Lea looked undecided, but after a frown, she nodded. “Yes, but isn’t it dangerous?”
“It’s the only way out of here, unless you know where the keys are kept.”
Lea tapped the end of her brush against the table. “Mr. Roche has keys, but I don’t think he lets them out of his sight. Sister Anne has a set, but I don’t know where she keeps them.”
“So, that settles it. We’ll have to be careful of the fence. That’s the most difficult obstacle to clear. We can tie the rope around the cross and lower ourselves down. There’s only a small rose window on the north side of the chapel. We don’t have months—or even weeks—because Nora—” Teagan froze.
Lea stretched her long neck like a bird looking for food. “What about Nora?”
Teagan’s face flushed. “I can’t say.”
Lea’s eyes bored through her. “She’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Lea pointed her brush at Teagan. “I knew that would happen. The cards said so, it must be true.” She turned back to her table and lowered her gaze. “The cards said you’d both have long and fruitful lives. They don’t indicate where, though. I was hoping it would be here with me.”
Teagan patted Lea’s shoulder. “Nora’s pregnant, but no one knows except us.” She paused. “You can come, too. You don’t have to stay here forever.”
Lea shook her head. “My stepfather used to say, ‘You can’t beat a dead horse.’ He was right. I’m not going anywhere. This is my home.”
“I promise that after I leave and get settled, I’ll come back for you. Cross my heart.”
Lea shrugged and then turned back to her work. After a few moments, she said, “We’ll see . . . we’ll see.”
A shadow moved across the floor, dark, flowing like a black river. She turned to find Sister Anne, her face grim as stone, only a few yards away. The Mother Superior said nothing as she walked toward them.
Teagan pointed to Lea’s picture. “I think it’s beautiful.”
The Mother Superior continued her slow walk.
“Don’t you think so, Mother?” Teagan asked. “Lea wanted my opinion.”
Sister Anne stopped, her hands clutching her crucifix. “Why should I believe anything you tell me? You’ve proven yourself to be a liar. I suspect you two were conspiring about something.” Her eyes flashed. “Teresa, you have a visitor, so come with me. Lea, get back to your painting. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll have nothing to do with this girl.”
“Yes, Mother,” Lea responded meekly. The life drained from her friend’s eyes.
“Come with me, Teresa,” Sister Anne said.
When they reached the closed office door, the Mother Superior stopped. Teagan stood in the hall. “I’m not going in, because your visitor has requested a private conversation. I’ll see you when he’s finished.”
He? Teagan’s heart fluttered. Could it be Cullen? No, Sister Anne would never leave her alone in a room with her boyfriend. Another thought struck her: Maybe it’s my father. No, it couldn’t be.
“Well, go ahead,” Sister Anne prodded. “Open it.”
Teagan opened it. Only the man’s legs were visible, extending from one of the two chairs in front of Sister Anne’s desk. He wore pressed black pants and a pair of brightly polished shoes. He slowly came into view as she walked toward him. The door closed behind her.
She recognized the curly black hair, the handsome face as it appeared in the wing chair. Father Mark rose from his seat and smiled at her. His expression wasn’t insincere, Teagan thought, but it was awkward, a forced smile from guilt and pain. He didn’t extend his hand, but instead gestured to the chair next to his.
“Please sit down,” he said. “I’ve come to get something off my chest. A confession, of sorts.”
Teagan sat, unsure what the priest was getting at, but she doubted no good could come from a conversation with a man who had driven her from her home.
CHAPTER 12
Teagan had been blinded by his perfection. As her anger bubbled up, she vowed to regard him as a man, nothing more, hardly a man of God. How ordinary he looked sitting in the chair. Sister Anne had opened the drapes, inviting the winter day in. The insipid light did nothing for him. It fell behind him, leaving his face darkened by shadow. His eyes had lost the sparkle they’d held when she first met him at the rectory. What a glorious beginning that had been: a day filled with flirtatious innocence, only to be dashed by alcohol and lies. The creases around his eyes had deepened, as well, making him seem older.
He started to lean toward her, but then collapsed in his chair, as if deflated by the effort to be friendly. He clutched the armrests.
