Ambush at Shadow Valley by Ralph Cotton Page A

what we think. Right now it matters only what we do.’’
    â€˜â€˜I will do what God leads me to do,’’ the novice said, trying to sound strong through the raw, burning pain atop her bandaged head.
    â€˜â€˜Listen to me, Cecille,’’ Clarimonde said, using the name she’d heard the priest use. ‘‘If there is a secret way out of here, you had better take it. I’ll tell them that you managed to slip away from me.’’
    â€˜â€˜If I know of such a secret way out, will you come with me?’’ Cecille asked pointedly.
    Clarimonde avoided the young novice’s eyes. ‘‘No, I will stay. I know what I am doing. I will keep them busy while you get away.’’
    â€˜â€˜What will they do to you?’’ the young nun asked. ‘‘Beat you, torture you, rape you? I cannot have you suffer that for my sake.’’
    â€˜â€˜I would not be suffering for your sake.’’ Clarimonde continued to look away. ‘‘But let me worry about that when the time comes. If there is a way out of here, take it. Take it now.’’
    â€˜â€˜No.’’ Cecille stood up, stepped over to a wooden trunk and lifted the lid. She took out a clay jar, set it on the table and took off the thick lid. She dipped her fingers into a thick, gray oil filled with flecks of herbs and, reaching up under her arms, rubbed it on herself. ‘‘You must use this,’’ she said to Clarimonde, sliding the jar toward her. ‘‘It is something the old Indian’s wife made for me when I traveled to the villages. It is made to repel men.’’
    The rancid smell caused Clarimonde to turn away from her again. ‘‘No, I won’t use it,’’ she said.
    "Oh?" The novice gave her an almost accusing stare and said, ‘‘Don’t you want them to leave you alone?’’
    â€˜â€˜No,’’ Clarimonde said bluntly, ‘‘not if it means letting them see I have done something deliberately to turn them away. It will only make things worse for me . . . the same as it would only make it worse for me if they caught me trying to escape.’’ She stared at the young novice. ‘‘You used this oil before we arrived. I’ll tell them I couldn’t get rid of the smell. Perhaps it will help you—’’
    Her words cut short beneath a long scream and the pounding of nails coming from the courtyard. ‘‘Father! Father!’’ Cecille screamed. She tried to run out of the room to the courtyard, but Clarimonde, catching her around her waist, wrestled her back inside and slammed the heavy door. ‘‘Please, let me go to him!’’ she sobbed.
    â€˜â€˜There is nothing you can do for him now,’’ Clarimonde said, shoving her back into the room. ‘‘When the time comes, they will do even worse to you, if you don’t get out of here.’’
    The young novice only had to consider Clarimonde’s advice for a moment, the pain atop her bandaged head throbbing, intensifying with each beat of her racing pulse. ‘‘All right, I’ll go. But I will tell you the way to go, so that you can use it if you get a chance to get away from them.’’
    â€˜â€˜No, don’t tell me.’’ Clarimonde stopped her. ‘‘If they think you told me the way out of here, they will beat it out of me. I might not be strong enough to resist telling them.’’
    â€˜â€˜You would rather take a beating for something you do not know, than be able to stop it by telling them what you do know?’’ The young woman looked confused by Clarimonde’s logic.
    â€˜â€˜Just go. Go now!’’ said Clarimonde, taking no time to explain herself to an innocent. She gave the woman a shove toward a rear door and watched her hurry away. ‘‘Do not come back until you are certain we are