Sisters of Sorrow

by Axel Blackwell

  “Anna,” Dolores now knelt in front of her, looking directly into her eyes. The nun, or witch, or whatever she was, no longer sounded flippant or jovial. She spoke in a tone so grave and full of compassion it made Anna want to cry.

  “Anna, I know everything – almost everything – that is in your heart. I lived here. I escaped. I left everyone behind.” Dolores held Anna’s hand in both of hers. “I am not as nutty as I seem, my happy potion makes me a little foolish at times. But, there’s too much sorrow here, too much sorrow for this heart. Not everybody gets to live, Anna. Just come with me. You’ll see, I’ll tell you everything. Okay?”

  She realized why Dolores was addressing her this way. Anna had stopped, just feet from the dorm room door. This is where she had stood in her dream, knowing what waited beyond the door, unable to stop her hand from rising to the latch, unable to turn away from the carnage within.

  Not everyone gets to live.

  Now, the exact opposite occurred. She did not know what lay beyond the door. Nor could she make her hand reach for the latch.

  I don’t want to know. If I don’t open the door, I can keep on believing, pretending, they are alive.

  Donny stood behind Dolores. His look of terror softened to worry as he alternately eyed the hallway or watched Dolores and Anna. He asked softly, “Anna, is this the door?”

  They are gone, she lied to herself, they all left, to another orphanage. She nodded – granting affirmation to Donny and acquiescence to Dolores.

  Donny didn’t hesitate. Anna suddenly loved that about him. He slipped the blackened key into the keyhole and lifted the latch. The oak door swung silently into a silent room. Foul air wafted out, carrying the faint but undeniable odor of death.

  Donny was through the door in an instant. Before Anna could protest, Dolores dragged her in as well, and locked the door behind them.

  Gray light from the overcast sky percolated through high windows. The chandeliers did not burn. Stillness permeated the room, as if in this space, God Himself held His breath.

  The two iron cots, along with all the straw, had been pushed to the far end of the room in a great heap. Anna started toward the heap but stopped in her tracks. Her heart leapt so hard it felt as if she had been struck in the chest. Two small girls lay side by side against one wall. Dark splotches mottled their gray skin. A torn patch of blanket lay across their faces.

  Anna moved toward the bodies but Dolores restrained her, pulling her instead toward the heap of straw.

  “I have to see…” she started.

  Then a shrill voice screamed, “Anna!” and the pile of straw exploded. Six girls – Lizzy and Jane at the lead – ran to her, crying and laughing and yelling her name. They crowded around her hugging and babbling until the whole mess collapsed in a dog pile of giggles and shrieks and tears.

  Chapter 8

  Dolores allowed about thirty seconds of the frantic reunion before commanding, “Hush!” Silence retook the room. Anna looked from face to face, trying desperately to account for all her girls. Gaunt faces stared back, dark-eyed and hollow-cheeked. But, their lips were drawn in unrepressed smiles and their wet eyes gleamed with joy.

  Maybelle was not among them. Anna glanced back over her shoulder to the dead girls. “Where’s Donny? Where’s Maybelle?” she asked.

  “Who’s Donny?” asked Jane.

  “Here,” Donny said in a choked voice. He knelt in the pile of straw, tears streaming down his cheeks.

  The girls helped Anna to her feet, their eyes never leaving her for a moment. Awe and admiration shone in those eyes, and it scared Anna. Even worse, she saw hope in those eyes. She tried not to think about that as she made her way to Donny.

  He knelt beside Maybelle in the deep nest of straw, holding her limp hand. Tears glistened in his eyes and at the corners of his broad smile. Anna could see that he was trying to talk, but no words came. Maybelle stared up at him, whispering, smiling.

  “We almost lost that one two nights ago,” Lizzy whispered. “It’s been real bad, Anna.”

  “Anna,” Dolores tapped her shoulder, “I was about to smuggle in some food when you two showed up. If you promise to keep them quiet, I’ll try to fetch the basket before Sister Eustace finds her way back to us.”

  Anna nodded, unable to speak.

  “I was pretty mad at you,” Jane admitted, looking at her hands as she spoke. The girls sat in a rough circle in the straw nest. “At first I wanted to kill you. How could you just leave us like that?”

