“There’s no danger of that in this family. I hate radishes, and I always have.”
A long silence stretched out between them. Then there was a soft sound, like muted footsteps in the living room. Pax, who had curled up by Sister Agatha’s feet, lifted his head.
Suddenly Ruth bolted out of her chair so fast that Sister Agatha followed, worried that something terrible must have happened.
They found Betsy by the front door. She was wearing tight jeans and a tube top that exposed her middle. Her lipstick was dark red, almost black, and her eyelids thick with poorly applied makeup.
For a moment Ruth just stared, her face crimson. “You harlot! Get into the bathroom and clean off that paint. How dare you try to sneak past me, especially dressed like that!” She grabbed Betsy by the arm, pulled her into the bathroom, and shoved her inside.
Sister Agatha held Pax firmly by the collar. She could tell he was nervous at Ruth’s rough handling of the girl, and she wasn’t sure what he might do. Taking him outside, she ordered him to stay on the porch, then went back inside.
As she did, she heard Ruth’s voice coming from down the hall. “Wash your face, then put on some decent clothes. Then I want you on your knees while you memorize that psalm I gave you. You are not to leave this room until you’ve done that.” She shut and locked the door from the outside.
Sister Agatha heard Betsy sobbing, and felt a cold chill go up her spine.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Ruth snarled. “Do you want her pregnant like I was, not even out of high school? I won’t let her ruin her life like I did. She will glorify God, not dishonor him.”
“She shouldn’t have tried to sneak out, I agree, especially dressed like that. But if you want her to turn to God, don’t use Him as a weapon to punish her,” she said, trying to reason with her.
“You’re not a mother, and you don’t have a child to raise. You can’t possibly know what I go through. Stick to what you do, Sister, and I’ll do the same. If you really want to help, pray for Betsy’s soul. She’s going down the road to perdition as surely as there’s a sunset at the end of each day.”
When Sister Agatha left Ruth’s home, she felt more troubled than ever. Celia had undoubtedly wanted to keep her suicide attempt a secret. But Sister still didn’t know for sure if that was the secret Celia and Father Anselm had shared—the one Celia seemed determined to hide. She thought of the herb Celia had used… pennyroyal. The very mention of that herb had disturbed her, but she couldn’t figure out why.
Stroking Pax’s massive head, she stood next to the motorcycle, trying to decide what to do next The bookmobile wouldn’t be much help, even if she were lucky enough to catch it in town. That’s when she remembered the extensive library in the rectory. Father Anselm had made it a point to collect books on almost every subject, usually getting them at low cost at garage sales or estate sales.
She’d pay Father Mahoney an unscheduled visit. Maybe he’d let her take a look through the books there and see if she could find out more about pennyroyal.
When she and Pax arrived at the rectory a short time later, Frances answered the door and invited them in. “I’ve been hearing about you two all over town!” she said, leaning down to pet Pax. “He’s a beauty, isn’t he, and so big.”
The dog wagged his tail happily.
“Pax, vanity is a sin,” Sister Agatha said in mock reproach. She laughed when the dog gave her one of his happy panting grins.
Hearing their conversation, Father Mahoney came out of a nearby room. “The famous Sister Agatha and Brother Pax!” he said. “It’s a pleasure to see you here. I hope that all is well with the sisters.”
“Father Mahoney,” she greeted, and shook hands with him.
“Father Rick, please. It’s less formal, and I prefer it.”
“Father Rick, then. We’re all fine, thank you, and relieved to have a chaplain again.”
Father Rick was wearing shorts and a T-shirt and looked as if he’d been in the middle of a workout. The priest had more muscles than any other human being she’d ever seen. She thought he could probably bench-press a Buick without raising a sweat.
“You’ll have to forgive me, Sister. Had I known you were coming by I would have postponed my weight training. I may not be a wrestler anymore, but I’ve found that staying fit makes it easier to keep up with the demands of God’s work. Now tell me, Sister, what can I do for you?”
“I hoped to look something up in the library here. Would you mind?”
“Not at all. Come in.” He led her to the book-lined study.
Sister Agatha looked quickly through the well-organized collection and soon located a large volume on folk medicine.
“Are you looking for information about the herb that killed Father Anselm?”
Sister Agatha paused. “No, right now I’m investigating what may be a related matter. Since it may not be connected, I’d rather not discuss it yet, but Reverend Mother asked me to follow all the leads that presented themselves. The sheriff, you see, believes one of the sisters is somehow involved in Father’s death, and that’s making things very difficult for all of us. He even wanted to haul our postulant to the station for questioning.”
Father shook his head. “I really wish there was more I could do for you all.”
“You’re our chaplain. Your support and prayers are more than enough.” She lifted down two smaller books on herbs and carried them to the sofa. “I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can.”
‘Take your time. I’ll go back to my workout. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you.”
Alone, Sister searched through the books. Since so many rural communities in New Mexico used herbal remedies, Father Anselm had collected several books on the subject. He’d told her once that he considered it his business to learn the practices and customs of his parishioners.
