Page 9

That night, alone in the chapel, Madeleine had waited for a voice.

Maybe one that said unambiguously, Tell Mother Gertrude yes.

That would be helpful.

No such voice had spoken to her.

Now, she lay awake in one of the bedrooms reserved for visitors instead of the room she shared with another sister, so she could remain in solitude as Mother Gertrude had ordered.

If she were Superior, she’d get her own cell—along with some privacy—for the first time since she’d begun her postulancy.

That’d be nice.

Just say yes .

That wasn’t the voice of God.

That was her own, pleading with her to make things simple and do what she was told instead of arguing.

Talk about what didn’t come naturally.

Besides, if she became Superior, she’d have to make executive decisions.

She’d owe obedience to Mother Gertrude, but she’d have to assert herself too.

That wouldn’t be too difficult, even if Agnes made herself a thorn in Madeleine’s side.

Madeleine could pull this off.

No, you can’t.

That voice came from deep inside, much deeper than the one that urged her to walk the straight and narrow path.

She had a horrible feeling the second voice was the honest one, urging her to look at what she’d avoided for too long.

A voice that said, Are you sure you’re not seeking a family to replace the one you lost?

Are you sure you’re not running away?

Especially from yourself?

She’d heard it before, off and on, for years, and had always silenced it.

She’d managed not to listen because things continued on a steady pace from day to day, and with no big changes on the horizon.

Why look at what didn’t bear seeing?

Now, a big change was staring her in the face, and she had to stare back.

Her steady course had diverted, courtesy of a force she couldn’t ignore, and it had brought her to the edge of an abyss.

Sister Catherine’s words about loving God might as well have been a plague of locusts, devouring Madeleine’s peace and leaving barrenness behind.

Passion had lit Catherine’s eyes even in the midst of her pain—a passion Madeleine had never known for her own vocation.

She’d forgotten it was missing.

It was easy to forget until someone rubbed your face in it, whether they meant to or not.

She could wallow in that problem all night, and maybe she deserved to.

That didn’t change the question, though, which was: Now what?

She could refuse Mother Gertrude.

Then, nothing would change.

She’d remain Sister Madeleine, locked and bound into a life with restrictions and rules she could never alter, a purpose she lacked, and yearnings she dared not examine.

Except it was already too late for that.

Gertrude’s request had opened Madeleine’s eyes when she’d fought to keep them shut.

To close them again would be cowardice.

Whatever else she might be, Madeleine prayed she was no coward.

In her solitary bed, she trembled in a way she hadn’t since she was twenty-one and her brother had died, leaving her all alone in the world.

You’re not alone, she tried to tell herself, you have your community.

But did she?

Saint John of the Cross had called this the dark night of the soul.

An apt phrase. In the dead of night, it was impossible to escape her thoughts.

Including ones that had nothing to do, at least on the surface, with her decision.

Sister Bridget’s very pretty, isn’t she?

Madeleine rolled over onto her stomach and pressed her face in the pillow to muffle a groan.

Oh no. These thoughts?

Now , of all times?

Or maybe it was exactly the right time.

If Madeleine were to consider this seriously, she had to confront her weaknesses.

Lacking passion for her heavenly husband was one.

Thinking unholy thoughts about other women was entirely another.

It wasn’t unholy to reflect that another woman was pretty.

Madeleine could cut herself some slack on that score.

She couldn’t imagine herself…

doing anything…with Sister Bridget, unlike other women she’d wickedly fantasized about in the past.

Like her angel on the beach.

A shiver ran through her, along with a hot pulse between her legs that definitely wasn’t appropriate.

The pulse faded in an immediate rush of shame.

It was wrong, terribly wrong, to think of her rescuer in such a way, especially if that rescuer was heaven-sent.

But would heaven have sent her a woman who’d lain atop Madeleine, her naked body as warm as if she’d emerged from a sauna instead of the North Sea?

So warm that Madeleine’s hips had rocked up to meet that weight, seeking something she’d craved for so long…

Return to me.

Madeleine bit her lip and shook her head silently in denial.

Sister Madeleine, help me.

The two voices had been so similar.

One had come from a woman’s—an angel’s?

—mouth, while the other had echoed like the ocean, but there was a familiar note in both.