  “I just…just had to…” Anna started.

  “No, Anna,” Jane cut her off, “I know. We’ve been talking about it, all of us. There’s been nothing else to do. We all agree we’d have done the same thing, every single one of us.”

  The other girls nodded and murmured agreement.

  “But none of us would’a come back,” Lizzy said. “Sister Dolores said you might come back for us, but we all agreed that if any one of us ever got outta here, we’d have just kept right on running.”

  “Lizzy, Jane…” The guilt in Lizzy’s voice broke Anna’s heart.

  “But now, everybody got to go free, did you know that?” Jane asked, her eyes dancing with light.

  “What do you mean, ‘free’?” asked Anna.

  “The Church condemned this institution. They condemned the whole damned island,” Jane said. “A delegation from the Seattle Diocese came out to inspect the damage. They said you wrecked this place real good, too good to be fixed. They also said that the living conditions here are deplorable and an embarrassment to the Church.”

  “They up an kicked Abbess McCain right out of the Church,” Lizzy said. “And Sister Eustace and a bunch of others!”

  “So all the children got to leave,” Jane continued. “There’s a new program going. Instead of keeping all the orphans cooped up in factories, now they’re sending us out to the farms, almost like getting adopted. You still have to work for your meals, but at least you’re with a family, and you get to see the outside sometimes.”

  “But Abbess McCain kept you here?” Anna asked. “Because of me.”

  “Sister Eustace said they would let us go as soon as they found you,” Lizzy said. “Told us everyone is concerned for your welfare, but we know she’s a liar.”

  “They’ve kept us locked in this room since you blew up the factory,” Jane said. “They haven’t fed us since then. And there’s been no heat.”

  “Abbess McCain hid us when the delegation was here. I think she told them that all the children had already been sent away,” Lizzy said. “She means to leave us here to die. Noel and Mary Two…” Lizzy choked on her words, pointing toward the bodies by the door. “No one would have ever known if you hadn’t come back.”

  “Mary Two?” Anna asked, her voice breaking. She tried to rise, to move toward the shrouded bodies, but Jane and Lizzy both held her.

  “She’s gone, Anna,” Jane said, in tones kinder than Anna had ever heard from Jane. “We tried to keep her warm, but…”

  Mary Two’s bare ankle rested against the cold stone floor. Her tiny hands lay folded on her chest.

  “I almost killed her the night I left,” Anna said. “I didn’t mean it, Mary, honest I didn’t.”

  “She knows,” Lizzy whispered, “we talked, me and Mary, before she…you know, before, and she understands. She wasn’t mad at you or nothing.”

  “But I guess I really did kill her,” Anna continued. “If I hadn’t…”

  “No,” Jane said, anger replacing the kindness in her voice. “Abbess McCain did this. She could have sent us off with the others, but she left us here. Mary’s death, Noel’s death, Abbess McCain is guilty of both.” After a pause, Jane continued. “We all would have died already, if not for Dolores. She snuck in here a few nights ago to bring us food and blankets.”

  “And water,” Lizzy added.

  “Yeah,” Jane continued. “Sister Eustace wouldn’t even bring us water, and they took all our blankets, too. If we’d had blankets the fir
st night, maybe Noel…” Jane didn’t finish, and all the girls fell quiet for a time.

  Eventually, Anna broke the silence, “Did Dolores tell you why Abbess McCain kept you?”

  “Of course not!” Dolores said, slipping through the door. “They’ve had enough on their minds without having to worry about demons and witches and such.” She carried a basket full of food. “Eat up, girls…and Donny, is it? Eat up. This could be your last supper.”

  Chapter 9

  “Dolores,” Anna asked, “what is going on?”

  “Well, why don’t you nestle in with your sisters, and…uh,” she paused, studying Donny, “…and Donny. Donny, where did you come from, anyway?”

  “Nun tossed me off a boat,” Donny said through a mouthful of potatoes. “Joseph drug me up a pipe an’ dumped me in a cellar. Said he wanted my parts.”

