Read The Keeper of the Walls for Free Online

five Hail Marys, and forgo the morning meal for one week in penitence. And you shall not see him.”
    She bowed her head, and felt the tension letting go, the pain slowly ebbing, the guilt being washed away by centuries of Latin litanies. “In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, I absolve you of your sins.”
    The disembodied voice was like the soothing, impersonal hand of the Mother Superior when she had passed out pictures of the saints to reward a particularly deserving pupil. Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

    â€œ T here isn’t any reason why you shouldn’t try for a career as a concert pianist,” Mark said. They were walking in the gardens of the Tuileries, their collars up to ward off the freezing cold of the bleak January day. In
    the distance, Maryse was romping in the snow, a small ball of fur among the statues.
    â€œYou heard me play Brahms. I’m not so good.”
    â€œYou’re beyond-this-world good. Why don’t you have more confidence in yourself, Lily?”
    She stopped, hugging herself in her wool coat with the full skirt and large sleeves that let in the wind in great, bone-chilling gusts. She stood facing him, her long hair blown away from her face, her cheeks stung red. “I’m not sure what I have that should give me confidence. I play for my own pleasure. In concert halls the artist is dramatically good—not just agreeable. And then, I was taught that self-importance is a great sin. Jesus was humble.”
    He started to laugh. “You believe such things?”
    She shrugged, embarrassed. “In the United States, people don’t have faith?”
    â€œSome do, some don’t. I’m a confirmed skeptic.”
    â€œBut a person can’t ignore the Bible. It’s such a beautiful testimonial to God’s love for his people.”
    Mark MacDonald reached for her gloved hand, and brought it to his lips. He remained holding it, looking into the velvet brown eyes of the young woman in front of him. “You make me want to be young again,” he said softly, mild humor in his hazel eyes.
    â€œBut you are young. Why do you say that?”
    â€œBecause I’m a journalist. My job has been to print facts, and most of the time, facts are ugly, raw, crude. I used to work on world news. It disgusted me what countries can do to one another. Then they put me to head the society column. I had to go to all the fine houses in Charlotte to interview its leading citizens, the women with their diamond rings and their fur coats, the men with their three-piece suits and shining spats. What exists among members of the same family is far, far worse than anything you can imagine.”
    â€œNot so far,” Lily whispered.
    â€œBut you are unchanged. You are like a lost illusion.”
    â€œNo,” she said, her tone stronger. “It’s just that I’m waiting. I’m not sure what exactly I’m waiting for, but there’s a life outside that must have some meaning. My mother says that life is composed of compromises. Maybe I can’t become a great pianist. But I know that they think I’m worth something. Even if Claude criticizes me without stop, even if he doesn’t like me—he knows I’m worth something. So I have to wait.”
    â€œI’m not quite sure I understand.”
    â€œThey think I can make their life good for them. I just want to make sure that they don’t hurt my mother. I’m not like them, and neither is she.”
    â€œWho else is ‘they’ besides your brother?”
    â€œMy father. He never knew I was alive until my début. And now he sends me for fittings twice a week, and makes sure my shoes aren’t scuffed.”
    â€œPoor little Lily,’ Mark said affectionately, squeezing her hand. “We shall have to give you a better existence.”
    â€œNo,” she said. “I have to learn what exactly I want, and then I’ll