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“It’s no Stonehenge.”

Sister Madeleine frowned at the girl who’d made the remark.

The students of Sacred Heart should not cavalierly dismiss the wonders of the ancient world, even if some were less wonderful than others.

They were lucky to be on this trip and not at home, staring at their phones all day.

At Madeleine’s frown, Emma ducked her shoulders.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Sister. It’s just less impressive, you’ve got to admit.”

Madeleine tugged her coat around herself as the wind kicked up.

Scotland’s Orkney Islands had few trees or high hills, and the ocean was never far.

It was a surefire recipe for wind that stung your face and cut through your layers, even in June.

“Define ‘impressive,’” she said.

“This stone circle isn’t as big or well preserved as some others?—”

“Or as circular,” Emma muttered.

“ But it’s the oldest in Europe, and the settlement ruins are even older. Isn’t that impressive enough?”

It was true that Jorsay wasn’t the grandest of the Orkney Islands.

At fourteen square miles, you could walk the length of it in an hour at a brisk pace—the kind of pace Madeleine preferred.

There were fewer than 250 permanent residents.

The population rose in summer, but other islands in Orkney had greater claims to fame: bigger cliffs, older churches, longer shores, and visitor centers.

If the island was known for anything, it was its shape, which was remarkably like a horse’s head.

In fact, the name “Jorsay” came from the Old Norse word for steed: jór .

Centuries later, it now roughly translated to “Horse Island,” so named by the Norsemen who’d swept into the islands in the eighth century, conquering the populace.

They had, for a time, brought horses with them.

The few souvenirs for sale in the island shops tended to be horse themed.

Currently, Madeleine stood in the easternmost part of the island, where Orkney’s most ancient artifacts sat.

Wind flattened the green grass and clover beneath her shoes.

Just beyond a hillock rose the cliffs: rough faces of ruddy sandstone and marl that stood firm against the pounding surf.

Nature’s dramatic variety was always a wonder and a gift.

To the north, there lay a path that led down to a strip of pale sand.

Madeleine cast her gaze down to that little beach, closed her eyes, and smiled at the wind in her face.

It might be chilly and gray, but it was God’s day nevertheless.

She was lucky to be standing here in a place so different from her home, taking it all in.

It was too bad the students didn’t feel the same way, but they were still young.

Hopefully, the time would come when they’d know to embrace each moment.

Part of Madeleine’s job was to teach them that, but only experience would drive it home.

When she turned, the Sacred Heart girls stood in a cluster, looking askance at the grass dotted with standing stones.

Supposedly there had been ten stones originally erected during the Bronze Age.

Now only four remained, worn down by time.

Unlike the famous Ring of Brodgar on Mainland, Orkney’s largest island, this stone circle lacked a name.

It held Madeleine’s interest anyway.

Maybe it was the crumbling prehistoric settlement nearby, the dwellings of people who would have reverenced this spot just as Madeleine worshipped in Sacred Heart’s chapel, attached to the convent where she lived and prayed.

Orkney was just one stop on Sacred Heart’s summer tour.

The international tour was eagerly anticipated every year by students, and this time they’d gone to Scotland.

The Northern Isles were unlike the cities and highland landscapes they’d already seen.

The main attraction had been the Italian Chapel, built by Catholic prisoners of war during World War II, but the neolithic history was hard to beat.

“It’s cold,” said Ava, another student.

Madeleine looked at the few other tourists and archaeological students examining the ruins.

None of these other people seemed to be prioritizing the weather over priceless history.

She swallowed down the uncharitable thought and unwound her gray scarf from her neck, which immediately developed goose bumps in the chilly air.

“Take this.”

“Oh, Sister, I didn’t mean?—”

“I know.” Madeleine looped the scarf around Ava’s neck, and when Ava gave her a grateful look, Madeleine smiled back at her.

“I’ll want it returned, mind you.”

“Yes, Sister Madeleine. Thank you.”

“Make sure to layer up tomorrow. Girls, go out there and take your notes. You’ll probably find it’s less windy if you go toward the settlement walls or the stones themselves.”

“I’m not touching them,” a third student, Hannah, protested.

“What if they’re, you know…something?”

“What if they take you back in time, like Outlander ?” Emma scoffed.

Then she gave Madeleine a guilty glance.

