Page 13

The decor was a strange combination of austerity and excess.

Everything seemed heavy and somber with stern authority.

There were numerous gilt-framed portraits on the wall behind the desk.

The large oak desk, weathered by years of use and covered with papers, documents, and leather-bound record books, dominated the room.

There was a new-looking radio and a few magazines on the desk as well.

Next to that was a PA system with a microphone and control panel.

A throne-like leather chair with iron studs sat behind the desk, its arms shining from countless hours of use.

There were artifacts—a fat Bible bound with brass hinges; a heavy reliquary box with a glass front, displaying a fancy monstrance inside.

In catechism, Mairin had learned such things were meant to house a saint’s relics.

This one was probably dedicated to some obscure dead saint because the famous ones were all taken.

A nun was working at a smaller secretary desk with spindled legs and a slanted top. She looked up when they entered, and Mairin

felt even more disoriented. The nun had a face that was as pale and pretty as the moon, with soft cheeks and large, soulful

eyes that were the most remarkable shade of deep blue, almost violet. She looked to be about the same age as Mairin, or maybe

even younger. Could this be the prioress?

“I’m Sister Bernadette,” she said, her soft voice lifting, as though she was questioning her own statement. For some reason,

she didn’t look like a Bernadette. It was true the nuns took different names along with their vows. Maybe this one’s real

name was Jennifer or Valerie or Rhonda. Help, help me, Rhonda. “Mother Gerard will be with you shortly.” She offered a brief, shallow bow, sending Mairin a tremulous smile as if to suggest

they were kindred spirits. Mairin sent her a hostile glare. Bernadette went back to her labors, sorting a stack of receipts

and entering information into a tall, narrow ledger book, using an old-fashioned fountain pen.

Mairin noticed a passageway of some sort at the back of the room. The narrow hall was lined with cupboard doors and recessed

alcoves, fading into shadows. The itchy silence as they waited strung her nerves to the breaking point. The young nun’s pen

scratched away at her task. Mairin kept trying to get her mother’s attention, but Mam stared straight ahead, as though expecting

the Mother Superior to materialize like the Holy Ghost.

On the desk next to the PA system was a large clock with Roman numerals. The clock hands seemed to stand still, but it appeared

to show the correct time. Eight-thirty in the morning.

Time for first bell at St. Wilda’s and announcements from the main office. The girls would all be jostling down the hall, slamming their lockers after stashing their things and then chattering in excitement as they made their way to homeroom, then assembly in the chapel.

Mairin should be there, at the school she’d attended since she was a knock-kneed six-year-old eager to learn everything in

the world. She should be waving to the friends she hadn’t seen all summer, marveling at new haircuts and impressive suntans,

discussing who got braces or glasses, whose boobs had grown, who had news to share. She would have told her friends about

Liam, and maybe they’d reassure her that he would be all right. She would have protected Fiona by evading the nosy questions

about her absence. Now she wondered if the girls of St. Wilda’s were asking questions about her. Was she in trouble? Was she the girl whose boyfriend had burst into flames during mass?

After a minutes-long eternity, Mairin heard a distant creak and a swish—a door opening, followed by the light tread of footsteps.

The Mother Superior emerged from the shadowy corridor, a lithe figure whose tunic and veil fluttered in her wake. She paused

at a tiny marble font, like a basin at the dentist’s office, that jutted from the wall, dipped her middle finger into the

water, then made the sign of the cross. Finally, she stepped behind the desk and pressed her hands on the dark green blotter.

She looked like the nicest nun in The Sound of Music . Encircled by the white cap under her wimple and veil, her cheek jowls spilled from the edges, and a seam of gray-and-white

hair shadowed her brow. She had eyes the color of an overcast sky.

Please be one of the nice ones, thought Mairin.

“You may be seated.” Her voice scratched over the command. As she gestured at three ladder-back wooden chairs, Mairin caught

a whiff of cigarette smoke fluttering from her tunic. The Sound of Music nuns didn’t smoke.

Mairin found herself wedged between her mother and Colm, who held themselves as rigid and unyielding as a pair of stone statues.

Mam stared straight ahead, her face as stiff as one of the portraits that dominated the office and foyer.

In the stream of sunlight through the window, Mairin could see that Colm’s jaw still bore a fading yellowish bruise from his fight with Liam.

