The Guardian of Secrets: And Her Deathly Pact (52 page)

María now turned her thoughts to La Glorieta. How could she earn her keep and, more to the point, keep out of the way of the occupiers? Huge amounts of fresh produce would be needed to feed the army, and no one knew La Glorieta’s crops better than she did. She could offer her services in the fields, and in doing so would ingratiate herself and Marta. Surely they would leave them alone if she did that?

She walked hesitantly through the halls of the house, trying not to disturb anyone who may still resent her presence. She reached the kitchens and made herself a cup of coffee. Her thoughts then turned to Carlos. She had no idea where he’d gone or why he’d left without a word the night Pedro came home. The memory of his cruel words was still fresh in her mind, yet she knew he loved her. War could not destroy love, for love didn’t take sides. Love was the most powerful emotion a person could have. It was stronger than any weapon, bolder than a hero, and everlasting in hands that cared for it. Soldiers, she guessed, possessed emotions of both love and hate; those feelings were what made a soldier choose his side, and his decisions were made because of the love for his country, a political ideal, or his hatred for the enemy and all they stood for. Those feelings had nothing in common with loving a person, because even if war could change a person’s priorities, as it had hers and Carlos’s, it couldn’t dismiss love in the process. She was sure of that. Carlos had told her to distance herself from him. Instead, she had dug herself in, waiting for his return with a mixture of sweet anticipation and dread. She wondered what he would say when he found her still there.

“So you didn’t go,” a voice said from the doorway. “You should have gone.” Carlos stood in front of her, his face disapproving but filled with relief at the same time.

María jumped up from the chair. “You’re back, then?” she said.

He kissed her on both cheeks, each a cold, dismissive kiss. “Why didn’t you go?” he asked her.

“I didn’t go because of my sister. There wasn’t enough time to get to her, and my father had to get the rest of the family away. I hope you don’t think I stayed because of you. If you do, you’re a vain and arrogant fool. Anyway, where have you been? Why did you leave without a word?”

“We have to talk but not here.” Then he smiled that broad smile she loved so much. “I’ll answer your questions,” he promised.

They walked down the drive, far enough away from the soldiers lingering by the front door, and sat under a tree in the shady coolness of the overhead branches.

Carlos didn’t speak straight away; instead, he drank in the sight of María, thanking God and all the saints. He’d driven all night, terrified of finding her dead with her throat cut by an overeager revenge squad and just as terrified of hearing that she’d left with the others. He’d come back as soon as he could and had spoken first with his father, Ramón, who was now getting things ready for their mission to retrieve Marta from the clutches of the Catholic Church. He stroked her face, feeling his love for her overwhelm him.

“María, I love you. God knows I do, but I’ve seen things, horrible things. I don’t know what’s going to happen, or for how long this will go on, but I do know that Spain is now gripped by a hatred that will cross every boundary of decency and conscience. I cannot tell you where I went, and I don’t want to. You will have to understand from now on that if I’m being secretive, it’s because I have to be. Knowing too much is a dangerous occupation nowadays.”

“But I was so worried about you,” María told him.

“And I was worried about you too, but you must not ask me questions that I can’t answer… won’t answer.”

María nodded her head in submission. She didn’t understand what he was saying; after all, they were on the same side now. “Must I distance myself from you even now?”

Carlos smiled. “Maybe I was wrong about that, but at the time, I thought it would be for the best. You know I can’t stay away from you. I want you and need you in all this madness, but you have to think carefully about your future here. You will be safe at La Glorieta in the short term, but you should think about joining your family in England. This won’t be over anytime soon.”

She stopped his words and kissed him softly on the mouth. “Marta must go to England, but please don’t ask me to leave again,” she told him. “I’ve told you before that my place is with you.”

He kissed her into silence then, with all the passion and hunger that had grown over the last few weeks, and then, breathless, he pushed her gently from him. “Thank God. Thank God for your stubbornness and courage.”

They walked hand in hand, passing curious onlookers on the way, but there was no need to hide their love anymore. This was, for them, a declaration to the world that they were not divided by class. He wore a republican soldier’s uniform, and she was his woman. It was as simple as that.

