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She was afraid to open it.
Her favorite Christmas hymn began, and she raised her head and sang along about the grace of the infant Jesus. They’d take communion soon, but she’d stay in her seat as she always did, hoping that no one noticed.
She’d never been ex-communicated. She was still a member of the church, baptized at birth. Her aunt had even made sure she was confirmed at thirteen. Twenty-two days after Melisande’s confirmation, her mother had sold her to a man for fifty dollars. A fortune, really. The going price for a pretty little girl’s virginity.
Still, Melisande thought maybe God still loved her. She thought she could feel that when she sat beneath the paintings and the stained glass and the crucified savior. The priests, however, would be a different story. They wouldn’t show kindness if they realized who she was, so she stayed far from their eyes and kept her prayers quiet.
She didn’t much believe in the church and its rules, anyway. She just wanted to feel a little love while she was here. A little peace.
When Melisande opened her eyes, the box was still there in her hand. Nothing about it had changed.
Bill was too kind to play a trick on her, wasn’t he? From the first, he’d called her “miss” instead of “girl.” When she’d told him her name, he’d asked if it was all right for him to use it, and when he had, he’d never said it with anything but tenderness.
She’d never felt dirty with him, not even afterward when she’d cleaned up and taken the money he offered.
“Amen,” she whispered along with hundreds of other sinners in the church, then she slipped off her gloves and eased the lid off the box.
It was just a ball of white linen inside, as far as she could tell. She tipped the box and the fabric rolled out. Inside the cheap linen, she found a ribbon with a pendant attached to it.
Not something expensive. And not a garish paste jewel set in tin. Hanging from a simple black ribbon was a polished circle of shell. Only as wide as her thumb, it shone pink and white and silver even in the candlelight of the church. Etched into that smooth surface was a bird, its tiny wings outstretched in flight.
Tears pricked her eyes. She cupped the shell carefully in her hand and went to her knees as everyone around her knelt in prayer.
Why had Bill thought of her when he’d looked at this? It was a delicate thing. Sweet and pure. Nothing like her. Tears slipped down her cheeks as she murmured Latin words she didn’t understand, her heavy heart trying valiantly to find its way up to God.
What could Bill want from her? Why had he thought of her at all?
By the time mass ended, she’d managed to dry her eyes and find some of the solace she’d come for. Before she rose, she tied the ribbon around her neck. The shell felt cool against her skin, nestling itself into the hollow of her throat.
More than an hour had passed. She knew he wouldn’t be waiting for her when she stepped outside, but she looked for him anyway. He wasn’t there.
She swallowed down her hurt like she had a thousand others and set her shoulders back. It didn’t matter that he was gone. She didn’t need a man to escort her home. She’d never had company before. One little gift didn’t change anything.
Melisande took one final breath, drawing in the last bit of incense that floated through the doors, then stepped down to the street below.
Chapter 2
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She passed the iron gate where he’d said good-bye and looked around just in case, but he was still gone. Of course he was.
After she touched the now-warm circle of shell at her throat one last time, she slipped on her gloves with a nod. It was cold. He’d moved along. He would come by tonight and buy an hour of her time, and she’d thank him then.
A rumble of conversation and footsteps alerted her to the crowd of people emptying the church behind her. Melisande ducked her head and hurried toward the quiet side street to disappear.
“Melisande?”
She skidded to a halt and spun to see Bill stepping out from the shadows of a small house.
“I wasn’t sure you’d want to be seen meeting me,” he explained. Then his gaze fell to the necklace, and his serious mouth turned up in a smile. “You opened it.”
Though she couldn’t feel it through her glove, she touched the necklace once more, blushing at the pleasure in his warm brown eyes. “It’s so pretty,” she whispered, her throat thick with emotion again.
“You like it?” He seemed so young when his eyes rose hopefully to her face that she remembered he was only a few years older than her. Twenty-six, if she recalled correctly. He always seemed so much older, but in that moment she saw the boy beneath the hardened man, and the girl hidden deep inside her fluttered with happiness. “It’s not much,” he said when she didn’t answer, but that wasn’t true at all.
“It’s beautiful.”