Trying to make herself as small as possible, she hunched her shoulders so tightly that it squeezed her chest, making it hard

to breathe. Sister Gerard glanced up but didn’t seem to see her at all.

“Now then,” she said. “You’ve entrusted the girl to our care. She’ll be guided to the right path now.”

The girl.

“I have a name.” Mairin couldn’t stifle herself. “It’s Mairin Patricia O’Hara, daughter of the late Patrick O’Hara, and I’m

not a bad girl.” Her voice was a mix of defiance and fear. “I’m no different from any other girl, just trying to figure things

out. I do not belong in this place.”

The nun ignored her utterly, as though her voice was background noise. For Mairin, this was more devastating than being lashed

with sharp words, or even the back of a hand. It was as if she didn’t matter any more than the timid, dewy-eyed Sister Bernadette,

laboring away at her desk.

Sister Gerard handed Colm a pen and a folder with some printed form. “You’ll sign there, each of you,” she said.

Colm swiftly scratched his name. Mam studied the page, her eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t see Mairin’s name here.”

“She’s number six forty-seven,” said the nun. “That’s our system. She’ll be assigned a name the sisters will use.”

“I have a name,” Mairin repeated, more loudly this time. “It’s Mairin Patricia O’— Ow !”

Mam’s fingers dug into her leg. Then she let go and signed the form. Her signature looked more shaky than usual. Mairin tried

to guess what on earth her mother was thinking, bringing her to this place.

Sister Gerard handed them a small white printed envelope and a plastic pen.

“For the offering box,” she said. “It’s in the foyer of the chapel.

” From her tone, this did not sound like a request. They were expected to pay for the privilege of dumping their daughter here.

“Sister Rotrude will see you out.” Mother Superior didn’t bother to stand, but simply flipped open a file and moved on to her next task.

Over in the corner, Sister Bernadette looked up from her work and caught Mairin’s eye.

The young nun’s expression didn’t change, but there was a brief softness in her gaze, a beat of sympathy, and she shook her head the slightest bit as if urging Mairin to surrender.

Mairin shot to her feet. “I’m not staying here,” she said, her voice shaking but clear.

“Sit down, you,” Colm ordered.

She ignored him. “What is my crime?” she demanded, swinging to face her mother. Mam’s face was flushed red, and the spray

of freckles over her cheeks stood out. She flashed on a memory of Dad touching her on the nose. One day you’ll be as pretty as your mama, just you wait and see . Was Mam pretty? Or had bitterness stolen her looks? “Mam,” she said desperately. “How can you do this to me?”

“Now then.” Her mother’s voice sounded strained, and her cheeks were hard. “Mind your manners and do as you’re told, and all

will be well.”

“It will, and that’s a promise,” Colm said, his voice smooth with certainty. “Did you know I was one of Father Baker’s boys?”

She stepped back and blinked. Why did she never know this? “You were in reform school?”

“Don’t you be callin’ it that,” he said. “It was a home for boys, and a good one, too. Raised me up right when my own mum

couldn’t care for me.”

“Your mother couldn’t care for you?” Mairin asked. He must have been awful as a young boy.

“She did her best, but times were hard. Father Baker’s home kept me on the straight and narrow, they did. And the good sisters

here will do the same for you.” He regarded her briefly, and the secret flash of a smile appeared and faded in the blink of

an eye.

Bastard, thought Mairin.

“ My mother can care for me,” Mairin shot back. “Mam, tell him. Take me home, Mam. Please .”

Throughout the exchange, the nuns waited impassively, as if they’d seen this situation play out a hundred times.

“I’m asking you, Mam,” Mairin said. “I’m begging you.”

“There, there.” Her mother gathered her into a rare hug and held her fiercely with strong, sturdy arms. “Listen, my girl. You’ll be perfectly safe here, do you understand?

You’ll come to no harm. Just be a good girl, none of your pranks and mischief, and all will be well.

” She stepped back and held Mairin’s shoulders, her gaze seeming to absorb every detail of Mairin’s face.

Mam’s eyes shone, and she blinked fast, seeming to struggle with hesitation.

“You’ll be safe, do you hear me? Safe .”

Just for a moment, Mairin felt a tiny spark of relief. The house on Peach Street was different now that Liam had gone off

to training in the army. And Fiona was away, too, living at her aunt’s and making a baby for some childless couple. At least

Mairin wouldn’t have to live in the same house as Colm Davis. Though her mother didn’t say it, that was clearly what she meant

by safe.