Bay of Secrets Read Online Free PDF Page B

destruction.
    And she feared that she was not blameless. They were difficult times, painful times for many. How could you know – unless you had lived through it? She had tried to beg God’s forgiveness for the things that she had done. Things no person should be asked to do. Things that could not be right. That could not have been God’s will. Not if He was the kind and just and loving God she had always believed Him to be. But did He hear her? Did He understand that she had felt she had no choice?
    She paused for a moment to look out over the
campo
, the brown desert earth, so restful to the eye. To Sister Julia it seemed a biblical landscape; a land where you might expect to see camels and donkeys, three wise men travelling by the light of a star … But she was old and she was rambling. She must take these vegetables into the kitchen. They would be waiting. She picked up her basket.
    It was very quiet here. These days only a few people came to the convent to seek guidance or to pray in their chapel. The road outside was little more than a sandy track leadingonly to the mountains and the Atlantic Ocean. And the sisters were quiet – although not a silent order. Quiet was regarded as the natural condition for religious women; careless talk had been avoided at Santa Ana and it was also avoided here. Mostly, the only sounds Sister Julia could hear were the faint howl of the wind echoing around their white pockmarked stone buildings, the hiss of the sand being lifted and blown, the distant heave and rush of the ocean waves and the occasional sharp cry of a gull. In the mornings the cockerel crowed and the hens scratched at the dusty earth. The simple sounds of Nature. And that was how Sister Julia wished it to be. After all she had lived through, she craved tranquillity and calm for her soul.
    Sister Julia took the leaves through to where they were preparing the food, washed them carefully under the tap in the white enamel sink – the water here was salty but clean. There used to be a well and there was still a lime kiln outside the gate where the barilla plant had been burnt for sodium carbonate to make glass and soap, but some years ago the villagers had joined together to connect the convent to the water supply and to electricity and this had radically changed their lives.
    She laid the produce on the kitchen counter beside the stove. They were making a hot soup –
caldo caliente
 – with potato and eggs in a thin broth with sweet red pepper. Sister Josefina was stirring it with a wooden spoon. She smiled and nodded her thanks.
    Sister Julia retreated to her own room on the first floor. Shewould have a short time of rest and quiet reflection before dinner. She needed to think. She did not want to get anyone into trouble – not if they had truly acted from the best of motives. But had they? When money was involved, there was temptation and there was corruption. And this had made her doubt everything that she had once believed to be true. It was a long time ago. But she still had the evidence, did she not? Sister Julia’s eyes filled with tears as she remembered. Yes, it was a long time ago, but there were still many people who might desperately need to know the truth. Was it not their human right? And she – Sister Julia, humble as she was – could help them.
    Her room was small and whitewashed. It had a wooden cupboard for her few clothes and a narrow bed; she needed only one thin blanket, for it did not get cold here on the island. There was no mirror. Why would she need a mirror? God could see inside her to her deepest thoughts – that was all that mattered. She had a writing table, though, on which she kept her Bible and psalm book, and the arched window behind it looked out on to the courtyard. In the writing desk was a drawer, which she always kept locked. In this, Sister Julia had secreted a few precious artefacts, mostly from her previous life before she had taken vows, but also from her time