“I don’t know how to begin,” he finally said. “It’s foolish of me to ask how you’re doing. I can tell from looking.” He studied her, his dark brows coming together. “You look tired, Teagan. Are you getting enough rest?”
She suppressed the urge to laugh, and wondered if, for spite, she should play the part of the unrepentant Magdalen, and answer his question with sarcasm. It was too easy to be slutty, too easy to be angry. And what good would it do to antagonize him?
“None of us gets enough rest, really,” she said calmly. “You have no idea what it’s like here, do you?”
“I don’t think any priest does.” He turned away and gazed out the window for a moment. “Nuns handle the operations of the laundries. It’s their domain.” He looked back and straightened in his chair. “Sister Anne showed us the letters you wrote. Father Matthew was happy that they went no further than the Mother Superior’s desk. Everyone agreed no harm had been done.”
“I suspected as much.”
“Of course, I’m rather shocked by your appearance—your weight, the gaunt look, the extreme cut of your hair. You were thin to begin with.”
Teagan smiled at the irony. “You did look me over. I knew you did.” She brushed her hand across the top of her head. “Sister Rose, ‘The Butcher of Holy Redemption’ as we like to call her, keeps our hair short. She cuts it every two weeks like clockwork, so it doesn’t get out of hand, even though she’s so frail she can hardly hold the clippers. Sometimes the girls bleed from the cuts on their heads.” She laughed. It echoed in the room. “We wouldn’t want to copy the latest styles, you know. God forbid we had a bouffant, or a flip. I guess such things are for those who live in the realm of the ‘worldly.’ But you saw me at Christmas Mass. I guess you couldn’t stand to look at me.”
Father Mark cringed. “I’m sorry.”
Teagan knew enough to reject his thoughtless apology outright. She stared at him with an icy glare. “Why are you here? I’m sure it’s not to see me. Otherwise, you would have come long ago. Or perhaps you don’t want to talk about it. In that case, I’ll call for Sister Anne.”
“Please . . . please, hear me out.” He leaned toward her. “I’ve been through hell because of this whole business.”
“ ‘I’ve’ been through hell?” She wanted to slap the priest. She balled her fists and shook them at him. “Unless you can give me a good reason to stay, there’s nothing else to talk about. Why don’t you go back to your Bible, your rosaries, and your Masses, so you can save the other sinners around you?” She got up and turned her back to him. “You disgust me!”
She felt him, warm, against her.
He put his hand on her shoulder. “I wanted to pray for our sin, for God to forgive us.”
She lurched away. “Liars must earn their absolution.”
She heard his breath catch.
As she turned, he reeled backward. A sob burst from his lips as he sank into his chair. He swiped at his eyes. “I’m asking for your forgiveness, Teagan.”
She stood, unmoved by his plea.
“Did you hear me?” he asked. “I’m seeking your forgiveness. It was our fault. We were both to blame. You know that. You felt it, too.”
“Then tell the truth about your sin. Get me out of this convent.”
He shook his head. “I can’t do that. We’ve both sinned and have to pay the
price.”
Teagan turned and walked away. At the door, she looked back. “I didn’t realize how weak a priest could be. You’re scared of the truth. I’m calling for Sister Anne—at least she’s honest in her hatred. I’m going back to the laundry. When I walk out of here, I don’t want to see you again. Do you understand? I want nothing to do with you.”
Father Mark got up without a word. His arms hung by his side. He gathered his coat and hat and brushed past her, pausing briefly at Mr. Roche’s office. The old caretaker hobbled to the doors and opened them. The priest disappeared down the convent steps.
Too numb to cry, Teagan walked unsteadily back to the chair. The LOVE blocks on Sister Anne’s desk taunted her with their ridiculous message. Her mind reeled. Now that he was officially an enemy, Father Mark would go about his business, ignoring her forever. Perhaps she had at least made him think, placed the guilt of her circumstances squarely on his shoulders. Was he so vain that he thought he’d be absolved by an admission of her feelings about him?
A few minutes later, the Mother Superior appeared at the door as if she had materialized from the ether. The sight of the smug Sister Anne plunged Teagan deeper into despair. She sobbed, unabashed by the nun’s presence. The Mother Superior reached for her, as if in sympathy. Teagan sensed a flicker of compassion in the gesture. The spark was brief and was extinguished almost as quickly as it began.
