Page 3 of Reflections of Silence

We huddled together as the silent woman flipped open the back of her cart, motioning us into it. One by one, the girls climbed in. A small pile of wooden boxes filled the center as they found seats around the edges.

“Thank you,” I murmured to the girls who were still clutching my arms.

None of us had moved, yet. An exchanged glance rippled through us. We moved together toward the cart, my hands stone cold in their warmer ones.

I released them with reluctance to shuffle on the dirty wooden flooring, my skirts swirling around my ankles, tattered lace catching on my heels. The woman retreated to the front of the cart, attending to her animal.

Twisting around, I sighted a figure I thought might be Amy, though no part of her was visible, ensconced beneath a heavy woolen coat even as the gnats stuck to my sweaty skin. Waving at the shrouded figure just in case, I took in the energy of the crowd: so much noise, chatter, and life, it reminded me of Paris as a child. If there were a place to see people at their best, it would be difficult to find a location better than this, I was certain.

Amy noticed my goodbye amongst the multitude gathered, shifting shadowed features into a wide grin as she rolled her eyes towards a young, handsome man, who leaned down to speak into her ear. He took her elbow, drawing her away and taking her attention with him.

A pang of loss struck my chest, even as I was nudged, and my attention returned to my own circumstances.

“Gissla. Gissy.Gisselie?—”

“Gisella,” I cut off the poor nun mangling my name.

She sent me a wilted smile and patted the step set below a foreboding woman dressed in a full habit.

The girl behind me stumbled, bumping me forward. I caught the rail to prevent myself from sprawling across the small interior of the cart. My land legs struggled against the combination of the solid ground I had yearned for versus theinstability of a cart never meant to hold a swath of homesick travelers.

Finally, we were all seated, the cart bumping along a wide dirt path, peppered with potholes and stones. Chances were that my derrière wouldn’t thank me come morning. I fervently hoped my mattress would be thick and minus any infestation, though watching clusters of gnats migrate from one girl to another, I had my doubts.

As the town receded, the countryside took over. Neither fields nor mountains spanned the landscape; instead, bogs and swampy trees, their moss-covered limbs dangling in the stagnant waters, overpopulated the flattened area.

I slapped at a large insect determined to drain my bodily fluids, and the girl next to me jumped.

She shrieked, pointing toward a river that wound its way around the bend. “What was that?”

“It was me, ninny. The sole thing to be afraid of is your own insensibilities.” I snorted.

It wasn’t as though my manners were required out in this mud-encrusted town. How would these girls, each born and bred in Paris, survive in this uncivilized land?

“No,that!”

This time, it was another girl who thrust a hand unceremoniously beneath my nose. I followed it to see a lump floating in the river. I opened my mouth to tell her not to be afraid of a decaying log when the lump in question launched itself from the putrid waters, revealing a prehistoric-looking creature, all slitted eyes and yellowed teeth.

My stomach roiled as the behemoth exploded from the water and snatched a bird from its perch on a vine above the waterline. The scaled beast sank back into the depths of the river, jaws clutched about its dead prize. The waters closed over its head, stilling in a deceptive vista of serenity.

My breath lodged in my throat. Not a sound broke the tentative silence of my traveling companions. Unwilling to be the least of us, I swallowed a scream as the cart rattled over a fragile bridge, praying it would hold our combined weight. We all peered over the side. Bubbles ruptured the surface, tiny ripples drifting away from the monster lurking beneath.

“It’sbreathing. Under the water,” whispered the girl next to me. Shakes wracked her too-thin frame.

I nodded, unable to pry my jaw open lest I devolve into my own bout of hysterics, never to emerge sane again. Sobs echoed around me. More than one girl let her fear overcome her sensibilities. Determined not to join them—yet—I straightened, fluffing my skirts as though a predator at my side was nothing more than an everyday occurrence.

What fresh hell have we been sent to inhabit?

“What is it?”

The question fell from someone else’s lips before I could ask, and I was glad for the opportunity not to betray my discomfort.

The nun offered a sliver of a smile from her perch. “An alligator. Native to these parts. Fearsome monsters reside here, outside the waters, as well as within.” She stared down at a group of girls huddled in the cart’s far corner. Her smile remained as dead as her eyes, sending an ominous cloud rolling over all of us.

Perhaps theles marais’monsters were the lesser evil. I tried not to shiver, gripping my knees with whitened knuckles. The whole affair was laughable. We would be inside the abbey’s confines and bored out of our minds within an hour.

The river and its horror would be left behind while we pretended to enjoy waiting for husbands who may or may not arrive to collect us. Worrying about some unknown future was both impractical and a useless waste of energy.

Yes, there were more things to occupy a woman’s mind, more critical to her daily regime, especially a new one.

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