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Colm parked the car, and they got out. Mairin darted a look at the exit gate. It had already closed behind them. “That’s called

a sally port,” Colm said with a self-important air. “A secure gate to make sure nobody gets out.”

Mairin scanned the area wildly, wondering if she should make a dash for it. A dash for what? She was all alone. She had nothing,

and nowhere to go. The air was heavy with the scent of dry grass. At the top of the wall, a bright bluebird alighted, and

then took flight and disappeared.

“This way,” Mam said with crisp conviction. “They’re expecting us in the office.”

“Who’s exp—”

“Hush now, and mind your manners,” Mam said, cutting the air with her hand. “Aren’t you in enough trouble, then?”

They followed a walkway toward the main building. There was a large plaque with a picture of a saintly figure reading an illuminated

book to a flock of sheep, and a Latin phrase: Salus animarum suprema lex .

“It’s quite grand, isn’t it?” Mam remarked, studying the old building’s peaked windows and pillars.

It was a place frozen in time, an ancient fortress haunted by echoes that whispered against the gray stone in a mysterious,

heavy rhythm. Far in the distance, Mairin could see a grove of fruit trees, and adjacent to that, a series of clotheslines

hung with linens and towels. The place seemed to be uninhabited. At a school, kids would be spilling out here and there, yet

an eerie quiet surrounded the area.

“Come along,” Mam said briskly. “This way.” The walkways between the various buildings had been swept, the grass clipped short.

Mam’s heels clicked on the concrete pavement as she led the way to a thick door marked Office.

Mairin noticed a flurry of movement at the top of the wall. A bird was caught in the wire there, struggling furiously to free

itself. She opened her mouth to say something, but just then, Colm opened the main door and motioned her inside with a jerk

of his head. Mairin stepped into a dim foyer with whitewashed walls that seemed to absorb all the light. She sensed an air

of dampness and age, as though this place was entirely separate from the rest of the world. There was a bench, and a shelf

with religious objects and framed photographs of priests and nuns. In the center was a large yellowed portrait of a nun labeled

The late Rev. Mother Joachim, Prioress .

A sign by the inner door read Our Lady of Charity Refuge and Sisters of the Good Shepherd.

“Mam, no.” Mairin’s breath caught in her throat as comprehension crept over her. This place was the one mentioned in scandalized

whispers from the older girls at school. It was the one people gossiped about when a girl suddenly stopped showing up to class.

It was the place angry parents—like her own mother—threatened their daughters with. I’ll send you to the nuns, just you see if I won’t. She grabbed her mother’s arm. “Mam, please.”

Her mother patted her hand. “Go on with yourself now,” she said in a soothing voice. “You’ll be brilliant here, I’m certain.

’Tis exactly what you need. Things have gotten out of control at home. We can’t keep watching you make the same mistakes over

and over again. Sister Carlotta agrees this is the best choice for you.”

“What about my choice?” Mairin demanded. “I don’t understand. Tell me why, Mam. Just tell me why.”

“Ah, Mairin. We’ve been over this. The lying and sneaking, keeping company with boys, and now your friend Fiona in the family

way. ’Tis only a matter of time until you stray down that path. And we can’t have you showing such terrible disrespect for

your stepfather. The nuns here will redeem and protect you, because the Lord above knows I’ve failed at that. You’ll get the

very best guidance in this place. It’s a chance for you to find your way back to the right path. We can’t let you wind up

like Fiona Gallagher, bringing all manner of shame to her family.”

“I’m not going to end up like Fiona,” Mairin said, her voice thin with desperation. “I swear, Mam. I swear on all the saints

in the canon.”

“Stop badgering your mother and show some respect,” Colm said.

A searing sense of betrayal ripped through her. Mairin had always been a rebellious spirit, questioning rules, skirting regulations,

getting written up at school. She knew she could be exasperating at times—her mother often made that clear. But now, it seemed

that the very essence of her identity was being deemed a flaw. A defect that needed to be corrected.

While they waited, Mairin tried to keep her heart from beating out of her chest. She focused on the plaque on the wall. The

inscription read: She is placed in the Home of the Good Shepherd, not as a punishment, but in the hopes that she will mature into all the beauty

of womanhood with knowledge, abilities and ideals which evolve into a happy life, and which, in turn, she may share with others. The text was attributed to someone named Sister Mary William McGlone, Mother Superior and Principal of St. Euphrasia School.