María was impatient for the men to leave now. Ramón stood by the truck waiting for Carlos, who knew every shortcut, every rock, and every dirt track in the area. They would need to take a route devoid of checkpoints, Carlos had told María. They could not afford the time in delays caused by trigger-happy men who had probably never fired a weapon before. He also told her that they had no authority to remove Marta against her will, and that there would be dangers involved should they attempt to abduct her. María knew this and gave him a sealed letter at the truck.

“Give this to the mother superior,” she told him. “It states that her sister—me—has been shot by a republican militant. She is very ill, and her dying wish is to see Marta again. If that doesn’t work, nothing will! You must bring her home, Carlos, even if you have to knock her out to do it.”

Chapter 50

M
arta glanced at the clock; it was almost the time for vespers and evening prayers. She had spent the afternoon sewing, and it was something she’d become very good at; she had been told that on many occasions. She crossed herself and asked for forgiveness. Why could she not get rid of this one particular sin? The sin of pride was so easy to forget, for it was not like any other, such as greed, lies, theft, or murder. Pride was a thought, and she was often too late to stop herself from thinking it. She was miserable since her closest friend, Christina, had decided to leave the order and not take the veil. She’d been quite shocked when Christina told her the news during recreation. She would miss her terribly, but her friend had been adamant. Although she loved the life at the convent and thought that being a nun was the most worthwhile thing to do in the world, she just couldn’t see herself as one. She wouldn’t see Christina tonight. She was now a secular and most probably was already packing her things.

Marta put down her sewing, a lace tablecloth, and packed it neatly away in its box. She would be lonely without Christina, she thought. But being lonely was one good reason to grow closer to God. He was all she would ever need. She rubbed her eyes and unthreaded the needle before sticking it into the padding on the lid of the sewing box. She wouldn’t sew anymore today. Her eyes were stinging, and she felt far too sad to concentrate.

She began to walk slowly to vespers and paused to think for a moment in front of the herb garden that she and Christina had so lovingly cared for. She reflected that in her first few months as a postulant, the route to God had seemed so simple—that if she tried as hard as she could and paid strict observance to all the rules, she would be half way to attaining all her goals. But now, if she was truly honest with God, as she was absolutely sure she was being, he must know that all she wanted to do right now was to see her family and her home. She crossed herself, asked for forgiveness again, and all the while kept thinking that she was home right now. She was supposed to be spending the rest of her life in the convent—there was no other home. Maybe, she thought, she was just feeling this way because her friend was leaving her… or was she failing in her vocation? She’d speak to Sister Teresa about it later. She’d know what the problem was; she always knew.

After vespers, the nuns gathered for their hour of recreation. Marta noticed immediately that the mood in the great hall was even more sombre than usual. Mother superior sat in the same place at the top table but without her usual stance. The normal chatter was absent, the sisters were whispering furiously with one another, and even the bishop who’d come to perform the veiling ceremony had a distinct frown on his face.

Marta watched him speak now to Mother José in those same annoying whispers, with that same frown on his face. The mother superior’s eyes darted nervously around the room. She wrung her hands, crossed herself continuously, and then clapped her hands together in such an abrupt manner that it caused Marta to drop her spoon.

“Sisters, sisters, I need your undivided attention!” The mother superior shouted in a shrill voice. “I have some very disturbing news to impart so please listen carefully. It appears that our countrymen are fighting one another. The trouble began two weeks ago, and as far as I can gather from our bishop, the situation is getting worse every day. You must all be aware that from now on, things will be very different. It will be hard for you, I know, and I’m sure your thoughts will be with your families, friends, and communities in general, not to mention the violent and bloody evil in the streets of our great country. But you must banish these thoughts. We will pray to God for his protection all night tonight, and there will be no recreation period. Indeed, I do not believe we should break silence at all until further notice. All our energy must now be directed at God and his countenance, which I think you will agree will be much more beneficial than anything I, or any of us, could have to say to one another. There is, of course, the matter of our safety that must also be discussed, and I shall keep nothing from you.”

The bishop whispered something else in her ear and she continued.

