World Without End by Ken Follett

need? Will the sheep catch a murrain? Is the baby a girl, or a boy with a twisted leg? We never know, do we? That's...' He looked away. 'That's what makes it so hard.'
    He gave her the apple. Caris gave it to Gwenda, who ate it entire, core and pips, too.
    Brother Joseph arrived a few minutes later with a young assistant whom Caris recognized as Saul Whitehead, so called because his hair - what little he had left after his monkish haircut - was ash blond.
    Cecilia and Juliana came downstairs, no doubt to make room for the two men in the small bedroom. Cecilia sat at the table, but did not eat. She had a small face with sharp features: a little pointed nose, bright eyes, a chin like the prow of a boat. She looked with curiosity at Gwenda. 'Well, now,' she said brightly, 'who is this little girl, and does she love Jesus and His Holy Mother?'
    Gwenda said: 'I'm Gwenda, I'm Caris's friend.' She looked anxiously at Caris, as if she feared it might have been presumptuous of her to claim friendship.
    Caris said: 'Will the Virgin Mary make my mama better?'
    Cecilia raised her eyebrows. 'Such a direct question. I could have guessed you're Edmund's daughter.'
    'Everyone prays to her, but not everyone gets well,' Caris said.
    'And do you know why that is?'
    'Perhaps she never helps anyone, and it's just that the strong people get well and the weak don't.'
    'Now, now, don't be silly,' said Papa. 'Everyone knows the Holy Mother helps us.'
    'That's all right,' Cecilia told him. 'It's normal for children to ask questions - especially the bright ones. Caris, the saints are always powerful, but some prayers are more effective than others. Do you understand that?'
    Caris nodded reluctantly, feeling not convinced so much as outwitted.
    'She must come to our school,' Cecilia said. The nuns had a school for the daughters of the nobility and of the more prosperous townspeople. The monks ran a separate school for boys.
    Papa looked stubborn. 'Rose has taught both girls their letters,' he said. 'And Caris knows her numbers as well as I do - she helps me in the business.'
    'She should learn more than that. Surely you don't want her to spend her life as your servant?'
    Petranilla put in: 'She has no need of book learning. She will marry extremely well. There will be crowds of suitors for both sisters. Sons of merchants, even sons of knights will be eager to marry into this family. But Caris is a willful child: we must take care she doesn't throw herself away on some penniless minstrel boy.'
    Caris noticed that Petranilla did not anticipate trouble with obedient Alice, who would probably marry whomever they picked for her.
    Cecilia said: 'God might call Caris to his service.'
    Papa said grumpily: 'God has already called two from this family - my brother and my nephew. I'd have thought He would be satisfied by now.'
    Cecilia looked at Caris. 'What do you think?' she said. 'Will you be a wool merchant, a knight's wife, or a nun?'
    The idea of being a nun horrified Caris. She would have to obey someone else's orders every hour of the day. It would be like remaining a child all your life, and having Petranilla for a mother. Being the wife of a knight, or of anyone else, seemed almost as bad, for women had to obey their husbands. Helping Papa, then perhaps taking over the business when he was too old, was the least unattractive option, but on the other hand it was not exactly her dream. 'I don't want to be any of those,' she said.
    'Is there something you would like?' Cecilia asked.
    There was, although Caris had not told anyone before, in fact had not fully realized it until now; but the ambition seemed fully formed, and suddenly she knew without doubt that it was her destiny. 'I'm going to be a doctor,' she said.
    There was a moment of silence, then they all laughed.
    Caris flushed, not knowing what was so funny.
    Papa took pity and said: 'Only men can be doctors. Didn't you know that, buttercup?'
    Caris was bewildered. She turned to Cecilia. 'But what