The doctor’s hand remained on the latch.
“I know.”
“I would like to continue doing so.”
Paloma turned.
There was no anger in her face. Only sadness.
“You may find,” she said softly, “that trust and complete knowledge are not always the same thing.”
Before Mother Caridad could answer, footsteps approached.
Sister Esperanza appeared with Lucía. Miguel slept in a cloth cradle against Lucía’s chest, while Tomás held her hand.
Esperanza looked from the doctor to Mother Caridad.
“You came quickly.”
“I wanted to make sure you were well,” Paloma said.
She opened the infirmary door.
“Shall we?”
The examination was gentle and brief.
Doctor Paloma asked Esperanza a series of questions, took her pulse, and carefully pressed her abdomen. She then opened a small leather pouch and prepared a test.
Mother Caridad stood by the window.
Sister Lucía waited outside with the children.
Esperanza sat on the edge of the narrow bed, watching the doctor’s hands.
“You seem tired,” Paloma said.
“I have two little ones.”
“That would explain much of it.”
“Will there be a third?”
“We will know soon.”
Esperanza looked at her.
“You already know.”
Paloma paused.
“What makes you say that?”
“The way you looked when you entered.”
“That is not a medical sign.”
“No. It is a human one.”
The doctor placed the test aside and met her gaze.
“You have become more observant.”
“I have had reason to.”
Mother Caridad turned from the window.
“Esperanza, is there something you wish to tell us?”
The young nun folded her hands.
“I remember pieces of things.”
Doctor Paloma went still.
