Prey for a Miracle (7 page)

S
ISTER AGATHA KNEW SHE WAS TRYING TOO HARD. THE
more she attempted to get involved with Natalie and show an interest in the work the girl was crafting, the more Natalie pulled away emotionally. Yet when Sister Ignatius arrived after their time for private prayers, Natalie greeted her as warmly as she would have an old, trusted friend. Their gift for sculpting and their affinity for angels meant they spoke the same language. Sister Agatha sensed the connection between them almost immediately. They were kindred spirits.

“Your Charity, I just heard a truck pulling up. Will you be okay with Natalie?” Sister Agatha asked.

Sister Ignatius nodded. “Take whatever time you need. We’ll be fine.”

Sister Agatha left the room and, as she walked down the corridor, heard loud voices coming from outside. The unsettling sounds echoed harshly in the hall. Silence was the natural order of things here in the monastery, but for as long as the workmen were around, that would be nothing more than a memory. As she imagined the canonical hours sung to the beat of a hammer—or many hammers— she shuddered.

Sister Agatha hurried into the parlor and saw that Sister Bernarda had closed the door to Natalie’s quarters. Hearing a radio outside blaring loud country-western music, Sister Agatha cringed.

“If you can attend to the roofers and make sure they understand the need to keep noise at a minimum,” Sister Agatha said, “I can make sure Natalie remains out of sight, away from any windows.”

“I’ll speak to the workmen,” Sister Bernarda said in her brisk, no-nonsense tone. “But I have a feeling they’ll be the least of our worries. I just heard that the bishop will be sending his chancellor over to talk to Natalie later today or tomorrow.”

When Sister Agatha returned to the crafts room, she found Sister Ignatius and Natalie working on the angel together. Sister Agatha drew the blinds just in case a workman wandered near, silently noting their easy rapport.

“Angels come in all forms,” Sister Ignatius said. “They’ve appeared as fire, and light, and even ordinary people.”

“I think they’re whatever they want to be,” Natalie said.

As Sister Ignatius moved away, Natalie smiled up at Sister Agatha. “I like it here.”

“In the crafts room or in the monastery?” Sister Agatha asked.

“Both. But especially in the crafts room. Things are simple here. I mean, when you make something it’s either pretty or not. There’s no pretending.”

“Do you pretend a lot?”

“Sometimes I make up my own games,” she said. “When I play with my bear Diesel and my doll Gracie, I pretend they talk to me. But that’s just make-believe. It’s not like when my angel talks to me. That’s real, but since no one sees or hears Samara but me, people don’t believe she’s there at all.”

“But isn’t it nice knowing that you’re the only one who can see her?” Sister Agatha asked.

“Sometimes. But it’s hard, too. The people who believe me keep wanting Samara and me to do all kinds of things for them. The ones who say I’m lying probably think that God goofed up big-time when he created me, and I’m going to go to you-know-where when I die.”

“You are God’s child, and He doesn’t make mistakes,” Sister Agatha said firmly.

“Then why is it that I’m always in trouble?
You
don’t believe I can see Samara. Sister Ignatius is the only one who really understands.”

“Understands?”

“She believes—in here,” Natalie said, pointing to her heart. “She said that she knew an angel would come to help the sisters, that she’d seen a sign.”

Sister Agatha remembered the night of the storm and the angel-shaped cloud. She’d dismissed it at first, but now…

Natalie’s fingers danced over the clay as she shaped the figure. What had begun as crude folk art was now taking on a more delicate, expressive form.

Seeing that for the first time Natalie felt relaxed and at peace, Sister chose not to mention the impending visit from the chancellor. Deep down, she had a feeling that knowing wouldn’t make any difference at all to Natalie. Her story would remain the same because, to her, it simply was the truth.

When the bell rang for Sext, the sixth hour of prayer said at noon, the roofers had already started ripping up the old roof with shovels and wrecking bars. The harsh din of metal scraping across the roof, the screech of nails being pulled, and the dragging of old roofing materials became a nightmare beyond anyone’s expectations. The rich sound of the Mary bell was all but lost against the rumble of destruction up above and the crash of tar paper and debris as it struck the ground outside.

