Though she had adapted well to her new life, even come to take pleasure in it, Anna found herself increasingly haunted by questions about the Sisters—and recollections of her past. Her dreams, in particular, had taken on a frenetic pace, stitching together distant memories that came in rapid flashes—her mother’s unusual songs; Zahra’s medallion and her ragged plum robes; Solomon gazing into her eyes and saying, I believe, then, that you are ready; the woman who had spoken out in Jerusalem being hunted down by soldiers; and the revelation that Mother Susana was Zahra’s twin.

Then, as she was having these dreams, live sycamore branches had appeared in her cave, reminding her of the great old sycamore in her village, and the one on Zahra’s medallion.

To Anna, it seemed as if connections must exist among all these things.

The next day, intent on learning more, she approached Ruth.

Having expected the shepherd’s question, the round Sister replied, “So you knew the limbs were from a sycamore?”

“Of course!” Anna spouted. “There was such a tree in my village.”

“What village was that?”

“Nazareth.”

Ruth frowned. She knew nothing of that place. She pushed in a different direction. “Did Zahra, perhaps, teach you of the tree’s healing abilities?”

Anna’s face twisted up. “Of its what?” she asked.

Ruth nodded. “Then she did not.”

A silence fell between the women.

Ruth’s eyebrows drew together in consternation.

If Zahra had wanted Anna to join them, why had she not begun to teach her?

“And what of your mother and father?” Ruth asked, digging deeper.

Anna shrugged. “My father was a carpenter. My mother was”—she choked on her words and lowered her face to hold down the pain—“my mother was beautiful,” she whispered.

Seeing that their talk had upset the shepherd, Ruth decided not to press further. She placed a hand on her friend’s shoulder.

Anna collected herself, wiping a sleeve across her eyes. “I am sorry. It is just that …”

“You are confused as to why you are here?”

Anna nodded.

Ruth smiled. “I promise. You will have your answers. When you are ready.”

Anna balked. “But I am ready now,” she said.

Ruth tipped her head with understanding but said nothing further.

Anna took a deep breath and crossed her arms. “Sister Ruth,” she began, “you know now that I am not a danger. That I will not run away. I have tended the sheep as you have asked, and provided good milk for the Sisters. Why then will you not answer my questions? Or, at the very least, tell me from where you have obtained live sycamore branches?”

In reply to Anna’s question, Ruth asked one of her own. “If you had a ball of yarn, could you unwind it from the middle?”

“What?” Anna said, baffled.

“Of course you could not! And if you tried, you would ruin the entire ball.”