Sister Anne withdrew her hand, straightened, and said, “I don’t know what Father Mark had to say . . .” She faltered. “He spoke to me of compassion and forgiveness. That’s all he would tell me.”
Teagan lifted the edge of her apron and wiped her eyes. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
“I already know the truth.”
“Then there’s nothing I can say or do that will change your mind.”
The Mother Superior harrumphed and clapped her hands. “There’s no time for such foolishness in the life of a penitent. Work. Good, hard, honest work is what you need to save your soul. And it shall be done. Back to your mending.” She pointed to the door.
Teagan’s legs felt as if they were weighted with chains as she trudged back to the library. Lea, bent over her desk, ignored her as she resumed her work on a lace handkerchief. She wondered whether her friend had taken Sister Anne’s words, “Have nothing to do with this girl,” to heart.
* * *
No one celebrated Nora’s seventeenth birthday in February. She decided not to mention it to anyone, not even to Teagan. Her baby was the most important thing on her mind.
A few days later, her hand slipped on the slick porcelain of a basin. She caught herself with the other as pain stabbed her stomach. My God, I’m going to have the wanker on the spot. She looked over her shoulder at Teagan, who stood near a dryer. Another afternoon in the laundry for both of them. There was no escaping it. Sister Ruth was preoccupied with an incoming delivery and hadn’t seen her slip. The girl closest to her, Sarah, eyed her with concern.
She looked down at her hands—rough, raw, with reddish welts from the hot water and bleach. The sight of her blistered hands, the acrid smell of the laundry, suddenly turned her stomach and she bent over the basin.
Sarah rushed to her side. “Are you okay?” Her eyes were wide with fear. “Should I call Sister Ruth?”
Nora looked at the stout nun bending over a laundry parcel near the entrance. She wanted nothing to do with her, despite the fever building in her head and the blue dots prancing across her vision. “No.” She clutched the basin’s edge with both hands. “The smell is doing me in. Give me a minute.”
She stepped back from the sink and swayed into Sarah’s arms. The slight girl caught her, but Nora’s weight was too much. They both ended up on their knees on the floor.
“Sister Ruth! Sister Ruth!” Sarah’s screams rang out over the roar of the machines.
Nora closed her eyes and sank against Sarah’s chest. The sensation of settling against the girl was oddly comforting, like having a good friend who understood all your problems. She wanted to close her eyes and take a long nap; and, when she awoke, everything would be better.
“What’s the matter with you?” a stern voice asked.
Nora opened her eyes and found Sister Ruth staring into her face. Teagan looked over Sister Ruth’s shoulder.
“Get back on your feet this instant!” the nun demanded. “This is no time for a nap, not when there’s work to be done.” From her tone, it was obvious that Sister Ruth still held a grudge against Nora for escaping.
Nora held out her hand to Teagan, who tried to lift her. She flopped back against Sarah.
“Oh, for the love of God,” Sister Ruth said. “Give me your hand.” Her thick fingers extended from the black sleeve of her habit. Nora reached up, but she slipped from the nun’s grasp and landed against Sarah again. Sister Ruth leaned down and grasped her under the arms. In a dead lift, the nun grunted and wrested Nora to her feet. Sister Ruth half-carried, half-dragged her to a secluded corner in the north side of the laundry, away from the washers and dryers. Nora called out for Teagan, but Sister Ruth waved her away.
“What’s gotten into you?” Sister Ruth said and lowered her head even with Nora’s. “You look like the divil himself. Sit down.”
Nora slid into a plastic folding chair that had been placed in the corner. It felt cool against her hot skin. She wiped her forehead with her hand.
“I’m off,” Nora said and forced a smile. “It’s those horrible breakfasts you serve us. Makes me sick to me stomach.”
“Nonsense,” Sister Ruth said. “None of the girls are complaining about the food, except you.” She ran her hand across Nora’s forehead and then shook her fingers in the air. “Your head’s as damp as castle walls in spring. You’ve got a fever.” She looked at Nora from head to toe a few times, then her gaze stopped at Nora’s belly. The nun’s eyes blazed.
