Bad Faith

by Aimée; David Thurlo

  Celia’s gaze rested on Reverend Mother—pain, sorrow, and regret mirrored there. “Mother, I don’t care how the world judges me. But I care what you think. Can you accept me knowing I’ve made some terrible mistakes? And believe me when I swear I never did anything to harm Father An-selm.”

  Reverend Mother opened her arms and hugged Celia. “Dear child, we’ve all made mistakes and God always forgives us. Who are we to do any less?” She released the postulant a moment later. “We believe you, child. Go to the chapel now. Then return to your duties.”

  Celia bowed her head. “Yes, Mother.”

  After they were alone once again, Reverend Mother leaned back in her chair, her gaze fixed on Sister Agatha. “How well did you know Celia’s mother?”

  Sister Agatha exhaled softly. “When we were kids we always got along fine, but as it often is once you leave high school behind you, life took us in separate directions. These days, she’s nothing like the girl I knew. Ruth’s had a very hard life. That’s bound to take a toll on a person. That doesn’t excuse her, but it’s all I can say in her defense.” She gazed up at the crucifix on the wall, and added, “I never knew what she was doing to Celia, my own godchild, and that failure is something I’ll have to live with for the rest of my days.”

  “The One who called Celia here knew what He was doing. We have to protect her now,” Reverend Mother said. “She’s not guilty. I truly believe that. But now you have to find the truth—no matter what it takes.”

  When Sister Agatha left Reverend Mother’s office, her heart felt as heavy as a block of concrete. She couldn’t even imagine what Celia’s life had been like. Suddenly another thought made her blood turn to ice. Betsy …

  Sister Agatha couldn’t allow that child to endure the same treatment Celia had received. She remembered the scene she’d witnessed between Betsy and Ruth just the other day and a cold chill went up her spine. She’d call Patsy Romero and talk to her about this. Together, they’d figure out what to do.

  She was on her way to the parlor to relieve Sister Bernarda when Sister Clothilde caught up to her. Motioning for Sister Agatha to follow, she led her to the refectory and pointed to a bean-filled tortilla.

  Though she’d missed the midday meal, Sister Agatha wasn’t in the least bit hungry. But Sister Clothilde wouldn’t take no for an answer. Knowing that collation, their dinner meal, wouldn’t be for hours yet, and was generally very light, Sister Agatha began eating. Once finished, she washed her plate, and looked around for Sister Clothilde to thank her, but the elderly nun was gone. As the bells rang for the canonical hour called None, she knew where Sister had gone.

  Sister Agatha was halfway down the hall to the scriptorium when Sister Bernarda came rushing up. “Your Charity, Sister Gertrude just came to get me before going to Divine Office. Some of the photo files we’re archiving for the newspaper are gone. Thankfully, the manuscripts are safe, but those photo files are very important to the newspaper.”

  For a moment Sister Agatha couldn’t respond. “What do you mean ‘gone’? They can’t be,” she managed at last.

  The possibility of an intruder once again took center stage in her mind, but she pushed it back. The simplest answer was probably closer to the truth in this case. “We’ll find them,” she said flatly. “They’ve got to be in the scriptorium someplace. None of the material ever leaves that room.”

  As the two externs stepped into the scriptorium, their gazes fell on Sister Mary Lazarus, who was there alone, crouched down in front of the safe, trying to open it. By her feet were several file folders.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing?” Sister Bernarda demanded.

  Sister Mary Lazarus jumped to her feet.

  Sister Agatha gazed at the novice. At that moment, Sister Mary Lazarus looked like the very portrait of guilt.

  16

  Sister Bernarda strode past Sister Agatha and checked the safe, making sure it was still locked. “How do you know the combination?”

  “I don’t. If I did, I would have opened it,” Sister Mary Lazarus said, her voice hushed.

  “Why? What were you doing?” Sister Agatha looked at the novice in confusion.

  “It’s all my fault, Mother Mistress,” she said, then looked at Sister Bernarda. “The photos from the archive aren’t missing as Sister Gertrude thought. I worked on that project yesterday, then accidentally put a folder of interim printouts on top of it. When it was time to quit, I didn’t see the photo archive folders underneath, so I forgot to put them back. When Sister Gertrude opened the safe and found them missing, I suddenly remembered.”

