Sisters of Sorrow

by Axel Blackwell

  Sister Dolores’s dull blue irises blurred and suddenly turned black. They faded to purple, then faded back to dull blue. “Tell me the truth.”

  Without the slightest intention of doing so, Anna said, “Abbess McCain knows you are a spy!” She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “Who told you that?” Sister Dolores whispered, glancing quickly around the hall.

  “I…” Anna surveyed the empty room, then studied Sister Dolores’s eyes. “I overheard Abbess McCain talking with another sister. I don’t know which one. Are you a spy? Are you here to rescue us?” Anna asked, blushing to the roots of her hair.

  “Rescue you? Rescue you from what?” She sounded stern, but there was also something playful in her tone.

  “Sister Dolores!” Sister Eustace’s voice boomed through the dining hall. “What are you doing?”

  Sister Dolores’s posture slumped back to a cringe.

  “Oh, and look here, it’s Anna, who wears her shame like a medal!” Sister Eustace continued. “Why are you not at the factory?”

  Anna’s blush went paper white as she took up her mantra, stupid, stupid, stupid…

  “Oh, Ma’am,” Sister Dolores said, “Anna was only asking if she could have a bandage. Something seems to be wrong with her foot.”

  Anna’s eyes popped and her heart sank. Sister Eustace looked at Anna’s shoe. Anna shot a pleading look at the younger nun. Mischief twinkled in Sister Dolores’s eyes and the corners of her lips raised. But before Sister Eustace returned her eyes to Sister Dolores, the young nun’s face fell back into its desperately eager and subservient mask.

  “A bandage? Why would she be asking you for a bandage? Are you a nurse, Dolores? Is this the infirmary?”

  “No… no, ma’am,” Sister Dolores said. “This is the…”

  “I know this is the dining hall!” Sister Eustace yelled. “Why would this pest, ask you, for a bandage?”

  “Ma’am, it is for her foot.”

  “But why you?” she demanded, bellowing into Sister Dolores’s face.

  Sister Dolores stared into her eyes, petrified.

  “I’ll tell you why. This little wretch is playing you for a fool. She thinks you are weak. And do you know why she thinks you are weak? She thinks you are weak because you let her think so. I told you what kind of refuse we house here. These children will walk all over you with their lies and their scams. Worse than niggers and gypsies, all of them! Do not be taken in by her sniveling and her pitiful eyes. I don’t know what she’s up to, but I do know it’s no good! If she truly needed a bandage she would have asked me, or she would have gone to the infirmary. Are you listening to me, Sister Dolores?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Where is your crop?”

  Sister Dolores drew the leather crop from her habit.

  “Have you used it yet?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Well then, allow me to show you how it’s done.” Sister Eustace seized Sister Dolores’s left wrist. With the other hand, she snatched the crop, raised it over her head and lashed Sister Dolores’s knuckles. She struck so violently that Anna thought the crop would snap in half. Sister Dolores uttered a sobbing gasp. Her knees buckled and her eyes instantly filled with tears.

  “Stand up,” Sister Eustace spat, “Now, you know that I am not weak, don’t you?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sister Dolores said in a quavering voice. Sister Eustace held her wrist so tightly that the skin of Sister Dolores’s hand had turned white. A red and bright-purple ridge swelled diagonally across the back of Sister Dolores’s hand.

  “You know that you cannot play me for a fool.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sister Dolores said, with a little more composure.

  “Very good.” Sister Eustace smiled warmly and handed the crop back to Sister Dolores. “Now, you teach little Miss Anna the lesson I just taught you.”

  The servility and pain in Sister Dolores’s eyes turned to cruel glee as she shifted her gaze to Anna. She rubbed the leather against her palm, smiled at it, even seemed to be whispering to it.

  “Three lashes, Sister Dolores, one for lying about her foot, one for thinking you are a fool. And one for the pain she has caused you,” Sister Eustace said. “Anna, hold out your hand.”

