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I could scarcely take my eyes from her, so perfectly crafted I half expected her to draw breath. I continued down the aisle, until I was near the front, dropped to my knee, and made the sign of the cross with my right hand. I’d never been particularly devout, even before the scandal that sent me from America, but my mother had insisted I be brought up in the church. As I rose, I spied an older priest crouched down on the floor ahead, clearing away wilting blooms from the chancel flowers at the foot of the altar.

I’d not seen him at first, stooped as he was. He wore a black cassock and his salt-and-pepper hair was thick and full, aside from a balding spot at the very back of his head.

My shoes clacked on the ancient, uneven stone floors. “Excuse me, Father…”

The old man turned to face me. His eyes were a steely gray color and he possessed a pleasant, round face. He shifted the handful of fading blooms in his hands as he looked at me—his expression one of disbelief. “Can I help you, child?”

I certainly hoped he could. “I am looking for someone, Father…”

“Crawford. Father Crawford.” He groaned as he rose, a stem of flowers falling to the ground. I started to grab them but he shook his head. “Leave it, child. I have more to gather later. I always clean up after.” A warm smile crossed his face, creases forming at the edges of his mouth. “I’m happy to help you if I can. Who might you be looking for?”

I fingered the edge of the newspaper article in my pocket before pulling the clipping out and thrusting it at him. “I am looking for a patient at Saint Oda’s. This woman. Have you seen her … do you know her?”

He took the page from me, looking from the photograph in the German newsprint back up to my face. An unnerving quiet spread throughout the sanctuary. The stone muting everything outside the ancient walls. I looked down to the dried flowers still clutched in his hand.

“Her name is Niamh Vaughn.” I blurted out—unable to bear the silence. “She had been a passenger on the Lusitania. I … that is, my solicitor and I … have reason to believe she somehow survived that ordeal and is the woman from the newspaper story. Mr. Anand—he’s my solicitor, you see—he traced her to the priory.” Good God, I was babbling. But yet I could not stop. The words fell clumsily from my mouth. I could not stop myself. “Hari said she was brought here upon special request after her time in Berlin and I’ve come all this way but it was storming last night and I was delayed and I—”

“The resemblance is uncanny.” He looked from the paper to me, his eyes taking in every inch of my face. “She must have been your mother?”

Have been. Not must be. My pulse sped. Why had he used that particular turn of phrase? I swallowed hard, afraid to voice the question. “Is she here?”

He hesitated, voice full of pity. “I am sorry, my child…”

No. I didn’t like the sound of that. Not at all. My hands grew numb. “S … sorry … I don’t…”

He touched my shoulder as another man approached. One vastly younger and dressed in a different style of cassock. There was a peculiar silver pin on his breast—a bird with something caught in its claw. I’d not seen such a thing before. He stood at the edge of my vision as I stared up at Father Crawford.

“She’s gone to be with the Lord, my child…” He took me by both elbows. “Sit, child. Sit. Father Étienne here buried her yesterday before the storm.”

My tongue grew thick, unable to form words as my mind raced back to the washed-out grave by the river. The earth itself shuddered beneath my feet. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t. “Wha … how…?”

Father Crawford led me to the pew, setting me down, his warm hands holding my own. “I am told that Eva wandered from the hospital grounds and got lost some three days past. It has been a shock for all of us.”

“Eva…” I repeated numbly. That was the name of the woman the men were discussing outside.

He nodded. “That is what we called her. The poor creature came to us without a name. All children of God should have a name…”

The priest misunderstood the horror written all over my face as the gravity of the situation sank in. My mind slowly caught up with what my body had already understood. The woman they called Eva was my … mother? The room spun out of control … what was happening to poor Eva … Grief surged over me like high tide, sucking the air from my very lungs.

The priest’s words existed somewhere outside my body, unreal. Someone else was listening to him. For it wasn’t me. It couldn’t be. My breath grew shallow. My mother couldn’t be dead. I’d just found her. My hands were ice as he rubbed them between his own.

“Wha … how?” Again I repeated the same senseless questions.

“She drowned, miss. In the lake near here.” The younger priest said as he drew nearer. Father Étienne, I think the older priest called him. The younger man’s eyes were a deep rich brown—much like Mr. Owen’s.

“No. No. It can’t be. My mother wouldn’t drown. It’s simply not possible. She was a strong swimmer.” Again, the argument outside echoed in my mind. Had someone hurt her? Is that what those men were afraid of? My throat tightened.

The younger priest looked to Father Crawford with an unspoken question on his face, but the older man waved him away. “Get her a bit of my brandy, Étienne. The poor child has had a shock.”

I pulled my hands away from the priest’s, rubbing them roughly over my face. No. I would be all right. I had to be. I dared not take a sip of that brandy for I knew if I had one, it would lead to a second, then the rest of the bottle, and I could not risk that. Not if something nefarious had happened to her. I could not let my mother down a second time. My eyes grew wet with angry tears.

The old priest wrapped an arm around me and gave me a slight squeeze, craning his neck to see what was keeping the young priest.

“I should have realized when I first laid eyes upon you, my dear.” He breathed out, his warm hand rubbing my upper arm. “You should speak with Dr. von Keller tomorrow … He leads the hospital and was responsible for Eva’s care. He can tell you more about her if you care to know.”

A hot tear fell down my cheek, landing on my blue skirt leaving a dark stain. I wiped the wetness away with a gloved fist. I needed answers. Answers that would not wait. “Can I not see him today? I’d rather not wait.”

The priest looked down at the dead flowers, setting them hastily on the pew alongside him. “He is away on business. He shall be back in the morning. Or so I am told. I’ve only just returned myself.”