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Sister Agathe placed the young boy on the ground, whispering something to him. The child nodded and took off across the grass and into the children’s home. “She is away. Left early this morning.” A flicker of worry crossed her expression as she glanced back toward the hospital. “Not long after we received word of what happened to poor Mr. Bertrand last night. Narcisse had always been so kind to the children. It was horrible he died in such a way.”

Of course. That explained why the children’s home was closed to visitors and she’d told me they were at prayers. Likely the sisters wanted to shield the children as best they could from what had occurred last night. Well, if I couldn’t speak with Sister Marie-Thérèse, maybe Agathe could answer my questions. “I’d hoped to speak with the head sister, but since she’s not here perhaps you could help me.”

Sister Agathe gave me an uncertain nod. “I can try.”

A lone crow settled upon the eaves of the children’s home, watching us with keen interest. “I am looking for my mother. Trying to understand what happened to her.”

I saw no reason to lie to Sister Agathe. My honesty must have surprised her, for she relaxed at once. “I wish I could help you—I do. I did not know her well. I would often see her here in the green playing with the children, or down by the river.”

I swallowed hard, not certain what to say. “Von Keller allowed her out? It’s my understanding only patients soon to be discharged were allowed freedom of movement.”

The young nun nodded with a frown, worrying her pink bottom lip. “Dr. von Keller was especially fond of Eva. I think—” She hesitated, fiddling with the beads of the rosary at her waist. “I think she reminded him of his wife.”

Suddenly I recalled the photographs in his drawer of a younger von Keller with a woman. He’d looked so happy in the photographs. “What happened to his wife?”

Sister Agathe began to walk away from the children’s home, gesturing for me to follow. I did, keeping pace with the younger woman. “Mrs. von Keller was prone to bouts of melancholy. She came to Saint Oda’s early on during the war. I was just a girl then. I don’t remember her well. But she had kind gray eyes. Eyes like your mother’s.” She cleared her throat. “She succumbed to an infection during one of those periods. Some say she took her own life, but Mrs. von Keller was a devout woman. She’s buried over there.” She gestured. “Behind the priory church.”

“How horrible,” I murmured, following Sister Agathe across the green and into a garden leading to the small inner graveyard.

She nodded. “It was. Your mother had the same sort of melancholy Mrs. von Keller had. I think that’s why the doctor was so determined to save her.”

My stomach twisted. Perhaps. Or perhaps not.

Sister Agathe continued on, fiddling with the wooden beads. “Some of the villagers thought she was dangerous, Eva, that is. I never got that impression. Neither did Sister Marie-Thérèse. I wish I could be of more—”

“Tell me about Manon,” I blurted out. “Narcisse told me my mother was fond of the girl. One of the children also … seemed to think Manon was with my mother.”

The young sister paled visibly at mention of the missing child. She opened her mouth to speak then closed it, quickening her pace. I had to hurry to keep up. Sister Agathe rushed alongside the priory church, the temperature in the shade much cooler than in the sunny courtyard. She looked back, whispering harshly. “We aren’t to speak of her. We aren’t to speak of any of them.”

“Why not?”

Her gentle, sure step continued down the stone path, leading away from the priory grounds and back to the village. Sister Agathe did not look back, keeping her head downcast, voice in hushed tones. “My aunt and I came here in the early days of the war. Not long after the Germans began their march into Belgium. Saint Oda is my home. This orphanage is my home.”

“You were young then?” I brushed a tangled lock of hair behind my ear—but the wind pulled it loose again.

“Twelve. Sometimes it seems like yesterday, and others a lifetime away. I suppose it was. I don’t even remember my parents’ faces anymore. Though when I close my eyes, I can still hear my mother’s voice. My aunt became both mother and father to me these last few years.”

I frowned, casting her a glance beneath my lashes. “I’m sorry. I lost my family during the war as well—at least I thought I had. Up until a few months ago I believed my mother had died alongside my father and sister.”

She gave me a slight nod. “The Germans killed my parents. My uncles. My cousins. Everyone but my aunt, Anna.” Wispy white clouds stretched across a pale blue sky. The sort of winter blue that almost ached to behold. “And then came Manon.”

I sucked in a sharp breath as her words sank in. “Manon is your cousin?”

She nodded. “Yes. Manon and Saint Oda’s are all I have left.”

Grief lodged in my chest. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” Her expression shuttered. “We came from Dinant. I am used to my grief.”

This was the second time in as many hours that the horrors of Dinant had raced to the forefront. First in the powerhouse with all those articles Violet had papered across the walls, and now again at the priory. It couldn’t be a coincidence. It meant something, I just didn’t know what.

Sister Agathe’s tongue darted out to wet her lips as she continued on. “Aunt Anna was heavy with child when the Germans were advancing that summer. The family sent us both here to Saint Oda for safety, worried what would happen if we remained behind.” Agathe continued down the path, winter grasses high on both sides—and I followed, listening to her tale. Of the journey from Dinant to here. Of how afraid they were of the soldiers catching them, of how brave her aunt had been and what might happen if they were captured. All the while I walked alongside her like a somnambulist, rapt by the tale she wove. If it was a trick, it was a convincing one. My heart ached for her and her family. And for little Manon who I did not even know. But this tale got me no closer to understanding the connection between my mother and the child and why any of it would be worth killing for.

“Papa stayed behind with my uncle and the other cousins. They were to send for us to return once it was safe and the baby had been born.” Sister Agathe slowed her pace, drawing to a stop alongside the river where the high grass brushed along the hem of her skirt. “My aunt never forgave herself for leaving her other children behind. She believed Dinant would hold, that her family would be reunited one day.”

Suddenly I looked around—realizing where she’d led me. We were back at the strangers’ cemetery, standing alongside my mother’s grave. The very spot where I’d first seen Manon. A sudden wave of trepidation came over me as I watched Sister Agathe. Her chin was tilted up as she watched the birds soaring high in the sky. Agathe reached into her pocket, withdrawing a poppet—stroking its dress absently. The little doll was exactly like the one Manon had left here. The hair on the back of my neck pricked. She fiddled with the dress absently, almost out of habit. “When Aunt Anna was found in the lake, they brought her back and buried her here. Von Keller said she drowned herself there, but I do not know what to believe. I only pray she has found peace now along with my uncle and my six cousins.”

That poor woman, to have borne seven children and lost six of them. Nausea roiled in my belly.