Based on her first impression, this place did not seem like a good prospect for evolving into a happy life.

Beyond the foyer, there appeared to be a labyrinthine network of shadowy corridors.

The air was chilly and reeked of cleaning solution.

A strange, distant rhythm of machinery penetrated the deep silence.

This place was more antiseptic than a hospital, the walls and floors scrubbed spotless.

Across from the plaques and portraits was a sign pointing to Classrooms and a display of students’ work—drawings of rainbows and waterfalls, the flag of Vietnam with a carefully lettered report

under it, a childish picture of some saint or other surrounded by small animals. Some of the pages were faded and yellowed,

as if they had been on display for quite some time.

From the darkness of a hallway, a tall figure glided toward them like a ghost. Long white habit, blue tassel, black veil over

a white cap, the flowing tunic cinched by an oversized wooden rosary, the chunky cross hanging down the front.

The edges of the white cap framed a face of indeterminate age—smooth skin and pale lips, thoughtful eyes that flicked swiftly

over Mairin. “I am Sister Rotrude,” the nun said. “Welcome to our community.”

Sister Rotrude spoke with a pronounced Irish cadence that caused Mam to perk right up, as she always liked meeting someone

from the old country. The nun’s voice was deep and sonorous, as though she was about to burst into song, like those nuns in

The Sound of Music , which Mairin and Fiona had seen four times at the theater when they were younger. They’d listened to the record album and

memorized all the songs, belting them out until Mr. Gallagher said his ears were bleeding.

Sister Rotrude’s mouth curved in a practiced smile, not a movie-nun smile. And for some reason, she terrified Mairin. “You

must call me and all the Sisters here ‘Mother,’ because we are here to guide and protect you.”

With her pale, long-fingered hands folded in front of her, she turned to Mam and Colm. “You’ve made the wisest of choices,

Mr. and Mrs. Davis. I myself came up through the system in Ireland, and blessed I am for it.”

“Ah, then we have that in common,” Mam said. “As a young woman, I was cared for at the Magdalene home in Limerick, just before

making my way to America.”

Mairin felt a jolt of shock. What? Mam had never mentioned this before. It was true she had little to say about her life back in the old country, but why didn’t Mairin know this? Why didn’t Mam ever talk about it? What on earth was a Magdalene home anyway?

“Then you know that it’s the Lord’s work we’re doing for these girls,” Sister Rotrude said smoothly. “God and the angels only

know what would become of girls like Mairin if we weren’t here to help.”

“I’m not a bad girl,” Mairin burst out. “I don’t belong here.”

“And that”—Sister Rotrude’s instant response snapped like the lash of a whip—“is the sort of disrespect we’ll be working on

while you’re with us.” Then her expression relaxed into a welcoming smile as she made a graceful gesture toward the inner

door. “We’ll go in to meet Mother Gerard now.”

Mairin balked, struggling to comprehend the magnitude of what was being forced upon her. Tears burned her eyes, and her heart

pounded with a mix of outrage and confusion. How could her mother betray her like this? Did she truly believe Colm’s story,

or was she just afraid to cross him? Did she actually think Mairin deserved to be sent to reform school simply because she

had gone to the movies with a boy?

“Mam, I’m begging you,” Mairin said. “Let me come home. I’ll be perfect, you’ll see. I’ll do anything—”

“The empty promises come too late,” Sister Rotrude interjected, addressing Mam. “This is common among our new girls. You must

stand by your convictions.”

Mam’s eyes flickered with regret, then hardened. “Mairin, you’re here because we want the very best for you. We know you’re

capable of so much more, but we can’t do this alone.”

Sister Rotrude cleared her throat and pushed open the door to the inner office. Jostled from behind, Mairin entered the room

with her mother and Colm. Soft golden sunlight filtered through a film of lace curtains, casting a warm glow upon the scene.

The air was heavy with the fragrance of incense and wood polish and old paper files. A line of ledger books on a floor-to-ceiling

bookshelf seemed to whisper their stories from the shadows. Under the window was an old-fashioned prayer kneeler with rough

ridges where the padding should be.