The Black Cloister by Melanie Dobson

Author:Melanie Dobson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kregel Publications
Published: 2011-07-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

It was only a flash of brown, darting between the ash tree trunks, so slight that Carson would have chalked it up to the tail of a fox or raccoon if he hadn’t seen the face. Staring back at him.

Even the gawking wouldn’t have spooked him if the guy had nodded or even waved. Instead he ducked back into the dense forest like he was on the lam. Carson searched the trees for another glimpse of the man, but he didn’t emerge again.

He was probably a curious neighbor, wondering who was hiking through the property. Or a hunter searching for rabbit or grouse in the woods. Or even an upstanding German citizen ready to dial 1-1-2 and report two Americans on the wrong side of the fence.

No matter how well Carson spoke German, knowing the language couldn’t explain away the fact that they were trespassing. It was time to head back to town.

He looked back at the girl beside him. Elise’s knees were balled under her in the grass and her arms were clenched around Leah as if she could somehow siphon the doll’s strength and courage.

He wrapped his arm around her, and she leaned into his chest. Someone had hurt Elise in this place. Probably her mother too. Without trying, he’d flipped his assignment from professional to personal, and he had no idea how to make her pain go away.

The shadows from the mansion spread over the grass in front of them.

Part of him wanted to demand that they stop their search, not because Addison Wade said so, but because he wanted to protect Elise from the people who had hurt her. Yet sometimes the truth hurt, deeply, and if Elise decided she still wanted to find the Chosen, he wasn’t going to mess around anymore. He’d help her find the truth . . . and heal.

When her muscles began to relax, he released his grip and glanced back toward the forest. No movement. Nothing. Maybe the guy he’d seen was just a curious drifter. He was probably already tromping down the other side of the hill.

“Do you still want to find out what happened?” Carson asked.

“Yes.” She clutched Leah to her chest. “But there’s no place else for us to look.”

He uncrumpled one of the papers in his pocket and held it out to her. She glanced down at the German words and looked back up at him.

“It’s a list of properties across the former East Germany,” he explained. “Values, availability, contact numbers, and proximities to towns.”

He pointed down at one that was circled in ink. “This one here is called Marienthron.”

When she gasped, he pulled the paper toward him. “Maybe it is time to stop.”

“No,” she insisted. “I know Marienthron.”

He instinctively scanned the trees again, but didn’t see anything. “How do you know it?”

“Katharina von Bora lived there.” She dropped Leah to her lap. “It’s south of Berlin, in Grimma.”

Carson could almost hear his mother’s voice urging him to stall her . . . divert her. Tell her there’s another convent on the western side of Germany called Marienthron.

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