“Yes.”
“But not for the sake of your marriage, I suppose. Are you searching for the reason God will not heal your child?”
Mia did not reply.
“Mia, my child, do you trust me?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And you know nothing I say is intended to hurt you?”
“Yes.”
“Mia, this has gone on too long. I will speak plainly now. You are guilty of the sin of pride. Does God not have the right to do with your child as He will? Many mothers have sick children, and they do not complain to me as often as you do. Every week you speak to me as if God has forgotten Alma. As for Bjorn, stay out from underfoot. Content yourself with what affection he offers. Never has there been a man who could satisfy a woman.”
“Yes, Father.”
“Do not ask more for yourself than women are due to receive. Repent of the sin of pride. Content yourself with what you have, for these are the words of the apostle Paul.”
“Forgive me, Father,” she replied. “I will try harder to please God.”
“Try harder to please Bjorn, too. His work is difficult. Just try harder to please him, and he will be pleased with you. A man needs to know his wife will not peck him to death before he will come home to roost.”
She sat in silence a moment before exiting. Stefan’s heart softened a bit.
“And pray to our Holy Mother, Mary, for Alma. I have heard from other priests that the women bury statues of Mary headfirst in the ground nearest the child’s room. Try that.”
Stefan followed her out, opening the church door for her. She blushed and thanked him with tears in her eyes. A twinge of something bothered him. He bit each side of his cheeks inside his mouth. He had a copy of a forbidden book tucked away. The book had answers. But if he opened it for Mia, he would open so much more, too. The whole town could be thrown into chaos.
He watched Mia adjust her long scarf around her hair and scurry down the steps. Across the square, Dame Alice roosted on her steps as usual. Spying Mia, she called out to her.
“Come and eat, daughter! You are too thin!”
Mia shot her a frightened look and moved faster, away from the square, away from the old woman who only offered to share some bread. No one else tried to stop Mia to chat or inquire after her family. She had no friends, not since the day the widow Rose had abruptly turned cold to everyone, especially Mia. Stefan tried to talk to Rose in the square, to invite her back to confess her sin, but she had stared at him in horror. Whatever her sin had been, she told no one, and she wanted no one near. Mia had lost her only friend.
On the winding path leading away from the square to her home, winds still blew straight and cold, even as the sun grew stronger day by day. The night rains had made a mess of the mud again, but Mia knew good things grew in this early chaos of spring. The birds sang in a thrash of competing notes over the market cries and church bells, with the children shouting in the distance to be heard above them all. Glad to be out of the confusion of the crowded square and the embarrassment of being singled out by that wrinkled old crow, Dame Alice, Mia relaxed. If she had sorrows, they were her own. Why should Dame Alice care about them or about her? Mia remembered the first law of a fugitive: Never trust an unearned kindness.
In the distance she saw a girl throwing clumps of bread out of a sack draped over her shoulder. Trotting behind her, the fat milk cows gobbled them up, eager tails switching like those of hungry puppies.
Mia closed her eyes in the sunlight and pressed her hands into her empty stomach as she breathed. The wind snapped at her ankles, making her open her eyes and get back to her business after confession. Mia sniffed the air. Someone had baked bread. She inhaled again, holding her breath in this time. Her thin arms stretched out into the sun. Her cloak barely covered her elbows. She had worn it for more than a decade, almost half her life.
Mia heard steps behind her, slow and dragging.
She turned to see Dame Alice, who had followed her out of the square. Heat raced to Mia’s face. She did not want to be made a sport. She pulled her arms back in her cloak, wrapping them into her body, hiding their inadequacy.
“Come here, child.” Dame Alice opened her arms and gestured for Mia to come to her.
Mia shook her head. “Stop following me.”
“Come and eat with me. I only want to talk with you.”
“Why?”
“Because you need to eat.”
“You don’t know what I need. Go back to your business.”
Dame Alice’s shoulders slumped forward, her face pained. “Mia,” she breathed, “you need a friend.”
Mia turned for home.