Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  “I was here back then, but that name just doesn’t ring a bell. Can you tell me a little more about her?”

  “She came here after she apparently tried to commit suicide using a dangerous herb. She may have been pregnant at the time, too.”

  Suzi’s expression gentled as memories crowded into her mind. “I remember a young teenager who was here in that situation around then. But her name wasn’t Celia “ She focused on an indeterminate object across the room, lost in thought.

  Sister Agatha remembered the name Father Anselm had called Celia. Playing a hunch, she asked, “Was it Annie?”

  Looking surprised, Suzi nodded. “That was it,” she said.

  “Did Father Anselm work here at that time too?”

  “Oh, sure. He was our chaplain back then. He came in three times a week. He was really good with the kids, too. He tried to become a friend to the ones who seemed to have no family to depend on. If memory serves, I think he had a special rapport with that girl Annie. But, I should tell you, Annie never admitted she’d been trying to kill herself. In fact, she emphatically denied it, which surprised Father and me. People who attempt suicide generally don’t bother to deny it, either because they’re crying out for help or they really do want to be dead.”

  “Then you think it was just an accident?”

  “No, not at all. Father and I asked her that same question repeatedly, but we never got a straight answer from her, which made us even more suspicious. I, personally, had the feeling that Annie’s mother had given her something to make her abort the child, miscalculated the dosage, and nearly killed her daughter by mistake. Her mother was one of those quacks—a self-trained herbalist with a remedy for everything.”

  “Do you happen to remember Annie’s last name?”

  “I never knew it—and neither did Father. Our policy is to safeguard the identities of all our underage patients. We know them only by their first names, or sometimes just a nickname. Last names aren’t even listed on their charts—just code designations. Even if I were to access our computer records, I still couldn’t get information on a specific patient based on name alone. Everything is encrypted.”

  “How long did Father work with Annie?”

  “Most of the time she was here—close to a year, if memory serves. I think he was the one who arranged for Annie to come to Nazareth and made sure her bills were covered through different state aid programs. The girl’s mother had no medical insurance and she made it clear she couldn’t afford the prices we charged and that she had no intention of going into debt to pay for the sins of her daughter. She was a real nightmare.”

  “What happened to Annie’s baby?” Sister Agatha asked.

  “The baby was born here. She was premature, but in perfect health, and was adopted almost immediately.”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. Catholic Charities handled it and those records are sealed tighter than the files at the CIA. But there was talk and, well, Annie’s mom had a baby with her when she came to take her daughter home months later. I always suspected that Annie’s mom had adopted the baby herself. But I prayed I was wrong.”

  “Because of the way she treated Annie?”

  “Exactly. A slave would have gotten more respect than that poor kid did. That woman was constantly berating Annie. It was no wonder that the kid had a perpetually defeated look about her.”

  Suzi paused and met Sister’s gaze with her own. “But how does this fit with your new postulant? You think Annie and Celia are the same person?” Her eyes suddenly grew wide. “Oh, please don’t tell me that you’re going to use the information I just gave you against the postulant. I have no way of proving if we’re even talking about the same person and—”

  “Relax. It’s nothing like that.”

  “So what’s this all about, then?” When Sister Agatha hesitated, Suzi added, “Hey, I trusted you.”

  “You’re right. You deserve an answer,” she said with a nod. “It’s been a very difficult time for all of us at the monastery. You must have heard about the death of Father An-selm.”

  Suzi nodded. “We had a special remembrance service in our chapel.”

  “You’ve probably also heard by now that he was poisoned?” Seeing Suzi nod, she continued. “Well, the sheriff believes Father was murdered, and our postulant has become his prime suspect. None of us believe that she’s guilty, so I’m here trying to find evidence that will clear her. In looking into the matter, I came across information that led me to believe there was a connection between Celia and Father Anselm and that they might have met here. I’m still trying to put the pieces together, and what you’ve told me has been a great help.”

