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A woman in a brown dress and cross necklace dabs her nose with a handkerchief while sealing an ornate letter with red wax.

A woman in a brown dress and cross necklace dabs her nose with a handkerchief while sealing an ornate letter with red wax.

*18th February, 1958* Embraced by the brown leather of her wingback throne, it gathered around her shoulders like the wings of a familiar, loving angel. Exhausted and breathing hard, she pressed back into the soft tufted seat and studied her office. Her papers sat exactly as she’d left them. One file protruded, deliberately, forty or fifty pages down. Untouched. The pens in their well were gathered, tipped toward the door. Just as she’d left them. She pressed the desk drawer. It caught on the sealed lock with a dull, chunking clank. No one had tried it. At least, not today. She drew the pale salmon handkerchief from her sleeve and dabbed the sweat from beneath her veil. Warmer in the convent these past few weeks? Or was it just her nerves? Either way, her secret was still safe. The novice who’d brought her evening tea had left something new on the polished silver tray: an envelope. The bishop’s seal. And, oddly, an Italian stamp in the upper right-hand corner. She lifted it in one hand, feeling the weight and richness of the parchment, while the other closed around the cross and heavy brass key that always hung from the black cord at her neck. Her hands trembled as she took the letter opener from the pen well, disturbing their perfect order. She needed to crack the crimson wax seal and be done with it, but her heart was beating so hard she felt it might throw the paper from her hands. The air seemed to crack at the sound of the smooth gold blade sliding beneath the paper. Mehr sehen