That was a message.
From long ago.
But for, or to, what?
Something told her the Maidens of Saint-Michael knew it all. Which was another reason why she抎 decided to cooperate.
She wanted those answers.
Nick had to, by now, be wondering what had happened to her. Perhaps he contacted the convent or confronted the prioress? Either way he would learn nothing. How she wished he was here. She was in way over her head and the only person she trusted completely, in all the world, no questions asked, always and forever, was Nick. They might not be able to be husband and wife, or lovers, but they could be man and woman, friends.
And she definitely needed a friend right now.
They were off the main autoroute on a two-laned regional road that wound a path at the base of the mountains. The tires hummed a steady whine on the seamless asphalt. Sister Ellen slowed at a driveway protected by a heavy iron gate. Thick-trunked trees guarded both sides, along with a deep ditch that drained the road. No way to drive around the gate. Ellen stopped the car and Isabel tapped on her phone.
揑t抯 electronically controlled,?Ellen said. 揊rom the motherhouse.?
The gate began to roll to one side.
Apparently, they were expected.
Ellen drove through and navigated a switchback that zigzagged upward along the steep incline. It had been cut from the rock and paved with concrete, most of it cracked and potholed. Clearly it had been there awhile. The turns were tight and nerve-racking, barely enough room for the car to make the climb. But Ellen handled the challenge with expert precision.
揧ou抳e done this before,?she said to Ellen.
揙nce or twice.?
揝he抯 the best,?Isabel said. 揥e all have to do it at one time or another.?
揑 actually prefer to walk up from the other side,?Ellen said as she spun the wheel tight to the left and took another sharp curve.
She was beginning to like these two women, despite the fact that they抎 assaulted and drugged her. For so long her entire life had been confined to the women in her convent. Sure, she still had her mother, father, and two brothers who all lived back in the United States. But contact with them was limited to a visit once a year, social media, and an occasional FaceTime call. They were all devout Catholics and respected the choice she抎 made in life. No problems on the home front. Her closest friends all lived at the convent, with a few more added from the outside assignments she抎 managed to snag along the way. That was another reason why she抎 decided to contact Nick. She needed a different kind of friend. One who knew her from before, and one that she could count on no matter what.
The road began to level off and they came to its end. Three other vehicles were parked in a small graveled clearing ringed by trees. One of them a Volvo with Belgian license plates. They stepped from the car out into cool mountain air, warmed ever so slightly by bright rays of sunshine that filtered through the leafy canopy.
Sister Ellen retrieved the laptop from her. 揘othing there??
Enough with the lies, she decided. 揑 wouldn抰 say that.?
The admission grabbed the two women抯 attention.
揥hat did you find??Isabel asked.
揑抣l tell that to the person in charge. I have some questions of my own.?
揑抦 sure you do,?Ellen said. 揃ut today is not the day for answers.?
She wondered about that comment, but let them know, 揑 seem to have nothing but time.?
揑 wish we could say the same,?Isabel said.
She did not like the sound of that declaration.
Ellen motioned and they started walking from the clearing, leaving the gravel for a concrete path through the trees. To the left and right everything seemed groomed, the underbrush trimmed and sculpted in a calculated way. Flowers everywhere. Violas, hepaticas, violets. All natural, wild, yet controlled. She wondered if it was some sort of metaphor for the maidens themselves. They crested a small rise and several buildings came into view, snuggled tight among the towering trees across the ridge.
揟he building there to the right is our visitor center,?Ellen said. 揥e have people come daily for tours and we accommodate hikers who stop by from time to time. The farthest brick building was once a stable. Now it抯 a gymnasium.?
揥hich your members surely make good use of,?she said.
Isabel smiled. 揟hat we do.?
She spotted an arched, stone gate spanning a paved road that led to another graveled car park beneath the trees. The last building seemed the abbey抯 main structure. Multiple wings. Stepped-gable ends. Conical tower. Slate roof. Its exterior was heavy hewn stone held in place by thick mortar, pierced by mullioned windows, their spacing perfectly calculated, the thickness of the walls evident from the recesses. Everything cast a rich blue-gray color, deep, soft, pastoral. It sat on the edge of the summit, open sky framing out the far side where the ridge ended and a gorge stretched to a rock face in the distance. Nothing appeared happenstance, all seemed the result of thought and knowledge, the whole thing a mastery of space, expression, vigor, and movement. She抎 always thought that, of all the arts, architecture was the most aesthetic, the most mysterious, and the most nourished by ideas.