A knock thumped Timothy from his doze. The door cracked open, and Sister Tera pushed her head through. Her eyes held the wooden floor. "Sorry to bother you. The abbess wants to speak with you."
"I will be right there." As much as Timothy would rather sleep, he knew Aunt Mae would want to see him immediately. He stifled another yawn and stepped out into the hall. Sister Tera waited with her hands clasped in front of her.
"Did Cat give you any trouble?" Timothy noticed a few other nuns were in the hallways now. Several familiar faces smiled at him or regarded him with surprise.
"Cat?"
"The lamb."
"No, she did exactly what you said. I just had to point at the stable, and she scampered right over. Cat. What a strange name for a lamb." Sister Tera started down the hall. "This way."
"You don't know the half of it."
"Good to see you Timothy!" Sister Margie said. She looked plumper than Timothy remembered. "I heard one of our guests might be you. Come over and visit, won't you? We will have your favorite tea. I must know what you have been up to since I last saw you."
"I will, but I am afraid I am as boring as ever. Not much happens in a year, Sister Margie," Timothy said.
The short walk to Aunt Mae's office took a lot longer than it normally would. Every nun in the abbey must have crammed themselves into that hall. But then, it was like that whenever Timothy visited.
"Even Sister Margie likes you!" Sister Tera said. "I can't get her to say much to me."
"That is what happens when you grow up in a house of aunts." Timothy stopped at Aunt Mae's door. He tapped the wood. Aunt Mae still got on him if he did more than lightly tap a knock.
"Come in."
A small fire crackled in the hearth of the simple room. Timothy froze. Kit already sat at the desk, sipping a small cup of tea. She wore clothing similar to the nun who shared the room, the same gray tone Timothy wore. Somewhere Kit found a white head scarf. Aunt Mae leaned on her worn desk.
"It is good to see you, Timothy!" She wrapped Timothy in a hug. Sister Tera closed the door just as Sister Wanda passed in the hall. Sister Wanda would care little if Aunt Mae wanted to speak with Timothy. The old nun would have hauled him from the office to pester him about whatever plant she had newly discovered.
"Aunt Mae, it's been a while!" Timothy returned the hug.
Aunt Mae squeezed Timothy one more time before pointing a finger at his nose. "Mother Mae, deary."
She clapped her hands and pointed to a chair beside Kit. Timothy took his seat, remembering how she used to do that when he was young and causing trouble.
"So, Timothy, what brings you to us? Not living in sin with this beautiful girl, are you?" The corners of her mouth betrayed her stern tone.
Timothy groaned and turned to Kit. "Just what did you tell her?"
"Yes, yes, deary. We can't have that. I will just have to marry you right off and work on a penance besides." The abbess clasped her hands behind her back.
"Aunt Mae…" Timothy couldn't help a whine entering his voice.
Aunt Mae turned and held up a finger. "Mother Mae. I am of a mind to see you married or put on the frock. You cause too much trouble otherwise."
The abbess winked at Kit. "He always had an eye on the pretty girls. He would do all kinds of pranks to break the modesty of the young nuns."
Kit laughed. "He is still trying to look up frocks."
"That is why it is best we marry him now before he causes himself more trouble, yes? He never was meant for the cloth. You seem a willing one, daughter. From what we talked about, you seem more than capable."
"Just what did you two talk about?" Timothy poured himself some tea.
Aunt Mae smiled. "I am only looking out for the welfare of a wayward son."
"No need to pout, Timmy." Kit sipped her tea.
"It is sometimes wise to tell someone no." Aunt Mae sat down at the desk and folded her hands. "But you never could tell anyone in need no."
"He is too good natured," Kit said.
"He is." The abbess held the steaming teacup. "So you have given up shepherding?"
"I wasn't much of a shepherd." Timothy shrugged and felt the scar on his shoulder pull.
"You always were more comfortable with books and ink than anything else. I still have a few of your rather naughty drawings." Aunt Mae rounded the desk and settled into her chair.
"Naughty drawings?" Kit perked up.
"He didn't just want to peek under frocks. He liked to draw as well. I still use some of the drawings to teach the young nuns about being discrete. The boy was good at drawing and better at hiding." The abbess opened a drawer and rifled through it.
