"Like what?" asked Sunrise, peering into it.
"Puffballs," said Sister Hyacinthe shyly. "And borage and mullein and peppermint-"
"What in the world do you do with them?"
"Well-borage is a beautiful vegetable, you cook it like spinach. Here, take some," said Sister Hyacinthe generously. "And mullein-"
"Greens?" said Alfie disbelievingly. "If that's a green vegetable give them two eggs for nothing. I'll make any sacrifice if it'll improve the menu, which," he said, looking intently at Sister Hyacinthe, "is mainly soybean until our own vegetables come up. Soybean, followed by more soybean, followed by soybean with eggs. Stay for breakfast, too."
"Oh, thank you but we couldn't stay. Another sister arrived last night-"
"Sister Ursula," added Sister Hyacinthe, bobbing her head.
"And she's caught cold-"
"-and is feeling poorly," finished Sister Hyacinthe with artistic flourish.
"In any case we haven't even found out yet how to turn the water on at the house. We have a busy day ahead of us."
"Alfie could turn on the water for you," said Brill, pulling on a sweat shirt. "Alfie's not working today."
"A joyful thought," said Alfie, looking interested. "Kinder than giving the bus a grease job, although I suppose you want me to do that, too?"
"Naturally. And weed the garden, feed the chickens, cook dinner and-"
"Where do you all work?" asked Sister John, puzzled.
"We're picking beans this week at the farm up the road. We take turns. Three of us go, one stays at home to keep house. Ché picks beans, too, don't you, Ché?"
The boy grinned as Brill ruffled his dark hair.
"Do you sleep on the bus?" asked Sister Hyacinthe, who had been giving it admiring glances.
"Only when it rains," said Naomi, and brought her two eggs, placing them gently in her basket. "We give you two eggs and Alfie. Thanks for the bread, it'll be great."
"About the firecrackers," began Sister John.
Four heads swiveled to look at her. "Firecrackers?"
"I was wondering if you could describe exactly what you heard the other night. You mentioned firecrackers?"
"Bangs," said Brill briefly. "About five."
"But not all together," pointed out Sunrise.
"Two first," said Naomi. "Sharp noises, like cherry bombs."
"I thought like two strings of firecrackers."
"Acoustics probably," said Alfie. "Noise carries at night but it was enough to wake the dead. It woke us, and we turn in at midnight. Why?"
Sister John turned pink. "I just wondered. Sister Hyacinthe, we'd better be getting back since we have so much to do."
"Wait for me, I'm giving you an hour of my priceless time," said Alfie, shrugging into a shirt. "You don't mind, do you? I mean, cloister nuns don't have to be chaperoned, do they?"
Sister John laughed; she had a light, melodious laugh that was a pleasure to hear. "Come along and don't talk nonsense."
"And Alfie-when you get back," called Naomi, "don't forget the leaflets, and if Peg-Leg stops in tell him about the meeting tonight."
"God," said Alfie.
"Oh, definitely," said Sister John, giving him a cheerful glance.
4
As they plunged along the path through the woods Sister John said, "What exactly brought you here to camp for the summer and pick beans? You're not Boy Scouts after all?"
Alfie looked startled. "No, we're not Boy Scouts. Actually we're working at Nothingness, we've given up worldly pleasures."
Both sisters stopped and stared at him. "Given up worldly pleasures!" said Sister John. "Are you in orders, too?"
Alfie grinned. "You might say we belong to the anti-Quigley back-to-the-earth movement, or you might just call us dropouts. Quigley would."
"This Quigley," began Sister John, but Alfie jumped up, seized the branch of a low-tree and swung on it, giving a Tarzan-like shout. "Let's not talk about Quigley," he said, dropping back to the path. "It's too gorgeous a day. I don't believe you live in a house at all, I think you're wood sprites. Show me your mystery house."
But when they emerged from the wood and he saw the house he looked stunned. "Wow," he said.
"What's the matter?"
"That's Gothic Revival. Haunted Gothic Revival" He dashed across the paths and knelt beside the foundation; when he stood up he looked ecstatic. "You've got a house here that's probably two hundred years old, did you know that? Part of it, anyway. Then about a hundred years ago somebody came along and added on to it, remodeled it and turned it into an authentic Gothic Revival. It's amazing. Does anybody know about your house, does anybody know it's here?"
