Waiting for the Moon

Eldress Beatrice had asked Sister Joan to stand. In what way, accuser, is Sister Joan guilty?

Sister Matilda had answered immediately. Sister Joan has broken the faith by speaking to Brother Winston without permission. I accuse her of tempting the brother into sinfulness.

One by one the Believers had risen and cried out, "Woe, woe." Just the single word, over and over again, until it was deafening in the wooden-walled room. Sister Joan began to cry, begging, pleading for forgiveness.

Finally, when the cries were so loud, Selena couldn't stand them anymore, someone called for silence, and it came, suddenly, sharply, sweeping into the room.

Sister Joan fell to her knees, her head bowed.

Let us pray, Believers, for Sister Joan's redemption.

Selena swallowed hard, fighting a rising panic as she followed Beatrice down the women's hallway and toward the front door. Was this how it began?

She didn't know if she could handle such humiliation right now. God help her, she had no reserves of strength, no core from which to draw.

Beatrice pushed through the closed wooden door and stopped on the small porch, beneath the overhang. Rain slashed all around them. Wind howled down the deserted street, whipping the dead, blackened leaves into a frenzy.

Nervously Selena twisted the small, lacy kerchief that was required to be in her lap during union meetings. "Y-Yes, Eldress Beatrice?"

"There has been an accident. Elliot was out with several

331

of the men yesterday afternoon. I am not entirely certain yet what happened, but I believe the brothers accidentally trespassed on someone's land. The world," she said softly, "doesn't accept such accidents by our kind very well. Elliot was shot. The doctor believes he is dying."

"Dying?" Selena's legs seemed to give way. She reached out, steadied herself by clutching Beatrice's rail-thin shoulder. "I must see him."

"He's being well taken care of, Sister. It isn't proper-"

"I must see him."

Finally Beatrice nodded slowly. "A short good-bye would not be so worldly." She cocked her head to the left. "The infirmary is the building just beyond the herb house. Before the sisters' workshop."

'Thank you." Selena meant the simple words from the bottom of her heart. With a quick nod, she yanked up her cotton and worsted winter skirt and ran down the leaf-strewn walkway. Rain pummeled her, wind slashed at her face.

With every step, every breath, she prayed that she would not be too late. She didn't completely understand death-but she knew that once a person died, you never saw them again. Knew that the body was buried beneath a mound of cold, cold dirt.

Please don't let that happen to Elliot.. . .

She could not imagine those loving, compassionate brown eyes closed forever.

She tore up the infirmary steps and pushed through the double doors, hearing them smack hard into the walls as she skidded to a stop. Her breath came in great, burning gasps, and she bent over, trying to breathe. Rain plunked from her clothing on the floor, puddling at her feet.

"My goodness, a most non-Believer-type entrance," said a quiet, gentle voice.

Selena straightened, found herself in a large room,

332

with white walls and polished wooden floors. A squat black stove sat in one corner, sending waves of welcoming warmth into the room. Three small, wooden cradles lay against one wall. Beneath a bank of multi-paned windows were four narrow beds. Beside each bed was a four-legged table, heaped with white crockery pitchers and cups and instruments.

Elliot lay in one of the beds, his face as white as the sheet tucked lovingly beneath his chin.

"Oh, Elliot . . ." She brought a cold, shaking hand to her mouth and tried not to cry. But all she could think about was the flower he'd brought her.

A stoop-shouldered old man with snow white hair and round spectacles pushed away from his desk and walked toward her. "Hello, Sister Agnes. You have permission to speak to Brother Elliot?"

"Yes." The word was small, broken.