  Anna stretched her hand out. It tingled already in anticipation of pain. Just focus on my hand and my lies and all my other little sins and forget about my shoe. She thought, desperately. I’m a wicked little girl and I don’t deserve a bandage. I didn’t even ask for a bandage. Lash my knuckles all you want, take another finger if you must, but leave my shoe alone. She saw the hideous stripe across Sister Dolores’s hand and whimpered. She closed her eyes, and her thoughts changed, this is the last time, this is the last time, this is the last time…

  Sister Dolores’s pale, bony fingers curled around her wrist. Anna heard the whistle of the crop slicing through the air, and then a crack like a pistol shot. Her eyes flew open and she gawked at her knuckles with a terror of unbelief. A red welt rose there, but she felt nothing, not the slightest sting. The crop fell again with a gut wrenching snap. And again, no pain accompanied the blow. Anna stared wide-eyed and open-mouthed at Sister Dolores. As the third painless blow echoed through the dining hall, Anna’s knees gave out and she flopped to a cross-legged seat on the floor.

  Sister Eustace laughed out loud. “My, my, sister, I don’t believe I’ve seen little Anna so surprised in many years.” She laughed a bit more then added, “I doubt she will mistake you for weak again.”

  “No, I don’t suppose she will,” Sister Dolores mused, watching Anna. The mischief twinkled again in her eyes and, when Sister Eustace turned to walk away, she winked at Anna. “But, I really think you ought to have a look at her foot, ma’am, just to be safe. If it gets infected…”

  “Sister Dolores! The last thing in this creation I wish to see is that girl’s infected foot,” Sister Eustace said without turning. “Especially so soon after eating.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Sister Dolores called after her.

  “March her straight down to the factory, Sister Dolores, and if she asks you for anything, lay a lash across her lips,” she said as she strode out of the dining hall.

  When they were alone again, Anna looked up at Sister Dolores and marveled, “You’re a witch?”

  Sister Dolores’s eyes changed, her pallid skin darkened to a healthy bronze and her mouse-colored hair turned jet black. “I dabble,” she said, smiling.

  “You’re not a nun, then?” Anna whispered.

  “Never was.” Sister Dolores’s features melted back into their former state.

  Anna thought she should be terrified of the witch, but could not summon her fear. Wonder and confusion crowded it out.

  “Sister Eustace tells me that you killed your baby brother,” Sister Dolores said, “that you drowned him in a bathtub. Is that true?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”

  “Hmm. I have to kill my baby brother, and I don’t know if I can do it. I was hoping you could advise me.”

  Confusion and wonder still filled Anna, but the fear finally forced its way through. “I need to go to the factory, ma’am.” She pushed herself to her feet with her back against the wall.

  “Anna,” Sister Dolores placed herself between Anna and her exit, “you know my secret and I,” she tapped Anna’s shoe with her own, “know yours. Can I trust you to keep my secret?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Pinky swear?” Sister Dolores held out the little finger of her left hand.

  Anna blushed again, hesitantly raising, lowering, then raising again her pinkyless left hand.

  Sister Dolores giggled, “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”

  Anna looked toward the door. The dining hall and the corridor beyond were empty of both person and sound.

  “Anna,” Sister Dolores said, “I do thank you for telling me. That was a brave and noble act. This house may become a very dangerous place in the next few days. I am
not here to rescue anyone, but I will remember what you did, and may repay the favor if a chance presents itself.”

  The next few days here meant nothing to Anna. She would be long gone by sunrise. Joseph had told her so. “May I go?” Anna asked, “to the factory?”

  “Go,” Sister Dolores said.

  Chapter 7

  Anna zombied through the hours of factory work, cutting, stamping, stacking leather soles. The sisters overseeing her conspicuously ignored her worsening limp. Apparently, Sister Eustace had informed her staff of Anna’s attempt to fake a foot injury. That was fine by Anna. She had expected to be giddy, restless. The phrase last day of school kept coming to her. She had feared her excitement would arouse suspicion, but as it was, she felt too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too uncertain to be giddy.

  She had just warned a witch spy that the sadistic nuns were on to her. The witch had to be evil, because she was here to kill her own brother. And she was a witch, which made her evil by default. Now the evil witch had become her… her what? Not her friend, but maybe her ally.

