Redemption

Chapter 3

Amalie turned and noticed that her aunt still had not moved from the doorway, as if she were blocking it. From her? No, she told herself, her mind was probably still in shock. She took Olga by the arm and led her inside, closing the door behind her. She led her to the sofa and, seating her gently, began to tell her of her experience. Her aunt said nothing at first, but by the end of the story Olga seemed to be herself once again. She embraced Amalie suddenly, apologizing for her earlier response.
    "I was so afraid I was going crazy, dear," Olga said. "The men, the men responsible for burning the bodies, they said that everyone was dead, so to see you standing here is, well, it's a miracle, my darling niece. How did you manage to survive? The priest..." Olga shuddered. "We had him to say the last rites over your soul."
The expression on her face was tortured, and Amalie could tell she blamed herself for allowing them to take her niece without making absolutely certain of her fate.
The young girl laid a pale hand on her aunt's arm and smiled. "I don't blame you, auntie. I would have done the same. You had no way of knowing. When I awoke on that cart I thought I was dead, as well. It took a while for my muscles to even remember how to function, but when I was finally able to move I fled into the woods. I was afraid that they would think me a witch, or worse, and feed me to the flames anyway. And do not worry, Aunt Olga, "she said grimly, "I am not a strigoi mort, either - I am not going to drain the life force from you so that I can continue to live while I watch you die a slow, horrible death."
Olga stared at her niece for a moment, her face expressionless. Then she smiled a somewhat secretive smile and responded, "Oh, of that I am very certain, Amalie. And I think I understand why you were able to survive, but that story is for another time."
She turned toward the small kitchen. "Are you hungry, my dear? I was just about to serve dinner when you returned."
Amalie then realized that it had been hours since she had last eaten. The thought had just thundered across her mind when her stomach growled so loud it sounded like thunder to her.
"Yes, oh, yes, I'm famished."
"Well, let's sit and eat and you can tell me all about that handsome fellow who brought you home."
    As they ate Amalie described in detail her escape from the funeral fires and how Apollo had found her and scared her half to death. Since she had slept in her savior's arms all the way to castle, there was little to tell about that part of her journey, but she took great joy in describing the inside of the very large, very beautiful castle in which she had made her recovery. Her aunt listened intently to her story, taking in every detail as she herself had never ventured outside of the village.
    "And what was his name again, dear?"
"Marius Lupescu of Castle Bran."
"Oh!"
The interjection made Amalie stop chewing to look at her aunt with a quizzical expression. Her aunt merely smiled and waved a hand of dismissal.
"I'm sorry, Amalie, I just bit my jaw and it was quite painful."
Amalie chuckled, and agreed, yes, that does hurt abominably when it happens, and she continued to stuff her face for the second time in a day. After they had cleaned the dinner dishes, the ladies took some time to relax in the small sitting room, neither feeling the need to converse. They enjoyed the quiet of the evening and, presently, Olga noticed that Amalie had drifted into a light sleep. She watched her for a while, wondering if the stories her sister had hinted about were true.
Olga rose and made her way to her bedroom. She knelt before an old trunk and opened it. The chest was made from Romanian pine and was covered with very ornate carvings, with black metal hinges and locks. It was a very old trunk; Olga only knew it had belonged to her mother, but you could tell it was almost ancient by the look and the feel of it. She smiled as she remembered her mother, a Romanian beauty with silky black hair and very blue eyes which could be almost black at times. She had been passionately devoted to her family. Her husband, Olga's father, had been every inch a high-born gentleman. He had been tall and stocky, though not fat, and carried himself in such a way that people would step aside in respect if they met him on the street.
With a nostalgic sigh, Olga pulled a packet of letters from the chest and made her way back to the living room. She glanced over at her niece, who was still napping peacefully, and untied the twine that held the letters together. Sadness threatened to overwhelm her as she caressed the worn parchment. Had it really been so long ago that she had been forced by circumstances to change everything about herself and her way of life?
She opened the first letter and moved her lantern closer so that she could better see the faded words written in her sister's flowing hand.

Dearest Olga,
It has been so long since I have seen you and I hope this letter, the first of many, will find you still alive and unharmed. I know our parent's death was very difficult for you and I hope that you have made at least a tentative peace with the circumstances as I have tried to do. It was not easy for either of us, but it now seems that I have lost a sister as well, and that saddens me so.
I miss you, sweet sister, and I hope that you will return to me. I feel all alone in this horrible world of death. I have dreams about what I saw that night, nightmares that haunt me and yet they intrigue me. I sometimes find myself wondering if the dreams were more of a calling, for I feel a strange yearning to yield to some of the horrors that we witnessed.
The Christian church here has been very kind to me since that horrid day when you left, and I only hope that they never discover the truth about me...or you and our parents. It is better if no one here knows. No one can EVER know! They have taught me how to pray to God for guidance, and I have been praying that God will guide me to the murderers who took our parents from us and have caused us such pain. I fear that if I find them, I will then also need to seek forgiveness for what I shall do to them.
There is a family here who has spoken to the priest (though I think this Christian church calls him a "Pastor") about how they would like to have me come and live with them. They are childless and seem very nice, but I have told the priest that I am hoping you will return and we can be a family once more.
Well, the night grows dark and it is almost time to have to put the candle out. They have strange customs here that you must sleep in the night and work in the day. I am forced to go outside and the sun burns my skin so that the sisters of the church have given me a hat and gloves to wear when the sun is out. Those help to make it more bearable, but I still cannot adapt to the change of the time.
I pray for you every night, dear Olga, that this God will protect you and bring you home. I hope to receive a letter from you in return so that I can know with certainty that you are receiving my letters.
All my heart's love,
Alina