"I didn't think you were," she said. "What kind are you accustomed to?"
"Comfort and money. In case you've never noticed, comfort is what money buys, the more money the more comfort, and I wish you wouldn't look as if you don't know what I'm talking about. I'm talking about things like two-hundred-dollar suits and-oh no, you don't," he said, eyes narrowing. "Tricked me, didn't you. We were talking about today's menu and I was going to ask you what's for dinner-if I dare."
"Probably beef stew again," she said frankly, "but if Alfie brings us eggs there'll be mushroom omelet. Sister John says you're to stand up and try taking a few steps today."
"It'll give me an appetite," he warned her. "You understand I'm in no hurry to leave but I'll feel a lot safer when I can walk. Or run," he added cryptically. "Is Sister John planning to convert me?"
"She's started praying hard for your soul."
He nodded. "She has a very firm chin, I was afraid of that."
"Well, you have to pay a price for everything," Sister Hyacinthe told him, removing his tray, and decided that it might be kind to warn him of certain other events lying in wait for him. "Sister John has made you a kind of-well, a sort of costume, so that you'll look like a Sister Ursula."
His eyes narrowed; he said suspiciously, "Nobody's getting my pants away from me, Sister."
"But I'm sure the skirt can go right over your pants," she told him consolingly. "The coif may slip a bit, we didn't have the right kind of cloth, but the veil will almost cover it, and-"
She was drowned out by the uproar, and sensibly fled the string of profanities, bitter epithets and protests that poured from him like blood out of a pierced artery, but they followed her all the way down the stairs. She continued down another level, groping her way through the twilight of the cellar toward the preserve closet, where she reported the conversation to Sister John.
Sister John had dumped the contents of the suitcase into bushel baskets and was sorting the bills into tidy piles according to their denominations. "I can't imagine how he became that rich with such an unpleasant disposition," she said.
"It means he's getting better," Sister Hyacinthe told her. "Sick people always get cross as they get better. I rather like him, you know, I've always understood unpleasant people better than happy people."
Sister John gave her a quick glance. "I'll go up and talk to him soon. Certainly if he's getting better it doesn't leave us a great deal of time. Have you noticed how enormous the pile of one-hundred bills is growing? I'm not finding many twenties at all."
"What did you mean about time?" asked Sister Hyacinthe.
"Time to help him," pointed out Sister John. "Once he can walk I think he should join us in prayers." Her glance lifted to the blank wall and she regarded its bricks with a delicate frown. "I'm not at all sure how it can be done, Sister Hyacinthe, but I'm determined that when Sister Ursula leaves us no one will want to shoot him again. He'll be a changed man, radiating goodness."
"I think," said Sister Hyacinthe in an alarmed voice, "I'll do some pruning now."
An hour and a half later Sister John emerged from the cellar looking dazed, hurried through the house calling Sister Hyacinthe, and found her on the ladder at the corner of the house. "Sister Hyacinthe, you won't believe it," she gasped. "You simply won't believe it but I've just reached-and not even half the money counted!"
Sister Hyacinthe looked down at her warily. "Don't upset the ladder, Sister John. Reached what?"
"I've been counting the money and I've just reached ninety-nine thousand dollars."
Sister Hyacinthe stared down at her in astonishment. "But that's a great deal of money."
"Of course it is, and not half the bills counted yet. I could reach one hundred thousand before lunch."
"If you don't get blood poisoning first from spider bites," said Sister Hyacinthe, and climbed down the ladder to pluck an especially large black spider from Sister John's coif. "It scares me," she said.
"The spider?"
"The money. There's something wrong about it, I know there is. No house should have a man in a closet and ninety-nine thousand dollars down a well. It's just as Bhanjan Singh said, there's evil here, Sister John."
"Of course there is, but we're here now," pointed out Sister John. "You mustn't let your imagination run away with you, Sister Hyacinthe. Evil is, after all, only a deficiency of goodness."
"You mean like a vitamin deficiency?" said Sister Hyacinthe doubtfully. "I'm sorry but all I feel is nervous, Sister John. There's Sister Ursula upstairs, and ninety-nine thousand dollars downstairs, and men poking around the garden-What's that?" she asked anxiously.
