“Me, too,” Monk added. “Mom and Dad like me home when they get off work.”
“Then you guys better all get going.”
“We’ll continue to keep an eye out around town. If we find any more plants, we’ll check to see if there’s any sign that they’ve been harvested or tampered with in any way, and let you know,” Grace said.
“I appreciate your help. And thanks for today,” Sister Agatha said. As she heard the monastery bells ringing the call to Vespers, she felt glad that Evening Prayer could be said in the chapel again.
She waved as they drove away, lost in thought. If either Timothy or Grace or Monk had been responsible for the attack on Father Anselm, it sure wasn’t obvious from their behavior today. Everyone had found monkshood and eagerly pointed the plants out to the others. They all seemed equally unlikely as troublemakers or pranksters. Everyone had searched hard, too, she’d made sure of that. Had she been hoping to find a suspect among the teenagers simply because she couldn’t face the alternative—that the murderer was someone inside the monastery? She just didn’t know anymore.
She shook free of the thought. The nuns weren’t guilty, and the kids she’d just been with were clearly innocent as well. There had to be another answer. At least they hadn’t found any monkshood close to the monastery itself.
As Sister Agatha went inside the monastery to join the sisters in prayer, she felt the weight of responsibility that rested on her shoulders. The nuns were all counting on her.
She remembered one of the rules of their order. If difficult or even impossible tasks were laid on a sister, she was to accept them in perfect obedience. The Rule of St. Benedict was as old as the origin of their order, and still stood as a marker of conduct in monasteries worldwide.
After Divine Office, she made her way to Reverend Mother’s office, hoping to catch her there before she left for the refectory. The abbess would want to know what progress had been made.
She was halfway down the hall when she heard faint footsteps behind her. Turning her head, she saw Sister Eugenia, who cocked her head, motioning toward the infirmary.
Experience had taught her that to resist one of sister’s requests was completely useless. Once they were in the infirmary, they were free to talk. Although the Great Silence wasn’t in effect, silence was the natural order of the monastery, except in the infirmary. Here, the monastery’s emphasis on silence took a backseat to compassion and charity.
“Sister Agatha, I saw you rubbing your hands during the Divine Office and I know you’re in pain. Your arthritis won’t go away on its own. Use the prescription you’ve been given. The pills will help keep the inflammation down—but for them to work, you’ve got to actually take them.”
“They’re so expensive, Sister, and make me vulnerable to infections after a while. And right now with Sister Gertrude having been hospitalized…”
“We’ll get by, but you can’t investigate and find answers if you’re in so much pain you can’t think clearly.”
Sister Agatha looked at her hands and noted her swollen joints and the redness that had been developing all day. The vibration of the motorcycle had soothed them for a while, but now the pain had returned. They felt as if she’d dipped them in fire. “It looks worse than it is, Your Charity,” she said, hoping to sound convincing.
“I doubt it. Take two now, with plenty of water, and come back tomorrow morning for two more. These have to be taken on a regular schedule, and at meals.”
Sister Agatha stood up slowly, swallowed the pills she was handed, and washed them down with a tall glass of water. The medicine would work. It always did. She tried to allow the relief she’d feel once the pain was reduced to outweigh her guilt over the expense. “Thank you.”
“I’ll watch out for you, Sister Agatha, even if you don’t watch out for yourself.”
Sister Agatha smiled, then bowed slightly and left. She was on her way to the parlor to lock up for the night when she saw Pax pacing by the open door to the scriptorium. Seeing her, he sat and whined. Curious, Sister Agatha approached him and, as she did, heard the soft sounds of someone inside the room crying.
Whoever it was, maybe she could help. Glancing inside, she found Celia at her carrel on the far side of the room, her face down in her hands.
“Celia, what’s wrong?” Sister Agatha asked, immediately going up to her.
“Mother Mistress, everything is! I can’t seem to do anything right. When Sister Mary Lazarus is in here, the computers practically sing for her. But every time I try to do something, they go into cardiac arrest.”