“Not that I’ve seen Outlander .”

“I certainly hope not,” a cool voice said, and they all turned as one to see the approach of Sister Agnes, assistant principal of Sacred Heart and the trip’s other chaperone.

At fifty-four, she was nearly twenty years older than Madeleine and far less forgiving.

“No Sacred Heart girl should know anything about that sinful trash.”

Sister Madeleine had read the book version of Outlander in college, before she’d had her calling.

Best to keep her mouth shut about that.

“These stones are merely artifacts,” Agnes continued.

“Appreciate them as part of human history before the coming of Christ. There’s nothing to fear from them.”

“Yes, Sister Agnes,” Hannah replied, not looking totally convinced.

Maybe something else would convince her.

Madeleine said dryly, “Remember how much your parents paid to send you here.”

That did it.

The girls scattered, some heading for the stones and others for the settlement in the packs of three or four that teenaged girls seemed to fall into instinctively.

Only Emma and Ava headed off as a pair.

Sister Agnes watched them leave, a frown line climbing nearly the whole length of her forehead from her eyebrows to the edge of her veil.

Their veils were coming in handy today, keeping their hair safe from the wind.

Madeleine’s order, the Daughters of Grace, had long since discarded the old-fashioned nuns’ habits you’d find in The Sound of Music .

Her modern habit was still undeniably modest, with a long-sleeved white blouse, a black sweater vest, a skirt that went past her knees, dark hose, and comfortable black sneakers.

A black veil covered her short dark hair and fell to her shoulders, and her rosary rested at her waist. Over all of it, Madeleine wore a black puffer jacket that did a decent job of shielding her from the Orcadian weather, even without her scarf.

No high school student would call it fashionable, but at least she was warm.

“We should keep an eye on them,” Agnes said, still watching Emma and Ava.

“They spend a lot of time together. A…special friendship.”

“They’ve always been good friends.” Hopefully she didn’t sound like she was challenging her senior sister.

“Yes, but this sort of behavior is more noticeable in a smaller group. I suppose it didn’t occur to me until now that they could be—well, we all miss things sometimes. Even me.” Agnes squinted.

“Is Ava wearing your scarf?”

Madeleine knew where this was going.

“She was cold, Sister.”

“Then she should have brought a sweater. They need to learn responsibility.”

Ah yes, just as Christ had said of his faithful followers: For I was cold, and you told me I should have brought a sweater.

It might be judgmental to think poorly of Agnes, but she missed the mark on some basic things.

It was fine to give a shivering child a warm piece of clothing.

And there was nothing wrong with intense female friendships in your youth.

That was when you talked at all hours, shared everything, and spent every possible moment together.

It was natural. And then, as God willed it, you grew up and turned that emotional energy toward a man in holy matrimony.

Or to Christ and his saints, as Madeleine had done.

The Sisterhood had called to her instead, letting her know where her divinely ordained duty lay.

It wasn’t with a husband and children.

Which was also completely natural.

“Am I talking to myself?”

Madeleine snapped back to attention.

Sister Agnes had raised her eyebrows and was employing her usual trick of looking down her nose, even though she was several inches shorter than Madeleine.

“No, Sister. I was just reflecting on your words. Very wise. I can see why you’re next in line to become our convent’s Superior.” It wasn’t the most comforting thought.

“Don’t flatter me,” Agnes replied, though the gleam in her eyes suggested flattery wasn’t off the table.

“I don’t sit around daydreaming of such an honor…although one likes to imagine the Superior General putting her trust in one.”

One?

Agnes had always had a touch of Queen Victoria about her.

Madeleine held back a smile.

Mother Gertrude, Superior General of their order, had no such pretension.

It was one reason she and Madeleine had always gotten along so well.

“Of course, Sister.”

“And Sister Madeleine, perhaps you too one day—in the future. How old are you now?”

“Thirty-five, Sister.”

Agnes’s eyes grew shrewd.

“And you’ve chaired our history department for three years, in addition to teaching. Designing the curriculum, no less.”

“It’s my honor to shape our students’ studies.”

“A little too broadly, in my opinion. I heard you let Maria Fernandez do her senior project on the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary.” Agnes’s eyes narrowed.

“And she didn’t condemn them.”

