"A nun found me on the riverbank the next morning," Alethea continued. "She was from a small nunnery out in the countryside. I wasn't old enough to even tell them my surname properly. They only got ‘Alethea' from me. I could barely speak clearly at that age. I suppose they assumed I was an orphan. And the nun took me back to their convent to be raised among them."
Oliver's thumb brushed over the side of her hand.
"Thank God someone kind found you."
She gave a tiny shake of her head.
"Kind... perhaps. Sister Celeste, the one who carried me away, she was a decent woman. But the place she brought me to, it was not at all what one imagines a holy and charitable institution to be."
"I have heard stories," Oliver admitted, which surprised Alethea.
"The nunnery was run by a man called Father Wilkes," she said, almost spitting the name. "He was not a kind man. Corrupt, though I didn't fully realize how much until I was older. To him, we girls were not children to be cared for. We were, in effect, unpaid servants."
Oliver's fingers tightened on hers, subtly.
"From as young as I can remember, we were put to work. All sorts of it, cleaning, cooking, tending the vegetable gardens, or anything that could be sold for money. Not that the money ever benefited us, of course. It went to Father Wilkes and the church."
"If we made mistakes, or failed to complete our tasks, we were punished."
Her throat closed up on the next part, the most painful part, but she forced herself to go on. Oliver deserved to know everything, and she... she needed someone to know, truly know, what it had been like.
"There was a girl named Temperance," Alethea said softly. "She was my dearest friend there, we grew up together, arrived around the same time. We looked out for each other. When we were about fourteen, Temperance tried to escape."
Her heart squeezed at the memory of Temperance sneaking out of the dormitory window.Alethea, come with me!and her being too scared to do it. She had stayed behind, paralyzed by fear of punishment.
"She made it as far as the road," Alethea went on, "He caught her himself. Brought her back by the hair." Her voice wavered with anger and sorrow. "It was the worst I had ever seen him."
She could feel how tense his body was. But he held silent, letting her speak, which she was grateful for. If he interrupted now, she might not get the rest out.
"I couldn't bear it," she whispered. "Temperance was like a sister to me. And I was such a coward, I hadn't gone with her, so she was alone when he dragged her back. I just couldn't let him hurt her. So before he could accuse her of running, I stepped forward and I lied for her."
"You took the blame."
"Yes." Alethea swallowed hard. "I told Father Wilkes that it was me. She tried to protest, but she was in such a state and I just... I gave her a look to stay quiet. He believed me, or perhaps he didn't care which of us was the culprit. It was excuse enough to make an example."
Now Oliver's hand clutched hers outright. She felt him shift, as if he had to physically restrain himself from leaping up.
"That was how I got the scar on my back."
Her voice was barely above a whisper as she spoke, feeling the memory as fresh as it had happened only yesterday.
She was trembling all over. Without a word, Oliver shifted nearer across the small space and drew her into his arms. He pulled her right up against his chest, enveloping her in warmth.
Alethea didn't resist. The moment she felt his embrace, something inside her cracked wide open. A sob escaped her throat. Oliver's hand gently cradled the back of her head, pressing it to his shoulder .
"I'm here," he whispered, "I've got you."
She clutched the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling desperately into it as another soft sob shook her. She tried to keep silent so as not to wake the others, burying her face against him, but the tears flowed freely now.
"I'm so sorry," he breathed, over and over. "When I saw... those scars on your back... I feared you'd been hurt, but I never imagined it was like this. If only I had known you then, I would have..."
After a few moments, Alethea managed to catch her breath enough to speak again, though she did not loosen her hold on him.
"It's over now," she whispered, as if to reassure both of them. "It ended, eventually. The authorities found out what he was doing, the whole nunnery was shut down some months ago. He is likely to be hanged for it, if he hasn't been already."
She stared down at her fingers clenched in the quilt, afraid to see what expression Oliver might wear upon hearing of such ugliness. What if he was repulsed by her past, or drowning in pity for her?
"He deserves far worse," he said, "I would kill him myself if it meant sparing you what you suffered."