Timothy closed his eyes and took a breath. He knew better than to protest. It only egged her on. He smiled and shook his head. Some things did not change.
A piercing wail slashed the quiet.
Timothy's smile died on his lips. Some things never changed.
Kit's ears strained against the head scarf. Timothy hoped Aunt Mae did not notice how much the scarf moved. Kit's red hair stood up in a few places. "What is that?"
"Here they are." The abbess produced a couple of papers. "Oh, that is just Timothy's mother, deary." She handed the drawings to Kit. "She does this most nights. Most of us are used to it now." Aunt Mae sighed. "I cannot do anything to comfort her anymore. It has been a long time since I could."
The wailing stopped. Kit's ears settled. Timothy's frayed nerves did not. He was home, but home was not always comforting.
"These are actually pretty good." Kit looked at Timothy. "Considering these are nuns, they are rather naughty."
"See why we need to get this poor boy married?"
Kit bobbed her head. "I do, Mother. Few could handle him."
"Stop it!" Timothy had had enough. He stood up. "If you just called me here to—"
The wail returned.
"I need to go," he said. His shoulders slumped. He needed sleep.
"Deary, you can stay as long as you want. Just be sure to visit your mother before you go. It will do you both good. And you are welcome to use the library to find this girl's home. Yes, she already told me that is why you are here." Aunt Mae smiled. "You always needed a reason to visit, as if visiting wasn't reason enough. I've missed you, deary. A year is too long."
The lonely, mournful wail chased Timothy from the room.
Timothy breathed vellum comfort. The scent of books reminded him of childhood, and the silence calmed. Kingdoms sold for less than the abbey library's worth—the humble leather-bound books belied their expense. The vellum had to be dried, the leather stretched. Then, a scribe spent hours copying the letters. Timothy smiled. He missed copying books and drawing illuminations. Why did he give books up for shepherding? Looking back, he felt silly for his wanderlust. But then, he felt the same way every time he visited this little leather-lined heaven.
Kit snored into the book she used as a pillow.
A few holes gaped on the heavy shelves—their occupants probably in the next room, being worked on. Sister Margerite and Sister Tessa worked in the next room. Despite being old when Timothy had first left, their hands remained agile, and many of the leather volumes held the nuns' graceful writing.
Timothy settled into the familiar wooden chair, its worn cushion significantly thinner than the last time he sat on it. He flipped the pages of the book in front of him. The cramped writing certainly was not of the sisters. He yawned. The book recounted the Inquisition's victories over demons, but did it have to be so boring? Couldn't the writer tell the story instead of drone? He could almost hear the stiff voice behind the text.
The abbey owned many similar proclamations sent by the Inquisition Office. Most of them were equally dull. The Inquisition liked to brag and have bishops brag for them. He turned another page and read about the Inquisitors cutting down an entire forest of demon trees. He wondered if trees could be demonic. If the Inquisition bragged about that, they would certainly brag about finding a race of fox demons
. He rubbed his eyes and turned the page.
The chair creaked. Timothy reread the cramped writing. This was it!
But it was also terrible.
Timothy rubbed his eyes. Kit cut off a snore and shifted. She had insisted on joining him, but it seemed she could read very little. Still, to be able to read and write anything at all amazed Timothy. Where did she learn? Other than nuns and nobles, few women were able to read even a single letter.
The proclamation filled half the page. The text claimed that hunters had collected 250 fox tails and 200 pairs of ears. Timothy remembered Sister Sybil clucking her tongue over numbers. They were almost always padded. He scrawled notes with his other hand on a slip of yellowed paper. Timothy frowned at the numbers. Even if they were padded, they made little sense. Why would there be fewer pairs of ears compared to the number of tails?
Kit darkened the page under her head with drool, and Timothy shook his head. Was she a demon? She could be evil at times. No, that was not fair. She was witty and cunning but not malicious. Strangely, he didn't regret helping her, despite her acid tongue. Sometimes it was even fun dealing with her quips. In a way, he liked her.