There was no mention of pennyroyal in the smaller books, but as she opened the large one and checked the index, she found it. Four pages described the herb and detailed its uses. Suddenly she knew why she’d felt so disturbed by Ruth’s mention of the herb.
Throughout history, pennyroyal oil had been used with disastrous results by young women who’d wanted abortions. She remembered an incident many years back when she’d been a professor. One of her freshman students had bought the oil extract at a shop in the city and used it to terminate her pregnancy. The very toxic preparation had resulted in her death as well as that of the child she’d carried.
Had Celia’s suicide attempt been something more than the result of depression? If what she now suspected was true, she could understand why the postulant had been so afraid that she’d be asked to leave the monastery.
Frances came in with a glass of iced tea. “Here. I thought you could use this. I’ve got Pax in the kitchen eating dog biscuits. Well, old cookies I was going to throw out.”
Sister Agatha smiled and thanked her on behalf of both of them.
As Frances glanced down at the book, she added, “Are you trying to find out more about Celia?”
“Just seeing this page made you think of her?” Sister asked.
Frances sighed. “You know, I’ve lived here all my life, and in a town this size, it’s darned near impossible to keep a secret. I remember hearing all about her so-called suicide attempt years and years ago. Then Celia was sent away. There was a lot of talk going around then. Celia didn’t return for almost a year and a half, but while she was still away, Ruth showed up in town with an infant girl—her adopted daughter, Betsy.”
“I bet that caused a stir.”
“There was a lot of talk. At first some thought that maybe she’d finally flipped and kidnapped a child because she was lonely. Mike Moore had left her by then and she had no one. Others thought that maybe it was Celia’s baby and Ruth had adopted it. In those days it wasn’t at all uncommon for unmarried, pregnant teens to leave town to have their babies. It saved embarrassing their families.”
“And I suppose R
uth never tried to clear things up?”
“She hardly spoke to anyone. But Sheriff Salazar checked things out, and the baby’s adoption papers were in order. Later, Ruth told people that her sister had been overwhelmed by the birth of her sixth child, and had asked her to adopt Betsy. That kind of private arrangement was the only way anyone figured Ruth could have qualified as an adoptive parent.” She shrugged, then added, “But I don’t think Betsy knows that Ruth isn’t her natural mother, so keep it to yourself.”
“Sheriff Salazar moved away years ago, didn’t he?”
“Yes. A lot of people miss his old-fashioned style of law-enforcement. He kept the town clean.”
“He was one tough cookie. I remember him from when I was growing up here.”
She smiled. “People used to say that if a rattlesnake ever bit him, the rattlesnake would die. He was mean, all right, but only to those who broke the law.” Hearing the phone ring, the housekeeper left to answer it.
A few minutes later, Pax padded into the room. “You must have ESP, Pax. It’s time for us to go,” she said, replacing the books she’d used back on the shelf. “I’ve got more information than I ever expected to get—and no idea what to do with all of it.”
If Betsy was fourteen now and Celia had only just turned twenty-seven, Sister Agatha knew that the chances were good that Betsy was Celia’s child. The theory fit on many levels, but she still had no solid evidence, and conjecture alone wasn’t enough to warrant turning Celia’s and Betsy’s lives upside down.
After saying good-bye, Sister Agatha headed back to the monastery. The gravel road ahead of her was deserted, but she could see headlights behind her. A shudder ran up her spine. Even thinking of the big black pickup that had forced her off the road made her heart begin to race.
Soon the road around her became dark as pitch. She went slowly, realizing that on a moonless night she’d never be able to see the ruts in the gravel road well enough to steer clear of them.
She saw the flicker of lights in her rearview mirror, but if someone was tailing her, they weren’t making any effort to close in on her this time. On the other hand, if they were coming this way on purpose, she’d soon learn who it was, because the road led to few other places besides the monastery.
Checking back again a few moments later, she saw only red taillights. The vehicle had turned around. The next time she looked, they had disappeared.
By the time she returned home, Compline had been chanted, and the monastery was shrouded in silence. Sister Agatha went to the scriptorium and worked for a long while beside Sister Bernarda. Though neither of them broke the Great Silence, the look exchanged between them told Sister Agatha that Sister Bernarda knew that something was troubling her. It was often that way between the Sisters. They knew each other too well to hide what they were feeling. When one sister was having a problem, all tried to share her heaviness of spirit so the burden would be easier to shoulder.
She remembered the ancient formula said on the day a nun made her vows. To the bishop’s query, “What do you ask?” a nun would reply, “The Mercy of God, the poverty of the order, and the company of the sisters.” That defined the family they became, and the bond that strengthened them.
Celia came into the room then and sat down by one of the computers. Sister Bernarda silently gave her materials to work with, then returned to her own computer.
Sister Agatha continued working, trying not to look at Celia. Few postulants made it past the first six months. It was the way of things. Yet, despite everything she’d learned today, in her heart, she still felt that Celia’s vocation was real and that she hadn’t killed Father Anselm. But that still left two very important questions—who was the real killer, and why had the priest been a target?
As Sister Mary Lazarus came into the scriptorium, Sister Agatha stood up. Signaling the others to continue the work they’d begun, she left everything in the capable hands of Sister Bernarda, and went to the infirmary. Her hip and her hands were hurting too much to ignore any longer today. She’d take her pills now, and with luck, the pain would ease by morning.
