If that was a little frightening, it was also exhilarating, and it was good.
|?37?|
Winston’s new friend went alone to Sister Margaret’s room to report that a stray dog had wandered into the building at some time during the day. She claimed to have corralled it in Hilda Detrich’s office. As Sister Margaret had overseen student caretakers of the previous Mater Misericordi? hound, the late and much-missed Rafael, she would of course tend to this one and select the children who would most benefit by having responsibility for the animal.
Sister Margaret had not yet retired for the night, and she returned with Sister Theresa in less than five minutes. Her red hair was flecked with gray, which it hadn’t been in the days when Annie Piper, under her tutelage, learned to take proper care of a dog. Her freckles burned bright in her smooth pale skin, and she looked as fresh-faced and guileless as ever she had. She startled slightly upon discovering four people waiting with the foundling shepherd, but she played the shy and humble soul as she’d always done, meekly settling in one of the office chairs when told that I had a few questions for her.
Winston occupied the knee space under a desk to observe the proceedings from there, his ears pricked. Sister Margaret seemed to know at once that this was not about a stray dog, after all. She said nothing either about or to the shepherd.
I could see that Sister Theresa suffered regret at having so deceived the younger woman. She was, however, a psychologist as well as a nun; perhaps she’d begun to read some disturbing telltales in Sister Margaret’s performance that she had never noticed before.
Sparky closed the door and stood in front of it, while Panthea went to stand with her back to one window, Bridget at the other. Sister Theresa took up a position by the filing cabinets.
This left most of the large office to me, and I intended to use it. Remaining on my feet, moving about not like a sharky prosecutor prowling in front of a witness stand, but rather imagining myself, at least for the first few exchanges, as being the still-tormented former student forever haunted by the loss of his friend.
“Sister Margaret, I’m sorry to trouble you at this hour. You must know I wouldn’t do so if it wasn’t absolutely necessary.”
“It’s no trouble at all.” With a hint of an Irish brogue, her voice was like faraway music. Her hands rested in her lap, palms up. They began to curl into fists, but then she relaxed them once more.
“Sister Theresa has indulged me by bringing you here,” I said. “She knows my torment. She saved my life back in the day, when the world seemed grossly misshapen to me and I wanted no place in it.”
I watched her, and she waited without comment, as if a mutual silence in this situation was not peculiar.
“You know about that, Sister Margaret?”
“It was a time of great distress for all of us.” She put her hands together as if remembering the concept of prayer.
I stopped pacing and sat on the edge of a desk. “Now those dark waters have pulled me under again. I’m lost, and I come to you.”
Her mouth hardly moved as she spoke, the words issuing from her as if from a ventriloquist projecting her voice into a stage dummy. “I have no . . . no capacity.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“I’m a simple person. Everyone knows that about me. I have many limitations. I have no capacity for anything but faith. Sister is the therapist, the better listener, with a kinder heart than mine.”
I saw Sister Theresa’s brow furrow as the younger nun spread the humility too thick.
After another silence that the interrogee did not interrupt, I said, “I’m sure you remember Annie Piper.”
“Of course.”
We shared another wordless moment. If she was only who and what she seemed to be, only human, then she was an odd duck.
She realized that she needed to offer more. “A tragedy. Annie is often on my mind.”
“Yes, I imagine she is.” What I told her next was true, as far as it went. “She’s been found.”
Sister Margaret glanced up and quickly returned her attention to her hands in their pale press of supplication.
“Sister, don’t you wonder where she was found?”
She nodded. “I want to know, but I’m afraid to hear.”
“Why would you be afraid?”
“After all these years . . .”
“Yes?”
“How could the news be good?”
“Now is when you need that capacity for faith. Annie has been kept at a remote location in Pima County, a place called the Oasis.”