  Would that make Anna complicit in the murder of the witch’s brother? And what about all the children the sadistic sisters had worked to death? Or neglected to death? If the witch was here to kill Abbess McCain or Sister Eustace, that would be just fine, but she was here for one of the children.

  Then a new thought occurred to Anna. If I leave, who will take care of my girls? Sister Dolores said that danger approached, who would protect Lilly and the Marys? Her meaner half laughed. I can’t protect them, I can’t protect myself. She looked at the knuckle where her pinky belonged. I can’t protect Sister Dolores’s baby brother, whoever he may be. The one person I did protect turned out to be an evil witch.

  She considered her right hand. It should have been throbbing and useless but proved to be whole and unharmed. Anna wondered if being an evil witch was such a bad thing.

  Variations of these thoughts occupied her mind from the time she entered the factory until she returned to the dining hall that evening. She caught herself either giggling or weeping or both at random intervals throughout the day.

  At dinner, the other head girls whispered about her, but no one spoke to her. Her fears of arousing suspicion seemed silly. If she had gone stark raving mad, no one would have cared. None of the sisters would have shown the slightest interest, as long as she met quota and got her girls out of bed on time.

  At nine o’clock, Anna lay on her back, waiting. The giddiness finally came, in waves alternating with dread. The little ones snored little snores. Jane gibbered in her sleep. Anna waited. Wondering what would happen if her collaborator didn’t show up. Wondering where they would go from the factory.

  Why the factory?

  Why not the loading dock?

  Or the back entrance to the kitchen?

  Where will I sleep tomorrow night?

  Will I even be alive tomorrow night?

  The bell, in its lonely tower, struck nine thirty. Anna rose. She slipped her pinky out from beneath her pillow and hung it around her neck. Abbess McCain had ordered her to wear it at all times, as a reminder of her sins, but that wasn’t why she wore it now. She was going, and she had no intention of leaving a single piece of herself behind.

  Anna slipped into her work dress and shawl. For the first time in five days, she pulled her shoes off, hoping to move silently in bare feet. Carrying her shoes and the key, she crept to the old door and leaned her ear against it. Nothing stirred.

  She knelt down and peered through the key hole. Across the hall, on a maroon tinted tapestry, a woman martyr writhed in agony of fire. In the corridor, few candles flickered and no one waited.

  Anna slid the key into its hole, wincing at the barely audible scraping sound. As she turned it, ever so slowly, she realized that she had never considered the possibility the key might not fit. It would have been a wasted worry. The lock clicked open with no resistance.

  “What are you doing?” A high-pitched whisper, so close the lips must have been touching her shoulder.

  Anna spun around, choking her scream. Mary Two stood behind her, holding her blanket up to her chin. Straw clung to her hair, smaller bits stuck to the snot trail under her nose.

  “Mary!” Anna struggled to keep her voice at the level of a whisper, “go back to bed. This instant.”

  “You aren’t s’posed to be doing that.”

  “Quiet, Mary, go back to bed.” Then she added, “I am supposed to be doing this. It’s head girl duties.”

  “Lizzy said we need to keep an eye on you ‘cause if you go loopy Sister Eustace won’t feed us anymore.”

  “She…What? No, Mary, you must be quiet,” Anna whispered, her nerves jangling like Sister Eustace’s key ring. “Lay down now and hush up!”

  Mary backed away from her, looking toward the pile of straw. “Lizzy…” Her tentative voice rose, no longer a whisper but not quite the volume of normal speech. She would be yelling soon.

  Anna rushed her, clamping her hand over the little girl’s mouth. They tumbled together into the straw. Mary tried to thrash free, but Anna wrapped one arm around both of Mary’s and used the weight of her body to hold the girl still. Her right hand, over Mary’s mouth, pushed her head into the straw. Anna pinched Mary’s nose shut with her thumb and forefinger. The panic in the younger girl’s eyes burned as bright and feverish as it did in Anna‘s.