But there was another pain, one deep within her, that pills would never reach. That would remain with her until the day she found the truth … and maybe long after that.
Sister Agatha took the first shift of portress duty the following morning. It was roughly nine-thirty when Sister Bernarda appeared at the inner door leading to and from the enclosure. “Reverend Mother wants to see you.”
Sister Agatha bowed her head and, leaving Sister Bernarda in the parlor, hurried to find Reverend Mother. The abbess was just down the hall, near the patio.
Reverend Mother smiled at her, then led her out into the garden. “Tell me what you’ve learned, child.”
Sister Agatha detailed everything she’d found out the day before. “Mother, all I have are suspicions. I’m not even sure Celia was trying to commit suicide—I think it might have been an abortion attempt. But I’m basing that solely on the properties of the herb pennyroyal.”
Reverend Mother sat down heavily on one of the benches shaded by the tall cottonwood near the statue of St. Francis. “It just gets worse and worse, doesn’t it?”
Sister Agatha didn’t answer, knowing Mother really didn’t expect it.
“We can’t ask Celia to leave the monastery for sins she may have committed as a child. No one has ever entered our order free of sin and our Lord’s commandment on forgiveness is clear. Who are we to do something other than follow the example He set for us? Of course I’ll have to have a long talk with her, but before I do, I’d like to know the whole story.”
“I’ll try to find out more today, Mother.” With a small bow, she left Reverend Mother and hurried inside.
Sister Agatha knew she couldn’t involve Sheriff Green in this. He’d see the possibility that Father Anselm might have known about Celia’s alleged abortion attempt as a motive for his murder. But one way or another, before the day was through, she would learn what they needed to either clear Celia or condemn her.
Although the prospect of damning her own godchild filled Sister Agatha with dread, she knew the time for truth had come. She had to be fearless and see through what she’d started, before it destroyed everyone and everything she loved.
14
Sister Agatha set out for the school with Pax, a plan firmly in mind. She was certain Betsy Moore was a student there. With her mother’s strong feelings about religion, she couldn’t see Ruth sending her to public school. Twice, she thought someone was following her at a set distance. The vehicle was a light-colored sedan, not the pickup this time. And on both occasions it disappeared just as she turned around to go check things out.
She was certain it was being done deliberately to intimidate her, but she’d never cared much for bullies, and always made a point of standing up to them. The only thing this person harassing her had done was make her even more determined to find out who he was as soon as possible.
She arrived at the school thirty minutes later and headed for Patsy Romero’s office, Pax by her side. She found the woman sorting through stacks and stacks of files.
“Hi, Sister,” she said, looking up and pushing her glasses farther up her nose. “I see you brought Pax inside with you. That’s a good thing. It’s hot, and shady spots outside are few and far between today.”
“I’m glad you’re okay with it,” she said. Looking directly at her, Sister Agatha continued. “I’m here to ask a favor. I’d like to take a look at Betsy Moore’s student records.”
“Betsy? She’s a good kid and bright too, one of our scholarship kids. But her mom’s a loon. Why are you interested?”
“I’d rather not say, but Patsy, you know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t really important.”
“Okay, I’ll leave the matter between you and your conscience. The records are private, and open only to authorized school personnel. You’re on our substitute teacher list, so I’ll authorize your access. Remember, though, you can make notes, bu
t we don’t allow copies to be made unless the parent requests that records be sent to another school.”
Patsy went to one of the cabinets in the adjacent office and, after a brief search, found the requested file and pulled it out. “You can use the conference room down the hall for as long you need. After you’re finished, just return the file to me. I’ll put it back.”
Sister Agatha walked to the other end of the administrative offices, Pax at her side. Making herself comfortable in the conference room, she began to study the records. The file was filled with information, but not the kind she needed. Betsy’s birth date was right, about six months after Celia had been sent away to Nazareth Hospital. There was also a date of issue on the birth certificate. New Mexico birth certificates normally didn’t include that. This indicated that a second birth certificate had been issued to the adoptive parent. But that still didn’t tell her who Betsy’s birth mother was. All the records here simply listed Ruth as the girl’s mother and Michael Moore as the father.
Disappointed, she leafed through the rest and found some notes on a recent student-parent-teacher conference. Ruth had refused to cooperate with Betsy’s teacher, accusing the woman of being lax in discipline and irresponsible. At one point, the report stated, Betsy had run out of the room crying.
Sister Agatha leaned back. How could anyone have changed so much? At the public high school they’d all attended in Bernalillo, Ruth had been voted the most likely to change the world. Now she was an embittered middle-aged woman who used God as a weapon.
“You look like your thoughts are miles away,” Lenora Martinez, the office secretary, said, coming into the room to place some files inside the cabinet in the corner.
“I was just thinking of an old friend, Ruth Moore. She’s changed so much! When we were growing up she was always upbeat and idealistic. She had so many plans for herself, but I think life twisted her dreams until they became nightmares and she’s become very disillusioned.”
Bad Faith Page 18
