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Now Bernadette wondered if this was the Lord’s plan—to spare Agnes from the pain and uncertainty of knowing her child was

out in the world somewhere, unknown and unreachable, in the keeping of strangers.

Bernadette herself had been born to an unwed mother who had no way to look after her.

As Genesee, her childhood had been nothing but misery and danger until the people of Catholic Charities had stepped in.

She still remembered the cold apartment and the noise and the smells, the gnawing hunger and uncertainty she faced every day, even as a tiny child.

Would it have been better for her not to have been born at all? Or did the Lord have a larger purpose in mind for her?

“And when Agnes heals,” she asked the prioress, “will she return to her grandmother’s, then?” Bernadette asked.

“Certainly not. She is still afflicted with the French vice. Her education is far from complete.” Sister Gerard shut the safe

and spun the dial.

The ear-grating bell for lights-out sounded, and the girls were supposed to kneel in prayer beside their cots. Mairin assumed

the position and closed her eyes, but she didn’t pray. Prayer had never worked for her. Instead, she imagined a life beyond

these cold walls, where freedom was not just a distant memory but a reality she craved with every cell in her body.

She missed almost everything about her former life, even school, and having to shovel the front walk after a big snow, and

her mother’s endless soap operas on TV. Most of all, she missed the comfort and privacy of her own room, hanging out with

her brother and her friends. She missed Fiona and Liam so much that it hurt.

By now, Fiona would have had her baby. Was she okay? Was the baby? Did they really make her give it up for adoption?

And Liam—how could her big brother, who had the best laugh and the kindest eyes, be expected to fight in a war nobody wanted?

What if she never got to see him again? It was too unbearable to think about, but she didn’t know how to stop her racing thoughts.

She even missed her mother these days. Yes, she’d been furious with Mam. But she couldn’t forget the way her mother used to

whisper her name in Irish— Máirín— and sing songs at bedtime, and how her buttery scones were the best in the world.

As the girls were rustling and sighing, trying to get comfortable in the chilly dorm unit, Mairin noticed a silhouette crossing

the room toward her.

“ Lún dào ni zhu ā le ,” Helen whispered, passing close to her cot. That was the phrase Helen had taught the girls—an invitation to a game of mahjong.

Despite her exhaustion, Mairin flung aside her blanket, welcoming the distraction. The game was a secret rebellion, a way

to do something normal in this awful place. They tiptoed, along with Odessa and Denise, to the end of the dormitory, where

light from a caged bare bulb fell across the floor. Moonglow filtered through the barred windows, casting eerie shadows across

the rows of beds.

The girls huddled together, sitting cross-legged on a frayed woolen blanket around the mahjong set Helen had made. Her markings

were beautiful and delicate—the stones, characters, and bamboos, the winds and dragons, the daintily drawn flowers.

Odessa’s nimble fingers arranged the tiles into a precise array. “Think there’ll be a bed check tonight?” she asked.

“Nah. They never do,” Denise pointed out. “The old biddies are too lazy to climb the stairs.”

“Want to hear something crazy?” Mairin said. “Something I found out last time I was in the closet. I overheard them talking

about birthdays and stuff. Guess how old Sister Rotrude is. Just guess. You’ll never guess.”

“We can’t guess if you don’t stop talking,” Denise said.

“She’s probably in her fifties,” Odessa said. “Am I getting close?”

“I bet she’s older than that,” said Denise. “Older and meaner.”

“Nope, guess again,” said Mairin.

“Maybe she’s like, ninety, and she’s just freakishly well-preserved.” Helen set out her little makeshift bettor, a wind indicator

to help players keep track of the prevailing wind during the game.

Mairin shook her head. “You’re all wrong. Rotrude is twenty-four. Can you believe it?”

“No way,” Odessa said.

“Impossible. Twenty-four? That old hag?” Helen looked aghast.

“Swear,” Mairin said, holding up her hand. “She’s only nine years older than me. Crazy, huh?”

“Being a bully ages you, I guess.” Odessa cut a quick glance at Denise.

“Who you calling a bully?” Denise scowled at her. “Come on. Forget the nuns, already. We’re going to play just like free girls.”

The game began, the soft clicks of tiles filling the air as they drew and discarded with growing expertise and confidence.

“This is nice,” Odessa said. “Gives us a chance to forget where we are.”

“And who they’re trying to force us to be,” Mairin said.

The night wore on, and just for a while, the intricate game play transported the girls away from the cold dormitory, offering

a brief escape into a world of camaraderie and freedom. Even though friendships were forbidden here, the girls grew close,

giggling and groaning as they competed for the tiles they needed to match.

Suddenly, the door at the head of the stairs creaked open, and the room fell into an oppressive silence. “Shit,” whispered

Denise. “Someone’s here.”

The girls dove for their beds. Helen scooped everything into the blanket and rushed away with the bundle just as a shadow

darkened the doorway. Mairin squinted at the figure, then leaped from her bed. “Angela!” she said. “Hey, Angela!” Her heart

flooded with gratitude and relief. To her surprise, she felt a lump in her throat, and she realized how much she’d missed

her friend.

The other girls stirred and murmured. Angela moved into the room slowly and cautiously, her shoulders hunched. Feet shuffling

along the floorboards, she made her way to the bed that had been empty since the night she’d been taken away to have her baby.

