Katherine was startled. “How did you know the convent was in Hingham?”
Andrea smiled. “We’re sisters, remember. Twin sisters. We’ve got a special kind of telepathy, I guess. You’ve heard of that. What time is convenient, I’ll visit you there, you can tell everybody I’m your sister. I am your sister,” Andrea laughed, softly.
“No! They know I don’t have any sister. Listen, I’ll be out on the playground from ten-thirty to eleven, I’ll be sitting so that you can see me from the street—that’s Mystic Avenue. Don’t come any earlier. Come up to the hedges there, and I’ll talk to you, but if you don’t come then, don’t come at all.”
Andrea nodded. She touched the back of Katherine’s hand lightly with her broken nails and slipped out of the booth.
The man behind the cash register cursed the snow and cold wind that blew inside when Andrea opened the door.
Katherine paid the check, carefully computing the tip at exactly ten percent, and slowly left the restaurant. Outside, as she adjusted her cape against the snow, she looked for Andrea, but the young woman had disappeared.
Katherine glanced back through the plate glass window of the restaurant. Just on the other side of it, a man dropped a dime into a pay phone and punched out a memorized number. He turned and smiled at Katherine: it was the man from the bus station, whom Andrea had called Dominic.
38
With entirely feigned interest Katherine attended as Sister Mercedes led her twenty third-graders through their spelling lesson. From her table at the back of the room, she took repeated glances out the window, watching the deserted playground for the approach of Andrea LoPonti. Early that morning Katherine had requested that Sister Mercedes allow her to help with the students once more before she left Hingham for the Mother House in Worcester. The day was bright and cold, the ground blanketed with the snow that had fallen the day before. It was nearing recess, and the children had grown restless in anticipation of being the first to trample that newly fallen cover. Katherine watched the traffic along Mystic Avenue and wondered uneasily whether it was her sister in the jeep that had already passed three times that morning. As she glanced that way again, the jeep appeared once more, slowed before the school, then disappeared around the corner of a side street.
Katherine had been a fool, she told herself, an irresponsible fool to have stopped even to look at the girl who had stood in the row at the back of the church. She had been even more of a fool to have revealed to Andrea what it served no purpose for Andrea to know—that they were sisters. Katherine had only just managed to rid herself of all her earthly ties, and now she had been stupid enough to resurrect another! Neither of them would be helped by this information. Andrea, if she had believed it at all, had not seemed overly pleased by the new connection; and Katherine herself was now obligated to deal with this long-lost sister, who was on the run from the police and a man called Dominic. Three years ago, finding her twin sister might have been a marvelous and exciting thing to have happen to her, but this meeting today was likely only to cause still more difficulties in Katherine’s troubled life. She could not shrug off an ominous feeling that Andrea was plotting something that could have dire consequences for her, something that she must be on guard against when she met her sister. Katherine was comforted by the knowledge that she would be leaving for the Mother House in only another week—Andrea LoPonti couldn’t touch her there. But today . . . what to do with Andrea today? Katherine decided that she would talk to her sister, urge her to go to the police, and then send her away.
Sister Mercedes clapped her hands once. The students stood at their desks and filed toward the cloakroom with carefully repressed excitement. Katherine glanced once more toward the playground, breathed a prayer of gratitude that it was still empty, and rose to help bundle the children into their coats and boots. She continued to hope that Andrea would stay away altogether.
“Let me go out with them today,” said Sister Katherine, knowing that Sister Mercedes, who disliked the cold intensely, would gratefully accept the offer.
“Thank you, Sister,” said Sister Mercedes, “I think that I’ll be very sorry to see you leave.”
Once outside, most of the children fled to the corner of the playground with most snow in it, fell into leaderless teams, and launched into the snowball battle that had been anticipated in whispers throughout the morning. They were only playful, and astonishingly quiet about it, so Katherine, although the battle was stretching rules, allowed it to continue. She pulled the hood of her cape loosely up about her head and turned toward the bench that was set near the front hedges.
