Thunder crashed so violently that she wondered if the isle had been rent in two. Alarmed by the intensity of the storm, she tossed off her blanket and threw on the long-sleeved underkirtle that, along with a tub of bathwater, had miraculously appeared in her chamber after last night’s supper. A high-pitched wail pierced the night, and Cristiane stumbled to her chamber door in the dark, wondering what the sound could have been. Another door in the gallery opened, and Adam stepped out, holding an iron lamp. In the dim light, Cristiane saw that he was still fully clothed as he walked in the direction opposite her. Cristiane followed, doubting he even knew she was there. He opened the door to another chamber farther down, and went in. With bare feet, Cristiane stepped into the doorway and watched as Adam approached his daughter, who cowered in terror in the center of her bed. She was silent, but her eyes were wide with fear, her mouth trembling. Another crash of thunder propelled her into her father’s arms.