  “Ooh, that’s wonderful.” Dolores’s eyes lit up when he mentioned Joseph. “I want to hear all about that, as soon as you’re finished eating. But,” she turned her attention to Anna, “as I was saying, nestle down my little chickadees, eat your food, and I will tell you a tale.”

  The potatoes Dolores brought were cold, but they were cooked. She also had two loaves of bread and a large jug of water. The girls devoured the feast as daintily as any pack of starved orphans can, and they passed the jug around until they drank it dry.

  Maybelle, who had been drifting in and out of consciousness, made a miraculous recovery as soon as Donny showed her the jam. She half sat, half lounged against him while he fed her bits of jam-smeared bread. He crammed potatoes into his own mouth with the other hand.

  “Donny,” Maybelle said after her fourth morsel, “Mamma said you cain’t never leave me. Daddy’s gonna skin your hide when he finds out you left me. Just ‘cause they’re in prison don’t mean you don’t have to mind ‘em.”

  “Hush up an’ eat, chipmunk,” Donny replied, not unkindly.

  Once it was clear she wasn’t going to die for lack of jam, Donny began to offer the jar around the circle of girls. After the third girl tasted the rare treat, Donny realized they were all staring at him with unabashed adoration. He stuffed the jar into Jane’s hands and told her to finish distributing it. Then he nestled back into the straw, trying to hide behind his little sister.

  Anna ate without taking her eyes off Dolores. Finally, she said, “Dolores, tell me what is happening here.”

  “I will have some questions for you, as well, young lady. Many questions. But for now, eat, and rest and I will tell you a story. We have at least an hour before Sister Eustace finds her way out of that basement. And I doubt McCain will be bold enough to send any more patrols today.” Dolores smiled, “No, not today she won’t.”

  “Sister Eustace said men are coming tomorrow,” Donny said.

  “Oh, yes, Hessians I should think, mercenaries, fanatics, restless adventure-seeking rakes,” Dolores said. “All from McCain’s secret order. They’ve got their little hearts set on capturing a witch. It should be a barrel of fun – but not for them, not now that I’ve found you two.”

  “Found us?” Anna demanded. “We don’t have anything to do with this! I don’t know you! We just want off this island! Whatever bad blood runs between you and Abbess McCain, I want no part of it.”

  “I’m very sorry, Anna,” Dolores said, “but if I am not mistaken, Joey offered you something – a key, perhaps. And you accepted it?”

  Anna said nothing. The truth was plain enough.

  Dolores smiled on her, very warmly. “You are right in the middle of this, Anna. As I told you on our first meeting, you are a brave and noble spirit, which is probably why Joseph trusted you…also because you are a little unhinged upstairs.” Dolores tapped Anna’s head. “I suppose I owe you a complete explanation.” She turned to the other girls. “Jane, I have some gauze and ointment in my basket, oh, and some tweezers. Would you be so kind as to help Anna pick the glass out of her shins, and dress her wounds?”

  Jane jumped to the task.

  “Donny, do you have any wounds that need attention?”

  “No, ma’am,” he said, crouching lower behind Maybelle. “I’m just fine.”

  “Very well,” Dolores sat on the iron cot. “Where shall we begin?” She crossed one leg over the other and started picking glass from the back of her calf. “I told you that Hattie shot my mother, fifteen years ago. She did so because my mother was a witch…”

  The girls gasped and murmured and fidgeted in the straw, moving closer to Anna.

  “Oh yes, little ones, mama was a witch. I, in case you are wondering, am not. My mother’s coven kicked me out, believe it or not. Seems I broke the rules. Anyhow, no need to fear me, I’m not a witch.

  “Now, that’s not to say I don’t know a trick or two.” She held up a bloody glass shard between thumb and forefinger. When she released it, instead of dropping, the glass floated in midair. The girls gasped with delight and awe. “And speaking of tricks, Anna, that exploding preserves gag is pretty nifty, you’ll have to teach me that one.”

  “Actually, that was Donny’s idea,” Anna said.

  “It’s not a trick, it’s a bomb,” Donny said, peeking out from behind his little sister.

  “Well, trick, bomb, whatever,” Dolores said. “As I was saying, that lovely creature you met in the hall, Hattie – she’s a witch-hunter…well, she was a witch-hunter. I don’t suppose she’s much of anything now.” Dolores grinned and stifled a giggle.