  Anna pushed her face to Mary’s until their noses touched. She could feel Mary sucking against her palm, desperate for a breath, but Anna held her fast, glaring into her eyes. You have to be quiet, screamed through her head. It took all Anna’s will not to scream it out loud. Her body trembled all over. She felt the girl under her kicking the straw, felt her chest spasm and hitch for air.

  The unlocked door floated open on its silent hinges. Candlelight spilled across Mary’s face, revealing her black, terrified eyes and her bluing skin. Anna’s own drowned face from the cistern flashed into her mind, and her brother’s. Tears burst into Anna’s eyes. She released Mary’s nose and mouth, wrapping that hand around Mary’s head, hugging her to herself.

  “I’m sorry, Mary!” She wailed in a strained whisper, kissing her forehead repeatedly.

  Mary gulped air in harsh, sobbing gasps. Around them, girls mumbled and murmured, turning in the straw.

  “I’m so sorry, Mary, I didn’t mean it.” Her eyes streamed. “I swear, I didn’t mean it.” Anna dropped the little girl into the straw and sprinted for the door.

  She plunged into the corridor without the key or her shoes. Mary’s weeping drifted out behind her, chased her into the hall. It was too late now. Too late to turn back, too late for stealth, too late for a clean get away. She had no plan. She had no clever ideas. She had only one thought, but that thought filled her mind, behind the boiler at ten o’clock.

  Her bare feet slapped the stone floor as she dashed toward the Great Round Room. Tapestries fluttered on either side, giving life to long dead saints and devils. The cyclopean eye of Abbess McCain’s office was dark, no stern silhouette watched from above.

  Anna sprinted for the thick shadows surrounding the rotunda’s door. Just as she reached them, a stout figure stepped from the gloom. Sister Eustace loomed two feet in front of her. Anna had no time to stop. She plowed straight into the old nun’s bulk.

  It was like running into a padded tree. Anna bounced back and sat with a thud on the flagstones. She gaped up at Sister Eustace, as powerless to breathe as Mary had been. It felt as if the nun had taken hold of her windpipe and was crushing it. Nothing ran through Anna’s head now but a white-hot scream.

  Towering over Anna, Sister Eustace appeared to shake with rage. She uttered odd sounds, tinkling sounds like a wind chime. As the blizzard of terror in Anna’s mind settled into glittering drifts, she realized it wasn’t anger that shook Sister Eustace, it was laughter, a wispy, stifled giggling. The red patches on her cheeks were not from rage but high merriment.

  As Anna realized this, Sister Eustace’s fea
tures changed. Her hair darkened, her skin bronzed. Her form melted away like a candle in a furnace, condensing into the younger, thinner Sister Dolores. She quickly covered her lips with one finger, giggling through it.

  Anna slumped sideways and vomited fish stew across the floor.

  “Who do you think is going to have to clean that up?” Sister Dolores asked in a laughing whisper. She hooked a hand under Anna’s arm and lifted her to her feet. “Come now, Anna, I’m just having a little fun with you. No need for all this excitement.”

  Anna’s legs felt like noodles and her stomach like water. The corridor swayed back and forth as if adrift on the waves.

  “Sister Dolores,” Anna said in a vacant voice. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for my brother. Have you seen him?”

  “I don’t think so…”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I’d rather not say.”

  “I’m sure not,” she chuckled. “But you may want these.” Sister Dolores handed Anna her shoes and the key.

  Anna stared wide-eyed and wondering.

  “Would you also like me to tuck your little ones in and close the door to your hall? Perhaps I should look out for them and keep them from trouble while you’re away?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Anna stammered.

  “Very well, then. You better be off to…” she waved her hand in the air, “…to wherever it is you are going. But may I ask of you one favor?”

  “Anything, ma’am.”

  “If you do see my little brother, Joey, don’t tell him I’m looking for him.” Sister Dolores walked toward Anna’s dormitory, shifting back into her Sister Eustace disguise. “Thanks, dear.”

  Chapter 8

  Anna barely recognized the factory. It was quiet and still and dark. She was a tiny speck of life in its vast and cavernous vault. Far up near the ceiling, the windows were nothing but black rectangles silhouetted against a blacker background.