“It’s not you. It’s these old machines. You just have to reset them once they stop responding. And save your work often, otherwise you’ll lose whatever you inputted since the last time you saved, every time it crashes.”
“I’m trying, but I’ve been working on and off all afternoon, and I’ve only managed to do three pages of work. Every time I touch this thing, it locks up and I have to turn if off and start all over again.”
“Leave it for now, then. You’re not supposed to be working after Vespers anyway. Come on, let’s talk. I’ve been wanting some time to speak with you alone for a while now.”
Celia stared at her lap and Sister Agatha pulled up a chair. “Celia, has life in this monastery been what you expected? Peace should fill your heart here, yet I sense you’ve been very troubled. If you came to us from a mistaken reason— like trying to escape something on the outside—you’ll never find happiness here.”
“I never thought of the monastery as a place to escape,” she answered softly. “If I’d wanted a place to escape to, I’d have picked Tahiti, or at least a monastery with air-conditioning.” She smiled, wiping away a tear. “But, to me, this monastery has always been like a fortress. I remember looking up the road every time I passed by on the highway when I was a child. Even back then I knew this would be my home someday. Our Lady of Hope called to me.” She paused, then shook her head. “I’m not putting this very well.”
“Yes, you are. Go on.”
“Whenever I’d see nuns from other orders in the city, wearing their short habits and racing here and there like the laypeople, I always felt sorry for them. Their lives couldn’t have the peace that came from living in cloister. It’s hard to stay focused solely on God in the confusion of everyday life on the outside. But here, He’s in everything we do, because our thoughts are centered on Him all day.”
‘That’s a very idealistic outlook. There are problems here, too, remember, and not just those that require funds. I have a tendency to rattle my rosary beads—a habit that drives poor Sister Bernarda nearly crazy. And Sister Maria Victoria is a perfectionist when it comes to her sewing, and has to remind herself to be charitable with the ones who help her. Because we live side by side in such close quarters, little things like that can become a quite a trial, particularly when we haven’t had enough sleep, or we’re fasting. It’s not an easy life. Have you experienced that yet?”
“No place is perfect. But I want to belong here. And that’s why I get so upset with the computer. I want to do my share, but I don’t seem to have any talents at all. Sister Maria Victoria is a seamstress, Sister Ignatius can comfort all of us with her prayers and her signs, Sister Eugenia tends to the sick, you and Sister Bernarda are externs and keep everything running smoothly. But I don’t seem to have even one skill that will make me useful here.” She paused. “You probably sensed that all along, and that’s why you never wanted me here.”
“I didn’t want to be novice mistress—that’s the reluctance you sensed. It had nothing to do with wanting or not wanting you here,” Sister Agatha said softly. “God invited you. I would never try to interfere with that.”
“Well, now I’m here and I’m doing my best, but I’m just not much help to the other sisters. My mom always said I was slow and stupid. The one talent I do have doesn’t seem of much use here.”
“What’s your talent?”
“I sometimes see what other people m
iss. Little things, you know?” When Sister Agatha gave her a puzzled look, she added, “I can tell who’s happy, who’s afraid, and who’s sad, even here among the sisters.” She paused for a moment, then continued. “It’s the sad ones who worry me most. They’re like moths beating their wings against the window glass until they damage themselves.”
“Who are you talking about?”
Celia hesitated.
“Go on. Speak freely.”
“You’re always worried,” she said, not answering direcdy. “You love all the sisters here, but I can tell that you’re afraid that you’ll fail them. You spend a lot of time searching for answers, but you fail because you keep trying to make the facts fit in the way you’d like, instead of seeing what’s really there. You can’t make any progress if you’re afraid of what you’ll find.”
Sister Agatha stared at Celia in mute surprise. Uncertain what to say to the postulant, she stood up and tried to regain some of her composure. Celia had struck a very sensitive nerve.
