Prey for a Miracle

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Prey for a

  Miracle

  Also by Aimée and David Thurlo

  The Sister Agatha Series

  Bad Faith Thief in Retreat

  The Ella Clah Series

  Blackening Song

  Death Walker

  Bad Medicine

  Enemy Way

  Shooting Chant

  Red Mesa

  Changing Woman

  Tracking Bear

  Wind Spirit

  White Thunder

  Mourning Dove

  Prey for a

  Miracle

  AIMÉE AND DAVID THURLO

  St. Martin’s Minotaur New York

  This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  PREY FOR A MIRACLE. Copyright © 2006 by Aimée and David Thurlo. All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

  www.minotaurbooks.com

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

  Thurlo, Aimée.

  Prey for a miracle / Aimée and David Thurlo.—1st ed.

  p. cm.

  ISBN 13: 978-0-312-32210-6

  ISBN 10: 0-312-32210-0

  1. Nuns—Fiction. 2. Catholics—Fiction. 3. New Mexico—Fiction. I. Thurlo, David. II. Title.

  PS3570.H82P74 2006

  813’.54—dc22

  2006040535

  First Edition: June 2006

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  To Carol and the folks at the Roswell Animal Humane Association,

  who, over the years, have brought us some of

  our most beloved canine companions

  Authors’ Note

  Angels, heavenly visitors—we’ve always been fascinated by this subject and have researched it on our own for years. Then one day, the basis for a new storyline came to us and we couldn’t wait to get started.

  As usual, this book unfolded in stages, not all at once. We sat in our den, tossing ideas out, letting our partner improve upon it or shoot it down altogether. (Just so you know, this is the fun part of a book, and the most stressful!) David and I have worked out a system so feelings aren’t hurt. We work by playing off each other’s ideas until the right one comes along and then build on that. Of course, that doesn’t preclude a throw pillow being hurled at someone’s head every now and then. After thirty-six years of marriage, we’ve learned play is important, too.

  Prey for a Miracle turned into one of our all-time favorites. The underlying theme mirrors our belief that no one is ever alone, despite what the eye can see. It’s a story about strength of conviction, about serving God, and the power of innocence. Mostly, it’s a story about trusting God and the blessings that brings.

  I hope you’ll enjoy the story and remember—God’s universe is filled with possibilities!

  Acknowledgments

  A special thanks to Diane and Phillip Uzdawinis for answering a gazillion questions, especially during those occasions when the hour was late and the information was crucial.

  Prey for a

  Miracle

  Prologue

  IF THEY REACHED ST. AUGUSTINE’S, SHE AND HER DAUGHTER would be safe. Her brother Rick was the priest there. Before he’d become Father Mahoney, Rick had been a pro wrestler—stage name Apocalypse Now. Rick could handle any threat to her or Natalie; she was certain of it. She and her daughter would find sanctuary at St. Augustine’s Church until they could leave New Mexico for good. It was the only answer.

  The heavy pounding of rain on the windshield of their old car had eased, but the road was still incredibly dark, and her range of vision only extended a few feet beyond the glow of the headlights. Ever since they’d left the house she’d had the feeling that they were being followed, but the lights in her rearview mirror had never come any closer. Another false alarm, that’s all.

  Wishing she’d contacted the district attorney the instant the threats and calls had begun instead of playing it cool—quietly planning their escape—Jessica began to recite another prayer under her breath. Sometimes running away was the right answer. She’d just hand over the evidence to her brother. He’d know what to do with it after she and Natalie were long gone.

  “Mom? Are you scared?”

  Jessica looked over at Natalie, her eight-year-old daughter, trying to manage a smile. She was afraid to speak in a normal tone, knowing her voice would crack and her tears would start again, so she just shook her head.

  “You sure?”

  Jessica swallowed, determined not to cry. “Just another ten minutes, maybe less,” she muttered in a barely audible voice. Then the nightmares would be over—or at least postponed for a while longer.

  “Huh? Mom, what’s in ten minutes?” Natalie said, poking her head out of the hooded jacket to look around, then sitting up to glance out the side mirror.

  That’s when Jessica saw the vehicle following them closing the gap. The glare from the high beams was blinding now, but she didn’t dare take her hand off the wheel to flip that thing on the rearview mirror that would deflect the light.

  She sneaked a look over at her daughter. “Let’s play a game, Natalie,” she said, surprised that she’d managed to make her voice sound so calm. “Scrunch down and pretend you’re hiding.”

  Natalie started to turn in her seat to look behind them. “Huh? Hiding from what?”

  “Just do it!” Jessica yelled as the car on their tail started to go around them.

  Jessica eased off on the gas, desperately hoping she’d been worried about nothing. If the car was just trying to pass, it couldn’t possibly be him.

  Hanging onto the wheel with both hands, Jessica prayed, looking straight ahead and focusing on doing what was necessary to protect herself and Natalie. “Come on and pass me. The road is clear,” she whispered.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she saw that the vehicle nearly beside them now was a pickup. A tan pickup! Her heart nearly stopped as she caught a glimpse of the driver’s baseball cap. The light was bad, but she now knew who it was.

