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a few years older than Bernadette, Rotrude was as hard a fixture here as the marble holy water fonts jutting from the walls.

Born and raised in a mother-and-baby home in Ireland, Rotrude had a will of iron. Her unshakable faith gave her the strength

to resist the urge to go soft on the girls. Bernadette could only hope she would find that depth of faith one day. She was

already regretting her question.

“Bread and water after vespers,” Rotrude said.

“Yes, Sister.” Bernadette bowed her head in deference. “I’ll take care of that.”

She tried not to hurry through her supper, which the nuns took on a raised dais overlooking the benches where the girls sat

with their tin plates and cups. It was harvest time, and there was food in abundance for the nuns, thanks to Sister Gerard’s

clever agreement with local farmers. She bartered laundry services for fresh produce. The girls, however, were served their

usual soup of potatoes, beans, and greens in thin broth. Sister Gerard claimed that with 116 mouths to feed, it was important

to practice strict rationing so they never ran out of food.

Afterward, the girls cleaned and scrubbed the dining hall and dishes, and then evening prayers were offered up. Built in 1888,

the chapel’s cruciform shape formed a sanctuary that had an intermediary space between the nuns’ choir and the transepts,

where the inmates were crowded together.

Bernadette’s heart swelled as the program moved through the psalms with their chanted antiphons, and the all-important Canticle

of Mary, who sang these self-same words when she was filled with the knowledge that she was to bear the Lord’s son. Bernadette

could only imagine how to aspire to such a state of grace. Tonight, however, she felt distracted, thinking of the girl confined

in the tiny dark space behind the office.

She slipped from the chapel and stopped by the kitchen, then made her way through the dimly lit hallways toward the front

office. She paused outside the closet and listened. She herself had spent many an hour there, long ago. It had taken several

confinements for her to understand the importance of obedience. She could still remember that one time when she forgot herself

and yelled one of her mother’s crude phrases during a game in the exercise yard. That got her a well-deserved wallop across

the mouth. There was another time when she’d spoken out of turn, defending a girl who was being punished for soiling her garments

with her monthly flow. That earned her extra hours on her knees, scrubbing the bathrooms. Before long, Bernadette embraced

full compliance, and found grace there.

Her hand trembled as she unhooked the latch of the confinement room and slowly opened the door.

Mairin O’Hara was crouched on the floor, her head bowed over her drawn-up knees.

The closet was too narrow to fully stretch out, one of the many reasons it should be avoided.

As the dim light fell over the girl, she tilted her head up, squinting, her face soft and lovely and streaked by tears.

“I’ve brought you something to eat,” said Bernadette.

Bracing her hands on the walls, Mairin stood, wobbling slightly as she came to her full height. “That’s just great.” She was

taller than Bernadette, with an athletic build, and her stance was defiant, matching the glint in her eyes.

“It’s true, you could overpower me and try to escape again,” Bernadette said quietly, anticipating the girl’s thoughts. “It

won’t work, though, and you’d wind up back here, or someplace even worse.”

“What’s worse than here?”

Bernadette decided not to tell her about the basement room. Not today. “Someday soon, I hope you’ll understand that true freedom

lies in repentance and obedience, not defiance.”

She stepped aside and gestured at a low wooden bench just inside the office. “You may sit there.”

Mairin brushed past her and took a seat. Bernadette handed her the meal she’d brought from the kitchen—a peanut butter sandwich

and a cup of broth. Mairin devoured the food without a word of gratitude. As she sipped the last of the broth, she glared

up at Bernadette. “The other one—Sister Rotrude—said bread and water.”

“And that is what I brought.” Bernadette knew she was stretching the rules with the sandwich and soup, but the girl was new,

after all.

Mairin stood and stretched this way and that, her body lithe and strong. She stepped into the main part of the office and

looked around. “You like working here?”

“I serve where I am called,” said Bernadette.

Mairin went over to the radio and switched it on.

“Ruth, you mustn’t touch things.”

“I’m not going to hurt anything.” Mairin frowned as Father Coughlin’s voice emanated from the speaker, delivering a sermon in his usual dramatic manner.

“Ugh, Catholic radio hour,” Mairin remarked.

“My mother listens to that.” With a deft spin of the dial, she swept through the stations and stopped on one with a cheery beat and a dulcet male voice singing “I Heard It Through the Grapevine.”

For a moment, just a thrum of her heart, Bernadette felt a thrill of... something. Excitement. Pleasure. The tune and rhythm

were so deeply compelling, they made her want to move in time with the beat. “Stop that,” she snapped, reaching over and switching

off the radio. “You’re not to touch things.”

“I like music,” Mairin said. “Don’t you like music?”

“There’ll be a hymn at morning prayers,” Bernadette said.

Mairin rolled her eyes. “Not that kind of music. I mean the kind that makes you want to sing along or get up and dance.”

“We don’t do that here.”

“Why not?”

“We do the Lord’s work.”

“What, this?” Mairin wandered over to the small secretary desk in the corner with Bernadette’s ledger books. “The Lord wants

you to do this?” She flipped open the top book and glanced at the pages. “He wants you to keep track of all the money you

make from forcing us to work?”

“Oh, Ruth. You have so much to learn.”

“Yeah? Well, I already know this isn’t a school, no matter how much you pretend it is,” Mairin said.

“This is a place of learning,” Bernadette countered.

“Sure. So, when do we go to science class? Would that be before or after English class?”

“That kind of attitude will get you another visit to the closet,” Bernadette warned her.

“So you’re going to report me? Send me back in there?”

“I could if you force me to take measures.”

Mairin studied her through narrowed eyes. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“I am Sister Bernadette. You’re supposed to address me as ‘Mother.’”

“You don’t look old enough to be anyone’s mother. How old are you, anyway?”

“That’s an impertinent question.”

“So what is it?” Mairin persisted. “I mean your real name. Before you came here.”

Genesee . “That girl no longer exists.” Bernadette would never stop being grateful for shedding the name like an ill-fitting garment.

“Well, I’m not going to cease to exist just because I’m forced to be here,” Mairin said. “My father chose my name—Mairin Patricia O’Hara—and

I mean to keep it proudly all my life.”

“Your father brought you here for your own redemption,” Bernadette reminded the girl. She felt confident dealing with this

strong-willed girl. She’d encountered this scene many times with previous girls. Bernadette had gone down this path before

with girls emerging from the closet. She used to be intimidated by the defiant ones until she realized their defiance came

from fear.

“That person was not my father,” Mairin snapped. “My father was Patrick O’Hara, and he died five years ago. Colm Davis is

a creep. He and my mother brought me here because he’s too creepy for me to live with.”

Bernadette couldn’t stifle a sudden sweep of sympathy. In the Before Time, Genesee had encountered the kind of creepy men

she knew Mairin was talking about. She wanted to tell the girl that it was pointless to rebel. She wanted to tell her that

there was a way to find peace within oneself, as she had done, through obedience and submission. Bernadette was just eighteen,

but she had been here long enough to find grace in the hard lessons a girl had to learn at the Good Shepherd. “I’m very sorry

for your loss,” she said softly.

Mairin studied her with a probing stare. “You know, it’s almost worse that you’re trying to be nice to me. Why not just be

the monster you know you are?”

Bernadette gasped, feeling a flash of temptation to send the girl back to the closet. She closed her eyes and took a breath,

reaching for grace and forbearance. Then she opened her eyes and held Mairin’s gaze. “Believe me, the monsters are outside,”

she said. “At least in here, behind these walls, you’re safe.”