Bad Faith (7 page)

The older sisters, like Sister Clothilde and Sister Ignatius, took it as hard as Sister Agatha had expected. A change in their lives had come about suddenly, and in a place where things always remained constant—where the years never left a mark except on the faces of those who dwelled in the enclosure—it marked the beginning of the many trials that were yet to come.

The Great Silence that had begun after Compline now held the monastery in perfect stillness except for the random creaking of the building itself and the song of the crickets outside the walls. The nuns had gone to their cells, the name given to their simple sleeping quarters. As extern sisters, Sister Bernarda and Sister Agatha had cells toward the front of the monastery, near the parlor doors. In case of a crisis, they were immediately available to reach the telephone in the parlor to summon help and to open the doors to a doctor or emergency personnel.

In some monasteries externs had sleeping quarters outside the cloister, but she was glad that wasn’t the rule here. Many were the tasks that separated the extern sisters from the choir nuns—a term synonymous with cloistered nuns and used as far back as anyone could remember. It, more than likely, had been taken from the name given to the cloistered and grated sections of a monastery chapel, called choir. Yet despite the differences in duties, unity of purpose defined and bonded all the sisters. They spent their whole lives living together, and what bound their souls together was a common purpose and love as unbreakable as steel.

Sister Agatha looked up at the simple wooden cross above her bed, said a quick prayer, then crawled into bed. She soon drifted into a peaceful sleep.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Sister Agatha suddenly awakened, certain that she had heard the muted creak of a door opening or closing.

Nuns were required to sleep in their habits. Only their belts were taken off and their veils replaced by shorter ones. It was monastic rule, but it was also eminently practical in emergencies.

Without reaching for either her belt or other veil, she stepped out into the hall. A figure wearing the short white veil of a novice was going around the corner.

She sighed. Sister Mary Lazarus was sleepwalking again. As novice mistress, she understood that it was a tense time for Mary Lazarus, even without the strains of being entangled in a murder investigation. In a few months she’d be taking her first vows, should she choose to remain at the monastery. Her two years as a novice were nearly up.

Yet Sister Agatha had a feeling based on the ones who had come and gone from the monastery in the past, that Mary Lazarus wouldn’t remain. She’d come to them a few years after the death of her husband, at age thirty-six. Now, after three years with them, the idealistic views about religious life that most postulants and novices clung to were far behind her. In the last six months, Sister Agatha had sensed that Mary Lazarus had begun to question her vocation, and was finding the demands of their life here increasingly burdensome.

Her uneasiness and restlessness were evidenced by her recent and frequent sleepwalking episodes. The doctor had assured them that there was nothing inherently dangerous about them, especially since Mary Lazarus always seemed to follow the same path—one with few hazards. She’d go directly to the kitchen—no matter how much she’d eaten at collation the evening before.

Sometimes the novice had walked in her sleep and neither Sister Agatha nor Sister Bernarda had woken up. Those mornings Sister Clothilde would find tortillas missing, and then Mary Lazarus would confess to having “found” them in her cell. They’d all smiled about it, and had tried not to embarrass Mary Lazarus.

Of course when one of the externs did wake up in time, they’d try to gently direct Mary Lazarus back to her room. Tonight that duty fell to Sister Agatha.

She caught up with Mary Lazarus in the pantry. The novice simply stood there, holding a tortilla in her hand. Without breaking silence, or trying to take the tortilla away from her, Sister Agatha led the wandering novice back to her cell and put her back into bed.

The sisters’ cell doors had no locks, so there was no practical way to keep Mary Lazarus in her room. Putting obstacles in front of a door that opened by swinging to the inside was practically a guarantee that a tumble would follow.

Sister Agatha waited in the hall, watching the novice for a minute. Mary Lazarus seemed to be sleeping peacefully.

Finally assured that all was well, Sister Agatha returned to her cell, and seconds after her head hit the pillow, she fell fast asleep.

Sister Agatha woke up to the sound of the morning bell at four-thirty. She opened her eyes slowly, and as she started to stretch her legs, discovered something was weighing down the covers at the foot of the bed.

The room was still dark and her first thought was that Mary Lazarus had found her way here after a second episode of sleepwalking. As her eyes adjusted, however, Sister Agatha realized that the large shape at the end of the bed bore no resemblance to the novice.

She scarcely breathed. She’d heard of visitations—what nun hadn’t? But she’d always assured the Lord and all his saints that none of them had to go to the trouble of visiting her personally. The possibility terrified her.

With a burst of courage, she sat up and reached out toward the dark bundle.

A wet tongue licked her hand. With a tiny shriek, she jumped out of bed and turned on the light.

A solid white German shepherd who looked nearly the size of a Volkswagen lay at the foot of the bed, staring at her, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth in a contented doggy grin.

Sister Agatha stared at him in shock. What was this animal doing in her room? Where had it come from? Her door was partially open. She always left it like that during the summer to take advantage of the cross-ventilation from the hall window and the one in her cell.

For several long moments, neither she nor the dog moved. He showed no signs of aggression so finally she went over and searched around his neck for a collar, but there wasn’t one. “You look too well fed and cared for to be a stray, so I know you’ve got an owner, boy,” she said, realizing how clean the dog’s coat was and noting that his nails had been trimmed recently. “Come on. I’ve got to go now, and you’ve got to get out of here.”

She tried pulling him off the bed, and then cajoling him, but neither worked. The dog lay there, oblivious to her efforts.

Hearing the sisters going outside for Matins, she realized it was time to get going.

“One last chance, dog. You either come with me now or spend the next few hours cooped up in this stuffy room.”

The dog stood, climbed off the bed, and joined her at the door.

