Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Finally assured that all was well, Sister Agatha returned to her cell, and seconds after her head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep.

  Sister Agatha woke up to the sound of the morning bell at four-thirty. She opened her eyes slowly, and as she started to stretch her legs, discovered something was weighing down the covers at the foot of the bed.

  The room was still dark and her first thought was that Mary Lazarus had found her way here after a second episode of sleepwalking. As her eyes adjusted, however, Sister Agatha realized that the large shape at the end of the bed bore no resemblance to the novice.

  She scarcely breathed. She’d heard of visitations—what nun hadn’t? But she’d always assured the Lord and all his saints that none of them had to go to the trouble of visiting her personally. The possibility terrified her.

  With a burst of courage, she sat up and reached out toward the dark bundle.

  A wet tongue licked her hand. With a tiny shriek, she jumped out of bed and turned on the light.

  A solid white German shepherd who looked nearly the size of a Volkswagen lay at the foot of the bed, staring at her, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in a contented doggy grin.

  Sister Agatha stared at him in shock. What was this animal doing in her room? Where had it come from? Her door was partially open. She always left it like that during the summer to take advantage of the cross-ventilation from the hall window and the one in her cell.

  For several long moments, neither she nor the dog moved. He showed no signs of aggression so finally she went over and searched around his neck for a collar, but there wasn’t one. “You look too well fed and cared for to be a stray, so I know you’ve got an owner, boy,” she said, realizing how clean the dog’s coat was and noting that his nails had been trimmed recently. “Come on. I’ve got to go now, and you’ve got to get out of here.”

  She tried pulling him off the bed, and then cajoling him, but neither worked. The dog lay there, oblivious to her efforts.

  Hearing the sisters going outside for Matins, she realized it was time to get going.

  “One last chance, dog. You either come with me now or spend the next few hours cooped up in this stuffy room.”

  The dog stood, climbed off the bed, and joined her at the door.

  “That’s much better.” The dog followed her, and she left him in the enclosed patio area just outside the kitchen doors before hurrying to join the other nuns for Matins.

  After Lauds, Sister Agatha hurried back to check on the dog, but some of the other sisters had already discovered him. Sister Clothilde was petting the animal and scratching it behind the ears. Sister Ignatius was feeding it some of the nuns’ oatmeal, and Sister Gertrude was trying to brush it.

  No one said anything, unwilling to break the Great Silence that would stretch out until after Morning Prayer, but it was clear they were happy to find the dog, and the animal certainly loved the attention he was getting.

  Sister Bernarda took one look at the animal, then soundlessly mouthed a message to Sister Agatha. “We’ve got to talk later.”

  Leaving the dog on the patio with a large bowl of water, they went into the refectory for breakfast, eating in silence while Sister Mary Lazarus read from the Bible. The table at the front of the room was reserved for Reverend Mother, who never seemed to look up or become distracted during meals. On the front wall, directly to Sister Agatha’s right, was a large cross, and beneath it was a table that held a human skull—a reminder that mortal life, with its joys and sorrows, was fleeting.

  As always, Sister Agatha did her best to avoid looking at the skull. It made her uncomfortable, but over the years, her wry humor had helped her accept the monastic custom. These days when she looked at it, she always had to fight the temptation to offer the thing a spoonful of their stick-to-your-ribs oatmeal.

  After Morning Prayers, Sister Agatha paid the friendly animal a visit. The dog was so sweet natured she was really tempted to take him to the parlor with her. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure what Reverend Mother’s ruling on that request would be.

  As she crouched before him, petting and talking to him, Sister Bernarda appeared. “We used to have service dogs like that in the Marine Corps,” she said, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “Does he know any commands?”

  “Like what?”

  “Sit!”

  Sister Agatha sat on the ground and noticed the dog had done the same.

  “Your Charity, I was talking to the dog,” Sister Bernarda said with a tiny smile. “But I guess both of you know the command.”

  Sister Agatha laughed. “It’s your tone. A tree would march for you.”