  “Annie adored Father Anselm, and would have done anything for him. I think he was the first adult who ever showed her any kindness.” She paused. “And, more than that, Annie was a gentle child, never dangerous to anyone except herself. If she’d been prone to violence, we would have seen signs of it here in her dealings with others. She was emotionally starved, but she was not violent.”

  “Thanks, Suzi. I appreciate you talking so candidly to me.”

  “Bear in mind that we have no way of proving if Celia and Annie are the same person or not, and it would take all kinds of court orders and permissions to verify that.”

  “I know. But we’re not out to prove anything in a court of law. We just want to find the truth. For confirmation of that, we’ll talk to Celia herself. But what you’ve told me is very reassuring.” She hugged her friend. “Thanks for everything.”

  After saying good-bye, Sister took Pax for a short walk, then loaded him up. She still had nothing conclusive and Celia’s future demanded more from her than hearsay. She’d have to go to the county clerk’s office and, if she could pull off what she had in mind, she’d have the information she needed. If not, she’d be in a world of trouble.

  Determined to take the risk, she kept Pax with her on the leash at heel when she arrived and walked into the records area.

  Sister Agatha knew that here bravado would spell the difference between success and failure. She had to come across as someone who had authority and knew what she was doing.

  She introduced herself to the clerk, then added, “I need to confirm some information from a Catholic Charities adoption that occurred in March of 1987. The birth mother’s name was Celia Clines, and the adoptive mother, Ruth Moore. I just need to confirm the date of birth we have for the baby— March seventeen—with the one listed on the original birth certificate.”

  The young woman didn’t even blink. Had it been a private adoption, she wouldn’t have had a chance, but her nun’s habit coupled with the fact that she was asking about Catholic Charities gave her the edge she needed.

  “We have those records computerized now—it makes our job easier. Let me see what I can find.”

  Sister Agatha was sure that the clerk had gone to Catholic school. Questioning a nun never came easy to a former student.

  “The date you have is correct,” she said turning the monitor so Sister Agatha could see for herself. “The same date is listed on both the adoption birth certificate and the original.”

  She nodded somberly at the clerk. “Thank you. That’s all I needed.”

  Sister Agatha walked back to the car with Pax at heel, slowly mulling over everything she’d learned today. She knew now that Celia had given birth to Betsy. The birth certificate the clerk had shown her proved it. She could now fully understand why Celia would have felt a certain kinship with Father Anselm, who had befriended her during what was probably the worst time of her life. She didn’t believe Celia would have betrayed that memory with murder. Yet she knew Tom would argue that Celia’s fear of discovery might have turned her violent.

  As she drove back to the monastery, she was glad for once that the Antichrysler wouldn’t go much over forty. It gave her a chance to think. She’d have to tell Reverend Mother what she’d learned, and Tom, too. But right now she was dreading both conversations. Yet,
despite everything, her instincts were telling her that Celia wasn’t guilty, but the fact was she couldn’t prove it.

  After arriving at the monastery, Sister stopped to speak to Sister Bernarda who was at her post in the parlor. “I’ve left Sister Mary Lazarus, Sister Gertrude, and our postulant working in the scriptorium,” Bernarda said. “They’re really making progress today. I believe we’ll make deadline on the magazine’s recipe archive, and we’ll also have that new branch library’s collection digitally catalogued on time so they can go on-line the day they’d planned.”

  “So only the antique manuscript that we have to scan by hand is still behind schedule?”

  She nodded. “That’s not too bad, considering.”

  “You’re right. I’ll see if I can pick up some speed with the scanning.”

  “It’s a shame that it’s a job you and I have to do personally,” Sister Bernarda said. “But it’s our responsibility to make sure nothing happens to those pages. It’s a valuable document.”

  “And how does Sister Eugenia say our postulant and novice are doing with their instruction?”

  Sister Bernarda hesitated. “She said that Celia’s studies are going well, but Eugenia is having a harder time with Mary Lazarus, apparently.”

  “What’s going on?”

