The Snow Gypsy(64)
Lola closed her eyes. She didn’t want him to see the tears she was fighting to contain. Trade Nieve for . . . what? A shorter term in jail? A sentence served in a prison less brutal than Málaga? No. Even if this priest had come to her offering her freedom, she couldn’t, wouldn’t offer up Nieve as a sacrifice.
Swallowing her tears, she opened her eyes and turned them directly on him. “If I had a daughter,” she said, slowly and deliberately, “I would warn her about people like you. Tell me, Father, what do you think Jesus would say if he was sitting here with us, listening to what you’ve just said? Do you think he’d approve of people who call themselves Christians snatching babies and children from their parents?”
The priest said nothing in reply. He stood up, making the sign of the cross in the air. “May God have mercy on your soul,” he murmured.
Chapter 24
Pampaneira, Spain
It was three days before Rose went up the mountain again. Now that she knew the way, she told Zoltan she could make the journey alone, on foot. But he asked if he could come and meet her halfway. There was something he wanted to show her—nothing to do with the war, he said—just something he thought she’d like to see.
The sun was already warm on her back when she waved Nieve goodbye and set off up the track. For the first time, the child had run into school without turning back for a last glimpse of Rose. She was making impressive progress with her reading, and she was excited about taking part in a dance display the children were putting on for the San Juan fiesta.
As Rose climbed higher, she turned to look at the valley below. She could see órgiva, nestled in a bend of the river, and the orange and olive groves she had passed through on her way to Pampaneira. In the far distance was the Contraviesa mountain range, not as high as the Sierra Nevada, wrinkled waves of red and yellow and lilac spreading out in a carpet to the sea.
She walked on, through meadows studded with poppies, daisies, and purple vetch. The only sounds were the babble of running water and the high, piping call of skylarks. It was hard to resist the temptation to stop and gather bunches of the wildflowers growing in such profusion. In England she spent most weekends in spring and summer traveling to the countryside to harvest dozens of different herbs for her veterinary practice. The airing cupboard of her London apartment was so stuffed with drying vegetation that there was no room for sheets and towels.
As she made her way along the bank of a fast-flowing stream, Rose spotted something she hadn’t noticed when she’d come this way with Zoltan—a ruined mill of ivy-covered stone half-hidden by chestnut trees. The door had long since fallen into the undergrowth. Stepping over the threshold was like entering an ancient fairy-tale world. Wild violets and blue convolvulus had seeded themselves in the crumbling windowsills, and the floor was covered in a carpet of pale-yellow wood sorrel. In what must once have been the fireplace was the skeleton of a sheep, undisturbed by predators, as if a spell had been cast over the old mill, keeping all other creatures out.
She couldn’t help wondering if Nathan had been in this place. Perhaps he and Adelita had had secret rendezvous here, halfway between her village and the bunkers. She could almost see them sitting together on the moss-covered grinding wheel, talking in excited whispers about the baby and planning their escape to France.
“Where are you?”
Her voice sounded very loud. The only answer was the gush of water racing past. She tried to shrug off the sense of hopelessness that enveloped her as she walked away from the ruined building. But it wasn’t easy. She’d had a tantalizing glimpse of Nathan’s life here—but no clue as to what had happened next. Unless Zoltan’s cherry-farming friend had something to tell her, it felt like the end of the road.
Zoltan was waiting for her in the shade of a broom bush whose branches dripped golden blossoms.
“I have to tell you about the mule!” His eyes were alight. “The wound’s healed up already!”
“That’s wonderful.” She smiled. “But don’t stop the treatment yet—he needs to be on that bran mixture for at least a week.”
He nodded, leading her away from the track, through a thicket of chestnut and maple trees. “How are things at the mill?”
“Just about bearable,” Rose replied. “I think she stole something from my room yesterday. It was only a tin of coffee—not worth much in monetary terms—but the tin was one I brought from home. It belonged to my mother. I’ve no proof that Se?ora Carmona took it—but I can’t find it anywhere.”
“Have you asked her about it?”
Rose shook her head. “I’m afraid she’d do something worse if I did. She’s always killing things—she’d probably put rat poison in our water jug.”
“What a horrible woman. Couldn’t you move to one of the other villages?”
“I probably could. But Nieve’s settled into the school in Pampaneira. She seems very happy there. I wouldn’t want to make her start again somewhere else.”
Zoltan nodded. “We’re nearly there, by the way. The thing I wanted to show you is just beyond those trees.”
“What is it?”
“You’ll see in a minute.” He smiled. “Better keep a tight hold of Gunesh—he might get a bit spooked.”
When they reached the edge of the woodland, he put his fingers to his lips and dropped down to the ground, signaling Rose to do the same. “Can you see? Over there?”