  Refusing to admit defeat, she let off on the gas, hoping he’d shoot past her, but the truck stayed even with her. Prayers forgotten, she concentrated solely on survival. Nothing else mattered now.

  Then the pickup accelerated and swerved into their lane. Jessica hit the brakes instinctively. “Hang on, Natalie!” she screamed. The loud, metallic screech that followed drowned out the sounds of their terror.

  The car trembled and they ricocheted off to the right, onto the shoulder of the road. Jessica fought the wheel, afraid they’d turn over on the soft ground. A heartbeat later they hit something hard and the car jumped, then skidded through brush and crashed through a wooden fence. The wild bouncing seemed to go on forever, then the car came to an abrupt stop.

  Jessica’s head slammed into the steering wheel, and bounced back painfully. An all-encompassing darkness threatened to overcome her, but she fought it back, knowing what was at stake. Something warm was running down her face—not rain. Her nose was numb and probably broken, and her lips were starting to swell.

  The headlights were still on, though the engine had stopped, and she saw a figure pause in front of their car. Recognizing the face in the glare helped her summon up her courage and she strained to move her head, looking for Natalie.

  “Mom? You’re hurt. There’s blood on your face.”

  “Natalie, get out of the car. Now! Run and hide.”

 
; “Mom?”

  Hearing the fear in her child’s voice tore at her very soul, but there was no time to comfort her. “Run and hide, Natalie. Now!” Jessica’s head almost exploded as she moved, but she reached out and pushed Natalie.

  Even as the pain came to her in waves too powerful to fight, the darkness called softly to her. The sudden breeze that told her Natalie had opened the door helped her hang on a moment longer. “Run!” Jessica managed once more, her voice thick.

  Hearing a thud on the windshield Jessica forced herself to look back. A hand was pressed against the glass, and she heard her name being called. But the voice quickly blended with the sounds of the night and began fading away. Blackness awaited, and within that was peace—and silence.

  1

  SILENCE DEFINED THE MONASTERY—EXCEPT DURING RECREATION. The hour before Compline, the concluding canonical hour of the Divine Office, was a time of community togetherness. Pictures and letters from family and friends, parts of the lives they’d each left behind, were passed around freely. Over the years, the names and faces had all become part of a bigger family here at Our Lady of Hope Monastery.

  Tonight, Sister Maria Victoria had photos of her new baby niece to show, and Sister Gertrude had received a letter announcing that her cousin had entered the priesthood. On the outside, these bits of news might have been glossed over, but here they were savored and relished as gifts from an ever present and good God.

  Sadness, too, was more bearable a burden when shared by the entire community. After Sister Clothilde’s sister had passed away at another monastery few months ago, everyone had taken part in an all-night vigil. Through their shared prayers, the pain of one had been borne by many shoulders, lessening its crushing weight.

  Now laughter rose easily among them almost in defiance of the storm brewing outside. The windowpanes rattled as the wind whistled through the cracks, announcing the rain that would quickly follow. As was the custom among long-time New Mexico residents, the nuns walked to the open back door to watch the rare event. Pax, the monastery’s large, white German shepherd, remained behind, content to sleep through the commotion.

  “We’re in for a gully washer tonight,” Sister Bernarda said. The former Marine turned nun had a delivery that made even the simplest of sentences sound like an order.

  “This should help ease the drought a bit. It’ll be a blessing, providing the rain doesn’t evaporate before it hits the ground,” Sister Agatha said quietly. Truth was, she didn’t like thunderstorms.

  “This storm will bring a blessing,” Sister Ignatius said excitedly. “Look! Do you see it?”

  “What?” Sister Agatha asked, glancing over Sister Bernarda’s massive shoulders.

  “There! That cloud looks just like an angel with huge, feathered wings. This morning at prayer I asked the Lord to send us an angel as a sign that the monastery’s financial problems would soon be over, and there it is! And just to make it perfect, the angel has appeared to us in the middle of a storm!”

  Sister Agatha looked up at the clouds and tilted her head, trying to discern the shape Sister Ignatius was describing. As she brought her cheek down and pushed it against her shoulder, a form began to take shape—but she couldn’t swear that it wasn’t a giant rabbit.

  Sister Bernarda looked at Sister Agatha and shrugged.

  “Maybe the angel won’t appear to us externs,” Sister Agatha told Sister Bernarda with a ghost of a smile.

  “It’s the price we pay for not taking a vow of enclosure—we become too affected by the world,” Sister de Lourdes, their newest extern said, joining them.

  “I suppose it’s all in how you look at it, but in my opinion we ex-terns have the best job of all,” Sister Agatha said with complete conviction. Extern nuns were part of the contemplative life of the monastery where prayers and a lifetime spent in service to God defined who and what they were. But externs also ventured into the outside world. The monastery relied on them to run errands, escort a plumber or an electrician onto the premises, and to be the liaison between the monastery and the community. It was that duality Sister Agatha loved the most, and she couldn’t imagine any greater blessing.