"Mr. Moretti," said Sister John.
"And several other men," put in Sister Hyacinthe. "Where did you learn so much about houses?"
"I was an architect major until it began stunting my growth," explained Alfie. "Can I see the inside?"
"We're hoping you'll want to see the cellar," Sister Hyacinthe reminded him, "and find the water switch?"
"Oh, the cellar ought to be fantastically spooky."
"I think you can count on it."
"As you can see, the living room is strange enough," said Sister John, unlocking the front door and entering the main hall. "The vines have covered up all the windows and it's black as night."
"And the vines tap on the glass in a wind," added Sister Hyacinthe.
"Marvelous," breathed Alfie.
"The cellar door is over here," said Sister John, leading the way. "Perhaps you'd like a flashlight. Perhaps you'd like to go first in case there are rats. Sister Hyacinthe, could you give him the flashlight?"
Once Alfie was properly outfitted he began a slow descent of the steep wooden stairs to the basement. "Watch this third one," he called over his shoulder. "It wobbles a bit but I can see a light bulb hanging near the bottom of the stairs. No rats, not even a mouse, but lots of cobwebs. I've got it," he said, tugging at a string suspended from the rafters, and a feeble low-watt bulb spread a sickly glow over their faces.
"Oh dear," said Sister Hyacinthe, looking around her.
Cobwebs stretched like clotheslines from every rafter and beam, and from their woolly threads hung newer, more delicate webs, like embroidery. A massive wall of ancient whitewashed stone ran down the center of the cellar, with small wooden doors set into it at intervals. There was only one window to be seen and it shed less light than the ten-watt bulb above them. Between them and the window lay a dark void filled with the silhouettes of discarded furniture: old chairs, wooden barrels and ladders.
"Very Poe," said Alfie in a hushed voice. "Can't you hear the faint dying cries of men sealed into the walls?"
"Actually no," said Sister John calmly.
Alfie picked up a broom and began assaulting the cobwebs. "Some of these old houses have ghosts, you know, wouldn't it be great if yours had one, too?" Hearing a small sound from Sister Hyacinthe he turned and looked at her.
"It's just that we have have to sleep in the house, you know."
"Oh." He thought about this and nodded. "You may have a point there, although I can't think of anything more fun. Imagine meeting a ghost face-to-face, think of the conversation you could have with him. There's a lot of money in haunted houses, too, you could charge admission-"
"About the water meter," began Sister John.
"Oh, that." Alfie said impatiently, "Well, there are the pipers up there, running down from your kitchen and along the ceiling. They head in this direction-" Swatting cobwebs, he moved up the asle with Sisters John and Hyacinthe behind him and opened the door to the first room. It proved to be a storeroom filled with old furniture covered with holland cloths but in the corner behind a particularly thick nest of cobwebs Alfie found the water meter with its accompanying wheels and knobs. "It's very simple," he said. "Nobody ever switched on your water." He turned a valve, and the sound of water rushing into pipes brought smiles to the faces of Sister Hyacinthe and Sister John.
"How can we ever thank
you?" sad Sister John.
"No charge. But you can't stop exploring this terrific cellar now, can you? I mean, all these ancient mysterious rooms and they're yours?"
"Perhaps a quick look," said Sister John, exchanging glances with Sister Hyacinthe, "although we simply must make Sister Ursula some eggnog and carry it up to her soon."
They were presently indebted to Alfie for his persistence, however, because over half of the long center wall proved to be a wine cellar, partially stocked with bottles, and all of them looking, said Sister John, as if they might be worth some money if sold: she only wished that she had brought pencil and paper with her to inventory them. Three of the small doors opened into the dim wine cellars; the fourth door, at the end of the basement, proved to be a preserve closet.
"But empty," pointed out Sister John. "Such a pity."
Sister Hyacinthe, walking down the aisle between the shelves, said, "Not completely empty, Sister John, there's an oil panting up there in a gilt frame."
