Wolves Among Us(51)

“But you went yesterday, too. There could be only one reason to go back again today.”

“Mass makes me feel better. That’s the only reason.”

He brought the sword up along her body, resting it under her chin, the sharp blade cold against her throat. Alma dropped her doll, her eyes wide.

“And what did you say to the good Father today?” Bjorn asked. “Did you complain about me? Did you whisper my secrets to him? Are you the reason he resists Bastion and me?”

“I don’t know any of your secrets. I didn’t know you had secrets.” She tried not to think of what Bastion had told her about his adulteries. Bjorn would hear those thoughts in her tone.

“Then you’ve told the other women. Everyone knows the women of this village love a bit of gossip. How they must enjoy yours.”

“They don’t talk to me.” Mia would not add that they did not like her, that they treated her with indifference. She would not humiliate herself to escape his wrath. She had grown tired of that escape.

“I may be bewitched by another woman, but I will not be cuckolded by my own wife. Keep your petty complaints, your stupid, baseless suspicions about me to yourself from now on.”

He lowered the sword but did not step back. His body pressed into the curves of hers.

Alma’s expression changed to one of anger. She marched to Bjorn, holding open her palm and pressing her other hand into her stomach. Bjorn stepped back with a short laugh. “Give your child something to eat.”

Mia tore a piece of bread from the morning’s baking and gave it to her. Alma flopped to the floor, tearing at the crusts, nibbling at it like a mouse, her eyes watching Bjorn with a fierce interest.

“Why did you marry me?” she asked.

Bjorn replaced the sword over the doorway.

“I asked a question,” Mia said. She kept her voice soft, more interested in an answer than in an argument. She moved away from Alma so she would not hear.

“I never wanted to marry,” he said. “It’s too much effort to please a woman you have to see every day.”

“So you married me because I did not need to be pleased?”

“I needed a wife. You did not ask questions back then. I thought you would give me peace. I thought you would be a good wife.”

“Am I not?”

Bjorn laughed.

“What will become of us?” she asked. “When Bastion is gone and the village is quiet?”

Bjorn ran his hand over his chin, walking to settle himself at the table for his meal. Mia ignored the rising panic, knowing she had no meal to feed him.

“Nothing,” he said, his eyes cold and hard. “Nothing at all.”

The word sank like a stone in her stomach. Mia looked around the little home, her pathetic attempts to copy the other women of the village by setting things in order, behaving as the marriage book had said she should, trying to please Bjorn no matter how it crushed her spirit. She had failed. Everything looked a mess. She had no meal to feed him, never mind her own empty belly.

Bjorn reached for the plate on the table with a glare toward Mia. He knew the pot held nothing for him. She saw it in his eyes, everything it told him about her and these years together. She had nothing to offer him.

Mia rubbed her hands together, nodding.

She bent down by Alma, whispering in her ear. Alma stood, raising her arms over her head. Mia scooped her up and walked out.

Mia could not pretend any longer. She had no energy left to try. If she stayed, if she tried again, desperation would cling to her, seeping into her voice and expression. Bastion would smell it out when he came calling again. She would have no argument, no defense. She would have no reason not to give up, no reason not to fall into his arms and let him take her far from this life.

Except for Alma. Mia would not give in, and never give up, because God had given her Alma. He healed Alma for no cause Mia could think of. He dwelled in shadow and mystery, to be sure, but Mia knew one thing about Him now, one thing forever: This God of mystery and shadow gave good gifts, even to those who failed Him. Even if she failed Him again and again, she believed He would still be near, walking with her in her darkness.

And Mia knew something else, too: She would choose to die in the forest before she broke her promise to God to honor Bjorn. Bjorn wasn’t worthy of it. God was. She would be true to this mysterious God, and by setting foot into the forest, without sword or knife, she knew she chose to die.

“I will take care of Alma,” she whispered to God. “I will take her as far from here as I can.”

Mia stepped into the shadows of the trees, cradling Alma in her arms. The forest rested quiet in the day. Those with hungers slept, waiting for night. Mia saw paw prints in the earth, one set, each print about the size of her palm with four toes, each with a claw curving in toward the center—the mark of a large wolf. A wolf had found her house last night. Bjorn had killed one wolf, and another had sprung out of the darkness to take its place, pacing back and forth, watching. Mia picked up her pace, hoping the wolf would not wake.

The foolish virgins, Mia thought. I am no better than they. Mia had heard the parable of the foolish virgins from Father Stefan. Ten beautiful young virgins waited at night for their groom. But the wait proved too long, and the night was so dark that all ten virgins fell asleep. At last the cry rang out, “The groom is here! The time for the feast, the wedding, it is upon us!”