Andrea LoPonti, wrapped in a black pea jacket and wearing a black knit cap covering her hair, sat at one end of it, absolutely still, staring at Katherine.
Katherine approached her. “Morning recess is just twenty minutes,” she said to her sister.
Andrea, weary and tense, only nodded.
“Did you have trouble finding this place?”
“No,” Andrea answered. She shoved her hands deep into her coat pockets. “That’s the convent over there, isn’t it?” She cocked her head toward the house on the other side of the school.
“Yes,” said Katherine cautiously. “I’m sorry you had to come all the way down here—for nothing. I should have made it clearer yesterday, there’s nothing that I can do for you.”
“Yes there is. One thing.”
Katherine looked up over the hedge. The jeep she had seen pass several times had pulled up to the curb: now she could see that there were three persons inside, two men and a woman. The driver got out. From the other side a taller, clean-shaven man and a woman with long red hair and a large purple birthmark on the side of her face emerged. They huddled before the jeep in conversation that appeared somehow not casual. Katherine, about to speak, looked down at Andrea, but it was Andrea who spoke first:
“I want you to let me stay in the convent for a while.”
“No!”
“I want you to go to the mother superior and tell her that your sister—”
“That’s impossible! I couldn’t do that, Mother Celestine knows I don’t—”
The young woman with red hair had climbed into the driver’s seat of the jeep; the two men were approaching the playground. Katherine’s objection was broken off by the menace in their appearance.
Andrea noted Sister Katherine’s absorption in something behind her. She twisted round and saw Dominic and Jack’s heads appear over the horizon of the hedge.
“Oh dear Jesus,” she breathed.
Katherine was as shocked by the terror in her sister’s voice as by the blasphemy of her words. “That’s the man who grabbed me in the bus station yesterday,” she whispered. “And I meant to tell you, he was in the—”
The snowball battle grew suddenly shrill behind them as one side mercilessly pursued its temporary advantage. Andrea’s hand closed over the revolver in her pocket, and she slowly withdrew it.
Katherine saw this, and, fearful that Andrea was planning to shoot the two men, uttered a small stifled cry. Andrea held the gun close at her side and swung about again to face Katherine. She aimed the gun at Katherine’s breast.
“Get me inside—now!” Her voice was cold and hard.
Jack and Dominic had stepped up their pace and were coming rapidly nearer the hedge that separated the playground from the front lawn. Katherine turned around immediately and headed for the school building, Andrea following only a foot or so behind her.
Andrea glanced over her shoulder: Jack and Dominic were looking for the easiest way over the four-foot hedge. “Hurry!” she insisted.
Katherine glanced at the children at the other corner of the playground; their game continued, but a few had paused, and their bewildered expressions made Katherine realize that they saw the gun in Andrea’s hand.
“Not the classroom!�
� said Andrea. Katherine looked about her bewildered, then turned sharply and went to the gray metal door that opened onto a long corridor behind the gymnasium. She swept inside, and behind them Andrea yanked the door closed and snapped the security bar into place.
A couple of moments later, the door was rattled and kicked, and they distinctly heard two voices, sharp and metallic: “Goddammit to hell!” growled Dominic, and Jack echoed him.
“Your fucking plans,” complained Jack harshly, “you had her yesterday in the fucking diner—”
“We’ll get her—”
“Yeah, and how the fuck are we supposed to get through this door, fucking nuns are gonna call the cops—”
“Look for—”
Katherine heard no more, for Andrea had pushed her through a swinging door into the boys’ locker room. It was deserted at this hour.
Andrea ripped off the nun’s veil. Katherine began to shake, and her breath came in convulsive gasps. Andrea slapped her hard across the face.
“Take off your clothes!” Andrea hissed through clenched teeth. She sat on a bench, placing the gun beside her, and pulled off her jacket. She looked up at the nun and repeated the command, “Take off your clothes!” Then she added, in a lower, sneering voice, “Sister!”
Katherine stood numbed. She made a move as if to undo her cape and then lunged at Andrea. Andrea jerked out of the way, and the revolver fell from the bench onto the cement floor.