  Sister Agatha glanced at Sister de Lourdes. The petite young woman had been known as Celia just two short years ago, a postulant headed for a life as a cloistered nun. But now she was an extern nun, having placed her own wishes aside to answer the needs of the monastery. Celia had been her godchild, and Sister Agatha hadn’t exactly welcomed her into the monastery. But there was no doubt that Sister de Lourdes’s calling was genuine.

  Sister Agatha’s musings were interrupted when the bell announcing Compline rang. The sisters stepped away from the door, heads bowed, and began walking silently toward chapel. The stillness that surrounded them now as they entered the chapel provided a comfort all its own. It was the serenity and quiet that helped make Our Lady of Hope Monastery a spiritual fortress. Body and soul had to be at peace before the heart could attain union with the Divine.

  As they began chanting the Divine Office, Sister Agatha felt a clear sense of God’s presence. Compline meant “to make the day complete” and that was precisely what the liturgical hour did. The prayers being chanted now were a daily reminder that He whom they served was faithful.

  “And under His wings shall thou find refuge.” The words of the psalm said it all. Here at Our Lady of Hope, she’d found the “pearl of great price” that had required her to give up everything to possess it. A woman surrendered much when she answered God’s call. Turning her back on the right to have children and a family of her own, Sister Agatha had embraced another life, one where the spirit was fed daily, but human needs had to be set aside. Yet this was precisely where she belonged.

  After Compline, the Great Silence began. Except for a grave emergency, it wouldn’t be broken until after Morning Prayers the following day. Listening to the storm raging outside, Sister Agatha lingered in chapel after the cloistered sisters had left. The two other externs, whose duties often prevented them from having time for silent meditation, had also chosen to remain.

  Sister Agatha’s gaze focused on the sanctuary light flickering over the tabernacle. The flame was a symbol of the living presence there—of the One they loved. Though rain continued to fall outside and the rumble of thunder shook the windows, the menacing gloom couldn’t disturb the blessed serenity of their chapel.

  As the rain peaked in intensity, Sister Agatha heard one of the branches of the cottonwood tree outside hit the roof with a heavy thud. Flat roofs—old flat roofs—had a tendency to leak, particularly during downpours like the one they were experiencing now. She made a mental note to check things out tomorrow morning.

  Focusing once again on her prayers, Sister Agatha’s gaze shifted to the statue of the Blessed Mother. The stand of votive candles before it cast a maze of dancing shadows on the wall, but it was the liquid shimmer there that drew her to her feet and in for a closer look.

  As Sister Agatha reached the far corner, her fears were confirmed. Water was trickling down from the ceiling. The light from the candles played on the drops, making them sparkle with a benign grace that was dangerously deceptive. A water leak here in the chapel could do untold damage.

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. Turning her head, she saw Sister Bernarda standing there with a worried frown. Sister de Lourdes approached a moment later from the sacristy, flashlight in hand. After using a bright light to examine the rivulets of water running to the floor, Sister de Lourdes pointed to the ceiling, which was bowed slightly in one section. Sister Bernarda looked back at Sister Agatha and, without breaking the Great Silence, pointed with her thumb toward the chapel doors.

  It was obvious that she wanted to go up to the roof now and not wait until morning. Sister Agatha nodded in agreement. The water would have to be drained immediately to prevent the ceiling from collapsing.

  Sister Agatha went to the front doors and stepped outside. Lightning was only visible behind the mountains now, and there was no mor
e rain. The downpour had been typical of New Mexico storms— impressive but short-lived.

  Sister de Lourdes and Sister Bernarda came out to join her a moment later. After seeing that the canales, the protruding gutters, were clogged and the water wasn’t draining properly, Sister Bernarda and Sister de Lourdes followed her lead and walked to a storage shed to retrieve a long ladder and more flashlights.

  Once the ladder was in position, Sister de Lourdes climbed up while Sister Bernarda held it steady and Sister Agatha aimed a flashlight. But as Sister de Lourdes reached the highest safe rung, it was clear she was too short to hoist herself up onto the roof.

  Sister Agatha took a deep breath then signalled for Sister de Lourdes to come down. A few minutes later, trying to ignore the way her arthritic joints screamed with pain in this kind of weather, Sister Agatha stepped onto the ladder. Sister Bernarda’s fear of heights was something she’d never quite mastered, and making her climb up now with only the glow of a flashlight for guidance seemed uncharitable. It was up to her.

  Sister Bernarda tapped her on the leg, signalling for her to come back down. Sister Agatha came off the ladder and stepped away. Before she could figure out what was going on, Sister Bernarda grasped the sides of the ladder and climbed up.

  With a sigh, Sister Agatha helped Sister de Lourdes steady the ladder and aim the flashlights. So many people thought that they lived loveless lives here in the monastery, but she’d seen more genuine affection since her arrival at Our Lady of Hope than she’d ever known on the outside. Love here often took the form of small, selfless acts of courage like what Sister Bernarda had just done.

  Sister Agatha placed her flashlight in a pocket, forced her swollen hands to grip the sides of the ladder, and climbed up to join Sister Bernarda. Two could work faster than one. As she hoisted herself up onto the roof, she saw Sister Bernarda’s grateful smile.