Remington’s head came up. Sister Josepha was standing a few feet away, her cracked face inquisitive. “My goodness, child, your mind doth leave you.”
Remington smiled weakly. “’Tis the child, sister. It saps my brain, I think.”
The old woman laughed. “I will have to take your word for it,” she said. “You have a visitor, Remington. In the small solar.”
Remington stiffened. “A visitor? Who?”
“Father de Tormo.”
She shook her head, turning her nervous hands back to her laundry. “Send him away, sister. I have nothing to say to him.”
Sister Josepha cleared her throat. “He says he is not leaving until he speaks with you. It is most urgent, he says.”
A bolt of fear suddenly shot through her. What if something had happened to Gaston? She would have never known. She refused all missives, and there was one sent not three weeks ago that she sent back, unopened. She had not even looked at the seal. What if…?
Suddenly, she had to know. Panic flowed through her veins as she raced past Sister Josepha and into the narrow corridor that linked with the small visitor’s solar.
Father de Tormo was shocked when she barreled in through the doorway, her face flushed and looking more beautiful than he had ever seen her. Her enormous belly protruded under the folds of her surcoat and he found himself staring at the newest part of her.
“My God! Remington!” he exclaimed. “So you are alive.”
“Is Gaston all right?” she fired at him.
He blinked at the nearly shouted question. “Yes, of course. He…”
She threw up her hands. “No more. I do not want to hear about him. As long as he is well, I have quenched my fear. Be on your way, Father. I have chores to do.”
She moved swiftly for the door, but he reached out and grabbed her. She started to protest, but he sat her heavily on a chair and gripped her arms. “Not so fast, lady. I have come a very long way to see you and you are going to listen. No one has been able to communicate with you for six months.”
She twisted against him. She did not want to hear anything. She wanted to live in complete ignorance, far away from Gaston and the troubles of her world.
“You cannot hide here, you know,” he said as if he were reading her mind. “You must deal with your problems, Remi. They will not go away!”
She stopped her struggles, refusing to look at him. “I am…I am not hiding.”
“Then what do you call it?” de Tormo refuted gently. “I sent you here because I thought it would clear your head, but instead, you have become a hermit. This is not what I intended.”
She could feel the tears starting and she fought against them. “I am happy here, father. I like it. I never want to leave.”
“Not even to marry Gaston?”
Her head snapped up sharply and she suddenly realized she was talking to someone who had recently seen Gaston. But she couldn’t get past the confusion, the agony of her grief. “No.”
“You do not love him anymore?”
The tears started; she couldn’t help it. “More than life, Father. More than anything. But I cannot abandon my son for the love of a man.”
De Tormo sighed. “You are still angry about that?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?” she demanded. “He was willing to….”
“He was only doing what he thought was best, what he thought you would want,” when she started to protest, he put up his hand. “He assumed you had faith in him that all would work out in the end. He thought you trusted him.”
“I do!” she snapped, and then hung her head miserably. “I did. Oh, I do. My God, Father, I am so confused I do not know anything anymore.”
De Tormo sat down opposite her. “And you hope to clear your mind wearing woolen drawers and working dawn until dusk? Has it helped?”
She shook her head, wiping at the silent tears. “No.”