Sister Bernarda walked in with Sister Mary Lazarus before she could say anything. “Oh, good, you’re both here already. Reverend Mother has excused us from collation so that we can continue our work. I’ve had Sister Clothilde prepare sandwiches and we can eat them at our carrels. With all of us working now, we may finally make some headway.”
Sister Agatha excused herself for a few minutes and hurried to make a quick call to the sheriff. Tom wasn’t there, so she left voice mail for him, asking if he’d learned anything new about Joan Sanchez, or when he’d visited St. Charles, then telling him what she’d learned about the small group of students she’d recruited to search for monkshood.
Returning to the scriptorium minutes later, Pax accompanying her, she began to work. Her hands were still a source of pain, but as the medicine took effect the discomfort dissipated somewhat. Typing was still out of the question for the time being, however, so she took on the job of scanning the pages of an original manuscript by Willa Cather. Pax lay beneath a table, out of the way.
Since the team in the scriptorium had given up their recreation hour, the other nuns each stopped by to offer support in an endless stream of solidarity. Sister Ignatius told them that she’d lit a votive candle for them. Sister Maria Victoria came by with a vase of roses. Sister Eugenia dropped in to take Pax for a walk.
As time passed, Sister Agatha kept an eye on Celia, making sure the young postulant didn’t lose her battle with the computer, and encouraging her whenever she could.
At the sound of the bell, Sister Bernarda gathered all of the original documents and within minutes had put them away in the safe and locked them up. Feeling tired and achy, Sister Agatha gladly followed the sisters to chapel. This month Sister Eugenia was Hebdomadaria, the nun whose task was to officiate at the Divine Office.
Sister Eugenia’s voice had the clarity of fine crystal as the two sides of the choir began the chant, one in a slightly higher pitch than the other. Their voices raised in prayer and praising God in this, their last canonical hour of the day, reverberated through the chapel. Their devotion was as real as the altar and the cross that hung above it. For that moment, they were one—with God and with each other. This was what gave meaning to every minute of their day.
When Compline ended, the sisters left the chapel, but Sister Agatha lingered, praying for strength and for the wisdom to find the answers the monastery so badly needed. Hearing the soft click of rosary beads behind her, she turned her head and was surprised to see Sister Bernarda in her stall. She nodded once, letting her know that she was there to support Sister Agatha’s prayers with her own.
The gesture filled her with gratitude. Magnificat anima mea Dominum. My soul doth magnify the Lord.
With the words still echoing in her mind, Sister Agatha glanced at Sister Bernarda and smiled. No words were needed. The weight on Sister Agatha’s shoulders no longer seemed unbearable.
She stood and genuflected facing the altar. She was simply a nun with a job to do, with backup more powerful than anyone could ever dream.
10
On the way to her cell, Sister Agatha met Pax in the corridor outside the chapel where he usually lay waiting until her prayers were finished. They hadn’t gone more than a few feet when Sister Eugenia caught up to her. “Sister, please come to the infirmary,” she whispered.
The Great Silence, which began after Compline and ended after Morning Prayer, was broken only during grave emergencies, and her stomach tied into knots as she followed Sister Eugenia down the long hallway to the infirmary.
As she entered the room, she saw Sister Gertrude on one of the beds, her face pale.
Sister Agatha looked quickly at Sister Eugenia. “What happened?”
“The medication they gave her isn’t working. I’ve contacted her doctor and he’s prescribed something different but I’ll need you to pick it up for us at the all-night drugstore in town.”
“At your service, Sister.”
“It’ll be waiting for you when you arrive.”
Sister Eugenia pulled out a holy card from her pocket and handed it to her. ‘Tell the druggist that our prayers are with him and his family. He does so much for this monastery by providing all our medications at cost,” she said quietly.
Leaving Sister Eugenia to take care of Sister Gertrude, she hurried outside with Pax, who had remained at her side. Sister Agatha straddled the motorcycle, but as she flexed her hand to insert the key in the ignition, she winced. The pain in her joints had diminished, but it wasn’t gone. With luck, the swelling would go down completely before morning. But, right now, she had a duty to attend to.