As if sensing the frustration of the others, Sister Gertrude sang louder. Others joined her, but their voices were no match for the racket outside, which only seemed to grow in intensity. It was as if the Devil himself had decided to host a concert of chaos just beyond their door. The scrapes and thuds made it impossible for them to devote themselves fully to prayer. When the “little hour” was finished, the pallor on Sister Clothilde’s face, and the way Sister Eugenia gripped her rosary until her knuckles were a pearly white, said it all.

After checking on Natalie, who was still in the crafts room, this time with Sister de Lourdes, Sister Agatha followed through on an idea she’d had. Stopping by the scriptorium, she printed out some small cards that informed the bearer in a calligraphy style font that they would have a novena said for their intention. Today, she’d approach merchants in town, asking for donations, and having these with her would no doubt come in handy.

A short time later she joined Sister Bernarda in the parlor. “One of us needs to go by Smitty’s Grocery and confirm that he’s willing to carry our Cloister Clusters. If he places an order right away, we’ll pick up the ingredients there, preferably in bulk. The two of us should go, but I really don’t think we should leave Sister de Lourdes alone with the roofers in case there’s an emergency. She’s still too new as portress.”

An ear-shattering crash sounded right outside the parlor door and Sister Agatha cringed instinctively. Sister Bernarda, on the other hand, never even blinked. “You’ve got nerves of steel,” Sister Agatha commented.

“In the Marines I was trained to observe and direct artillery fire. I only seek cover when the rounds are incoming.”

Sister Agatha looked at the unflappable Sister Bernarda. On the outside, they probably never would have met, nor would they have become friends had their paths crossed by some twist of fate. They came from very different backgrounds. Yet here none of that mattered. They were as close as sisters—sisters in Christ.

“I suggest that we bring Natalie back to the parlor for now, unless Sister Ignatius wants to watch her, and that you take Sister de Lourdes with you to town.”

“That’s a good idea,” Sister Agatha said with a nod. “But you should consider inviting Pax into the parlor, too. I won’t be able to take him with me, so he might as well make himself useful here. With all these workmen around, his place is guarding our doors.”

Less than twenty minutes later, after a quick bite to eat, Sister Agatha and Sister de Lourdes left the monastery and climbed aboard the Antichrysler. The engine sputtered and coughed as she switched on the ignition and pumped the accelerator pedal. After running less than ten seconds, however, the Antichrysler died again with a strange wheeze.

Sister Agatha lifted the hood, removed the air filter, and sprayed some carburetor cleaner around the choke, then got back behind the wheel. This time it roared to life, but that was short-lived. The sound faded into a wheeze and, at last, an anemic hum.

“Will it make it to town and all the way back?” Sister de Lourdes asked, worried. “It really sounds bad today.”

“The Antichrysler always sounds like it’s ready to self-destruct, but it keeps going. I think ferrying us to town and back is its way of doing penance.”

Sister de Lourdes smiled. “You joke now, but it won’t seem like such an inconsequential thing if it poops out and we have to carry a hundred pounds of flour to the monastery on our backs.”

“That won’t happen. Just in case, though, pray.”

They’d just turned onto the highway from the road leading to the monastery when Sister Agatha caught a glimpse of an old, faded red sedan several car lengths behind them. The driver paced them almost perfectly, never drawing too close or getting too far behind. An uneasy feeling settled over her, but when the vehicle eventually turned onto a side road, Sister Agatha relaxed.

As they continued south toward Bernalillo past fields and farmland, she cast a furtive look at Sister de Lourdes. Celia had been a reverent but enthusiastic postulant, even during the worst of times. Now she was distant and calm. The change was natural and a proper one. She was obeying the rule against forming attachments. The heart of a nun had to be emptied if it was to be consecrated wholly to God. And yet, she missed the girl that had looked to her for answers to everything when she’d first arrived at the monastery.

