The second man to plunge through the front door was Quigley carrying a machine gun. "Okay," he shouted, "hands over your heads, everybody-Weathermen move to the left and Black Liberation Army to the right . . ."
Epilogue
"Well, I think that's about it," said Sister John, studying the kitchen with a critical eye. She noticed a dried mustard blossom under the sink. "Do you have the list there, Sister Hyacinthe?"
Pencil in hand Sister Hyacinthe began reading it aloud, ticking off the entries one by one. "Five sheets of inventory. House keys. Safe-deposit keys and receipt. Soup kettle. Books. Herbs. Including," she said with a glance at the bare ceiling, "twelve bags of drying mustard."
"And garbage," added Sister John, removing the bag from under the sink. "Unless," she said with a glance at Alfie, "you'd like the eggshells?"
"You can keep them," Alfie told her generously. "I must say we're going to miss Quigley, though. Last night we had to drive all the way to the town dump with our bottles and cans."
Sister John shook her head. "I still find it incredible that you've been under surveillance for a year because of that book. It's the most preposterous thing I've heard of."
"Brill's a dangerous man," said Naomi with a grin.
"But for more than a year?"
"Well, you know how they explained it," Naomi reminded her. "Quigley's reports got buried in the files, the computer automatically kept sending pay checks to him and even after Quigley decided Brill wasn't going to blow up the Pentagon nobody read his reports or thought to call him off. It must have hurt Quigley's feelings terribly to discover he was a forgotten man."
"It's an insane world," said Sister John.
"Yes, and welcome back to it," Brill told her with a grin .
"But really I don't think Quigley came out of this badly," protested Alfie. "Once he recovered from the initial shock, of course. After all, with Sister Ursula back in the witness stand today testifying about IRS statements they'll soon have Grassia on tax evasion charges . . . They caught Scozzafava ordering Charlie to commit murder, not to mention unable to explain fifty pounds of cocaine on the premises. Of course I don't know who they'll arrest for the nineteen bodies buried in the back yard . . ."
"And to think I planted herbs over two of them," said Sister Hyacinthe.
"Nice touch, though," pointed out Naomi.
"But I'm going to go on worrying about Sister Ursula," admitted Sister Hyacinthe. "We worked so hard over him and people keep wanting to shoot him. It's no wonder he couldn't trust anyone and asked for sanctuary. What will happen to him?"
"Actually the FBI explained that to me last night," said Sister John, "and I've not had a moment to tell you. They're going to give him a new identity and new credit cards-apparently credit cards are very important-and set him up as an accountant in another part of the country. One can only wish they could provide him with a new character, too," she added with a sigh. "I've advised him to marry. He's only forty-one, you know, and there's still time."
"Always in there pitching," said Alfie admiringly.
"Of course." Tucking her bedroll under her arm she walked into the main hall and stopped, looking around her. The house was silent, the sun streaming through polished windows, bees murmuring outside in the wisteria. "This is a good house now," she said with feeling, "and later we'll make it even better. Where's Bhanjan Singh?"
"Outside with Melida and Alice."
She nodded, and gesturing them ahead of her closed the door behind them, turned the key in the lock and firmly shut the screen door.
Melida was waiting anxiously on the bottom step with Alice at her side. "You won't forget us, ma'am?"
"Of course I won't," Sister John told her in a shocked voice. "I've addressed and stamped a dozen envelopes for you, Melida . . . . Here they are, see? I want to hear from you every month so that I'll always know where you are and I can write you how matters are progressing. It'll take time, you know, two years at least."
Melida shook her head. "It don't matter, ma'am, so long as there's something to keep us glued together. We'll even come and sleep in tents if you say so."
"Tents," murmured Sister John, looking thoughtful. "What a clever idea! Brill, had we discussed tents at all?"
Over by the van Sister Hyacinthe was pressing a bouquet of herbs into Bhanjan Singh's hand. "There's rosemary for remembrance, and comfrey for healing, and yarrow for divination, and after meeting you I shall never feel lonely again."
He smiled and helped her to climb up behind the wheel of the van. " 'A lamp has no rays at all in the face of the sun,' " he said, " 'and a high minaret even in the foothills of a mountain looks low.' Will you be happy to return to St. Tabitha's?"
She nodded. "The elderberries will be in bloom, you know, and I won't have to wear shoes all the time."
Sister John, standing bemused in the center of the driveway said, "We really must go but it's such a wrench. Still," she added, brightening, "we'll have so much to tell them at St. Tabitha's, won't we, Sister Hyacinthe?" Comforted by this thought, she tossed her bedroll into the van and climbed in beside it. Looking radiant, she leaned forward and called, "It's been such a glorious experience, hasn't it?"
The engine abruptly roared into life and the van lurched forward, narrowly missing Alfie. Sister Hyacinthe stopped smiling and grabbed the wheel with both hands. "Good-by-God bless you," shouted Sister John, and slowly the van moved down the driveway to enter the trees lining Fallen Stump Road.
" 'A glorious experience,' " echoed Alfie dryly. "I'm still wondering what could have happened-what did happen-between Sister John and Charlie. Especially after it turns out that he cold-bloodedly murdered thirty-six people instead of twenty-three. Can anyone explain it?"
"I think," said Naomi solemnly, "that it had to be perfect faith-you heard Sister Hyacinthe. And I don't," she added fiercely, "see what else it could have been, do you?"
The sound of the van faded in the distance and they stood silent, reflecting, until Alfie straightened his shoulders and said, "Well, no sense in just standing here, it's time to get to work on tomorrow."
"Yes," said Bhanjan Singh, and turning for a last glance at the trees behind which the van had disappeared, he said softly, " 'For we are waves whose stillness is non-being. We are alive because of this, that we have no rest.' "
Gilman, Dorothy - A Nun in the Closet Page 17
