Treasured Secrets (25 page)

He flagged a taxi and directed the driver to the convent.

‘What's wrong, Arch? Where are we going?'

Incapable of answering Rosalina's questions, he simply squeezed her hand and stared out the window, searching for signs of recognition. The church was drawing him with an urgency he'd never felt before. With each turn around the cliff, the whitewashed walls of Zoodochos Pigi flashed in the setting sun like a warning signal.

The taxi turned into a road full of bumps and sharp turns. Archer remembered some of the curves as if he'd only travelled the road yesterday. The drive was a random concoction of familiarity and mystery. The car stopped at the end of the road. Archer paid the driver and climbed out. Rosalina followed closely behind.

He gripped her hand like a safety harness and stepped beneath an enormous stone arch leading into a large courtyard. Decorated with an abundance of flowering vines and flowerbeds overloaded with blooms, the pretty setting failed to settle the turbulence in his stomach. In fact, the sickly sweet scents provoked almost crippling nausea.

Archer let his intuition take over. He moved away from the main doorway and down a narrow alley that circumvented the grand, white building centred in the perfectly manicured yard. At the back of the convent was a series of shelters, and he strode towards the one furthest from the monastery.

‘Can I help you?' A voice interrupted the silence.

Archer turned and froze. Snippets of memory raced across his mind as he stared at the nun. Her silver-framed glasses were new, but other than that he was certain he'd met this woman in the white robe before.

‘Archer?' Her voice was filled with puzzlement.

Archer waivered and he gripped Rosalina's hand harder.

‘Oh, Archer, it
is
you. I never stopped praying you would return to us.' The nun reached her fingers towards him, and when Archer reached up she clasped his hand between her soft palms. ‘You have your mother's eyes,' she said.

Rosalina released a small gasp.

Archer thought he was going to crumple to the ground. ‘You knew my mother?' His voice was barely audible.

‘Yes. Don't you remember me? I guess it has been more than twenty years, and you were so young at the time.'

Archer's world tumbled out of control and he didn't know how to stop it.

‘You lived here for a very short time after your father…passed away.' The nun shook sadness from her eyes. ‘My name is Mother Maria.' She released Archer's hand and reached for Rosalina's.

‘I'm Rosalina.'

‘You must come inside. We've waited a long time for your return.'

The nun moved ahead of them, her heavy skirt cloaked around her as if she floated on air. She glided up a small set of steps into a room Archer knew would be the kitchen. ‘Please take a seat and I'll make tea.' She turned her back on them and made herself busy with the kettle and teacups.

The chairs were heavy and noisy on the stone floor as Archer dragged them out from under the table. The cold, hard wood of the seat was built for resilience rather than comfort. When Archer sat beside Rosalina, she placed her hand on his forearm and mouthed,
are you okay?
and although he nodded, he was well short of okay. Despite his calm exterior, his mind was a raging torrent of questions begging for answers.

The building was eerily silent, but a distant bird singing a melodious tune didn't seem out of place. A slight breeze came in through the open door and blew a wisp of hair across Rosalina's nose. Archer reached for it and tucked the wayward lock behind her ear. He attempted an easy smile, but knew it offered no reassurance to Rosalina.

The nun presented two china cups of steaming tea. ‘It's such a lovely surprise to see you. What brought you back?'

Archer cleared his throat. ‘I…I…we, um —' He was lost for words.

Rosalina saved him. ‘We were sailing in the area and to be quite honest, Archer doesn't have much memory of that time in his childhood. But when he saw your beautiful building it was like he was drawn to it.'

The nun nodded. ‘I know exactly what you mean.' She sat down opposite and reached for her teacup. It tinkled with her trembling fingers. ‘It was a long time ago and a dreadful time for all of us. Your mother was a beautiful woman and she tried so hard after what happened to her, but it was not to be.'

What happened to her?
What about what she did to me?
She might have been perfect to everyone else, but to Archer she was a quitter. Archer placed his palms on the cold, hard table and glared at the old woman opposite. It was all he could do to stop himself from screaming at her.

‘She thought she was going to lose you, too.'