“The evildoers and communists, who have never worshipped God in the way we do, are dangerous and evil, and it seems that they are in charge now. They should have no reason to bother us here, as we have nothing to do with any of this, but nonetheless, we should be on our guard and pray harder than ever for God to keep us safe.”

She paused, drank some water, and then continued.

“There is a small garrison of Civil Guards in the village, and they shall protect us. Soon the troublemakers will be caught and punished. God
will
punish them and will show no mercy to those who defile our country. Some of you will take the veil tomorrow and become novices. You must not be distracted from that goal, and this must be your only thought. The ceremony will go ahead as planned, and you must not think about what is happening in a world that has nothing to do with us here. Now I’m sure that you will have questions, and for that reason, I am willing to allow you to speak to me for the next fifteen minutes.”

The silence that followed was deafening to the listening ears. Mouths gaped open, and eyes searched for more answers. Soft whimpers of fear took hold until a young postulant stood to face the mother superior with a maturity beyond her years.

“Mother, our families may need us now, so maybe we would better serve God in our own communities at this time. I feel that God would want us to go to them.” The young postulant’s voice trailed off, and she swallowed uncomfortably. Marta had never seen such a scowl on Mother José’s face. The sisters, Teresa and Juan, looked nervously around the room and then both concentrated their gaze on their feet, waiting but not wanting to see the senior nun erupt.

“Do you not have a vocation to God, Sister Sara?” Mother José asked the young postulant, who was now shaking from head to toe.

“Yes, of course, Mother,” she answered submissively. “I want nothing else but that.”

“Then do you not think that God is more important than mortal families who, at this very moment, must need our prayers here in the house of God more than ever? After all, if a family member is sick or even dying, is that good enough reason to go to him or her and leave your vocational promises behind? If one does it once, one could do it again, and a commitment to religious life must be forever, whatever the difficulties. Do you not think?”

“Yes, Mother,” the young girl answered, visibly trying to contain her tears.

Marta listened to the questions being asked. Everyone was speaking and crying, and the dignified and religious silence had turned to mayhem. She covered her ears. She wasn’t used to all the noise, but it wasn’t just the noise that upset her, she thought to herself. It was the sadness and fear that filled the whole hall.

She shut herself off from what was going on around her and concentrated on her own thoughts, which were becoming just as noisy as the voices: What was she to do? she asked herself. Should she go home? Would it help her family if she did? Was that so bad an idea? Was she being evil and selfish? Yes, she decided in the same moment, she was being selfish. Mother José had always told them that to be a good nun, one had to pray harder when one felt at one’s most vulnerable. That’s what she would do. She’d pray twenty-four hours a day, here in the convent. She’d remain safe as long as she stayed within its walls, and her prayers would keep her family safe too. How could she even think about leaving?

“Be quiet, Sisters!” she heard Mother José shout even louder this time. “If you decide to leave these walls, you will never be welcome within them again and your soul will be damned for its selfishness! Those who wish to accompany me to the chapel will be those of you who have decided to stay. If I do not see you there, I will presume that you have packed your bags and left, and I only hope that you are not eaten whole by some waiting communist in a dark corner of the road.”

The mother superior had read her mind, Marta thought as she watched the nuns that wanted to leave scurry from the tables. There were not many, Marta noted, but there were enough to drive the mother superior into a fit of rage.

“Everyone to the chapel now! To the chapel!” the mother superior cried.

The following morning, there was an eerie silence in the great hall. It was not the normal, comfortable rule of silence but a void of unspoken words, a great gaping hole filled with voices desperately trying to climb out to air their fears but who couldn’t. There were ten empty spaces on the bench that lined Marta’s table and another three or four at the other side of the hall, where the second-year novices sat. Marta knew who was missing, just as they all did, and she guessed that their flight had taken place sometime during the night, guessing that they’d all be on their way home or dead by now. Most had left before taking the veil, knowing that had they stayed, they would never have had the conscience or conviction to leave after becoming a novice and taking a step closer to God. Marta suddenly felt a surge of excitement; she would be a novice within hours, and her family was coming!

