. Anything else that burdens you, you should take to Father Romero.”
It is clear from her tone that the matter is closed.
Yet there are so many frayed ends.
“What happens now? To the girl?”
“She will take the veil and in time become a valued and valuable sister of the convent.”
“And if she is still unwilling?”
“I do not believe there will be any further rebellion. Not now.”
Again the conversation seems finished but Zuana hesitates. “I am concerned that she is fasting so quickly after the evacuation. I—”
“And I am concerned that she continues to take up so much of your—and this convent’s—time.” Her tone is sharp now. “If she is to settle she must accept her lot as an ordinary novice and taste a little bitter fruit like everyone else. Given her sins, it is hardly an onerous penance and will do her no lasting harm. Suora Umiliana can tend to her needs for a while, not you.”
The abbess’s evident anger, and the fact that Zuana is being forbidden access to the girl, is confirmation in itself that she had seen or suspected what took place on the jetty that night. Zuana bows her head to show obedience. It occurs to her that she might mention Umiliana’s evident joy in the novice’s “conversion,” but she knows this is not the time. In the life of any nun, criticism must be accepted with the same humility as praise. You must look to your own soul, Suora Zuana. Umiliana’s words come back to her. Maybe they are both right: she has given too much of her journey to this volatile young woman. There are others who need her more.
“Anyway, you will have your hands filled in the dispensary looking after Suora Magdalena,” the abbess says, more kindly. “I cannot tell you how good it will be for her to be in your care— how good it will be for all of us.” She pauses, rubbing her hands together hard. “Ooh, it is cold out here. You must have grown a second skin in your work. I think I shall go back in time to see Suora Federica before the Sext bell. Perhaps we might walk as far as the second cloisters together.”
Zuana packs her fork and trowel into her bag, and they make their way along the wall of the vegetable garden.
“I meant what I said in chapter yesterday, Zuana,” the abbess says, as they go. “You are a beloved sister of this convent. Your work enriches all our lives. As do your obedience and loyalty.” She pauses, as if to decide whether to continue. “In that spirit I would like to share with you some news I have received— disturbing news. It seems that Bishop Paleotti in Bologna has sent notice to all the convents in the city that there will be no more public performances of theater, for fear of contamination between the nuns and the outside world. And, in Milan, Cardinal Borromeo has forbidden any musical instruction between nuns and musicians from the outside world and is threatening the removal of all musical instruments other than the chapel organ.”
This is indeed shocking information, and though Zuana might question the abbess’s motives for telling it now, there is no reason to doubt its veracity. She sees Benedicta and Scholastica’s faces, shining with the pride of their achievements. No more plays and no more orchestras? It is unthinkable—except perhaps in a convent run by Suora Umiliana.
“You really think such things could happen here?”
“It is happening already in quiet ways. As Benedicta starts to arrange her ‘gift’ of the Lamentations, she may find that the music that delights Rome these days is a good deal starker than that which pours out of her soul. For the rest, though, we are not yet lost. Our bishop may be a reformer, but he is also of an excellent family and will be open to the entreaties of others. It is, however, essential that we give him no cause for concern.”
They continue silently for a bit. At the cloister entrance they pause, the abbess turning to her and smiling.
“Given the circumstances, you understand, I am sure, how it will be better for all concerned if Suora Magdalena remains confined inside the infirmary until she dies…”
Rather than wandering the corridors having revelations everywhere she goes.
The words are there, even though they are unspoken. Zuana sees the demented Clementia straining her arms against the night straps on the side of the bed. A decrepit old woman, unconscious and covered in bedsores, strapped down like a prisoner. Is that what she is being asked to do? For the good of the convent?
She bows her head but cannot bring herself to speak. Please God, it will not come to that.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
THEY MOVE SUORA Magdalena that evening before the office of Compline. Zuana makes up a stretcher from garden poles strapped to a mattress, and she and three of the convent’s strongest converse lift the old woman carefully from her pallet bed onto it. When they pick it up and start to walk, her eyelids flicker a little as her sores rub against the stretcher, but she does not protest.
In the infirmary, Clementia is muttering as usual but falls strangely quiet at their entrance. They slide Magdalena onto the newly prepared bed and Zuana administers a poultice of calendula to the worst of the bedsores. The abbess comes to pay her respects, joined almost immediately by Suora Umiliana, who kneels and prays at the bedside. From across the room, Clementia’s singsong voice joins in the prayers.
Later, while the convent sleeps, Zuana stays at Magdalena’s bedside. In her experience more souls are taken by God during darkness than in the light, which makes the infirmary a potent place to be at night. There are deaths when the end comes in such agony that not even her potions can soothe, when the night candle on the altar seems barely strong enough to keep the darkness at bay. But not tonight. Tonight the room is safe and sweet-smelling, as if the perfume of the fumigant is stronger than usual. Magdalena’s deep sleep seems to affect those in the beds around her. In contrast, Zuana herself feels wide awake, as if she could sit there forever. She keeps vigil until the Matins bell and, when the divine office is finished, checks one last time before allowing herself to sleep.