He leaned back in the chair and held up the note. How could he tell her? The entire village killed? Timothy did not doubt the Inquisition tried. Who else would chop down an entire forest to make sure a supposedly man-eating tree was killed?
Kit's ears flicked beneath her green head scarf. Today she wore the clothes Abel gave her. Kit yawned, opening her eyes and looking at the book. "At least it makes a decent pillow. What is wrong, Timothy? You look pale." Genuine concern filled her voice.
Timothy blinked. He expected some smart remark. Come to think of it, she had not teased him since she had spoken with Aunt Mae. Whatever she and Aunt Mae had spoken about left her on her best behavior. What could that mean? "It is nothing. I…I think I have just been reading too much."
Kit frowned at the ceiling. Rain still pattered outside. "Lack of sunlight isn't good. I am beginning to believe the dry is better than the wet. It has been three days."
"I haven't found anything worthwhile yet." Timothy closed the book. It wasn't a lie. The book could just be boasting. He doubted that, but it was possible. Besides, there might be more information in another book.
Kit held him with her green eyes.
"We are going to have to see her, you know."
Timothy blinked. "What? Who?"
Kit pushed away from the table. "If all you are going to do is mope, it will be today." She rounded the table and grabbed his arm.
"Go where? Let go."
"You said you didn't find anything worthwhile. The books are not going anywhere. It is time for a break." Kit tugged Timothy and the chair teetered.
He shrugged her off. "Fine. A short break. Just a minute." He folded the yellowed note and tucked it into his shirt.
Kit snagged his shirt. "Don't make me…" She tugged. Timothy flailed, trying to keep the chair from upending.
"All right. All right!"
Timothy allowed Kit to drag him out of the library and the comforting, musty smell of childhood. A few sisters bobbed their heads and smiled as they passed, many of them probably remembering Timothy's antics as a child. Sister Grace often took the brunt of his pranks. She looked more dignified now, age giving her a web of laugh lines. He once liked to sketch Sister Rae. Her plumpness belied her rail-thin younger days.
Sister Tera brushed past Kit and Timothy and spoke to Sister Grace. "We have another guest. Do we have another men's room ready?"
"Goodness," Sister Grace said. "Who would travel in this weather? Show me to him, Sister Tera."
Kit pulled Timothy around a corner, cutting off the voices.
"Just what are we doing?" he asked.
"Visiting your mother."
Timothy tried to plant his heels, but Kit barreled him down the hall anyway. "Really, we don't have to do this now." Timothy had to walk or fall and be dragged. He walked, Kit's hand clamping his wrist. "Apple bread!" he said. "Have you tried the apple bread? How about the wine? Sister Rae grows the grapes herself."
"Today. You will not keep your mother waiting," Kit said.
"Aunt Mae put you up to this, didn't she?" Timothy asked. Kit ignored him. "She needs to rest. Seeing me will be a shock. She…she is delicate. How do you know where to go? She did put you up to this!"
"I used my fox powers. What do you think? The abbess and I both know you need to see your mom. Be grateful that you…"
A single polished door stood at the end of the hall. Kit stopped and touched the too clean, too polished wood surface. Timothy yanked his hand away and rubbed his wrist. The girl was a lot stronger than she looked.
"It is like a mirror!" Kit said.
Timothy shrugged. Evelyn was…particular about cleaning. He had a hard time thinking of Evelyn as his mother. Aunt Mae and the sisters were his real mothers. Evelyn sometimes sat and played with him, but Timothy could not recall anytime she had left her room.
Kit knocked. The mirror-like door opened a crack to reveal a single hazel eye. Kit pushed Timothy forward. "Someone is here to see you."
Timothy hesitated. Kit growled, and her foot spiked into his shin.
"Hello…mom."
The eye blinked. "Be sure to take off your shoes, Timmy." The eye disappeared as fast as it had materialized.
Kit shoved Timothy through the door.