“Stand up,” Sister Ruth ordered.
Nora got up from the chair, shaky on her feet, but steadied herself by holding on to a wall.
Sister Ruth put her hand on Nora’s stomach and nodded her head. “Let me tell you what’s going on—if you don’t mind me grabbing a bit of Sherlock Holmes.” She smirked. “You were gone for nearly a week, you’re sick to your stomach, and your belly’s got a bump.” The nun thrust her hands on her hips. “You’re pregnant.”
Nora wondered how she should respond. She hadn’t wanted any of the nuns to know until she had told Sister Mary-Elizabeth, the one who might soften the blow to Sister Anne. Perhaps she could bluff Sister Ruth.
“That’s ridiculous. I’m not feeling well.” She sat in the chair. Her head swam as if she were on a carousel.
“No, my little lass, you’re turning green, and it’s not from envy. I’m getting Sister Anne. She’ll decide what to do with you.” She stormed away, her habit flowing behind her.
As soon as Sister Ruth had gone, Teagan ran to Nora and knelt down in front of her. Her friend grabbed her hands. “I’m done for,” Nora said. “She’s gone to get Sister Anne.”
“You told her?” Teagan asked.
“No, but Sister Ruth’s not stupid.” The room spun around her, and she lowered her head. “I really feel like I need to barf. You’d better get back to your station or you’ll be in trouble.”
Teagan stood. “Okay, but I’ll be watching.”
Nora slumped in her chair as the minutes ticked away. She gulped in air and closed her eyes, hoping to stem the circles rotating in front of her eyes. Sister Anne would be furious; she could feel it in her bones. Who knew what the Mother Superior would do? Maybe she’d send her away for the length of her pregnancy to someplace more comfortable, like a hospital. She thought of herself resting in a room, reading a magazine in bed, a nurse serving her tea and breakfast in bed.
That bubble burst when she opened her eyes. The Mother Superior glared at her. Sisters Ruth, Mary-Elizabeth, and Rose stood on either side of Sister Anne, their strict gazes falling upon Nora like rays from an ominous b
lack sun.
“Get up,” Sister Anne said and tugged on Nora’s arm.
“I don’t feel well.” She grasped the Mother Superior’s arm.
“I’ve had enough of this! Get up! I want to see for myself.”
She steadied herself against the wall and hitched herself up.
Sister Anne leered and pointed to Nora’s stomach. “In plain sight for all to see but the blind. Come along.”
She pulled at Nora, who stopped a few feet from the chair. “I’m going to be sick.”
“Don’t be—”
Nora’s throat convulsed, and a stream of greenish bile flew from her mouth onto Sister Anne’s habit. The Mother Superior skittered back, her lips tight and her eyes filled with disgust.
“Oh, Mother!” Sister Ruth hurried to get a towel from a laundry bin.
“Fool!” Sister Anne stepped forward as Nora slumped. “You’ll be mopping this up for the rest of the afternoon. Not only your mess, but the rest of the floors.” Sister Ruth rushed back with a towel and dabbed at Sister Anne’s habit.
“Stop it,” Sister Anne said and pushed the nun away. “I’ll have to burn this one. Spawn of the devil upon it.”
Nora’s stomach felt better, although her head was still swimming. She clutched the railing that ran alongside the long bank of windows.
“Can’t you see she’s ill?” Teagan shouted above the tumult.
“Shut up!” Sister Anne’s voice was shrill, enraged by the question.
“I will not shut up. She’s sick. She needs care or she might lose the baby.”
Sister Anne swung at Teagan, slapping her hard on the left cheek.
Teagan gasped and stumbled backward. Sister Anne’s face reddened as she raised her hand again.
Teagan said nothing, but turned her other cheek to the Mother Superior. The color drained from Sister Anne’s face. The nun strode toward the door, calling back, “Take Monica to the Penitent’s Room for the night, where she can consider the consequences of her actions.” She turned and gave a defiant look to Teagan. “Teresa can clean up this mess, and when she’s through here she can scrub every hall in this convent. Don’t let her stop until she’s finished.” She disappeared up the stairs.
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