Alfie turned the flashlight on a charming portrait of a young girl seated on a garden bench, a great deal of pointed lace at her throat and long dark hair framing a piquant face. "She looks familiar," Sister Hyacinthe said, frowning over it.
"I do believe . . . Sister Hyacinthe, do you remember Sister Emma, who died the same week as Mother Clothilde? Do you remember what she looked like?"
Standing on tiptoe, Sister John reached for the painting and accidentally knocked the shelf with her elbow. The shelf collapsed, sending the portrait to the floor in a cloud of dust and alarming a nest of mice below. As the mice raced across the room emitting small squeaks of anguish, Sister Hyacinthe choked back a cry and backed hard against the wall, which precipitated a hollow rumbling sound. Slowly, majestically, the narrow wall of shelves behind her began to move, and like a revolving door carried Sister Hyacinthe away with it.
"She's vanished!" gasped Alfie.
Sister John sighed. "This sort of thing is so upsetting for Sister Hyacinthe."
"But she's found a secret room!" cried Alfie. "Do you realize the odds against ever finding one by accident? A person could take measurements of the house for days, weeks, months and never know it was here!"
"Nevertheless," said Sister John firmly, "you simply must bring her back."
But the rumbling had resumed and a moment later Sister Hyacinthe was returned to them covered with dust, her coif askew. She said unsteadily, "One can't even lean against a wall in this house. Sister John, I thought I'd never see you again."
"What's back there?" demanded Alfie.
She turned and gave him a brooding stare. "I daresay you'll be disappointed to hear there wasn't a single body there, not so much as a skeleton. Only steep narrow stairs."
"A secret staircase! Oh, even better!" gasped Alfie. "Come on, what are we waiting for?"
"For someone to be sensible and leave this house of horrors," said Sister Hyacinthe.
"I confess to some curiosity," admitted Sister John. "Sister Hyacinthe-"
Sister Hyacinthe sighed. "I knew you'd say that. One thing leads to another in the place, except I thought it would lead to eggnog."
"Soon," promised Sister John, and volunteered to go first.
One by one they pushed hard against the wall, which swung inward, circling past a blank wall to deposit them at the foot of narrow wooden stairs. When they had assembled, each on a step, Alfie led the way, attacking the cobwebs with his broom, and Sister John in the rear with the flashlight. One wall was stone, and dripped moisture; the other was paneled and gray with mildew. Up they went, losing all sense of distance and space, and when it seemed as if they must surely have reached the roof Alfie hit something and swore. "I've come to the end, my nose reached it first, damn it. There's nowhere left to go." He grunted, pushed and tugged. "Something's sliding," he said, and abruptly the darkness became less intense and a strong smell of mothballs assailed their nostrils. "I think I'm in a closet," Alfie called over his shoulder. A door opened and beyond Alfic's silhouette they saw light and heard him gasp, "Good God!"
Sister Hyacinthe turned and looked at Sister John in alarm. Hastily the two sisters climbed over the last step and hurried through the closet to find themselves in the room over the kitchen. Alfie was standing over the man on the mattress and staring down at him incredulously.
"Oh dear, you're not supposed to see him," said Sister John. "That's Sister Ursula."
"This is Sister Ursula?"
"Not really, of course," put in Sister Hyacinthe, "but we're trying to call him that to hide his being here. Sister John, have you noticed he's moved? He's lying on his side now."
"A very healthy sign," agreed Sister John.
"But why?" asked Alfie, looking shaken. "I mean, who is he and what's he doing lying on your floor? Did you bring him with you?"
"Oh no, he came with the house," said Sister John.
Alfie's jaw dropped. "You mean like a stove or refrigerator?"
"You could say that. We found him unconscious in the closet and we think he's in danger because he asked for sanctuary."
"You've got to be kidding, why should he be in danger?"
"Because he's been shot three times. With bullets."
Alfie stared at her blankly. "With bullets," he echoed, and a look of comprehension suddenly dawned on his face. "He was here when you got here yesterday and he'd been shot three times?" He snapped his fingers. "The fireworks! That's why you asked about the fireworks, something did happen here two nights ago!"
"You're very quick."
"It's my IQ," he said modestly. "It's 160."
