In Which Geneva Says Goodbye

November 25, 1164

"Still up, I see?"

In the dim light, the nun was scarcely more than a silhouette; there was an almost spectral air about her, a sort of ghastly omnipresence that seemed to summon all the cold in the room and concentrate it around Geneva's spine. She tried to keep her wits about her--this was a Bride of Christ, after all--but she found her rushing heart could not be slowed.

Fortunately, Geneva of Bandera had a gift for being able to maintain the appearance of calmness. "The baby's still awake; I don't want to fall asleep before he does."

Was that right? She couldn't remember; it had been a few years now since she had last mothered an infant, and even then, she had always had a nurse or two at her disposal. Ah, but it was useless to dwell on such things--in the long run, it was a moot point.

The sister nodded. "Fair enough. Is this your first baby?"

"Yes," lied Geneva, the faces of the previous five flitting about in her mind. "Sorry for imposing on you, again."

The nun gave a her reassuring smile--yet, she knew she didn't deserve it. "It's no trouble. What else could you do? Your husband died and your house burned down."

It was a relief to have been reminded of her own cover story. "Yes... still, it was very kind of you to take me in."

The nun turned around and gazed at the restless baby in the crib. "That's what we're here for, dear. My... he's a rambunctious little one, isn't he?"

Geneva stifled a laugh. "Just like his mama."

The other woman placed a kiss on the boy's head, then opened the door and stepped into the corridor. "Good night to you both. If you need anything, don't hesitate to wake me."

"Thank you."

With a last parting grin, the nun walked away, shutting the door behind her. Her smile had been warm, but that had only served to make Geneva herself feel cold in comparison. Perhaps that was her only problem with the woman; something about her made her painfully aware of her own faults.

But alas, she had always been told that a tigress could not change her stripes.

Geneva slung her legs off the bed and lifted the lid from the trunk by the window. Her own dress had been taken by the servants to be laundered, but the trunk must have been there for a reason, and that reason was probably the storage of extra clothing.

Sure enough, it held several assorted garments of reasonable quality; perhaps they were sometimes given to beggars and refugees seeking sanctuary at the orphanage. Geneva dug around for a minute or two before settling on some men's traveling clothes. They were a little on the large side, she noticed as she dressed herself, but they would have to do--at any rate, they were much more convenient than a long, flowing dress.

She folded the borrowed nightgown and placed it in the stead of her new attire. Now all she had left to do was to get her hair out of the way; she bundled it back, then, holding it in place with one hand, snatched a ribbon from the trunk and tied it into a loose ponytail. One shorter lock in the front fell out of place, but she figured it wouldn't be too much of a bother.

Not relatively, at any rate. Now, for the part she always hated most, that part that almost made her change her plans and keep from whatever would have otherwise awaited her next.

Almost.

Seeing that he was still awake, Geneva lifted the baby from the crib and hoisted him to her shoulder. He would be all right--she had fed him shortly before the nun had arrived, and there was a lactating servant sleeping in the room next door--and she knew he wouldn't remember her, but all the same, it felt wrong to leave without saying goodbye.

"You'll be safe here," she soothed him as his tiny fingers curled around her stray lock of hair. "She's a good woman--somewhat scary for a sinner like me, maybe, but you're too little to be a sinner."

"They'll take care of you here, darling. I'd take you with me if I had a home to offer you... but then again, you're better off without me anyway. Now, you just be a good boy for the sister, all right?"

The baby responded with a small whimper. Geneva kissed his forehead, then gently patted his back. "I'm sorry, love. Maybe you'll understand when you're older... but then again, most people aren't really good for the whole 'understanding' thing. Regardless, I imagine you'll grow to be a better man than most."

She looked into his wide blue eyes one last time before placing him back in his cradle. "Goodbye, my angel. I love you--even if you don't remember me, I hope you never forget that. I know I never will."

The child simply looked up at her. Geneva allowed herself to cry a single tear; it was probably a good thing that a week-old baby couldn't understand a word she was saying.

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