Archer cocked his head, confused.

‘For nearly six months, you were in hospital. She wrote a letter to you every day, telling you what was happening, your father's funeral, your tests, what she was feeling, other things…' Her voice trailed off. ‘But then it got too much.'

Archer sat up and curled his hands into fists. ‘I never saw any letters.'

Mother Maria lowered her eyes. ‘Your mother was in a very dark place. Some of the letters were…difficult. I guess she knew that. Despite her fractured mind, she recognised that what she was writing was not suitable for the eyes of her young son.'

‘Where are the letters?' Rosalina asked.

‘We knew you would return someday, so the other Sisters and I decided to hold onto them for you.' Mother Maria's eyes brightened. ‘And here you are.' She stood up. ‘Follow me.'

Little light crept into the corridor and the cold from the walls leached into his skin. He tried to shrug off the feeling as they stepped down a series of curved steps into a large open room. The setting sun streamed in from five small square windows set high in the stone wall, casting shadows around cloth-covered furniture. The room had a damp, musty smell and reminded Archer of the halls of the church in Florence. That memory already seemed like years ago.

Archer followed Mother Maria as she inched around shabby furniture with faded pillows and fraying fabric. She navigated a stack of sagging boxes and finally reached a row of dust-covered bookcases. The overloaded shelves were piled high with all manner of trinkets, books, candles, crockery, cloth, and many other things Archer couldn't identify.

‘I know they're around somewhere. Please excuse me. It's been a long time since I've been down here. Aaah, this looks like it.' She reached in to move a large floral bag from a shelf and a flurry of dust floated about the room. Archer leant over to help her and the old nun looked at Archer with a mixture of sadness and honour.

Archer accepted the two handles and was surprised by the bag's size and weight. ‘Why didn't you send these to me?'

‘We couldn't find you. When your mother passed over, you were whisked away so fast and all our searches ended in disappointment. We had no idea where you went or how to find you. But we prayed you would return, and thankfully our prayers have been answered.'

Archer slowly shook his head. He felt like a fraud. He wasn't here in search of his mother's history; he was here for treasure. He tugged the heavy bag to his chest and retraced his steps around boxes and furniture back to where Rosalina was still standing at the door.

‘Would you like to see her?'

Archer frowned. ‘Who?'

‘Your mother.'

His heart leapt to his throat. ‘My mother died twenty years ago.'

The nun's eyes widened. ‘Is that what they told you?'

‘What're you talking about?' Anger drilled into his voice.

‘Your mother…she didn't die. She slipped into a very dark place and never came back.'

‘She's alive?' Archer reached for the wall, suddenly needing the support.

‘She was no longer capable of looking after you and the authorities took control. It all happened so quickly.'

‘Where is she?'

‘She's here. But Archer, she's not the woman you remember.'

‘You don't want to know how I remember her.'

‘Archer.' Rosalina reached for his arm but he yanked it back.

‘Don't. You don't know what I've been through. She was dead. I was told…she…was…dead. I thought I was an orphan and now…I find out she's alive. Don't tell me how to react!' He squeezed his thumbs to his temples.

Mother Maria clasped her hands in front of her chest. ‘Oh Archer, no. She's not dead. She's here. Alive.' Although her eyes were filled with dread, she looked and sounded completely calm. ‘But I need to prepare you, Archer. She's barely spoken in fifteen years. You have to understand, she suffered greatly after what happened.'

‘So did I!' He swallowed hard, biting back the anger that was set to erupt at any moment. Once again his life was thrown into turmoil. But this time he wasn't walking away without all the answers.

Mother Maria nodded with heavy eyes. ‘I will take you.'

As he followed Mother Maria through a series of corridors deep into the ancient convent, he tried to organise his thoughts. But all he had were questions. None of this made sense and he was beginning to wonder if the elderly nun was mistaken. At last they arrived at a large wooden door. Mother Maria turned to him and placed her hand on his shoulder. ‘Be gentle with her.'