Both women leapt for it.
Outside, Jack and Dominic suddenly left off their mutual denunciations when they realized that the playground had become quiet. The children stood mute, watching them. Jack glanced up, and when he saw several nuns appear at the upper windows looking for the cause of the unexpected silence, he pulled Dominic around the corner of the gymnasium. They leaned back against the bricks and tried to revise their strategy.
Not five minutes had passed before the gray metal door through which Katherine and Andrea had disappeared flew open and the woman in the pea jacket and watch cap stumbled out and fell into the snow. Jack and Dominic left their hiding place in time to see a black-sleeved arm yank the door shut again. The two men advanced toward the fallen woman as she struggled to her feet. Dominic thrust his leg against her backside, and she sprawled in the snow once more, softly moaning. When she twisted her head around, the two men were standing in menace above her.
“Oh, little Wenham girl came out to play,” whispered Dominic.
Sister Philomena stared down from her second-story classroom with an expression of curiosity and alarm. She unlatched the window and leaned out for a better look.
Another window scraped up and the black-veiled forms of Sisters Henrica and Alfred appeared only twenty feet down from where Sister Prudentia observed the trio. The children, sensing danger, were herding together in the most distant corner of the snow-blanketed playground.
Sister Alfred gasped and covered her mouth when each of the men grabbed one of the fallen woman’s arms, lifting her out of the snow. Sister Prudentia leaned precariously far over the sill and shouted for them to stop. The two men had pulled the young woman off in the direction of the jeep, which was idling at the curb. Tiny faces began to fill the lowest panes of glass along both stories of the grade school as more black forms of women came to view the disturbance.
“No!” the woman shrieked as she struggled between her captors. She brought up the heel of her boot and scraped it down hard against Jack’s shin. He let go her arm, cursing. She swung loose against Dominic and tried, ineffectually, to jab her elbow into his stomach. His grip on her arm tightened, and he twisted it until she cried out inarticulately.
“Stop it! Stop!” Sister Prudentia shouted.
The children fled toward the school building, sending up wails of terror.
Sister Henrica reeled to face Sister Prudentia. “Mother Celestine!” she yelled. “Run and get Mother Celestine!”
Sister Prudentia disappeared from her post just as Sister Philomena appeared through one of the classroom doors on the ground level. She tried to gather the horrified children about her.
Jack pushed his victim to the ground and stepped on her back with such force the breath was knocked out of her. Dominic lifted her by the collar of her coat and dragged her toward the hedge.
She struggled again to free herself, gasping all the while for breath. She dug her fingers into Dominic’s crotch and pulled and twisted as hard as she could. He dropped her and jumped away. “You fucking bitch!” he shouted, and kicked her in the stomach. The woman’s scream of pain matched those of the nuns in its intensity. Jerking with anger, Dominic took from the pocket of his jacket a band of cold steel studded with gleaming spikes, feverishly pulled it over the back of his hand, and lifted the woman once more. She whimpered and pleaded pathetically with him.
“This is for Morgie, you fucking bitch. That’s what this is for—”
A chaos of shouts cascaded about the trio from the windows and across the playground.
“No, Dominic!” shouted Jack, and grabbed the young woman’s arms. The spikes stabbed once into her nose and right cheek. Blood flecked the snow. Jack jerked her away before Dominic could bring the spikes down again. “The fucking nuns are watching, the fucking nuns—”
Jack dragged the unconscious woman out of Dominic’s reach. When he reached the fence of bare-branched shrubs, he lifted the woman under the arms, hoisted her up onto the hedge, and then shoved her over on the other side. Then he and Dominic scrambled over.
Sister Mercedes exploded from the school building, brandishing a mop.
“Fuck you! Fuck you!” screamed Dominic as he and Jack dragged the unconscious, bleeding woman across the front lawn to the jeep. They shoved the woman into the back of the vehicle, and before the doors were shut, Rita had taken off in the direction of Boston.
