What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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ZARINNA'S CHEST HEAVED as she heard the man speaking with the others in the water. He was speaking in Applai, and she struggled to grasp the meaning. Her thoughts swirled—confusion and shame wrestling inside her.
What in the world should I do?
The question pulsed in her mind. She drew a deep breath, trying to steady herself. Then, almost instinctively, her feet began to move—slowly stepping away, away from them. With careful, tense movements, she slipped behind the bushes and saw another pathway. She didn't know where it led, but anywhere out of sight would do. It would be unbearable to face that man again, no matter how kind he was.
Without further thought, she followed the path, hoping it would lead somewhere near her uncle's lawn. She moved quickly, clutching the warmth of the ules wrapped around her damp skin. Relief sighed through her when she recognized familiar surroundings—the very path she took earlier to reach the spring.
Oh, thank You, God! Oh, thank You, God!
She nearly laughed in silent gratitude. It must have been a longer route circling the spring toward her uncle's property. She stepped over the wooden fence behind her cottage and hurried toward the door—caring for nothing else but to be inside, hidden.
Relief swelled in her chest as she shut the door behind her. The sun had dipped low, the sky glowing a deep, burning red. A shiver ran down her spine. For a moment, it was quiet—safe.
"Oh, thank You, Jesus..." she whispered, tapping her chest as she leaned back against the door. She bit her lip, the memory of the man flooding back into her thoughts.
A strange feeling clung to her heart.
"Oh goodness... what have I gotten myself into?" she murmured, looking down at the ules covering her. Shame lingered, yet gratitude fluttered alongside it. Who was that man? she wondered. What would have happened if he hadn't come?
Oh Lord, You are good.
She inhaled and walked to her bedroom, removing the woven fabric from her skin. Her body longed for the comfort of pajamas. She opened her dresser—but froze.
My clothes are still at the spring.
Every. Single. Piece.
Her palms pressed over her face.
Should I go back?
The thought lingered—then she pushed it away.
No. Too risky. Too humiliating.
She pulled on a warm pajama shirt and pants, and the moment they touched her skin, she slumped into bed.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow I'll get them. Surely, they'll still be there.