A sudden roar from the trees along the road caused her to turn in time to see a motorcycle hurtle through the ivy along Fallen Stump Road and head up the driveway toward the house. It was difficult to decipher just who might be under the striped helmet and behind the enormous goggles but the display of white teeth was friendly. The motorcycle came to a halt beside them and when the goggles were shoved back and the Martian helmet removed it was Naomi. "Hi, it's my day off today, need anything from town?" she asked.
"You're the answer to a prayer, you can mail a letter for us," Sister John told her. Approaching the motorcycle she reached out and wistfully touched the chrome handle bars; tenderly following their curve down to the shining rear-view mirror. "What a glorious machine. Is it yours?"
"Like it? It's a secondhand trail bike. Eighty-nine cc four-stroke engine with overhead cam."
"Extraordinary," said Sister John, bending over to study the engine. "Sister Hyacinthe, wouldn't this be a wonderful idea for us at St. Tabitha's?"
"No," said Sister Hyacinthe. "Will Bhanjan Singh be over today?"
"Not until the weekend. He went back to New York on the bus last night and Sunrise went with him to visit friends. But," said Naomi, seeing Sister Hyacinthe's disappointment, "Alfie's bringing over eggs during his lunch hour. Where's the letter you want mailed? Why don't you come along with me?" she asked Sister John. "You can sit behind, hold on tight, and mail the letter yourself. We'll be back in an hour."
Sister Hyacinthe said in a shocked voice, "You mustn't, Sister John."
"Of course I mustn't," said Sister John, "but I don't see what harm it would do."
"Your legs will show."
"Inevitably, but there are all those new nuns with legs and I have a pair, too." She gazed measuringly at the cycle and nodded. "Yes, I believe I'd like to go. I won't be long, at least I don't think so. Where are we going, Naomi?"
"Post office, bank, five-and-dime store, and hardware store."
"After which I'll be back," promised Sister John. "Go for a walk in the woods, count the you-know-what, or have lunch." Holding up ,her skirts she climbed on and sat smiling radiantly at Sister Hyacinthe until Naomi kicked the starter. The engine roared and the cycle jumped; Sister John's right hand seized Naomi's waist, her left hand flew to her veil and they zoomed off down the driveway with Sister John's skirts billowing up behind her like a balloon.
Feeling somewhat abandoned and trying not to remember she was alone except for the dubious support of Sister Ursula, Sister Hyacinthe wandered over to the steps and sat down. A ladybug was making slow progress along the step and she removed a twig of wisteria from its path. This done, she observed the fields of mustard and entertained the thought of harvesting and drying it the next day. This cheered her and she began to think how she might put together a few drying frames; she had seen some battered window screens somewhere that would serve her purpose nicely if she could only remember where she had seen them. She rose and crossed the porch to the front door, opened it and stopped in the doorway as she heard new sounds from the driveway. Through the wisteria she saw a long gray car moving toward the house, the sun glancing off its windshield and nearly blinding her. It was a very large car, she noticed as it neared the house, and it purred with a well-bred elegance that was a number of decibels below the sound of Naomi's motorcycle.
The car stopped. A
square short man climbed out, picked up a briefcase and walked up the steps until, seeing Sister Hyacinthe in the shadows, he paused and gave her a twinkling smile of surprise. "Beautiful afternoon. Am I perhaps addressing the mother superior?" he asked.
"No, of course not," said Sister Hyacinthe indignantly.
"John M. Ianicelli here, purveyor of fine religious Objets d'art. Crosses, rosaries, crucifixes of gold and silver, ivory, plastic and alabaster. May I come in?"
Sister Hyacinthe opened her mouth to say no; she was in fact certain that she did say no and later could not explain exactly how he succeeded in opening the door and inserting himself past her. It was masterfully done; he didn't even cause her skirts to flutter.
"What a charming house," he said, standing in the hall and looking up and down the stairs and into the living room. "Wonderful proportions. Starting a convent here?"
"No," said Sister Hyacinthe. "We don't need any crosses and rosaries, either."
"Wait until you see them," he confided. "Every one of them a work of art. Inexpensive, too. Where's a table?" Deaf to Sister Hyacinthe's protests he moved into the living room and placed his briefcase on the mahogany lamp table. With one hand on the lock he glanced at her. "Like to call the other sisters?"