“That’s much better.” The dog followed her, and she left him in the enclosed patio area just outside the kitchen doors before hurrying to join the other nuns for Matins.

After Lauds, Sister Agatha hurried back to check on the dog, but some of the other sisters had already discovered him. Sister Clothilde was petting the animal and scratching it behind the ears. Sister Ignatius was feeding it some of the nuns’ oatmeal, and Sister Gertrude was trying to brush it.

No one said anything, unwilling to break the Great Silence that would stretch out until after Morning Prayer, but it was clear they were happy to find the dog, and the animal certainly loved the attention he was getting.

Sister Bernarda took one look at the animal, then soundlessly mouthed a message to Sister Agatha. “We’ve got to talk later.”

Leaving the dog on the patio with a large bowl of water, they went into the refectory for breakfast, eating in silence while Sister Mary Lazarus read from the Bible. The table at the front of the room was reserved for Reverend Mother, who never seemed to look up or become distracted during meals. On the front wall, directly to Sister Agatha’s right, was a large cross, and beneath it was a table that held a human skull—a reminder that mortal life, with its joys and sorrows, was fleeting.

As always, Sister Agatha did her best to avoid looking at the skull. It made her uncomfortable, but over the years, her wry humor had helped her accept the monastic custom. These days when she looked at it, she always had to fight the temptation to offer the thing a spoonful of their stick-to-your-ribs oatmeal.

After Morning Prayers, Sister Agatha paid the friendly animal a visit. The dog was so sweet natured she was really tempted to take him to the parlor with her. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure what Reverend Mother’s ruling on
that
request would be.

As she crouched before him, petting and talking to him, Sister Bernarda appeared. “We used to have service dogs like that in the Marine Corps,” she said, a touch of wistfulness in her voice. “Does he know any commands?”

“Like what?”

“Sit!”

Sister Agatha sat on the ground and noticed the dog had done the same.

“Your Charity, I was talking to the dog,” Sister Bernarda said with a tiny smile. “But I guess both of you know the command.”

Sister Agatha laughed. “It’s your tone. A tree would march for you.”

Sister Bernarda went through several more commands, then stopped and praised the dog. “You’ve been trained well.” She also automatically checked for dog license tags but, finding none, suggested they call the newspaper, the animal shelters, and the local veterinarians.

Sister Bernarda then went to the scriptorium to work while Sister Agatha took her duty post as portress and made the calls. The monastery had only two phones, this one and one in Reverend Mother’s office. Only externs handled incoming phone calls, and these were carefully logged by the portress, who would then make sure the messages were delivered as needed.

An hour later, she sat in the parlor, frustrated. She still hadn’t found the owner of the dog. But as she’d worked, one other very disturbing thought had occurred to her and it was something she couldn’t push out of her mind.

Sister Bernarda came into the parlor just then. “Reverend Mother asked about the dog. I’ve told her we’re trying to find his owner.”

“But not successfully,” she muttered.

“Your Charity, I’ve been thinking about the dog and there’s a very important question we need to answer,” she said.

“How did he get in?” Sister Agatha said with a nod.

“Exactly. The monastery’s doors are locked at night, and the wall around the monastery grounds is too high for him to jump. If he’s found a way in—maybe it’s a way that’s open to a two-legged intruder as well.”

“I thought of that, too. Our gate is kept closed at night and padlocked. No one could get through there, or under. The area is graveled with limestone, and that’s hard to dig through,” Sister Agatha said thoughtfully.

“It’s a puzzle, but one we need to answer quickly. He couldn’t have come out of nowhere,” Sister Bernarda said.

Slowly a smile spread across Sister Agatha’s features. “This whole thing reminds me of Father Don Bosco’s guardian angel dog, Gerigio. Remember the story? The animal always appeared in times of trouble and guarded Father as he went about his work in the slums in Turin. Maybe this dog’s appearance now is a sign that we’re being watched over.”

“Now you’re starting to sound like Sister Ignatius. She’s always seeing signs in everything. Of course, in all fairness, she never fails to get them when she prays for one.” Sister Bernarda glanced at her watch. “I better get back to the scriptorium.”

Sister Agatha spent another unsuccessful half hour trying to locate the dog’s owner. By then, Sister Bernarda had reappeared, ready to take over as portress. “I’m going to teach morning classes for Celia and Sister Mary Lazarus. Will you keep making phone calls?” Sister Agatha asked her.

“Of course, and—” She suddenly stopped speaking and met Sister Agatha’s gaze. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of this before, but did you check the dog for a tattoo?”

“You mean one that says Mom?” Sister Agatha teased.

“No, I mean a tattoo with numbers or some code. The military used to tattoo its dogs, and so I wondered…”

“I’ll go take a look right now.”

Sister Agatha walked through the quiet cloistered halls,absently noting that Sister Eugenia, methodical and patient, was counting pills in the infirmary. Sister Clothilde and Sister Ignatius were in the bakery making altar breads. The automatic device could be heard all throughout the monastery making its whirring, rhythmic, mechanical noise.

As Sister Agatha passed the sewing room, she couldn’t resist peeking in to take a look at the quilted wall hanging. It was nearly finished and magnificent. Made in a dozen shades of blue and white, it depicted the kneeling Virgin with a dove that represented the Holy Spirit descending over her.

She made a circle with her thumb and forefinger, letting Sister Maria Victoria and Sister Gertrude know that she thought it was spectacular. Both nuns nodded and smiled, pleased, then offered her a closer look.

She ran her fingers over the material. Her hands ached a bit today, but not as much as they had a week ago.

As she examined the very tiny stitches of the quilting, she sighed with envy. She could have worked on this too, had her joints not been so troublesome these past few weeks.