Read Thunder On The Right for Free Online Page B

to the chapel, was shut, and half-hidden under a cascade of crimson rambling roses. This green close was in its own way as lovely as the garden: here, at any rate, the austere monastic hand had been withheld. Somebody had shorn the grass, it is true, and the few graves were neat and orderly, but where the wind had blown the seeds of mountain flowers across the wall, they had been allowed to lie in their drifts upon the turf—crocuses, starred saxifrage, and strange tiny bells of white and yellow and germander-blue.
    The silk robe swished across the grass as the Spanish woman led Jennifer toward a grave by the far wall, where morning-glories, showering their trumpets almost to the grounds, served half to conceal the newly cut turf that gaped its sharp reminder of recent burial. Beside this mound, a crouched black shape was kneeling; a nun, trowel in hand. To Jennifer's raw nerves, it appeared as though she was engaged in the macabre pursuit of digging little holes in the new grave—and such was her state of mind that she would have found such an occupation hardly surprising. But even as the now familiar little worm of horror wriggled in her vitals, she saw that the nun was setting plants, pressing the roots firmly down, with thick capable fingers, into the holes she had made. As she heard the steps approaching her across the grass, she looked up and smiled, and the sight of her pleasant old face, with its healthy red cheeks, and the blue eyes rayed around with laughter lines, did much to restore Jennifer's balance.
    Her guide said in her precise, Spanish-accented French, "This is Sister Maria Louisa.
    She looks after our garden for us."
    The gardener sat back on her heels, shaking back the long sleeves from her sturdy forearms, and wiping her brow with the back of her hand in a frankly peasant gesture. Beside the Spaniard she looked like a stocky farm woman, and her voice, like her gestures, pointed the contrast between them. She nodded—a gesture curiously lacking in respect—toward the speaker, grinned widely at Jennifer, and spoke with a thick Midi twang. "Bless you, child," was all she said, but it occurred to Jennifer that she meant it literally.
    "Sister Maria Louisa," went on the Spaniard—and this time the patrician note in her voice sounded unmistakably— "looks after the things of the earth."
    If there was a sting in this remark, Sister Louisa did not appear to notice it. She chuckled richly, and spread out her strong, grubby hands as if in evidence,
    "Aye, I'm the gardener. It's me that feeds their vile bodies." She twinkled at Jennifer, and added comfortably, "It's a full belly makes a blessed soul, as often as not, and there's overmuch room for the devil to rattle around in when you're empty. So I till the good Lord's garden for Him, and tend His living souls—and the dead as well. . .
    ." Her hand patted the turfed mound.
    The cool Spanish voice was quite expressionless. "Our Sister Lamartine was the cousin of mademoiselle here. Mademoiselle has come to see her grave."
    The old nun looked up sharply, her eyes puckered against the sun, and for the first time appeared to notice Jennifer's face. The smile abruptly faded from her eyes, and, reaching up an earth-stained hand, she softly touched the girl's wrist.
    "My poor child." At the warm compassion in her voice Jennifer suddenly felt her eyes fill with tears, and she could only stand dumbly, while the green and gold and blue of the graveyard close swam together in a haze. She saw, dimly through tears, that the Spanish woman had moved away, going silently toward the chapel entrance.
    Jennifer was surprised at the intensity of the relief she felt as the tall black figure vanished into the interior of the chapel.
    Sister Louisa, still kneeling by the grave, put out a hand again. "Sit here by me, child," she said gently. Jennifer obeyed without a word, and for a short time there was silence, while the nun went placidly back to her work of setting plants.
    "You