  Sister Bernarda went through several more commands, then stopped and praised the dog. “You’ve been trained well.” She also automatically checked for dog license tags but, finding none, suggested they call the newspaper, the animal shelters, and the local veterinarians.

  Sister Bernarda then went to the scriptorium to work while Sister Agatha took her duty post as portress and made the calls. The monastery had only two phones, this one and one in Reverend Mother’s office. Only externs handled incoming phone calls, and these were carefully logged by the portress, who would then make sure the messages were delivered as needed.

  An hour later, she sat in the parlor, frustrated. She still hadn’t found the owner of the dog. But as she’d worked, one other very disturbing thought had occurred to her and it was something she couldn’t push out of her mind.

  Sister Bernarda came into the parlor just then. “Reverend Mother asked about the dog. I’ve told her we’re trying to find his owner.”

  “But not successfully,” she muttered.

  “Your Charity, I’ve been thinking about the dog and there’s a very important question we need to answer,” she said.

  “How did he get in?” Sister Agatha said with a nod.

  “Exactly. The monastery’s doors are locked at night, and the wall around the monastery grounds is too high for him to jump. If he’s found a way in—maybe it’s a way that’s open to a two-legged intruder as well.”

  “I thought of that, too. Our gate is kept closed at night and padlocked. No one could get through there, or under. The area is graveled with limestone, and that’s hard to dig through,” Sister Agatha said thoughtfully.

  “It’s a puzzle, but one we need to answer quickly. He couldn’t have come out of nowhere,” Sister Bernarda said.

  Slowly a smile spread across Sister Agatha’s features. “This whole thing reminds me of Father Don Bosco’s guardian angel dog, Gerigio. Remember the story? The animal always appeared in times of trouble and guarded Father as he went about his work in the slums in Turin. Maybe this dog’s appearance now is a sign that we’re being watched over.”

  “Now you’re starting to sound like Sister Ignatius. She’s always seeing signs in everything. Of course, in all fairness, she never fails to get them when she prays for one.” Sister Bernarda glanced at her watch. “I better get back to the scriptorium.”

  Sister Agatha spent another unsuccessful half hour trying to locate the dog’s owner. By then, Sister Bernarda had reappeared, ready to take over as portress. “I’m going to teach morning classes for Celia and Sister Mary Lazarus. Will you keep making phone calls?” Sister Agatha asked her.

  “Of course, and—” She suddenly stopped speaking and met Sister Agatha’s gaze. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but did you check the dog for a tattoo?”

  “You mean one that says Mom?” Sister Agatha teased.

  “No, I mean a tattoo with numbers or some code. The military used to tattoo its dogs, and so I wondered…”

  “I’ll go take a look right now.”

  Sister Agatha walked through the quiet cloistered halls,absently noting that Sister Eugenia, methodical and patient, was counting pills in the infirmary. Sister Clothilde and Sister Ignatius were in the bakery making altar breads. The automatic device could be heard all throughout the monastery making its whirring,
rhythmic, mechanical noise.

  As Sister Agatha passed the sewing room, she couldn’t resist peeking in to take a look at the quilted wall hanging. It was nearly finished and magnificent. Made in a dozen shades of blue and white, it depicted the kneeling Virgin with a dove that represented the Holy Spirit descending over her.

  She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, letting Sister Maria Victoria and Sister Gertrude know that she thought it was spectacular. Both nuns nodded and smiled, pleased, then offered her a closer look.

  She ran her fingers over the material. Her hands ached a bit today, but not as much as they had a week ago.

  As she examined the very tiny stitches of the quilting, she sighed with envy. She could have worked on this too, had her joints not been so troublesome these past few weeks.

  As quickly as the thought came she pushed it back. Envy was a sin—and green had never done much for her anyway.

  Bowing to them, she left the nuns to their work and went to find the dog, who was resting in the shade of the building now.

