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She leaned forward, pressed her forehead against the cold glass of the window and closed her eyes. Memories crept toward her, crooked an invisible finger, and pulled her into their warm, comforting embrace.
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I love you, Selena. Someday ... She wished now, just for a second, that she'd let him finish the sentence, spin the dreams for her. Maybe if he'd said the words aloud, she could find strength in them, knit them into a shield against the loneliness. But she hadn't let him finish. She'd been trying so hard to be honorable and fair, to leave him with a future as she went alone into her past. Somewhere, a bell rang.
Footsteps clattered up the stairs and down the hallway, unaccompanied by voices. The door behind her creaked open and Lucy slipped into the retiring room, followed by two women whom Selena hadn't seen before. One was tall and gray-haired and thin as a rail, the other short and heavy with bright pink cheeks. A stick and a biscuit, pressed side by side. Both wore bright, welcoming grins.
As one, they surged toward Selena and enfolded her in a fierce hug, then bounced back. "Welcome home, Sister Agnes," they said together. "Hello," she said quietly.
The stick stepped forward. "I'm Sister Theresa. This here is Sister Bertha."
Before Selena could respond, another bell rang. All three women hurried to the drawers and retrieved their plain, white nightdresses, undressing and redressing quickly. Then, one by one, they lined up at the commode and washed their faces and brushed their teeth. None of them said a word. They turned around together and stared at Selena. Lucy was the first to smile. "She's forgotten, Sisters." Sister Bertha nodded. "You will remember the rules
any day."
"Rules?" Selena whispered, clutching the bit of glass
in her pocket.
Sister Theresa's head bobbed affirmatively. "The bells give us our direction. It is time to pray and prepare
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for bed. At the next bell, we'll blow out the lights and go to sleep. Remember?"
Selena's stomach lurched. They couldn't do this to her, couldn't dictate every moment of her day as if she were a child. She took a step backward, then another and another, until she hit the wall. "But . . . but I want to take a walk. Outside."
Lucy walked toward her, and now there was no brightness in the woman's eyes, just a sad, tired resignation. "You always felt penned in by the rules, Agnes." "But-"
"Tomorrow we work together in the ironing house. I'll answer any questions you have then."
Selena couldn't think of what to say, so she went to the drawers and got a nightdress.
Don 't think about the lace one, about the night you put it on and went to Ian's bedroom. . . .
Biting down on her lower lip, she stepped out of her gingham dress and slipped the nightdress over her shift as the other women had done. Then she washed her face and brushed her teeth, and went to the only available bed, climbing in beneath the soft cotton sheeting. Another bell rang.
"Good night," everyone said at once, and the lanterns were blown out.
Selena lay there a long, long time in the unfamiliar darkness, listening to the quiet tenor of the women's breathing. Sometime after midnight, it began to rain, a quiet thump-thump-thump on the gambrel roof.
She drew the doll to her chest and tried to go to sleep, but peace eluded her. Memories clamored for her attention; and she was weak, too weak to fight them off anymore, they came to her in the darkness, whispering soft nothings, seducing her.
I love you, Selena. Love you, love you, love you . . . Tears stung her eyes, slipped down her temples, and disappeared in the flat linen pillowcase.
* *
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Elliot stood inside the brothers' retiring room, staring at the closed door. Behind him, he could hear the shuffling sounds of the brethren preparing for bed, the gurgling splash of water, the rolling creak of the bed wheels as a brother sank into bed. As always, there was no talking going on, just the hushed whisper of solitary prayers. The brethren were tired, as they always were at the close of a full summer day. They had probably been shearing the last of the sheep.
He strained to hear impossible sounds-the s
isters' nightly routine, Agnes's voice lowered in prayer. What was she doing now? What was she thinking? "Brother Elliot," someone whispered. "The bell rang. I must blow out the light."
Elliot nodded without turning around. For the first time, the routine felt stifling. He didn't want to silently slip into his bedclothes and go to sleep. He wanted to cross the invisible boundary of the hallway and knock on the closed door, wanted to take his wife's hand and lead her into the darkness of the night and talk to her. Lord, just talk to her.
He sighed tiredly and stepped back from the door. He quickly changed his clothes and slipped into bed, drawing the thin woolen blanket up to his chin.
