Chapter 37: What Was Left Behind, III
I returned to the orchard the next day.
The same time. The same curve in the path. The wind carried the same scent of pine and distant woodsmoke. But Clara wasn't there.
The bench stood empty, half-swallowed by moss. The sister who had spoken with her the day before was tending a row of cold-weather herbs. When I asked about Clara, she gave a short shrug.
"She wasn't feeling well," she said. "Stayed home today."
I thanked her and walked back toward the village, though the road felt longer than before.
The next morning, I returned again.
Still no Clara.
This time, no one knew where she was. The orphanage matron offered a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "She must be visiting a friend," she said. "Or helping her father."
Each excuse was plausible.
Each a little too convenient.
By the third day, I walked the entire perimeter of the retreat grounds. Asked at the chapel. Sat on the bench near the orchard and watched the wind bend through the trees. But no glimpse. Not sound. Nothing.