  She checked the dog’s underside, something the animal was perfectly happy to let her do, providing she scratched his belly while she was at it. She found nothing there. She then checked his ears, and near the top of the right ear, on the inside, she found a number. She wrote it down on a piece of paper and hurried back to the parlor.

  “You were right. What we’ve got here is a working dog,” Sister Agatha said. “I know the sheriff’s department has a canine unit, since their officers often patrol alone,” Sister Agatha said, “but this dog doesn’t seem to have the right temperament for a guard dog.”

  “You can never tell,” Sister Bernarda said. “Those dogs, from what I recall of the ones in the military, can be perfectly nice—until the right command is given.”

  “What’s the command?”

  “It depends. It can be anything from a foreign word to a simple English ‘get him.’ “

  After two transfers by the switchboard at the sheriff’s office, a deputy in the canine unit answered the phone. Sister Agatha described the dog who had found her, and the deputy replied immediately. “We’ve been looking all over the place for him. I didn’t know he was missing until I went out to give him breakfast. He dug a hole beneath his kennel sometime after lights-out and got out. But how did he get into the monastery? I thought your gate was closed and locked at night.”

  “All I can tell you is that he ended up in my cell—my room—this morning.”

  “We’ll send someone to get him. And don’t worry. He’s really mellow. One of the reasons we’ve been thinking of retiring him is because he no longer shows the aggression we need in police dogs. He’s too smart, and knows that his training is only a game, so he refuses to attack—even if we give him the right command.”

  “Is that command a word someone here might mistakenly use?”

  “No, Sister. Not unless you speak German.”

  “Okay.” She paused, then added, “What happens to the dogs when they’re retired?”

  “We usually try to find a home for them, but if that doesn’t work out, we euthanize them.” The deputy spoke to someone else in the room, then came back to the phone. “I’ll pick him up in about an hour. Is that okay?”

  “He’ll be waiting,” Sister Agatha answered, suddenly wishing she didn’t have to give the dog back. He’d come to them and it didn’t seem right to turn him out. Besides, he was such a nice dog. He deserved a place where he’d be more appreciated. She’d have to pray that he found the perfect home.

  After teaching her morning class for the novice and postulant, Sister Agatha went back to relieve Sister Bernarda in the parlor.

  “I’ll take over for you now so you can get some work done in the scriptorium,” Sister Agatha said. “Deadline on those projects isn’t far away now.”

  “This just came in for you,” Sister Bernarda said, and handed her a message. “It’s from Mrs. Williams at the rectory. She was very eager to talk to you. She said it was urgent.”

  Sister Agatha called the rectory housekeeper as Sister Bernarda left to go to her next duty post.

  “Frances, this is Sister Agatha. What can I do for you?”

  “I need to speak to you, Sister—face-to-face, not over the phone. Father Mahoney, our temporary pastor, has been delayed, so I can’t discuss this with him, and I don’t know what to do. You see, I remembered something concerning Father Anselm that I think may be important. But I don’t feel right telling the police about it, at least not yet.” She sighed loudly. “It’s complicated.”

  “All right. Wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.”

  5

  Sister Agatha went to the scriptorium to find Sister Bernarda, and was surprised to find Frank Walters there, too, though the local businessman had been granted a dispensation by the archbishop to enter the enclosure and help them maintain the scriptorium hardware. Mr. Walters was tall and in his early forties, with thinning brown hair that was liberally streaked with gray. He’d probably been a bit of a ladies’ man in his twenties, and had aged well. But he had never shown any disrespect by flirting with any of the sisters, and was always quite pleasant.

  “Hello, Sister Agatha.” Frank stood when he saw her enter. “My condolences for the loss of Father Anselm. It was such a shock for all of us who were here when he … died. He’ll be missed.”

  “Father is in heaven Mr. Walters. We’ll all miss him, but he’s in a better place now.” Sister Agatha went quiet for a few moments thinking about Father Anselm as she watched Frank Walters work “What’s the problem with our computers today?”