After breakfast, Marta gathered her water and basin and cleansed her body before putting on her novice day robes. She tried to instil the great wonder and joy that she should be feeling on this most important day, but the excitement had left her, and now all she felt was fear and exhaustion. She stood in her cell, behind the curtain that separated her from the other girls, and looked down at the long flowing white dress and veil lying regally across the bottom of the bed. She’d been so looking forward to wearing the garments and thought of the pride she’d feel when her family saw her in them. Would her family attend the ceremony? She sat on the edge of the bed, and tears dribbled down her cheeks.

“I’ll just die if they don’t come.” She whispered.

Eight young postulants walked through the doors of the chapel dressed as brides of Christ. They each held a candle, and as the sun streamed through the windows of the church, their veils shone like haloes around their heads. Marta kept her unwavering eyes on the altar and on her invisible bridegroom, who would be waiting there for her, but she couldn’t help noticing that some
pews were empty and that the local schoolchildren had not attended to sing the hymns they always sang on these occasions. She saw the sea of black robes of the nuns flanking the aisles on her way. A few stony-faced parents were sitting at the back of the chapel, but she didn’t see her own family in those few seconds between the door and altar.

Marta reached the great altar and tried to focus on her commitment to God. He was all that mattered now, she thought. This was her formal goodbye to the world and to her family. Today they and the world they lived in would allow her go into this other life of, hopefully, an everlasting state of grace.

It was her turn. She stepped into the sanctuary and knelt at the bishop’s feet.

“What do you seek, my daughter?” he asked her.

“The grace of God and the habit of holy religion,” Marta answered with confidence.

“And do you intend to persevere in all the rules and the constitution of this order?”

“With the help of divine grace, I do intend to and thus hope to persevere.”

One more question and then it would be over. She had done it.

“And do you truly desire to enter the state of holy religion for all time?”

“I desire it with all my heart.”

“What God has begun in you, may he himself make perfect.”

After the blessing of the habits, they walked slowly back down the aisle and into the sunlight. She shielded her eyes from the light and focused them on the faces in the congregation. Her family hadn’t come. She panicked. Where were they? She had never doubted their presence, not really.

There were only a scattering of relatives, and they were looking around nervously at the walls of the convent and at the faces of their daughters. She walked up and down the edges of the patio and, without any warning, began to cry. She stood facing the patio wall, trying to stop the tears that would embarrass her and anger the mother superior, looking prouder than all the other mothers there. This was not how she’d imagined this day would turn out. She sniffed into her lace handkerchief. Her family were supposed to be embracing her at this very moment; instead, none of them had come, and all she could think about was that they were all dead or dying somewhere. She took a deep breath, calmed herself, and looked about her again.

To her horror, she saw that some mothers and fathers were not embracing their daughters but were arguing with them, pulling at them and stripping them of their new veils. Heated arguments between the mother superior and some of the working-class parents who had made no effort to look their best reached a crescendo of insults.

Marta watched in disbelief. Respect had gone. Instead of devotion, she saw hatred in the eyes of some and fear in others, who still couldn’t quite believe the surreal situation that was unfolding before their very eyes.

“Leave now. Leave this house of God!” Mother José shouted above the noise. “Your daughters are now in my care. They have nothing more to do with you. The visit is over!”

There was silence for a moment, and then one of the new novices began crying. “I want to go home,” she whimpered.

“Then go to hell with your parents and all your family, for God will close his eyes and ears to you from now on,” the mother superior screeched at her.

Parents began to walk towards the wooden doors to the outside world. Some of the novices went with them, their hands gripped by fathers who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Others chose to go, overwhelmed by the sight of their family and wanting nothing more than to be with them.

It was over. Mother José walked towards the great hall without looking back. The last of the parents and departing novices left, and the great doors were closed behind them. Marta followed meekly behind the mother superior and all the other nuns heading towards the great hall and could think of nothing but her disappointment. There would be no goodbyes now; she would give no words of comfort to her mother and sister. She would receive no congratulatory speeches from Aunt Rosa or cheeky banter from her brothers, and she would never again see love in her father’s eyes. She had now passed through the door and into the inner circle of God, and no one had been there to witness it.