In 1960s Los Angeles, the Sisters of the Immaculate Heart of Mary had asked to wear normal clothes instead of habits and abandon a rigid schedule of prayer and silence.

The Vatican forbade it, along with other proposed reforms. In the end, most of the sisters left the order to found their own secular community.

Their disobedience was wrong.

But seen in a certain light, that kind of courage was…

well, admirable.

“It was international news,” Madeleine said.

“There’s no reason our students shouldn’t know about it. Maria’s project was excellent. Sister Catherine agreed.”

Agnes snorted.

“It’s incredible how permissive so many orders have become. I know we can’t avoid popular culture when we’re around teenagers all day”—Agnes’s tone indicated this was a shame—“but you hear about nuns who have cell phones and get on social media!”

“Our order has a Facebook account,” Madeleine pointed out.

Agnes glowered at her.

“Of which I heartily disapprove.”

“We have to live in the world, Sister. I believe we can do it faithfully.” She knew she sounded stubborn.

Sister Agnes might be her senior, but Madeleine had earned the right to speak her mind—if she could manage it respectfully.

That hadn’t always come easily to her.

Sister Agnes rolled her eyes.

“This is a conversation I’m tired of having. I’m not surprised to hear you’ve got these opinions. Maybe in these decadent times, they’ll get you to a higher leadership position someday.”

Currently, Madeleine’s responsibilities were teaching, chairing a department, and helping Sister Catherine balance the budget—in addition to her duties as a nun.

That was plenty to keep her busy.

What would “higher leadership” entail?

Well—it wasn’t as if Madeleine had never thought about it.

She would be good at it, should it please God.

And yet…

You’re not worthy, whispered a voice that sounded all too familiar.

That’s not for you. That’s not right for you.

Be quiet, she ordered it, as always.

“I don’t have any such ambitions, Sister,” she murmured.

“That would be immodest.”

“Heaven forbid,” Agnes said dryly.

“I do have one more question for you.” She crossed her arms; the authoritative gesture immediately made Madeleine’s skin prickle.

This “question” was more likely to be an interrogation.

“Unlike most of us, when you joined the order you didn’t change your name to honor a saint or the Blessed Virgin Mary. You were Madeleine Laurent before, and you’re Sister Madeleine now. I’ve always wondered why.”

Sister Agnes could make an inquiry about how you liked your coffee into an accusation.

“My name means ‘woman from Magdala,’ Sister. Like Saint Mary Magdalene, one of Christ’s most loving followers. I was grateful to my parents for setting me that example, and I kept my name with my Superior’s blessing.”

There was another reason, one Agnes would never know.

Madeleine had wanted to honor her parents’ memory by keeping the name they’d given her.

After all these years, the thought of their loss could still bring a cold sensation to her chest. Or maybe that was just the wind again.

Sister Agnes hmph ed.

“Some would argue that decision means you haven’t fully left the world behind. That you’re reluctant to cut your final tie to the secular life. If you wish to be a leader in our order, then consider that possibility. Examine your own soul.”

Madeleine looked Agnes dead in the eye.

“I already have, Sister, with the help of the Church.” Not you .

“But thanks for your advice.”

Advice .

Or rather, interference.

If Sister Agnes’s words created a pit in Madeleine’s stomach, it was from her presumption.

Madeleine had joined the Daughters of Grace when she was twenty-two, and she’d stuck it out this long, hadn’t she?

Of course, she had doubts and regrets occasionally.

It was strange: Agnes’s officiousness disturbed her more than it usually would have.

There was something about this island Madeleine couldn’t put her finger on, but it set her off balance.

Something that seemed to whisper a warning on the wind…

This isn’t right for you .

“Brr.” Agnes stomped her feet.

“It is cold. Must be even worse for a New Orleans transplant like you.”

Praise God for a change of subject.

“I can handle the cold. Worth it for a chance to see the ruins.”

“Mm. Not that I’d say this in front of them, but the students are right. The ones on the Mainland are better.”

Madeleine held back a sigh and found herself gazing at Emma and Ava.

They stood by one of the standing stones in conversation, heads bent together and shoulders touching.

Madeleine’s scarf tossed around Ava’s neck in the wind.

The little voice whispered again.

Beware, beware.

Madeleine bit her lower lip and looked up at the clouds.

It looked as if there was about to be a break in them.

Heaven grant that the sun shine down on them all today.