The following morning, Claire awoke in sole possession of the bedroom. Her faux pas always left Jules in a sullen mood. She lie in bed, probing her extremities with her mind. Tallying the cost of her mistake, she was surprised to discover no pain, or even tenderness. Jules must have been angry indeed.
From the sanctuary of the duvet, Claire blindly wobbled the drawer of the bedside table just enough to spider two fingers inside, and pinch a cleverly-beaded rosary. The relic was already ancient when she received it — a bequest from Maïté — but even so, had begun to show its age. Each of its corpulent “mysteries,” long since warped and stripped of paint, seemed to flaunt their plainness.
Claire crossed herself and took the crucifix in her hands. As she recited the creed, her mind drifted to her marvelously multifaceted friend. Beautiful drifter. Agrarian savant. Dancer.
Fool.
Claire felt a snap between her fingers.
“Oh, no, no, no.”
Cursing her tendency to work the wood as she prayed, she opened her hands. The little cross had split cleanly in two. The lower half, now so obviously hollow, presented her with a tiny scroll, penned in a tidy feminine script.
Dearest Claire,
I have long prayed that this letter would arrive at the right time. If you’ve found it, your prayers have failed you, and your world is cracking.
The important thing is that our sisters delivered the rosary. Hold it tight. It will hold you, cracks and all.
Maïté
Claire studied the precise drawing beneath Maïté’s words. It was an unfamiliar plant, carefully isolated on the page. Ferny leaves, finely divided. Glabrous, toothy edges. Delicate white flowers, lacey like a bride’s veil. One long tap root anchored an attachment of more fibrous roots. The drawing was so beautiful. It terrified her.
And what of the curious arrangement of letters, and arrows, surrounding leaf, root, and flower?
C R
O E
N D
S IClaire stared at the drawing. For how long, who can say? In what tongue does one account for dread? Her stomach knew the words, but lacked the patience to translate them. Move! she willed herself. The world awaits!
In the end, it was only the prospect of Jules’ return that set her feet upon the floor, and made them walk.