The chamber gleamed. The wan light coming from the rainy sky filtered through the spotless window and bounced off every surface. Even the whitewashed walls held a polished glow. A table with three plate sets dominated the room. The table, like everything in the room, gleamed. The white tableware shamed snow. A blue vase of flowers perched in the middle, not a single petal marring the table. The crisp bed in the corner of the room looked like it was never slept in, the floral blankets without a single crease. A bookcase, its surface gleaming like every other surface, stood by a hearth that held a few pristine logs arranged just so. Evelyn sorted the books by size and title. A large rug lay on the floor.
Time did not touch the room.
Evelyn regarded Timothy with blurry eyes, a few fine lines webbing the corners of her eyes. Her simple gray clothes hung from her, the skin on her hands cracked from constant cleaning.
Kit's breath tickled Timothy's ear. "She is much younger than I expected!"
"You did not take your dirty shoes off!" Evelyn frowned. "What am I to do with a dirty son?" She produced a rag and scrubbed the corner of the table. "Just stand right there. We can't have you making a mess. Who is that you brought with you?"
"My name is Kit."
"You are just as filthy as my son. No. You are worse. All girls are dirty things. No matter how much we clean, we are still dirty. Yes."
"Mom, I came over to visit for a bit before I leave again," Timothy said.
"If you were going to visit, you should have cleaned yourself."
"I made him come," Kit said. She shifted her feet under the gaze of Evelyn's steady hazel eyes. "I thought he should talk with you before we go."
"Go. Where are you going? Where is there to go? There is only one place to go. We all go there." Evelyn folded the rag and laid it on the table.
"He promised to take me home." Kit's ears pushed against her scarf.
"Promise? Promise! He made a promise to you. To take you home." Evelyn quivered. "He will break that promise. We all break our promises, broken words. There is only one place to go. Death. Dust. Dirt."
"Evelyn," Timothy said.
"Promise. He died. We all die. Only dirt to go." Timothy's mother thrust a boney finger. "You." She turned the finger on Kit. "And you."
She jabbed the finger at one of the empty dinner placements. "And you. Why did you? You promised! Just words. You left me alone. Words. My son will also leave you, child. He cannot but break his promises. Only promising to die is true. He promised to always stay with me. Words, empty. Dust."
"Evelyn…Mom, I didn't—"
"Sinful boy. We are all dirt. Made from dirt, we return to dirt. Dirt is death. Dirt is a broken promise! Lowered into dirt forever. Why did you promise!" Evelyn shouted at the empty chair. "He left me. My boy left me. I am alone."
"I am here, Mom."
"Who are you to me? To break word like he did. Always. Only death is always. He left me! You left me! You take him from me!" Evelyn clawed Kit's hair.
Kit's eyes saucered as she pulled back from the woman. Evelyn's fingers caught the headscarf's knot.
The scarf fluttered to the floor.
Evelyn stiffened, her gaze on Kit's ears. The woman shrieked. Kit's ears clamped to her head.
"Demon!"
Evelyn scrambled toward the crisp bed. She huddled in the corner between the wall and the bed, her hand wiping at the air between them as if to clean what her eyes beheld.
Timothy bent to retrieve the headscarf and handed it to Kit. "This is why I didn't want to see her."
Kit grimaced and tied her scarf. "Let's just go."
Timothy closed the door. He wanted to slam it.
"I…I'm sorry I made you go see her. I didn't know." Kit finished knotting the scarf.
Aunt Mae rounded the turn at the far end of the hall. "I am afraid she has demons only she and God can face together. I haven't heard her like that since the night we found her outside. I had hoped a visit would help her state." Aunt Mae shook her head. "I am truly sorry, Timothy. Had I known, I would have spared you. She has spoken only of you these last several months."
"She was always like that?" Kit asked.
"Evelyn was never in her right mind, deary. Well, she has lucid moments. Some days she is even somewhat normal. Ever since Sister Marge left for heaven, Evelyn has been like this. They were close, as close as Evelyn can be with anyone." Aunt Mae looked at the polished door. "God works in mysterious ways. We cannot see His purpose sometimes. Those lucid days give me hope. I'm sorry, deary."
She wrapped Timothy and Kit in a warm, motherly hug. "You did turn out to be a fine man. I never thought I would have a son, but you are that to me, Timothy. You are a blessing God decided to trust me with. You are a good man." She cast a look at the door. "Who keeps his promises."
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