  “And you weren’t planning to say anything?” Sister Bernarda asked.

  “Not right away. I knew you’d be angry when you found out what I’d done, so I was hoping to put the files back first Then, once you were assured everything was okay, I’d tell you. The safe usually isn’t locked during the day now that we’re working on such a tight deadline so I was trying to jiggle the handle to see if it would pop open when you walked in.”

  “You should have told us the second you realized what had happened, Sister. You almost gave me a heart attack and Sister Gertrude’s heart isn’t as strong as mine. If this monastery was run like the marines, I’d have you running laps right now,” Sister Bernarda barked.

  Sister Agatha had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. For one brief moment, Christian charity had given way to the habits of Sister Bernarda’s earlier life.

  “Sister Bernarda, could you inventory all the materials that are supposed to be in the safe and make sure everything is as it should be while I speak to our novice?” Sister Agatha glanced at Sister Mary Lazarus. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  As Pax ran ahead of them in the garden, Sister Agatha allowed the silence to stretch out between them.

  “I know you think I’m a horrible person,” Sister Mary Lazarus said finally.

  “No, I don’t think that at all,” Sister Agatha said calmly.

  “Everyone says Celia belongs here—no matter how much trouble she’s brought to the monastery. But nobody thinks I do. And I’ve really worked hard to try and fit in.”

  “Is it really what others think that’s bothering you, Mary Lazarus? Or are you just having second thoughts about staying with us?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been trying to work things out in my mind, and I’m not sure anymore that I’ve got a real vocation. But I’ve given up everything for the chance to become a nun, and the possibility of walking away now after almost three years leaves me feeling empty inside—and a little scared, too.”

  “You have to follow your heart, but think things through carefully. There is a place for you here, Mary Lazarus. You were destined to become an extern nun, something our monastery needs very badly.”

  “Nothing is simple anymore,” Mary Lazarus answered. “If I stay, I want to make sure it’s for the right reasons—not just because I’m afraid of going back out into the world. And, to be honest, that thought does scare me. You see, I had to sell everything to pay my husband’s medical bills. There’s nothing out there for me anymore.”

  “Pray and ask to be guided, then make your decision. There’s still plenty of time. You don’t have to rush. You may simply be facing a crisis of faith. We’re all tested at times.”

  Sister Agatha led Sister Mary Lazarus to the chapel. There was no sign of Celia. The postulant must have finished her prayers and returned to work as Reverend Mother had directed. After saying a brief prayer with the novice, Sister Agatha rose, leaving Mary Lazarus to continue privately. It was time for her to find Celia. There was something she had to know and she couldn’t postpone their conversation any longer.

  Sister Agatha went to the scriptorium and there, as expected, found the postulant with Sister Bernarda. “I need to speak to you, Celia. Please step out into the hall with me for a moment.”

  Celia went with her and waited silently.

  “I need you to answer one question for me, an
d it’s absolutely imperative that you be completely honest.”

  “Of course, Mother Mistress. What would you like to know?”

  “Are you worried about what’s going to happen to Betsy?”

  Pain clouded Celia’s eyes, and she didn’t answer right away. “I learned a long time ago that there are certain things I can’t change,” she said at last. “What I can do—and what I do every single day without fail—is pray for her.”

  “Do you think Betsy is being abused as you were?”

  “No, in fact I know she’s not. I’ve kept in touch with Betsy. To her, I’m her big sister and she trusts me. She and I are close, but we’re also very different from each other. She stands up to Mom whenever she has to, and won’t allow Mom to hurt her. Mom beat her once, and Betsy told a counselor at school. Mom had a lot of trouble with Children’s Services after that and hasn’t struck Betsy since.”

  “All right. Thank you, Celia.”

  As the postulant went back to her carrel and resumed her work, Sister Agatha considered what she’d learned. Celia had already dealt with a great deal for someone her age. There was no doubt in her mind that Celia’s relationship with Ruth was filled with emotions that constantly warred against each other—love against hate, anger against fear.