Sister Agatha gave her a long sideways glance, then looked back at the road. “You’ve done a very good thing, you know, choosing to be an extern.”

“I didn’t
choose,”
Sister de Lourdes said quietly. “My heart didn’t lead me to this—duty did. I wanted to be a cloistered nun. But when Reverend Mother asked me to become an extern, I couldn’t say no,” she said. “Eventually, it was Sister Eugenia who helped me come to terms with this. Did you know that she came to us from an active order? Sister Eugenia taught health classes at a community college.”

Sister Agatha looked at Sister de Lourdes in surprise. “No, I didn’t know that.” Sister Eugenia had already been part of the monastery when she’d joined over fourteen years ago, and since then they’d never had time nor the inclination to talk much about their pasts. Admittedly, that was one subject Sister Agatha assiduously avoided. She hadn’t exactly been a pillar of virtue before she got the calling. She’d had a plaque in her home that summed it all up very well—”To err is human, but it feels divine.” Mercifully, those days were a distant memory now.

“How did Sister Eugenia help you?” Sister Agatha asked, glancing over at Sister de Lourdes.

“I’d wanted to serve God as a contemplative, thinking that was the higher calling, and she reminded me of a quote from Romans that says, ‘For there is no respect of persons with God,’” Sister de Lourdes said softly. “That’s when I realized that there’s no higher or lower calling. There’s just serving God.”

As Sister Agatha mulled over what Sister de Lourdes had just said, her thoughts drifted back to Natalie. Perhaps the girl, too, was serving God in her own unique way. After all was said and done, maybe her ability to see the angel would turn out to be inconsequential in comparison to her ability to believe.

As they parked in front of Smitty’s Grocery, Sister Agatha caught a glimpse of the same faded red sedan she’d seen before. It passed them quickly, continuing down the highway, and although she tried, she wasn’t able to get a glimpse of the driver’s face.

“Is something wrong?” Sister de Lourdes asked, turning to look behind them.

“No, I guess not. Let’s go inside and start our shopping,” Sister Agatha said.

“But we won’t know if Smitty’s going to carry the cookies until we talk to him. Shouldn’t we do that first?”

“Trust me.”

Their list wasn’t long, but it took two large shopping carts to hold all the bulk items. After they’d placed the last ingredient in the cart, Sister de Lourdes gave Sister Agatha a worried frown. “Your Charity, we don’t have enough money,” she whispered. “We can’t possibly—”

Sister Agatha gestured for her to follow and remain silent. Locating Smitty at the back of the store, Sister Agatha went to meet him, pushing the first of the two carts.

“Good morning!” she greeted him warmly.

“Back at you, Sister!” He nodded to Sister de Lourdes, and saw the overloaded carts. He glanced back at Sister Agatha. “Are you stocking up for the rest of the year?”

“It looks like that doesn’t it?” Sister Agatha let out a long, labored sigh. “Actually, we’ve had a bit of bad luck.”

“The roof?” Seeing her nod, Smitty added, “What happened? Did the water get into your pantry?”

“No, nothing like that.” She told him about their plan to bake Sister Clothilde’s Cloister Clusters to raise funds. “And we’d like your store here to carry them. Since you have another store in Albuquerque’s Northeast Heights, maybe you could use some over there, too. We could make deliveries as often as you need and keep you supplied with fresh cookies.”

“You don’t have to talk me into this, Sister. You know how much I love them, and my customers feel the same. Consider it a done deal. I’ve wanted to approach you about that for a long time anyway.”

“How many dozen cookies can you use, and how often will you want to restock?” Sister Agatha asked.

“How many to a box or bag?”

“I’d figured a dozen Clusters to a box,” she said, sticking to the plan the sisters had already agreed upon.

Smitty considered it for a moment, then gave her the number of boxes he’d want twice a week.

When she heard it, Sister Agatha felt herself go pale. “Do you think you can sell so many?”