The questions swirled in my head. But no answers came. Would the answers ever come? My eyelids felt heavy, and a drowsy feeling came over me. There was not a sound to be heard except for Nurse Mason’s quiet breathing. I wondered had she fallen asleep, and I envied her. I fought back the sleep that was claiming me. How could I sleep with so many questions still to be answered, and so many worries to be eased?

The image of a woman’s face appeared in front of me. She knelt, crying, beside an empty bed, lit candles placed all around it. “Don’t cry,” I called out to her. “Don’t be worrying your head about me. I’m still here. I didn’t die.”

* * *

Over the next week I began to get my strength back. Nurse Mason had me walking down the corridor and back several times a day. In the beginning I felt an awful weakness in my legs, and a dizziness would come over me. I’d limp back to bed, leaning on the nurse. But in time I was able to walk without her help. My new-found freedom, such as it was, raised my spirits. Surely everything would be sorted out soon.

I expected the answers would flow easily out of my memory. But I was wrong. The answers came one day from an older, well-dressed woman who came into my room and sat down beside my bed.

“Ah, there you are. Thank God for His miracle.”

I stared at her. She was very tall—tall as a man. Even sitting down, she towered over me. Her hair was bright red, a color far too young for her age. Her eyes were clear blue and seemed to look straight through me. Her stare made me jittery.

“Who are you?” I blurted out.

She paid my question no heed. If I hadn’t known better, I’d have thought she was smiling at me.

“My name is Felicity Barrett Shaw,” she said, her accent an odd mixture of Irish brogue, marble-mouthed English toff and drawling American.

I stared at her. She patted my hand, and I noticed her long, slender fingers and a ring with a diamond the size of my fist. My mouth fell open.

“It’s perfectly all right,” she said. “I wouldn’t expect you to remember me.”

I swallowed hard. “What is my name?” I whispered.

“Oh, you poor dear. You must be so confused. Dr. Taylor told me you have no memory of who you are or what happened to you.” She paused and took a deep breath. “None of us knows your name.”

She must have seen the eyes popping out of my head, for she stopped talking for a minute. Then she went on. “I know this must all be such a shock to you, my dear, but you may as well hear the whole story now. No sense dragging things out, I always say.”