A note that seemed to come from a different world.

Otherwise, she couldn’t recall exactly what the voices sounded like.

Everything had been so confusing, and that was before you factored in the head injury.

It was all fuzzy. She probably wouldn’t even recognize the voices if she heard them again.

She could only remember how they’d made her feel.

If only she could see her rescuer again and get some answers—or at least figure out what the right questions were.

She’d spent a year longing for that with every fiber of her being, more than she longed for grace and peace.

More, perhaps, than she longed for God.

Beneath the covers, she shivered as if caught in the grip of a mighty wind.

The truth wouldn’t be denied anymore.

Madeleine did not long for God more than she longed for anything else in the world.

She’d vowed that she did, and she had lied.

She’d lied in a sacred place, about a sacred thing.

She was no exemplar of moral behavior for her students.

She was a fraud.

The shivering got worse.

She pressed her lips hard together to stop a whimper.

This couldn’t be happening.

It couldn’t be real .

But it was happening.

It was real. And something else was real too.

She didn’t belong here, with her sisters who trusted her without knowing her.

She’d never be able to hold their hands in the simplicity of faith, like Mother Gertrude had held Sister Catherine’s hand.

Nor could she earn their unquestioning obedience, not when she didn’t even want what she was selling.

She wanted answers. After years of living a lie, she wanted the truth.

And heaven help her, she wouldn’t find either of those inside convent walls.

But it would be difficult to seek them outside as well.

When she’d taken her permanent vows, she’d surrendered her material possessions to the Church.

She received a small salary as a teacher, but that went right back into Sacred Heart’s coffers.

She could get a job at a public school easily enough, but it would take time to get on her feet and set aside money to travel, especially because she had limited relationships outside the Church.

And she had no family to help her, either.

No mother or father or brother.

They were all gone.

She’d be so alone.

She’d sacrifice everything for answers that might never come.

Was she ridiculous for even thinking about this?

Now that she knew how sinful she really was, if she just repented and tried to love God as much as she should—might that not be enough?

Madeleine closed her eyes.

Tears slipped from their corners and rolled down her cheeks.

The wet weight in her chest reminded her of waking up on the beach, coughing up seawater…

one year ago to the day.

The timing couldn’t be a coincidence.

Holy Writ taught that you weren’t supposed to ask heaven for signs.

But that didn’t mean heaven wouldn’t send them to you unrequested.

She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob.

Crying wouldn’t stop any of this.

Tonight’s misery was a bell rung by a guiding Hand, awakening her from a lazy and undeserved sleep.

She’d used the order as a false refuge for decades: hiding from pain, from grief, and from her own nature.

Now, for punishment…

for penance…came this revelation.

The word “revelation” came from the Latin revelare : to expose and make known.

Literally, it meant “to unveil.”

That seemed fitting, didn’t it?

When Madeleine met with Mother Gertrude the next morning, she felt strangely calm.

Or perhaps she was just in shock.

She and her Superior General faced each other alone in the chapel, sitting on the pew in the front row before the altar.

“Well, Sister Madeleine?” Gertrude asked.

She’d said Madeleine’s generation was the future of the order.

Hope shone in her eyes that Madeleine would help her realize that future.

“Did the still, small voice of God speak to you?”

“I don’t know about that, Reverend Mother. The voice sounded loud to me. And I’m not sure it came from God—although I certainly hope it did.”

Mother Gertrude frowned.

“What?”

It was time.

Madeleine sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap, over the rosary that had replaced the one she’d lost exactly one year ago.

The smooth beads beneath her palms had to give her strength today.

She said, “I must turn away from the opportunity you offered me. I’m not fit for the position—more than you can possibly know. And last night’s reflections revealed to me that I’ve got to turn away from more than that, too.”

Now Mother Gertrude looked alarmed.

“Sister, what are you talking about?”

Madeleine took a deep breath and looked away from the woman who had such faith in her, toward the altar.

From there, the suffering Christ looked back.

Her heavenly husband, whom she’d been trying to fool for decades.

At least now she could do right by him.

“I’m declining the position of Sacred Heart’s Superior.” Her voice was low but resolute.

“And I’m leaving the Daughters of Grace. God forgive me.”