"All that meat," pointed out Sister Hyacinthe, nodding. "They were feeding meat to new babies when I went into orders and I wondered how it would turn out."
With a glance at the man on the floor between them Sister John put a finger to her lips and gestured them toward toward the door. "Let's continue our talk in the kitchen while I make eggnog, our voices are loud."
"Yes, but who do you think he is?" asked Alfie. "Where did he come from? Why d'ye suppose he was shot?"
"I think we shall have to wait for him to grow well enough to tell us."
"With three bullets in him you're going to just wait?"
"I see no alternative," Sister John told him as she led them down the stairs. "In the meantime there seem to be a number of equally pressing matters to look into. That portrait in the preserve closet, for one thing. That was a portrait of Sister Emma," she said, turning to Sister Hyacinthe. "A much younger Sister Emma, of course, but you recognized something familiar at once. If St. Tabitha's Abbey and Mr. Moretti are fatally linked to one another I think we ought to know how. His lawyer wouldn't even tell us whether Mr. Moretti died in a state of grace or not."
"But Mr. Moretti's dead," protested Alfie, "while upstairs you've got a living, breathing mystery man."
"Nevertheless I like to begin at the beginning," said Sister John. "I like a firm base."
"Something you can get your teeth into?"
"Exactly. A sense of order, a stable background in which to place events, which I must say appear to be accumulating rapidly. I like to see how things work."
"Sister John fixes all the machinery at St. Tabitha's," Sister Hyacinthe told him shyly. "She knows how to put everything in order."
"That's all very well but that chap upstairs can't have anything to do with machines and putting things in order."
"What we're speaking of," said Sister John gently, "is divine order." She picked up one of the two eggs on the table and cracked it over a bowl. "Have you the powdered milk there, Sister Hyacinthe?"
Alfie watched dazedly as an egg beater and powdered milk were produced. "But aren't you worried? I mean, if he was shot in this house-"
"He wasn't, he came in through the dining-room window. You can look for yourself if you'd like."
"Thanks." Alfie headed for the dining room and returned a minute later looking thoughtful. "I wonder if you'd mind my mentioning your Sister Ursula chap to the others.
Brill and Naomi and Sunrise, I mean. I hate keeping secrets."
"Can they?"
"Oh yes, and we all might be able to help, too. For instance, we can start by repairing that broken window for you. But I'd still like to know what you plan to do about that guy upstairs."
"We plan to give him eggnog."
"When he could be a murderer or worse?"
"There's a good deal to be said for letting God judge such matters," Sister John told him serenely, "and His are the rules we live by here. Sister Hyacinthe, would you take the eggnog upstairs? I'm going to turn on the faucets very gently and make sure the pressure doesn't break the pipes."
Alfie sighed. "I can take a hint if it's broad enough. I'll leave you, then, but I'm going to stop in later if you don't mind."
"To make sure we've not been murdered," Sister Hyacinthe said approvingly.
"Not necessarily by your Sister Ursula, either," he reminded her. "My deduction is simple: whoever shot your Sister Ursula wanted him dead, at least three bullets implies a certain-a certain-"
"Sincerity?" suggested Sister Hyacinthe.
"Yes, as well as three miscalculations. Whoever shot him may have doubts about his success and come track to make sure there's a body."
"An interesting deduction," agreed Sister John.
He glanced at his watch. "Good God, half-past nine already?" With a wave of his hand Alfie bolted out of the kitchen door, returned to gasp, "Don't let anybody in!" and left.
Sister Hyacinthe said accusingly, "You heard what he said."
"His deductions are shrewd but late," Sister John said calmly, "or have you forgotten the men in the garden last night?" She carefully turned on the faucet and stood back as water exploded into the sink. Pipes rattled and shuddered, and water settled into a quiet stream and she nodded in satisfaction. "It's working properly now. I'll go upstairs with you."
When they entered the room over the kitchen their patient's eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling; he closed them quickly. Sister Hyacinthe said, "I've brought you eggnog and I know you're awake so you needn't play games. How are you feeling this morning?"
"Awful," he said, opening his eyes and staring at her. "Who are you?"
Gilman, Dorothy - A Nun in the Closet Page 4