“How long have you been here?” Mia asked. “Did you see what happened? Do you think God did this? Is this a miracle?”
“While you were here with Alma, we found the witch that cursed us. Bastion knew her to be a witch at once. She refused the first hour to confess, but Bastion knew well a book, one called the Malleus Maleficarum, a book that describes how witches may be brought to the truth and to repentance. He is a marvelous man, Mia. He has set us free.”
“Did he come back here while I slept?” Mia shuddered, remembering her dream. “Did he touch Alma? Is that how she was healed?”
“You don’t need to fear him. A woman like you has nothing to fear.”
“No, I am not afraid. Look at Alma. She is healed. How did it happen?”
Bjorn shrugged. “I came home, found her playing with the kitten. I suppose the witch’s confession set her free.”
“How can that be? Why would any woman curse her? She’s done no one any harm.”
Bjorn looked out the window; its open shutters let in the strong morning sun. “I think I’ll shut those,” he said.
“No. I like the light. Bjorn? Are you hiding something from me?”
He stopped, his back to her. She could see Alma peeking over his shoulder at her.
“Bjorn, if there is a witch, if she cursed us, am I to blame? Did I do something?”
He sat Alma down. “Go outside, Alma. I saw your yarn doll under the beech tree over there. Run and play with her.”
Alma walked outside and squinted up at the sky, cocking her head as if listening. Mia’s heart skipped a beat, and she wanted to hold her. But she had to know.
“If I am to blame, if I have done something, I have to know. Alma is healed, but what if I fail again? How can I keep Alma safe? I need an answer.”
Bjorn came and knelt before Mia.
“Just remember who you are.”
“Who am I?”
“My wife. I bear the responsibility for this house, not you. Keep to yourself for now while Bastion and I work. Don’t ask for help from the women in the village.”
“But if this is my fault, I have a right to know.…”
“You have no rights! You have duties. And your duty is to keep your mouth shut and trust me. If you can’t do that, then trust Bastion. Pester him with your little fears if you must.”
She didn’t know Bastion. How could she open her wounded heart, where her fears lived, where they pierced her, to him? Mia’s mind flashed to the woman she had seen around the village. She was not of the village, however. She was said to be a healer, to have powers, to know what hid in the hearts and minds of people. Perhaps she would have answers, Mia thought, and I would not bother Bjorn again, or fail Alma. But healers like that woman were dangerous, Father Stefan had said, enemies of the church, heretics who offered salvation from herbs and spells, not God. Even thinking of her might be a sin. Mia pinched herself to stay true.
He looked up at her, taking hold of her hands. “Don’t do that. I am not angry with you.”
“I will try harder to please you.”
“It was never you, Mia. But I will say no more. Everything has changed,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away from her and stood. “Bastion has brought salvation to this town.”
Her empty stomach growled, and she pressed a hand over it to silence her hunger.
Outside, Alma stared at them both. Mia saw a dark shadow pass over the child’s face, a strange, fierce anger. Mia turned her head, giving Alma a quizzical look, and Alma went back to staring up at the sky.
Chapter Fifteen
Stefan’s neck hurt from wrenching it at odd angles to get a good look at his ear. He only had a small, chipped mirror to use.
“I have to stop this,” he said, setting the mirror down. “Worry won’t move God to heal it any faster.” His fingers went back to his ear, feeling the wound’s edges as he looked around at the empty dormitory.
Bastion had not come in yet, though he had been out all night. How could a man work so hard and not need rest? Stefan had sneaked in here to sleep for just an hour, to clear his mind, perhaps strengthen himself again. All of it for naught, though. Sleep had eluded him.
He groaned, pulling his shoes back on. Bastion’s bag that Erick had brought in, the bag that made such thunder in the church when it had first dropped, sat in the corner. Stefan glanced around, his heart kicking up. Edging toward the bag and listening for steps outside the chamber, Stefan took hold of it and gave it a tug. It barely moved. Whatever hid in there, it was not an extra cloak for Bastion. Something heavy and unyielding waited in the dark folds of this bag.
“Stefan! Wake up.”
Erick burst through the door. Stefan sat upright, spinning around to conceal the bag.
“That’s Father Stefan,” he corrected Erick, who pulled his chin down, frowning.
“Were you looking in the bag, Father?”
“Of course not.”
“What’s in it?”
“I didn’t look.”
“Well, time for you to be up. And you’d best attend to the women before prayers.”