The nun opened the door and Archer followed her into the room. A frail woman sat upon a small bed nestled against a wall. Archer didn't recognise her until she looked up at him. Her eyes had lost their sparkle, shrouded in eternal sorrow, but there was no mistaking this woman was his mother.

‘Helen, you have a visitor.'

Helen rose from the bed, and when her dress fell into place Archer noticed her pale skin was shrivelled around shrunken muscles. He reached for her, afraid she was too frail to walk, and his fingers wrapped right around her bicep. Archer slid his arm down around her waist and led her back to the bed. He sat beside her with his words frozen in his throat.
What do I say?

She looked up at him and deep within her eyes he saw recognition. A smile formed at her lips as her eyes widened. ‘Archer?'

Mother Maria gasped and Rosalina reached for the nun's hand.

Archer could no longer be angry with his mother. She'd suffered, too. He fought threatening tears, but was unable to contain them when he saw a single tear trickle down his mother's sunken cheek.

He was entranced by his mother, yet out of the corner of his eye Archer saw Rosalina and Mother Maria back out of the room and close the door.

Archer wrapped his arms around his mother's frail shoulders and held her to his chest. ‘I'm here, Mum. I'm here.'

Rosalina tried to envisage someone sitting across from a young boy, who had already been through so much horror, and then consciously lying to him about his mother's death. ‘How did they get away with it?'

Mother Maria lowered her eyes. ‘We may have made it easier for them, I'm afraid. By taking Helen in, they only had to look after Archer. As far as they were concerned she was already…gone.'

Rosalina recalled Archer's confession in the glow-worm cave weeks ago. ‘He doesn't have much memory from that time, but he does remember the authorities were unsure what to do with him. For years he was shipped from one home to the next.'

‘Oh, that poor boy.' Mother Maria clutched her chest. ‘We assumed he was with family.'

‘There was no one else.'

The silence between them thickened the air and a wave of heat rose up through Rosalina's body, to the point where she wanted to fan herself. She resisted though, for fear of embarrassing Mother Maria.

The elderly nun took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she finally spoke. ‘Helen was already sick by the time Archer came out of hospital, but after he was taken away, we almost lost her several times. Some of those times were from her own hand.' She twisted her fingers into knots and stared at them as if they weren't her own. ‘She would spend hours and hours simply sitting at his grave.'

Rosalina took a moment to register what she'd said. ‘Who's grave?'

‘Oh, my.' Mother Maria's hand covered her mouth, and as Rosalina stared into the older woman's eyes, she feared they were going to succumb to tears. But the nun blinked them back before she spoke. ‘You didn't know…' Her shoulders sagged even deeper and Rosalina dreaded what Mother Maria was going to say. ‘Archer's father is buried here, too.'

Rosalina sighed. ‘We've been looking for his grave.'

‘The grave is in a beautiful spot. Helen often sits there looking out to sea, simply lost in her own world.'

Rosalina wondered how Archer was going to cope with this. His whole childhood was based on lies. But then, what sort of life would he have had living with a mother who was no longer sane? Wade had died in the most horrific way and after what Helen had seen, it wasn't surprising she'd dealt with it the way she did. ‘How does she communicate?'

‘She doesn't really. She stopped writing in her journals about a year after Archer was taken away and she stopped talking soon after that. Her world is consumed with her inner torment.'

‘What does she do all day?'

‘We make her join us for breakfast and dinner. And sometimes she sits with us and does needlework, but mostly she stares out to sea as if searching for something.'

‘Maybe she's found what she's looking for?'

The nun blinked. ‘Archer?'

Rosalina nodded. Mother Maria closed her eyes and a small smile curled at her lips.

* * *

Archer held onto his mother for a long time. Barely a word was spoken. All his questions could wait, and now he wasn't sure she'd have the answers anyway. If the authorities had lied to him, then there was every chance they'd lied to her, too. Helen lay back on the bed and soon drifted off to sleep. He tucked the sheet up under her arm and kissed her forehead before he left the room and shut the door. By the time he stepped back into the kitchen he was mentally and physically drained. Rosalina raced over and wrapped her arms around him. He squeezed her to his chest and her heart thudded against his ribs, matching his own thumping heartbeat.