Maria dashed through the bustling streets, her heart racing as fast as her feet carried her. She barely acknowledged the curious stares and greetings from passersby, her mind consumed by a singular purpose. By the time she reached Frau Nina's home, her breath was uneven, and her cheeks were flushed. Frau Nina, sitting in her usual spot by the window, raised an eyebrow at the younger woman's disheveled appearance.
"Maria, is everything all right?" Frau Nina asked gently, her concern evident.
Maria froze at the question, realizing how her actions must have appeared. She forced a small, reassuring smile, though her heart continued to pound in her chest. "I'm fine, Frau Nina," she replied, her voice steadying as she spoke.
Without waiting for further inquiry, Maria made her way to her room. Once inside, she closed the door softly behind her, her movements purposeful yet hesitant. She went to her drawer, pulling it open with trembling hands. From its depths, she retrieved a small woolen bag, frayed at the edges but carefully preserved. Sitting at her desk, Maria opened the bag, and the familiar wooden rosary slid into her palm.
For a moment, Maria sat there, staring at the object in her hands. Her fingers traced the delicate carvings, and she marveled at the craftsmanship. The little metal cross at the end of the rosary glinted as a stray beam of sunlight hit it. Maria tilted it slightly, and her breath hitched.
Hidden among the intricate carvings were initials—her initials.
The memory hit her like a wave. Now she knew why the rosary had been a constant source of confoundment for her. She had lost this rosary years ago, a cherished gift from her father. She remembered the scolding from her uncle when she lingered too long searching for it during their hurried departure from the villa, eventually forgotten, gone forever. Her fingers tightened around it as the realization sank in.
All this time, Georg had carried it.
A mixture of emotions overwhelmed her—confusion, gratitude, anger, and something else she couldn't quite name.
But one thing was clear. She had to go back to Vienna.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria quietly sneaked into the convent, her heart pounding with each cautious step. The vast stillness of the halls was unnerving, amplifying every creak of the floorboards beneath her feet. The night was heavy, past midnight, and the silence was only broken by her muffled breaths. She had been fortunate to catch the last train leaving Tyrol, though the urgency of her decision left her feeling hollow.
Her hand grazed the cool stone of the grotto wall as she retrieved a candle from the small niche. She carried it carefully to her room, its flickering light casting faint, dancing shadows along the corridor walls. Entering her room, she shut the door softly behind her, placing the candle atop her desk.
With trembling hands, Maria reached into the small pouch tucked beneath her cloak. She withdrew the rosary, its beads smooth and cold, the weight of it feeling heavier than it should. Removing the hood of her cloak, she looked up at the simple wooden cross that hung above her bed.
Her voice broke the silence, filled with frustration and despair. "I don't deserve to wear this habit," she whispered, her fingers clutching the rosary tightly. "I don't deserve His trust."
The faint glow of the candle illuminated the anguish on her face as she lowered her head. "Tomorrow," she murmured to herself, "I will leave the convent."
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
The early morning sun bathed the convent gardens in soft light, casting long shadows over the cobblestone paths. Maria walked with determined steps, her cloak brushing against the dew-laden grass as she approached the bench by the fountain.
There, the nun she sought sat quietly, absorbed in a book. The gentle sound of water bubbling in the fountain complemented the peaceful scene. As Maria drew closer, the nun looked up, her expression warm and welcoming.
"Maria," the nun greeted softly, marking her place in the book.
Maria hesitated, then spoke. "May I speak with the superior?"
The nun's brow furrowed slightly. "I'm afraid she's at the city council," she replied. "Is there something I can help you with?"
Maria shook her head, offering a faint, weary smile. "No. I'm fine," she said, though her voice betrayed her unease.
The nun's eyes lingered on Maria for a moment, filled with quiet concern, but she said nothing further. Maria turned and walked away, her thoughts as restless as the shifting breeze that rustled the garden leaves.
⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻
Maria sat in her dimly lit room, the candlelight flickering over the worn desk as she finished writing her note. Her handwriting trembled, the words reflecting the heavy burden in her heart. The rosary lay beside the parchment, a silent witness to her inner turmoil.
As she folded the paper neatly, a sudden creak of the door startled her. She turned quickly, her breath catching in her throat as Father Norman stepped into the doorway. His expression was unreadable, his gaze meeting hers.
For a moment, neither spoke. The room felt charged, heavy with unspoken words. Maria, feeling the weight of his eyes on her, moved slowly. Her trembling hand picked up the note, sliding it across the desk toward him.
The priest took the note without a word, unfolding it with careful hands. Maria lowered her head, unwilling to watch as he read. The silence stretched, and her heart pounded in her chest.
When Father Norman finally spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. "Are you leaving Christ for this sinner?"
Her head snapped up, and she denied it with full conviction. "No! No, Father, it's not that!"
The priest studied her, waiting.
Maria's voice quivered as she tried to explain. "I don't deserve to be here. I can't deceive Christ. I—" Her voice broke. "You don't understand how hard it is to admit this. Everyone believes I will become a great nun, but it's not true. I've failed."
Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, her words tumbling out in a torrent of guilt and despair. Father Norman stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his face softening as he saw her tears.
"Maria," he said gently, his tone like a balm to her troubled spirit, "do you think there is anyone in this world who has never been tempted? Someone whom the devil respects so much that he leaves them in peace?"
She shook her head, still crying.
"The devil tempts the children of God the most," he continued, his voice steady but filled with compassion. "Remember, even the Son of God was tempted in the desert. What matters is not that you faltered, but that you chose to face the fight."
"But I failed," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.
"Every fighter falters at some point," Father Norman said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "What matters is the result of the fight. God doesn't test those He doesn't choose. This is your battle, Maria, and your strength is in facing it, not running from it."
Maria looked up at him, her tears streaming down her face, her heart heavy yet touched by his words. For the first time in days, she felt the faint stirrings of hope, though the path ahead still seemed shrouded in uncertainty.
Father Norman suddenly turned away from Maria, pacing a few steps as he brought a hand to his forehead. His expression was pained, his voice filled with self-reproach. "This is my fault," he said, more to himself than to her. "I wanted to shield you from everything, but perhaps I did you a disservice. I should have taken you closer to people, shown you their flaws, their struggles. Maybe then you would've been better prepared."
Maria, still wiping her tears with the sleeve of her robe, looked up at him. Her voice was quiet, hesitant, as she admitted, "I couldn't dispose of the rosary." She was afraid to tell the priest that the rosary was hers, held as a memory by someone she used to love, someone whom everyone in her community sees as the devil himself.
Father Norman turned back to her, his face softening. "Forget the rosary," he said firmly, stepping closer. "If you can't dispose of it now, then don't. There will come a time when you'll be able to let it go. But right now, that isn't what matters."
He knelt slightly to meet her eye level, his voice earnest. "What matters is that you don't give up. That you don't abandon Christ, especially when He needs you the most to defend Him."
Maria's gaze faltered, and her voice wavered. "Even if I feel like a fraud? In front of all those people who believe in me?"
Father Norman tilted his head, considering her words carefully. "Perhaps," he said slowly, "God is sending you a message through those people. That their belief in you is His way of saying you can do this. That you can become the nun they see in you, even if you doubt yourself right now."
His question came softly but carried weight. "You do want to win this, don't you?"
Maria paused, her breath catching. But then, with a strength she hadn't felt in days, she looked up at him, her voice steady. "I do."
Father Norman's stern expression melted into a warm smile. He reached out and gently patted her head.