  “Abbess McCain heads the order of witch-hunters to which Hattie belonged. When I was a child, she and Hattie and two others, snuck into my home and shot my parents while they slept. And burned the house down.”

  The little circle of orphans murmured and hmm’ed appreciatively. In an orphanage, the story of the demise of one’s parents is the proper way to begin any introduction.

  “My brother, Joey, and I woke when we heard the gunshots. We jumped out the bedroom window and ran for the woods. I don’t know if Hattie and McCain intended to kill us, but they knew we were there and they certainly did nothing to save us.” She stopped picking glass from her leg and quieted for a moment, apparently distracted by dust motes floating on the air.

  When she spoke again, a darker breath colored her voice. “They sent us here, Joey and I. Somehow, the county learned we were witch kids. It just would not do to have the children of witches mingling with the poor, unfortunate orphans of good Christian folk. This place, The Saint Frances de Chantal Orphan Asylum, is where they hide the horrible and misbegotten. It is a place for children who wouldn’t be accepted anywhere else.

  “The fair people of the Church withhold charity from any institution housing children such as you. They may even have shown up with pitchforks and torches. And, no one in their right mind would ever adopt a child who had been living among children of witches, whores and thieves. So, this place was established, and all the vile orphans of the world – like my brother and I, like all of you – were shipped away and hidden here.” Dolores made a sweeping gesture, as if displaying merchandise in a showroom.

  “Unfortunately for little Joey and I, Saint Franny’s also became a dumping ground for the most nefarious nuns. The Church holds the concept of forgiveness in very high regard. It holds its own reputation even more dearly. So, when a nun disgraces the Church in splendid and spectacular ways, or if she is likely to do so, rather than defrocking her and risking a scandal, the Church allows the sister to maintain her vows, but exiles her to this rock.” Dolores returned her attention, and her tweezers, to the glass in her calf, but proceeded with her tale.

  “The Church discovered that McCain and her cohorts had murdered my parents. But, because they had committed their heinous sins as an act of faith, and because the Church still considers witchcraft a graver transgression than murder, rather than turning McCain over to the authorities, the bishop exiled her.”

  “Lucky us,” Lizzy muttered.

  Anna hissed a shush as her.

  Dolores snapped her eyes to Li
zzy. “Lucky indeed, little chickadee. Lucky you are here now rather than then.” She grinned a mad grin. “McCain has mellowed over the years.”

  A rare sobriety washed over Lizzy’s countenance.

  Dolores stared at her for a moment longer, then continued. “So, just after Joey and I arrived, Sister McCain and her merry band of witch-hunting nuns also took up residence here. When McCain saw me, she realized what a ‘splendid opportunity God had granted her.’ He had ‘turned her personal tragedy into a pathway to even greater glory’, and all that malarkey. The Church was sending her every witch orphan in the country. We were, in her mind, a veritable treasure trove of information.

  “She still had contacts in the Order of Inquisitors, that’s the name of their little club, by the by, the ones who are coming to kill us tomorrow.” She held up a bit of glass, cocked her head with a fake, plastered smile, then flicked the glass away.

  “McCain established a network of Inquisitor sympathizers inside Saint Franny’s, then went to work interrogating any orphans who may have had witch parents. Starting with me and Joey.

  “Joey was only six. He didn’t know anything that would interest McCain, but she found him very useful, none the less. She, um…she knew I wasn’t going to talk. Not easily, anyway, so…so she tortured Joey while interrogating me…” Dolores giggled, then drew a flask from under her habit and took a long drink. She breathed deep, then hit the flask once more.

  “It’s an elixir,” she said, answering the orphans’ quizzical looks. “It makes a mournful heart happy…” Dolores dropped her eyes to the flask and made a sound that was either a scoff or a sob. “…the same way that rose petals make an outhouse smell lovely.”

  “But, this is important for you to understand, so I must tell it,” Dolores continued. “I was eleven then. I knew much. About my mother’s craft, about her friends and the tracts they haunted. If I talked, mother’s friends would die. I could not do that. And, I confess, I took great pleasure in infuriating McCain.” Dolores snorted. “It was my little revenge.