  “Eugenia confided to me that she thinks Mary Lazarus’s heart isn’t in her studies. She has serious doubts about Mary Lazarus’s vocation.”

  Sister Agatha nodded slowly. In all honesty, she’d felt the same way about the novice. “I’ll try to make time to talk to Mary Lazarus later tonight. If it’s a crisis of faith, maybe I can help her through it.” She glanced at her watch. “But right now I have to speak with Reverend Mother.”

  “I saw her not too long ago weeding the planter in front of the statue of the Blessed Virgin.”

  Sister Agatha went outside, Pax still at her side. Seeing Reverend Mother, Pax greeted her warmly, then went running off after a butterfly, clearly aware he was now off duty.

  Reverend Mother stood up. “Walk with me, child.”

  Sister Agatha briefed her on everything she’d learned about Celia as they strolled through the garden.

  “How I envy that dog right now,” Reverend Mother said quietly, after considering what Sister Agatha had told her. “To him, the world is one giant playground. He glorifies God by being exactly who and what he is and never turning down an opportunity to enjoy His creation.”

  They sat down on one of the bancos, beneath the shade of a large pine. “Mother, I don’t know what to do. I probably should tell the sheriff what I’ve learned, but if I do, it’ll create more problems. Even though, to me, this proves Celia isn’t guilty of harming Father, Sheriff Green is not going to see it in the same light.”

  “I’m not sure what should be done about that either. Let’s pray about it first, and then decide.”

  As they approached the monastery’s cemetery, they saw Sister Ignatius by Sister Regina’s grave. The sisters who had passed were still considered to be part of their community— they’d simply gone home to God. Occasionally, in times of trouble, the sisters would pray to their departed friends, asking for help and special graces.

  Sister Ignatius, who’d just placed a small sunflower on the grave, heard them approach and turned around.

  Reverend Mother placed a hand on Sister Ignatius’s arm. “Are you all right, child?”

  “Yes, Mother. I came to ask Sister Regina to ask Our Lord to help us. Every time we turn around lately, something else goes wrong. Now our automated baker is burning the altar breads into a crisp. Sister Maria Victoria helped me adjust the settings, but the oven is old and tired. Maybe after Sister Maria Victoria is finished with the quilt, which should be any day now, I can get her help with the altar breads on a regular schedule. Sister Clothilde helps me as much as she can, but she’s laundress and cook and her schedule is full. Although it’s been difficult tending to it mostly on my own, I have to say that I’m glad Sister Gertrude’s new duties take her out of the heat of the baking room.”

  As Sister Ignatius went toward the main building, Sister Agatha looked at Reverend Mother. “She meets every crisis with unshakable faith. Sometimes I wish I was more like her.”

  Reverend Mother resumed their walk. “We’ve all placed a great weight on your shoulders, Sister Agatha. Don’t ever forget to ask God to help you. In a lot of ways, it’s easier for the choir nuns to focus solely on Him because He’s the center of everything we do in the enclosure. But He’s wherever you go, too. God is everywhere—He’s omnipresent. If you base everything that you do on the sure knowledge that you’re in the presence of God no matter where you go, then your work on behalf of this monastery will become an offering of love to Him.”

  She knelt down before Mother. “Will you give me your blessing, too, Mother?”

  Reverend Mother brought out a small vial of holy water and touched a drop to her forehead, making a small sign of the cross. “Continue your work with the blessing of God.”

  Sister Agatha thanked her and stood. In Mother’s eyes, she could see wisdom that far exceeded her own, and beyond that, her love and dedication to the life they’d chosen. “I won’t let you or this monastery down, Mother.”

  “I know you won’t. Now go find Celia and let’s both talk to her.”

  Sister Agatha searched the monastery and found Celia helping Sister Ignatius with the automated baker. Making altar breads was an important source of income for their monastery, but the machine had a mind of its own lately. It would work fine one moment and ruin the next batch completely.

  She found Celia scraping a burnt section off a tray while Sister Maria Victoria readjusted the oven settings.

