A Peace Worth Protecting

A gentle morning breeze blew through the kitchen window, carrying the aroma of fresh bread along with it.

Maria hummed with a gentle smile while she slathered sweet grape jam onto the warm, fluffy slices. Enough to help feed many mouths that would soon surely fill the dining room.

Maria held back a yawn to no avail, just as Mother Martha walked in.

“Late night?” Mother Martha said. She wore a tunic-like habit, not unlike Maria’s. Adorned with subtle golden trims, it signified her many years of serving the gods. A see-through veil enveloped her gray hair.

“A little.” Maria averted her gaze, but Mother Martha seemed suspect.

She sighed. “I guess some things never change.” Mother Martha opened a cupboard while speaking. “I still remember when you first came to us as a child.”

Maria chuckled. “Do you now?”

“Once you got going with something, there was no stopping you.” Mother Martha reached for some cups and plates.

“Ah—Mother Martha,” Maria quickly interjected, “Please, don’t trouble yourself. I can take care of it.”

“I’m old, not dead, Maria,” Mother Martha scoffed. “I can still move around and set a table.”

“I-I know. I just don’t want you to strain yourself.”

Mother Martha put her arms to her sides and raised an eyebrow at Maria. She didn’t need to say a word for the young nun to understand the message.

“Sorry…”

“Why are you apologizing? Another habit of yours that’s never changed.” Mother Martha continued grabbing dishes. She reached for a slightly worn plate kept further back among the others.

Ceramic and white, with a simple carving of a dove. A familiar plate Maria recognized.

“That was Father Goren’s favorite…” Maria smiled softly with a hint of melancholy underneath.

“Ah, you’re right.” Mother Martha looked down at it. She chuckled. “He’d always say everything tasted better when he ate from this one.”

Maria laughed. “Even though it was the same food.”

“I know.” Mother Martha joined in the laughter as she shook her head. “He was so stubborn about it.”

From out in the dining room, small voices and the patter of feet echoed through.

“Come now, we've got a lot of hungry little mouths to feed.” Mother Martha grabbed the dishware. “But don’t go forgetting your own serving now.”

“Right!” Maria carried the food and followed Mother Martha into the dining room.

***

Children began arriving and filling the long wooden dining table. Some happily hopped onto the chairs, while a few of the smaller ones struggled up and rubbed their crusty eyes.

Leo, the eldest of the bunch, helped a little girl onto hers. Now thirteen years old, he was “the man of the house,” as he always insisted to Maria. But she couldn’t help but see the same child that she’d reprimanded for playing in the mud, back when she was around his age.

Once done helping the little girl, Leo chased down a pair of young twins running circles around the dining table, and once he had those two troublemakers seated and ready to go, Leo finished helping Mother Martha with serving drinks.

“Thanks for the help, Leo. But don’t forget yourself,” Maria said while she finished serving another plate.

“You’re the one who taught me, after all.”

“I taught you how fulfilling helping can be, not how to do everything yourself.”

Leo and Mother Martha glanced at each other with blank expressions, while Maria just tilted her head.

Breakfast time was always a lively affair with all the orphans in the old chapel. Though technically a monastery, it was a humble complex, but it was at least comfortable enough to house a dozen or so.

Chatter and children’s laughter filled the sweet air in the dining room.

“Sister Maria,” asked a young girl whose hair was a nest of uncombed tangles, “is it true you grew a man’s arm back?”

Maria paused. “Now where did you hear of that?”

“Some villagers passed by this morning,” little Toby added while jam fell on his collar, “and we overheard them talking about it.”

“You know how fast rumors go around here,” Mother Martha said.

News sure spread fast, but that was to be expected from such a small village.

I suppose there’s nothing to hide…

But what made Maria hesitant was not the miraculous healing magic she used the night prior; it was getting caught in the technicalities of staying up late. The children obviously weren’t allowed to, but whenever they’d find her up in the dead of night, a fit awaited the next morning.

“It’s true. Thanks to the gods, my healing magic was enough.”

The children stared at her.

“A whole arm!? That’s amazing!” a little one called out.

Leo nodded like a proud little brother.

Maria just tilted her head. “Is it?”

Mother Martha sighed.

“I’m just glad I was able to help him.”

No mention of staying up late? Safe.

But Maria’s relief didn’t last long.

“So, you were up late last night!” Little Lily exclaimed through her missing front tooth.

Maria’s true fear came true.

“Adults are allowed, though, Lily.”

Maria gave Leo a little thumbs-up. “Th-That’s right!”

Leo grinned. “So does that mean—”

“That is right.” Mother Martha interjected. “Full-grown adults. Not a kiddo who still needs to have his clothes mended.”

Leo’s smile faded just as quickly as it’d arrived.

Wooden chairs creaked under the children’s laughter, and Maria couldn’t help but chuckle along while Leo blushed.

Breakfast really was lively at the little old chapel. It was warm and full of smiles; Maria loved every moment.

Once breakfast was over, the children helped clean up, no matter how much Maria protested.

“You need proper sleep every night,” she always told the children. After getting caught not practicing what she preached, this moment of rest was her ultimate punishment.

***

The day came and went as it usually did. Maria did her chores, helped Mother Martha with lessons, and patched up a bruised elbow.

By evening, she sat by the fire with a book in hand, and a huddle of children perched in front. Wood crackled with embers, and the comforting warmth was enough to have most eyes in the crowd drooping.

Maria shut the storybook with a light thud. “Alright, time for bed.”

The room reverberated with a simultaneous “Awww.”

Some of the younger ones held long yawns that were far too contagious. Maria held a hand up to cover her own.

Mother Martha arrived and gathered the children. “Come now, little ones. Another day awaits us tomorrow. And we have to let Sister Maria get some rest as well.”

“Yeeees, ma’am,” the children called out in unison with husky voices.

Before leaving, little Lily went up to Maria for a hug. “Here you go, Sister Maria.” She shined a gappy smile and handed her a paper flower.

“For me?” Maria couldn’t stop grinning.

Lily nodded. “It’s so you have sweet dreams.”

“Thank you so much!” Maria tightly hugged her before the little girl ran off with the rest to their rooms.

Mother Martha lingered a step. “You heard her. Get yourself some proper rest.”

Maria nodded.

But once the steps grew silent, and only the dying embers remained aglow, Maria went to her familiar spot. A few lanterns and candlelight illuminated a shrinking pile of clothes still in need of mending.

Just a little won’t hurt.

She sat with a cool needle between her fingers and bit off some thread.

Some rustling by the window pierced through the calm, but nothing was visible past the darkness. A draft?

Maria tensed. If Mother Martha found her sewing now, she’d be livid. But after a brief silence, she exhaled.

False alarm.

Maria nodded to herself. “Just an hour or two, and then straight to bed.” But before long, many more hours had passed.

An old wall clock ticked away with every swing of the pendulum. 

Without realizing, the pile of clothing in need of mending had become Maria’s pillow, and the flimsy chair and creaky wooden table, her bed. But past the soft whispers of her breath, a mysterious presence loomed.