Free The Quality of Mercy by Faye Kellerman

hands but hers. Were her hands any less capable than Benjamin’s, than Dunstan’s or Thomas’s? But her hands had the misfortune to be attached to the body of a woman.
    She swallowed back tears, cursed her lot in life. A moment later she broke into sobs, feeling sudden shame at her rantings. Why had she been allowed to live and her betrothed taken in his prime?
    Poor Raphael, how did you meet your end?
    Rebecca had loved him because it had been her duty. She had addressed him with a modulated tone of voice, greeted him with smiles, suffered his dark moods in silence. She knew it was his work, not she, that had been his true passion. Life was a mysterious animal. In the end it was his passion that did him in. She worried that the passion might also destroy her dear Miguel.
    Miguel was her distant cousin but her brother in spirit. He’d never been a lover of women. Yet he was also a dutiful son. If their fathers wished them to wed, they would wed. And what a mockery that would be.
    There was a knock on her door, her mother’s whisperings. Rebecca forced herself upright, unlocked the door, then fell back atop her counterpane. Sarah Lopez, clad in her bedclothes, entered the bedchamber and sat on her daughter’s mattress. A moonbeam fell across her face, turned her cheeks ghostly white. Her eyes looked so sad, but Rebecca had never remembered a day when they had looked happy. Sarah brushed her waist-length gray hair off her shoulders and touched Rebecca’s hand. It was rigid and cold.
    “Under the covers, Becca,” Sarah ordered gently. “I’ll not allow you to grow ill from the frigid air. Tis a tomb inside here — dark and wintry. I’ll call the chambermaid and have her rekindle the hearth immediately.”
    Rebecca squeezed her mother’s hand. “How can I allow myself warmth and comfort when Raphael sits for eternity in an icy bed?”
    Sarah pulled back the bedcovers. “Inside, little one, I prithee.”
    Rebecca slithered underneath the down blanket. Sarah drew the spread up to her daughter’s chin.
    “I’m not half the clever wordsmith that you are, Becca,” spoke Sarah. “I’ve stayed up for hours trying to find proper words of solace, yet my mind is as empty as a newborn babe’s. Tell me what to do to comfort you.”
    Rebecca didn’t answer. Her mother’s voice, though soothing, sounded so weary. It saddened Rebecca to think that she’d brought any more woes to her mother. She embraced her mother and told her she loved her.
    Sarah said, “You are my joy, Becca. All I desire is happiness for you and Benjamin.”
    Rebecca knew this to be the truth. She’d never seen her mother engaged in idle play. Sarah’s life revolved around Father and his activities, around her and Ben.
    Rebecca asked, “Has Father made mention to you of my future?”
    “He has yet to return home from Uncle Jorge’s.” She sighed. “I suspect he’ll spend the night there. By and by you’ll know of Father’s intention. He’s never been one to hide from you his plans.”
    “I wish he’d leave me in solitude.”
    “That is impossible, dear Becca,” Sarah said. “While you’re still somewhat young, the years do pass by quickly. Best to have children while your womb is strong.”
    “I wish—” Rebecca realized how quiet was the night and dropped her voice. “I wish our religion allowed us nunneries.”
    “Black is a color ill-suited for your complexion,” Sarah said. She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Have you said your proper prayers for… for Raphael?”
    Rebecca nodded.
    Sarah said, “God will hear them.”
    Rebecca asked, “Have you told Grandmama about Raphael?”
    “
I
didn’t tell her, yet she knew,” Sarah said. “Sometimes I think my mother a witch rather than an addled old woman.”
    “She is neither,” Rebecca said. “She is a marvelous woman.”
    “Tis most inappropriate for you to doubt my love and affection for my mother, Becca.”
    Sarah’s voice held a wounded note. Rebecca picked up