  “Celia, I need to speak with you,” Sister Agatha said quietly, “when you’re finished with that tray.”

  Celia quickly washed the baking sheet, then followed Sister Agatha down the hall. By the time they arrived at Reverend Mother’s office, the abbess was already there, waiting.

  “Sit down, child,” Reverend Mother asked Celia.

  Celia did so, then waited, her head bowed in humility.

  “We need to ask you some questions,” Reverend Mother said.

  Celia nodded but, in keeping with the practice of maintaining “custody of the eyes,” continued to stare only at her lap.

  “Are you familiar with herbs?” Mother asked.

  Celia looked up at Reverend Mother, then over at Sister Agatha. “I know about medicinal herbs. I learned a lot from my mother.” She glanced back at Reverend Mother and met her gaze steadily. “But, Mother, I give you my word of honor that I never harmed Father Anselm.”

  “We know he helped you a great deal when you were at Nazareth,” Sister Agatha said gently.

  Celia looked at her in surprise, then, with a sigh, nodded slowly. “He helped me when no one else would. I owed him for that.” She paused, and took a deep breath. “My mom made my life miserable and, although people knew, no one ever spoke up or tried to help me.” She clutched her rosary in her hand, then continued. “She never let up. She’d make me memorize passages from the Bible and, if I made a mistake, she’d make me stand outside in the sun with my arms outstretched until I’d fall down from the heat,” she said in a matter-of-fact voice that made the revelation all the more chilling.

  Mother gasped softly, but Celia seemed unaware of her audience.

  “She’d tell me that I was a mortal sinner and that she had to wash the sins off me—then she’d make me wash in hot water. I’d have to wear long sleeves the next day so people wouldn’t see how red my arms were. But, even if they had noticed, I don’t think anyone would have cared. They would have just thought it was my own fault, I’m sure. That’s what Mom always said.”

  Sister Agatha stared at Reverend Mother, tears forming in her eyes. “I didn’t know.”

  “I don’t blame you” Celia said quickly. “You had your own life to live.”

  “We know about your suicide attempt, and about the b
aby,” Sister Agatha said in a gentle voice, looking at Celia once more.

  Celia said nothing for a long moment, but tears formed in her eyes. “Yes, I was pregnant, but I never tried to kill myself. I would have never done that.”

  “But you took pennyroyal oil. Were you trying to abort the baby?” Sister Agatha pressed. No matter how much she sympathized with Celia, they had to learn the truth.

  Celia shook her head and gave them a bewildered look. “I would have never done something like that. But one night when I couldn’t sleep, I asked Mom if she knew of something that might help, and she gave me—” She stopped abruptly, and lowered her head, staring at her lap again.

  “Your mother gave you an herbal tea with pennyroyal oil in it?” Sister Agatha asked, outrage in her voice.

  “It was my fault,” Celia said quickly, shaking her head. “She’d left some tinctures and herbs I could mix to make a tea at the front of our cupboard, but somehow I must have picked up the wrong ones. It was my fault. I made a stupid mistake. She wasn’t to blame.”

  Sister Agatha couldn’t breathe. A new picture was emerging in her mind. A woman with limited resources, afraid of what the town would say when they learned her daughter was pregnant, and desperate to find a solution, any solution.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this when you first came to us?” Reverend Mother asked. “What bothers me most is that you tried to hide this.”

  “I didn’t try to hide it, Mother. The reason I didn’t tell you more about my past was because I saw it as part of the life I was leaving behind. From the moment I stepped through the monastery’s doors, I knew that to serve God, I would have to relinquish everything I’d known, and everything I’d been. Nothing less would be acceptable to Him. For months, I’d been memorizing the Prayer of St. Ignatius that says, ‘All that I have, all that I am, Thou has given me, and I give it all back to Thee, to be governed according to Thy will.’ “ Her words rang with utter conviction.

  “You should have told us everything, Celia,” Sister Agatha said softly. “We wouldn’t have had any reason to distrust you then.”