Pax jumped into the sidecar, and they were under way as soon as she closed the monastery gates behind her. The stretch of graveled road leading to the highway was completely empty. Sister felt a nagging sense of uneasiness she couldn’t shake despite the bright headlight and the presence of Pax in the sidecar. She glanced around often. There was a full moon out tonight and it was easy to see the entire width of the road. No one was close, but the vegetation of the bosque, the forest of cottonwoods, willows, and flood-plain plants lining the ancient banks of the river hid everything more than a few feet away.
Slowing for a sharp curve, she discovered a large clump of leafy willows blocking the center of the road. As she moved to the shoulder to avoid the hazard, a large pothole jarred her. Nearly losing her grip on the handlebars from the pain in her swollen hands, she braked to a stop, turned off the engine, then checked Pax. Thankfully, the dog was fine.
Sister Agatha climbed off the bike and checked the tires and the sidecar for damage. “Well, looks like everything’s all right, so let’s get going again.”
Pax growled and, before Sister Agatha could take a breath, she heard the snapping sound of twigs breaking and footsteps coming from somewhere to her right. Someone or something was hiding in the nearby stand of Russian Olives.
“Who’s there?” she demanded.
Pax’s growling intensified, but no one answered.
Uneasiness turned into fear. Mounting the bike, Sister Agatha ordered Pax into the sidecar, started the engine, and left the area quickly. Timothy’s warning still echoed in her mind. Maybe someone had been watching the monastery, hoping for an opportunity to steal the motorcycle. Then, when they’d heard Pax’s growl, they changed their minds.
She arrived at the drugstore ten minutes later. Leaving Pax to guard the motorcycle, she hurried inside. The prescription still hadn’t been filled. She paced the store, impatience gnawing at her. Still worried that someone might have followed her, she looked outside often to check on Pax.
Finally Mr. Templeton called her name. She rushed up to the counter, and waited as he explained the medication’s side effects and accepted the holy card. “Thank you, Sister. We’ll send the statement at the end of the month.”
With the pill bottle in her pocket, Sister Agatha hurried outside. Suddenly a young man stepped away from the building and stood in her way. “Nice bike, Sister, tho
ugh I could do without the sidecar.”
He was in his late teens and dressed like many of the toughs that hung around night spots along the main road. He had on a denim vest, no shirt, and a gang tattoo covered his left arm. “I’d love to take it for a ride.”
Pax, who’d jumped out of the sidecar to wander on the small stretch of grass between the sidewalk and the store, saw him and came running up.
The dog made no overtly threatening moves. He simply sat at attention beside Sister Agatha, his gaze fixed on the man.
The young man stepped back. “Nice dog, too.”
“He’s very protective of me and the Harley,” she said firmly.
“Ride safe.” The man shrugged, then turned and sauntered down the sidewalk toward the One Shot Bar.
“Pax, I don’t know how I’ll wrangle it for you since we don’t eat meat at the monastery, but I owe you a giant soup bone on top of your regular dog chow.”
The dog licked his lips as if he’d understood.
Soon they were heading back to the monastery. She’d have to find a safe way to talk with the kids from St. Charles next time she saw them, and try to find out more about the person Timothy had warned her about without compromising the boy’s safety. If the man Bobby Gonzales had promised the bike to posed a serious threat, she had to know.
She thought about telling Reverend Mother, then decided against it The abbess had enough on her mind, and she wasn’t certain yet that there really was a danger to anyone. She’d poke around and see what she could uncover first.
Lord, if you didn’t want me to meddle, you should have added another commandment.
The following day, Sister Gertrude was well enough to join the other nuns for Matins and the monastery community greeted her warmly. After Morning Prayer, before Sister Agatha could report to the parlor for portress duty, Reverend Mother intercepted her in the hall.
“We need to talk, child.”
Sister Agatha followed Reverend Mother outside and sat with her on one of the benches near the statue of St. Joseph. Pax, who’d been outside since Matins, came over to join them.
Bad Faith Page 13