"They're s-s-sleeping," Sister Hyacinthe stammered, and desperately wished that Sister John were here to deal with this persistent man. "And we truly don't need any crosses. I told you."
"Of course you told me," he said reassuringly. "I heard you, too, but I'd be a poor salesman, now wouldn't I, if I didn't show you what I've got to offer? We're both selling religion, is how I look at it. You wouldn't give up on a poor soul who says he's not interested in God, would you?"
Sister Hyacinthe felt instinctively that his reasoning was faulty; she could not quite see the analogy but felt helpless in the face of his ruthless charm. Nor did he give her time to think; with a dramatic flourish he unlocked the briefcase and opened it wide like a magician producing a white rabbit. A beam of sunlight peeping through the newly pruned windows sent a ray of light across the contents of the case and struck fire on row after row of gold and silver objects nesting on black velvet. Seeing her face he said triumphantly, "Beautiful, didn't I tell you?"
In spite of herself Sister Hyacinthe moved nearer, drawn by the glitter after years of frugality. She had never in her life seen such brilliance, and involuntarily one hand went out to touch a cross thickly encrusted with green, red and white jewels. The colors blazed like lights under water.
"Five dollars," said Mr. Ianicelli.
Sister Hyacinthe's hand withdrew quickly.
"Of course we give a large discount to nuns," said Mr. Ianicelli, "and an even bigger one on quantity purchases. Go ahead and try it on, I don't mind."
Sister Hyacinthe picked it up and found the stones thick and prickly as barnacles and warm to the touch.
"Take your time, look 'em all over," said Mr. Ianicelli. "You don't mind if I get a glass of water from your kitchen, do you? It's the hottest day we've had this summer and I'm as dry as a snake's belly."
Sister Hyacinthe was only vaguely aware that he disappeared; she held the cross up to the light and smiled as the sun struck rainbowed prisms across it. She was returned to the moment only when she heard the back door slam and Alfie shout, "Hey, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"
Conscience-stricken, Sister Hyacinthe dropped the cross back into the case and turned as Alfie herded an indignant Mr. Ianicelh back into the living room. "Sister Hyacinthe, this man was in your pantry!"
"Pantry," Sister Hyacinthe repeated blankly. "I think he said he was going to get a glass of water."
"Which is just what I was doing," said Mr. Ianicelli, his voice aggrieved, "except it's been years since I've seen an old-fashioned pantry and I stopped to look at it. Sister, who is this young man?"
"Never mind who I am," Alfie told him. "Who the hell are you, begging Sister Hyacinthe's pardon? Except whoever you are I jolly well think you'd better apologize and get out."
"I sell crucifixes, crosses and religious objets d'art," said Mr. Ianicelli with dignity, "and I am not accustomed to being attacked by wild-eyed hoodlums."
"That's all very well but how did you happen to know there were nuns here to show your stuff to?"
Sister Hyacinthe had not considered this fact before, and looked questioningly at Mr. Ianicelli. Without replying he walked stiffly to his suitcase, snapped it shut, then saw Sister Hyacinthe watching him and opened it again. "Here," he said, drawing out a large, ornate silver cross. "Take this for yourself, Sister, compliments of J. M. Ianicelli. A little souvenir to a sweet and gracious lady, even if your friends are insultingly rude." With a cold glance at Alfie he carried the silver cross to the mantel and placed it there, picked up his case and strode out of the living room, through the hall and down the steps. A moment later the car door slammed and they heard the purr of its engine.
"How long had he been here?" demanded Alfie.
"About ten minutes," she said, tears flooding her eyes. "If you hadn't come-He just walked in, Alfie, and he just kept talking, and I couldn't think what to do, with Sister John gone, and then when he showed the crosses they were so beautiful."
"Sleight of hand," said Alfie knowingly. "He didn't try to go upstairs?"
She shook her head and a tear made its way down one cheek.
"But I found him at the door to the pantry," he said, frowning. "Standing there and looking around, and I must say it shocked the daylights out of me. I didn't like his vibes. I.wish you wouldn't cry, Sister Hyacinthe. Do you think I was unreasonably rude?"