  Yet despite Celia’s assurances that Betsy was all right, Sister Agatha couldn’t quite let the matter go, not after the verbal and emotional abuse that she’d seen the other day. She’d have to talk to Patsy Romero, Betsy’s assistant principal, today. Betsy’s fate was too important for her to just let the matter drop.

  After Vespers, Sister called Patsy at home, then drove into town to meet with her. It felt good to ride the motorcycle again. She’d told Reverend Mother about the Antichrysler’s problems staying in the flow of traffic, and they’d agreed to use the car only for emergencies.

  Pax sat up in the sidecar, enjoying the air. Following his example, she stilled her worries and enjoyed the scent of rain in the air and the coolness the approaching storm was bringing. It wasn’t until she drew near to Patsy’s home that she brought her thoughts back to the business at hand.

  Patsy was on her porch, waiting, as Sister Agatha pulled up. Her small adobe home was not fancy, but it was well maintained. Wildflowers had been planted along the small wooden fence that bordered the property. There were no sidewalks here, as it was in much of semirural New Mexico. There was the street—sometimes paved, more often, not— and the beginning of someone’s property marked only by the appearance of a patch of grass or a barking dog.

  “What brings you here?” Patsy asked as she approached. “It sounded urgent on the phone.” She led Sister Agatha and Pax inside to a cool, whitewashed home with simple but elegant Southwest furnishings and a kiva fireplace.

  Sister Agatha told Patsy about Celia’s revelations, but if Patsy was shocked or surprised, she didn’t show it When Sister Agatha finished, Patsy leaned back in the leather sofa and stared at Pax, who’d settled down on the brick floor, enjoying the coolness it provided.

  “I’ve known about Ruth for years. I overheard Betsy talking about her mother to one of her friends one time outside a classroom. After that, I kept my eyes open, and asked the counselor to do the same. Then one day Betsy came in with bruises on her face and wearing long sleeves, even though it was over eighty degrees outside. I called Betsy into my office and I got to the bottom of it after a few minutes.”

  “Did you report Ruth to the authorities?”

  “I did, but before I even mailed the paperwork, I got Tom Green—he was deputy sheriff then—to come with me and we paid Ruth a visit. We came down on her like a ton of bricks. Tom made it clear that if Betsy was ever injured, no matter what the reason—if she got struck by lightning, or fell crossing the street—we would bring in social services to take Betsy from her and place her in foster care. Just to cinch it, Tom guaranteed her jail time, and I promised her that everyone in this town would know what she’d done to her daughter. She’d never be able to hold her head up anywhere again.”

  “I hate to tell you this, but you’re still going to have to keep an eye on Ruth.” Sister told her what she’d witnessed the day she’d visited Ruth. “The danger of emotional abuse is very real, and still there, though the marks from it don’t always show up right away.”

  “Unfortunately, as Betsy’s Mom, Ruth’s entitled to discipline her child. But don’t worry. I’m still watching Betsy with an eagle eye. If anything happens to that kid, I promise Betsy will go straight into foster care.”

  “Now I’ll be able to sleep at night. Thanks, Patsy.”

  “Hey, tomorrow’s our Fourth of July Town Fair. Is Sister Clothilde going to bake her special cookies?”

  “Oh, sure! I expect we’ll have over five hundred cookies for sale, like we did last year,” Sister Agatha said.

  “They’ll go in a flash. You really should give them a name and trademark, then market them. You’d all be famous and live in a mahogany-paneled monastery with a wading pool!”

  Sister Agatha laughed. “I can see it now. Sister Clothilde’s Cloister Clusters!”

  “Hey, put that up on a sign in your booth. It’ll catch on! You’ll see.”

  Sister Agatha drove back to the monastery in much better spirits. As soon as she returned, she went to find Reverend Mother. It was time for recreation and she found the abbess walking on the grounds, as was her custom.

  Sister told Reverend Mother about her visit with Patsy Romero while they watched Celia planting a packet of seeds by the cemetery entrance. “Ruth sent her those,” Reverend Mother said softly. “Celia was really surprised.”

