FIRE & ROSES by NANCY LUSIGNAN SCHULTZ

Author:NANCY LUSIGNAN SCHULTZ
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Historical Fiction
Publisher: THE FREE PRESS
Published: 2000-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

THE COLD STONE of the wall against her hands sent little shivers of fear down the nape of her neck. She pressed her body against the rough fieldstone and tried to stretch to the rim with her fingertips. The dank smell of the stone assaulted her nostrils as first one foot then the other found hollows that would be her ladder rungs out of hell. She strained until her shoulders cleared the crest, but she slipped back and the climbing roses tore at her nightgown and skin. Just below the narrow gold band circling her left ring finger, the thorns had inscribed a deep gash that welled dark with blood. Again she hurled herself against the wall and willed herself, in all her terror, to be lifted up.

Jesu Christi, Jesu Christi, she prayed.

On her stomach now against the wall’s broad brim, she wriggled her legs over the top. The thorns had streaked her white cotton nightdress with blood. She rolled and fell to the other side, striking her head as she dropped. Pressing a hand to her cut forehead just below a stubble of hair, she tried to stop the sun from spinning in the late afternoon sky. As the sky whirled, she lay panting in the tall meadow grass. Then with a jerk of her shaved head, she pulled herself to her feet to careen down the hill through July’s parched field flowers. Just once, she turned her dark eyes to glance up at the enclosed three-story brick nunnery towering about her, and stifled a bitter cry.

Mr. and Mrs. Edward Cutter had just sat down to dinner when their beagle began a low growl that modulated to a bark.

“Now girl, what is it?” Cutter asked, straightening up.

The dog was at the door, barking louder. The Cutters pulled it open. On their front steps lay the young woman in the torn bloody gown. She rolled her head back and forth in a gesture of tired refusal.

“Please! Don’t make me go back! Will you protect me?”

Cutter lifted the lightly clad form in his strong brickman’s arms and gazed into the woman’s eyes.

“Child,” he whispered. “What have those Catholics done to you?”

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