"He did leave me a cross," pointed out Sister Hyacinthe, blowing her nose. "Of course it's not the cross I was admiring but it was very kind of him." She walked over to the mantel and picked it up, turning it over in her palm and studying it. "It's a rather vulgar cross, I wish he'd left me the other one."
"Anyway I didn't drop the eggs when I saw him," said Alfie. "I brought half a dozen and left them on the kitchen table. You'd better put them away."
He led her into the kitchen to show her six brown eggs resting precariously in the center of the table, and Sister Hyacinthe revived. "Aren't they beautiful! I've never understood how anyone can doubt God after seeing an egg. Would you like some lunch, Alfie?"
Alfie conceded that he would love some lunch, and they were munching contentedly on bread and sage cheese when Sister John returned. Her trip into town had left her dazzled by the possibility of new worlds. She had not only mailed her letter to St. Tabitha's by special delivery but at Naomi's suggestion-an inspired suggestion, she said-she had placed a long-distance telephone call to Mr. Armisbruck. It had taken time to reach him but he had promised to make a special trip to the abbey before dinner and tell the abbess how terribly important it was that they know more about Sister Emma.
"About Sister Emma!" exclaimed Sister Hyacinthe, disappointed. "Is that all?"
"It's what I particularly want to know," Sister John told her firmly. "It was delightful talking to him, Sister Hyacinthe, he said it's raining in Pennsylvania today-a very light rain-and he's charging sixty-two cents now for abbey bread."
"Highway robbery. We had a man selling crosses and rosaries at the house."
But Sister John gave no evidence of sharing Alfie's indignation over Mr. Ianicelli after hearing the story. Brill was coming over shortly to answer all her questions about the migrant workers and her mind was clearly occupied by this forthcoming treat. Finding communication at a standstill, Sister Hyacinthe announced that she would go into the woods to look for food, and Alfie, after a glance at his watch, said that he would go with her.
"I must say she's pretty cool about that Ianicelli guy," he complained as they crossed the lawn and entered the woods. "I thought she'd ask right away how he knew there were nuns living here. After all, you've been here only two days, haven't you?"
"She'll get to it," Sister Hyacinthe told him. "She likes crossword puzzles and she has perfect faith, yo
u know, besides managing everything so well. She'll probably become an abbess one day although I just hope," she added darkly, "that she won't have us all on motorcycles."
"I wish you'd explain why you want to be cloistered," Alfie asked. "Don't you mind?"
"Mind? Of course not, it brings us nearer to God," Sister Hyacinthe said, surprised. "If you're interrupted all the time how can you possibly concentrate? Our prayers go straight up to God."
"How can you be sure?"
"We just know," she told him simply. "Shall we take this new path? I see jack-in-the-pulpits up ahead."
They wandered deeper into the woods, Sister Hyacinthe adding various leaves and roots to her basket: scallions, borage, primrose and mints. Veering off to the right to avoid a marshy bog they came out on a clearing occupied, to Sister Hyacinthe's surprise, by a long aluminum house trailer. It fairly bristled with antennas and wires that ran toward a post; one antenna resembled a glittering steel spider's web, the other, a clothesline. "My goodness," she said. "Who lives here?"
"Oh, that's Quigley's place," Alfie said in an offhand voice. "We must have taken a wrong turning."
"I've never seen such a beautiful trailer, can we look inside?"
"I wouldn't," he said with a shake of his head.
"Is his wife there?"
"Quigley married?" The idea seemed to amuse Alfie. "I can't picture it, although one never knows, of course."
Sister Hyacinthe stared at the trailer, puzzled by something in Alfie's voice and by the look of the trailer simply dropped into the tall grass. "You're right," she said, nodding. "A woman would have planted a garden or seen to it that the grass was cut. He lives there alone then?"
"Well, he has a lot of short-wave radios and that sort of thing."
"And just collects garbage?"
"Just collects garbage," Alfie said solemnly. "Shall we find the other path now? He must hate to be spied on."
They retreated, stumbling into a glade carpeted by wild strawberries and so bright with sunshine that each of them promptly sat down without another word and began picking and eating them.
Gilman, Dorothy - A Nun in the Closet Page 8