  “Nothing that acooler work space wouldn’t solve.” He shrugged. “Actually, I’d come by to offer a prayer and show my respect for Father Anselm, and thought I’d do some routine maintenance on the computers while I was here. I figured the recent crisis might have slowed down your work, and now you’ll be needing the computers to work at peak efficiency,As soon as I defrag the files and do a diagnostics check, I’ll be on my way.”

  Sister Agatha smiled. “We appreciate all you do for our monastery.”

  “I’m glad to help.” Frank turned back to the computer monitor, which had beeped a prompt.

  Sister Agatha turned to Sister Bernarda, who had been busy at one of the other computers. “Your Charity, I have to go into town. I’m needed at the rectory. Mrs. Williams has a problem.”

  “That’s all right,” Sister Bernarda said. “But you and I will have to put in extra hours later to catch up in here. I’m really behind now. Mr. Walter’s guess was right on target.”

  “We’ll manage. Reverend Mother has said we can recruit Celia and Sister Mary Lazarus to help us whenever we need, though you and I will have to choose appropriate projects for them to work on.”

  “That’s fine, but I still wouldn’t want to leave them in here completely unsupervised.”

  “Let’s work that out one step at a time,” Sister Agatha said, taking a deep breath. “My first priority now is finding a way to clear everyone here of complicity in Father Anselm’s death. This monastery needs to have its peace restored.”

  Sister Bernarda resumed portress duties from the scriptorium, something that was possible thanks to the scriptorium windows and the fact their phone had a loud ringer, and Sister Agatha headed to the rectory in town. She followed the required route that took her a short drive east to Highway 313, part of the historic trade route known as the Camino Real, or Royal Road, then south to Bernalillo. With the motorcycle in such excellent condition, the trip took much less time than it would have limping along in the station wagon.

  Sister Agatha loved the scent of the freshly mowed hay she passed, and the roar of the Harley and the feel of the wind whistling past her helmet. “ ‘Make a joyful noise unto the Lord,’ “ she said under her breath with a happy smile. The motorcycle was surely a gift from God, and such gifts were meant to be enjoyed.

  By the time she arrived at the rectory, she felt in much better spirits. As she shut of
f the engine, Frances came outside to meet her. “Sister, I’m so glad you’re here.”

  The cool air-conditioned rectory, in contrast to the hundred-degree heat outside, seemed like a blessing all its own. They sat in the living room, where Frances offered Sister Agatha a glass of lemonade. “Thank you for coming, Sister. My loyalty is to this parish, and I want to avoid a scandal, but with the sheriff involved I don’t know how much I should say.”

  “About what?” Sister Agatha asked, curiosity piqued.

  “Do you know Joan Sanchez, one of our parishioners?”

  Sister Agatha nodded. “She’s a friend of Anne Gellar’s, isn’t she? I think she’s the one who drives Anne to Mass every day.”

  “Yes, that’s her. Mrs. Sanchez’s husband died a few months ago, and she hasn’t been quite right since. She used to come around here a lot to talk to Father. And I do mean a lot. For a while there, she became almost like a stalker. Wherever Father was, she was, and if she wasn’t here, she’d be busy calling the rectory. It was constant.”

  “Did Father ever say anything to you about that?”

  “Oh, of course not! He wasn’t one to complain. But Mrs. Sanchez called so frequently that Father started asking me to take messages so he wouldn’t have to speak to her so often. He’d never done that before.”

  “And you haven’t told the police that yet?”

  “I was planning to ask Father Mahoney if I should—I mean, I don’t think Mrs. Sanchez had anything to do with Father’s death. But now Father Mahoney’s been delayed and I don’t know what to do. It may be several days before he gets here, I’m told.”

  She thought of the nuns at the monastery. To some, going without daily mass was nearly unthinkable. “I think the archbishop’s office needs to be reminded how much the sisters need their chaplain,” she said softly.

  “I’ll take care of that for you, Sister. I need to call them anyway on a matter concerning this month’s bills. But what should I do about Mrs. Sanchez? I don’t want to suggest anything about Father Anselm that may give rise to some nasty gossip.”