  Sister Agatha shook her head. “I don’t understand Ruth, Mother. She used to be such a loving, idealistic woman. The fact that she sent her daughter that small gift shows she still has feelings for her. Yet she abused her terribly.”

  Before Reverend Mother could answer, Celia stood up, brushed the soil from the front of her postulant’s dress, then bent down to pet Pax who’d come over. “You’re such a good dog!” She smiled at Reverend Mother and Sister Agatha as they walked by. “Mother Mistress, isn’t he terrific? I’m sure he can be really mean sometimes—he was a police dog—but if you treat him right, all he wants to do is love you,” she said, laughing as Pax licked her on the face.

  “Amen to that,” Reverend Mother said softly.

  Hearing the bells ring for Compline, Sister Agatha bowed her head, and followed Reverend Mother inside.

  The next morning came too soon for Sister Agatha. She hadn’t managed to get a lot of sleep the night before. On her way to the bathroom, she’d found Sister Mary Lazarus sleepwalking and had brought her back to her assigned cell. She’d then stayed with the novice until she was sure she wouldn’t wander around again.

  When the morning bells rang, her eyes would scarcely open. But there was no time for sluggishness today. There was too much to do.

  After Morning Prayer ended, Sister Maria Victoria and Sister Gertrude brought the quilted wall hanging to Reverend Mother’s office. It was the custom of their monastery to present all finished work to Reverend Mother for her approval.

  Reverend Mother inspected the delicate, tiny stitches and the workmanship carefully as the nuns held their breath. Finally she looked up and smiled. “Well done!”

  Next several small jars of jam were presented and admired in turn.

  Then Sister Clothilde offered Reverend Mother two of her special cookies. Mother savored one for what seemed an eternity, then smiled. “This is your best batch yet, child!” She looked at all of them, then with a smile added, “Dear ones, may God grant you a good day. Go with the blessing of God.”

  Sister Agatha felt the excitement of the others shift as they turned to look at her and Sister Bernarda expectantly. It was their job to bring their monastery’s work to the buyers in the community, and hopefully return with a good price for their labors. Heaven knew they needed the income right now.

  Sister Agatha bowed down before Reverend Moth
er. “Reverend Mother Abbess and holy community, may God grant you all a good day.”

  With Sister Bernarda and Mary Lazarus helping Sister Agatha they began gathering all the trays and plates of cookies, each wrapped in colored plastic wrap donated by food stores in the community. A half hour later, the back of the Antichrysler was loaded to bursting with cookies and jars of jam. Last of all, they brought the wall hanging. Mary Lazarus was given the job of holding it on her lap.

  Today there would be no portress. But it was that way on community and religious holidays.

  As they got ready to leave, Pax came up, his tail wagging. Not waiting for an invitation, he jumped into the front seat of the car. Sister Bernarda dove to intercept him before he reached the cookies, which he’d detected immediately. “You have to stay here, boy.”

  “Pax!” Reverend Mother called. “Come.”

  The dog, now a full member of the monastery, obeyed Reverend Mother on the first call. Of course at least two of the sisters, hearing only the last word, automatically started coming toward Mother as well. There was something about Reverend Mother’s voice that compelled you to obey whenever she issued an order.

  They arrived in town a short time later and quickly got to work setting up their tables. Their booth would be at the far end of a long line of attractions and near the exhibition hall where the wall hanging would be auctioned. Sister Bernarda marched down the row of booths to the gallery to attend to the display of the wall hanging.

  While Sister Bernarda was gone, Sister Agatha and Sister Mary Lazarus hurried to set up the monastery’s booth—a simple wooden frame decorated in red, white, and blue crepe paper.

  The tables soon held a treasure of cookies and jams the sisters had prepared to sell to fair visitors. As they were placing the last container of cookies on a table, Patsy Romero hurried up and handed them a small cloth banner. It read, Sister Clothilde’s Heavenly Cloister Clusters.

  Sister Agatha read the matching price sheet Patsy had made for them to affix to the back of the booth and gasped. “Patsy, no one will pay that much!”