I nodded, and thought the better of asking my grandmother exactly what she was talking about. She took a deep breath and seemed to calm herself somewhat. She smiled briefly at me. 'All I'm saying is, Isis, don't be in too big a hurry to join up too. You get your head sorted out, but remember: men are a bit crazy and a bit dangerous, and they're jealous as hell, too. Don't sacrifice yourself for them, because they sure as shit won't do it for you; fact is they'll try and sacrifice you.'
I watched her drive for a while. Eventually I said, 'So, are you apostate too, Grandmother?'
'Hell,' Yolanda said, looking annoyed. 'I was never really part of your Order in the first place, Is. I just went along with it. Jerome was interested in trying to save his soul. I found Salvador… charismatic at first, then later I just got to know all the people at the farm, and then Alice married Christopher; that tied me in tight.' She glanced over at me again. 'Then you came along.' She shrugged, looked back at the road. 'I'd have taken you from them if I could, Is.' She looked at me again, and for the first time ever, I thought, she looked uncertain. 'If you hadn't been born the day you were… well, I might have been allowed to take you; they might have let me, after the fire. However.' She shrugged once more and concentrated on the road again.
I turned to watch the road unwind towards us, the traffic like little purposeful packets of metal, glass and rubber, containing their fragile cargoes of humanity.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
High Easter Offerance was beautiful that day; the breeze was warm, the air was clear and filled with the sound of fresh young leaves rustling; sunlight made each leaf a green mirror. We parked the car at the semicircle of pitted, weed-strewn tarmac in front of the rusted gates. Sophi's Morris was not there so I guessed she was at work. Yolanda and I walked down the curving drive, its crumbling, mossy surface a long carpet of shadow and restless, flickering light beneath the over-arching trees. My leather trousers squeaked. The long black jacket Yolanda had bought me felt light and elegant, especially over the silk shirt. The closer to the farm I got the more overdressed I felt, and the more contaminated by the Sybaritic antics of the previous night. I fingered the little black bead that was the head of the hat-pin Yolanda had given me years before and which I had remembered to remove from my old jacket and insert into the lapel of my new one (I had taken great delight in the fact that the police had not discovered it). I rubbed its smooth black head between my fingers like something talismanic. I briefly considered dirtying my jacket, but that would have been ridiculous. I was glad I'd kept my old boots, though I was starting to regret I'd cleaned both them and my old hat.
'Jeez; you make all your roads so narrow,' Yolanda said, stepping round a bramble bush that pushed itself out into the middle of the road.
'It's just overgrown,' I told her, shifting my kit-bag over my other shoulder. I felt a mix of emotions: elation at returning home and trepidation at the prospect of what Yolanda had hinted might be a frosty welcome.
'Yeah, but you do, anyway,' Yolanda insisted. 'Some of those roads up north… I mean, don't you like tarmacadam? I thought the Scots invented the damn stuff.'
The Woodbeans' house stood sentinel at the steep river bank, in front of the old iron bridge. I looked up at the quiet house, Yolanda stood shaking her head at the holes in the bridge's deck and the narrow pathway of odd assorted planks that led across it. Thirty feet below, the river swirled slowly.
'Hold my hand,' she said, putting her hand out behind her. I stepped forward and took her hand as she set one tentative foot on the first of the planks. 'Gettin' so you have to be Indiana fuckin' Jones just to git to your place…'
The drive left the trees and rose a little, heading between the wall of the apple orchard to the left and the lawn in front of the greenhouses to the right. A couple of the goats looked up from their tethered munching on the lawn to watch us approach. We saw the primary children, filing out of the greenhouse in an orderly fashion; one of them noticed Grandma Yolanda and me, and shouted. In a moment they had broken ranks and started running towards us. Brother Calum appeared at the end of the line of running children, looking at first concerned, then pleased, then concerned again.
Yolanda and I were surrounded by a small field of crop-headed children, all jabbering and smiling and raising up their arms to be lifted and held, while others pinched and stroked my leather trousers, and made ooing and ahing noises over my jacket and shirt. Calum stood by the open door of the greenhouse, waved once and nodded cautiously, then disappeared through the gateway into the farm courtyard. Yolanda and I followed, each holding hands with half a dozen children and trying to answer a whirlwind of questions.
We met Brother Pablo as we entered the courtyard, standing holding the bridle of Otie, the donkey, while sister Cassie brushed her. Several of the children left our sides to go and pat and stroke the donkey, which blinked placidly.
'Sister Isis,' Pablo said, lowering his eyes as he returned my Sign. Pablo is a couple of years younger than me, a tall, stooped, quietly spoken Spaniard who has been with us for a year. He usually had a smile for me, but not today, it seemed.
'Hi, Isis,' Sister Cassie said, nodding. She left the brush hanging in Otie's coat and let her hands rest on the heads of a couple of the children. 'Hey; you look… really elegant.'
'Thanks, Cassie,' I said, then introduced Yolanda and Pablo.
'We met, honey; last week,' Yolanda told me.
'Oh, yes; sorry,' I said, as more people appeared in the courtyard from the buildings; I waved and returned various greetings. Allan appeared from the mansion house and hurried through the crowd; Brother Calum exited shortly afterwards and followed him.
'Sister Yolanda, Sister Isis,' Allan said, smiling, and took our hands. 'Welcome back. Pablo; please take Sister Isis's bag and follow us.'
Yolanda, Allan, Pablo and I walked over to the mansion house; everybody else stayed outside. 'How are you, Sister Yolanda?' Allan asked as we climbed the steps. I looked at the poster advertising my cousin Morag's fictitious concert at the Royal Festival Hall.
'Felt better, felt worse,' Yolanda told him.
When we got to the landing between the Order office and Salvador's quarters, Allan hesitated, a finger tapping at his lips. 'Grandmother,' he said, smiling, 'Salvador said he was sorry he missed you the other day and he would love to see you now; would you like a chat?' He motioned towards Grandfather's quarters.
Yolanda put her head back a little and looked at my brother through narrowed eyes. 'You don't say.'
'Yes,' Allan said. He put one hand to the small of Yolanda's back. 'We'll just have a word with Isis; sort of a debriefing.' He nodded at the office doors. 'We'll just be in here.'
'Does-' I began, and had been about to say Doesn't Grandfather want to hear what I have to say? but Yolanda was there before me.
'Fine; I'll sit in,' she said.
'Oh?' Allan said, looking awkward. 'Well, I think Salvador's expecting you…'
'He's waited two years; he can wait another few minutes, I think.' Yolanda smiled narrowly.
'Well…' Allan began.
'Come on; faster we are, less time we keep him waiting,' my grandmother said, stepping towards the office doors. I saw Allan's jaw set in a tense line as we followed.
Sister Erin stood up from her desk as we entered the office. 'Sister Isis. Sister Yolanda.'
'Hello, Erin.'
'How ya doin'?'
'Thank you, Pablo,' Allan said, taking my bag from him and putting it down by the secretary's desk. Pablo nodded and left, closing the door behind him.