Page 172 of Beautiful Obsessions
“In the convent, yes.”
“Do not insult me, Father.”
Sister Joanne glanced between us, then gathered the bloody cloths and instruments.“I will check the the other patients,” she said, which was another way of saying she would give us privacy while pretending not to.
She left with the younger sisters.The infirmary became very quiet.
Sister Marina stood between me and the door.She barely reached my shoulder.She might as well have been made of iron.
“This is not a frightened girl running from a bad husband,” she said.
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”I kept my voice even.“I brought her here because you can hide her.”
“For tonight, perhaps.”
“Longer, if necessary.”
“No.”Her eyes sharpened.“Not from Coccico.”
My jaw tightened at the name.She saw that too.
“They will not stop at the convent door,” she said.“Men like that do not fear God.They only fear witnesses.And whatever they want from her, it made them chase a bleeding woman into a church during a storm.Think, Father.”
“I am thinking.”
“No.You are running.”
That irritated me.Mostly because it was true.
Running was cleaner, easier to explain to oneself in the morning.
I looked toward the bed.
The woman lay motionless beneath the blankets, bruised face turned slightly toward the wall.
“What do you want me to do?”I asked.
Sister Marina stepped closer.
“I want you to understand what you have carried here.”
“A wounded woman.”
“A war.”
The rain struck the shutters harder, as if agreeing.
“She needs help beyond bandages and prayers,” Marina said.“She needs someone who can find out who she is, what they want, and how close they are.She needs protection from men who will not ask politely next time.”
“I can contact people.”
“Church people?”
Her tone told me exactly what she thought of that idea.