Sister Mercedes let fall the mop and stared stuporously after the jeep. Behind her, Sister Katherine’s charges huddled together and wept in terror.
39
Andrea Loponti remained confined three days in Sister Katherine’s room at the convent. Shortly after Katherine’s abduction, she had been found cowering in a corner of the girls’ locker room. When Mother Celestine delicately questioned her whether she had seen any part of the violence on the playground, she had nodded dumbly.
She was led to Sister Katherine’s chamber and laid upon the cot. The blinds were drawn against the late morning light. Sister Henrica wanted to remove Andrea’s habit, but Andrea signalled her away.
An hour or so later, she was questioned briefly by the police—the young woman who was attacked had been seen talking to Sister Katherine just before the violence occurred. Andrea identified the abducted woman as Andrea LoPonti, whose parents had that same week been killed in Weston. Andrea, in a scarcely articulate manner, managed to suggest to the police that she was but a poor witness just now, but that she would be happy to speak again in a day or so, and in greater detail. The police would have persevered if not for the kind interference of Mother Celestine.
Dinner was brought to the chamber, and Sister Philomena sat perched on the windowsill, clucking encouragement to Andrea, who only picked at the dishes. It was only after Sister Philomena left, with soft words of consolation, that Andrea, searching Sister Katherine’s desk, came across the leather-bound diary.
She leafed through it and judged the diary to be the work of a timid, immature mind. The handwriting itself was enough to put her off: a girlish, undisciplined scrawl. But then she realized, just when she was about to throw it aside, that the scrupulously detailed lists and explanations of conventual procedure and duties might be of use to her. Even prayers and the times they were to be recited in chapel were written out, although Andrea supposed that this would be basic and mundane knowledge to a young nun—a postulant, to be exact.
When she came to a list that
contained the names of each of the Slaves of the Immaculate Conception resident at the Convent of St. Luke, and beside each name an identifying physical characteristic or behavioral peculiarity, Andrea thought, My God, it’s as if she knew I was coming to take her place . . .
Andrea had no doubt that her sister was dead. Jack and Dominic—having committed themselves to a daylight attack and kidnapping—could not allow Katherine to live. Andrea only hoped—she actually prayed—that they did not discover that the twins had switched clothing. She imagined to herself Katherine’s bloody death beneath Dominic’s spikes, and heard his voice damning Andrea. If they thought they had killed Andrea LoPonti, they would not return to the convent. Just as Katherine had, Andrea began to look on St. Luke’s as the only refuge in her troubled life. She did not dare step beyond its walls. For the time being she refused even to look out its windows.
Sister Philomena brought her meals; Sister Henrica visited her twice daily and read to her from The Imitation of Christ; Mother Superior Celestine sat on the edge of her cot, held her hand, and wanted to know how she was feeling. But it was to Sister Prudentia, young and voluble, that Andrea ended up most grateful. Late on the first morning that Andrea spent in the convent in the guise of Sister Katherine, Sister Prudentia crept into her chamber, perched on the edge of the desk chair, and breathed, “Oh, Sister Katherine, we’re all so sorry for what happened! We’re all so sorry that it had to happen to you! And after everything else, after what happened just last week, with your poor mother, God rest her soul—I’ve prayed for your mother, Sister Katherine, I’ve prayed for her every day since we heard the news. Everyone in the convent says it’s just terrible what happened on the playground, but that it was worst for you, because you were so much nearer—and you had just talked to the young woman. That poor young woman! The way those two men hit her! And the way they dragged her away—they were taking her away for more of the same! If she’s not dead now, she’s probably wishing she was . . . Sister Katherine, we’re all hoping that you’ll just stay here for a while, and pray, and try to get everything out of your mind. Some sisters say it would be better if you got out and went about your work, but Sister Philomena said when she found you, you didn’t look yourself, you looked like your own ghost. When something like this happens, it’s best to rest for a few days. I don’t blame you for not talking, you must be thinking about it all the time . . .”
Blood Rubies Page 28