Jack Marston is at a low point in his life. His family is dead, Beecher's Hope is in ruins, and he has nothing left to live for. Most days he spends so drunk he can barely remember anything, he kills and robs people at will, and there isn't an ounce...
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Eva was glad to be at Las Hermanas, at last. She was also thankful Jack had not taken her all the way to Chuparosa. The nuns were very gentle and kind to her, and it was nice to be in the company of her fellow women after the events of the past couple of days.
The bed she lay on wasn't the softest or the most comfortable, but it was better than the bed in Casa Madrugada or the hard saddle on Buell's back. As she lay there, the nuns gently took her filthy, torn, dust-covered clothes and brought her a dress to wear. It was old, worn, and likely donated by someone, but it was better than going around in nothing but her shift, she supposed.
Before she could put it on, however, two of the nuns inspected her all over with warm, gentle hands to see the extent of her injuries, speaking soothingly in Spanish to her all the while. They cleaned her cuts with fresh, cool water and massaged her bruises with some kind of ointment made with water from a prickly pear cactus and a blend of herbs. She doubted it helped much, but it was better than nothing.
Satisfied that she hadn't broken anything and that her injuries were mainly superficial, the nuns brought her water and food. Eva ate and drank, even though she wasn't very hungry. The food, at least, smelled good. Her meal consisted of some shredded goat roasted to perfection in a pit in the ground, a large portion of thick, hearty refried beans, and two beautiful slices of pan de campo that were warm, covered in butter and honey, and melted in her mouth.
It had been a while since she'd had such a good meal. Mario never liked her to eat too much or to eat rich food, lest she ruin her figure. Not that he could have afforded nice, hot food often anyway. He had been rather poor and down on his luck lately, Eva knew. She wondered if that might have been part of the reason he'd offered to sell her to Jack in the first place. By now, however, he'd likely have blown every last cent at the nearest poker table he could find. And by now, he would be missing the heat from Eva's body, curled up next to his at night. She shuddered, thinking of his foul breath in her face as he held her to him in the dark.
Having lost her appetite, Eva set her plate down and drank some more water from the pitcher the nuns had given her. One of them was still in the room, watching her intently. An old woman, who seemed to be the leader of all the nuns Eva had met so far. She watched Eva eat thoughtfully, with half a smile on her face the whole time.
"You do not act very hungry," the woman said at last in perfect Spanish, eyeing Eva's half-eaten meal. "I suppose this means the man you came here with gave you food as well."
Eva nodded and took another sip of water. Her head throbbed a bit, but it was the type of headache she knew drinking more water would likely cure. "He gave me breakfast," she replied, her own Spanish equally eloquent. "He does not have much in the way of possessions, but he gave his food to me just the same."
"He is kind," the nun said. "I knew his father, John Marston, a bit. He donated some money to this convent some years ago, before his death. He was a good man. I think you can trust this man, Jack, his son." the lines around her kind, beautiful eyes wrinkled as she smiled. "He seems troubled, but I presume you are troubled, also."