She looked different, somehow. The big belly was gone, but it wasn’t just that. Her hair was longer. The blond swirls framed

her somber face.

“Oh my gosh, you’ve been gone such a long time.” Mairin sat next to her on the bed. “We’ve been wondering if we’d ever see

you again. How are you doing?”

“I’m... not really doing very well.” Her gaunt face was as pale as the moon.

Mairin’s stomach twisted. A few other girls gathered around. “Tell us everything. That is, only if you feel like talking about

it.”

Angela expelled a tremulous breath. “It was awful. I puked all over the station wagon on the way to the hospital, and got

yelled at for making a mess. They put me in this iron bed on wheels... nuns all around, telling me I was bad and that the

pain was my punishment.”

“Fuck them,” Denise snapped.

Mairin had never used that word, but she repeated it now. “Yeah, fuck them. You didn’t do anything to deserve what happened

to you. Please say you know that.”

“I...” Angela nodded weakly. “It hurt so bad. I felt as if I was being torn apart. And then they did stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” asked Odessa, leaning in to stroke Angela’s hair.

“Like, they herded me around like I was an animal. They shaved me down there. They said they had to give me an enema.”

“What’s an enema?” Janice asked, offering Angela a cup of water.

“I didn’t know, either,” Angela said. “And then... I did.” She described the process, which sounded humiliating and unnecessary.

“I freaked out. I was wailing and screaming and crying, and nobody moved a muscle. It was like they were used to it. Nobody

asked how I was feeling. It was like I was invisible except for down there. It hurt so bad. I thought I was dying. In the

middle of everything, they shoved a bunch of papers at me and made me sign them. But I wouldn’t. I refused. So my gran signed

them instead, because I’m not eighteen yet.”

“What kind of papers?” Mairin asked.

“Just... hospital papers, I guess. It’s all a blur now. Then they put a gas mask on me, and after that, I don’t remember

a thing. Not a blessed thing. One of the nurses—the nurses there are all nuns—said I was lucky to get the gas at all. Most

girls don’t get a painkiller because the pain is part of their punishment.” She took a sip of water.

“Angela, what a nightmare,” said Odessa. “I’m real glad you’re back with us now.”

“I have no idea how long I was unconscious. I woke up in a different bed in a different part of the hospital, and I was sick

all over again. Puking, with a massive headache and a raging thirst, but they wouldn’t give me any water. I had a heavy pad

in my underwear because I was bleeding. There was some kind of tight band around my middle. They made me wear a bra with pads

to soak up the milk.”

“You had milk?” asked Janice. “In your bra ?”

“For the baby, moron,” said Denise. “Don’t you know that the milk comes out of your boobs?”

Janice recoiled and wrapped her arms around her chest.

“Did you get to see the baby?” Helen asked, leaning forward. “Was it a boy or a girl? Did they let you hold it?”

Angela finished her water. Then she hugged her knees up against her chest. The look in her eyes was so sad that Mairin had

to look away for a moment. “It’s... it was a girl.” Angela’s voice trembled. “She was stillborn.”

The word hovered in the silence that followed. Stillborn sounded like an old-fashioned term, something Mairin remembered from the Little House on the Prairie books she’d read when she was younger. Angela took in a breath and exhaled with a broken sob. “I wish I’d been stillborn.”

“Don’t be dumb,” Denise said.

“Maybe it’s the will of the Lord,” said Janice, but her voice wavered as if she didn’t believe her own words.

“And you’re even dumber,” Denise snapped at her. “Now, shut up and let her talk.” Denise’s voice was uncharacteristically

soft when she turned to Angela. “If you feel like it, I mean.”

Angela rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. In the silvery moonlight, her face was as beautiful as ever, but she looked

older, somehow, her eyes haunted. She looked like a ghost—insubstantial, fragile, as though all it would take was a breath

of wind to blow her away. “I never even got to see her. I mean, I didn’t really want to have a baby, but... she was mine,

I guess, for a while. I carried her inside me. I even thought of what I would name her. I thought about keeping her for my

very own. When she came out, I was unconscious. They said she was still. Didn’t take a single breath. That’s all they told

me. They never let me see. I slept through the whole thing, and I never got to see.”

“Not even... well, was there a service or something?” Helen asked. “Where’s the baby now?”

“My gran said there wasn’t any money for a funeral. The truth is, Gran didn’t want a funeral. She was ashamed, on account

of me not being married.”

“Well, then...” Odessa touched her hand. “Who took care of the baby?”

Angela brushed away a tear. “The nuns said she was laid to rest in consecrated ground, courtesy of the diocese.”

“You didn’t get to have a service?” Mairin felt terrible for her. The funeral for her father had been unbearably sad, but it was important, honoring and acknowledging that Patrick O’Hara had been in the world. Even a newborn deserved that.

“I was sick in bed,” Angela said. “They kept giving me painkillers. I couldn’t go anywhere. I couldn’t even walk to the bathroom

on my own for days and days. I had lots of stitches, and there was a lot of bleeding.” She let out a sigh that turned into

a sob. “She was mine for nine months. I felt her inside me. I wanted to name her Alice. I wish I could have seen her. Just

once.”

“Let’s tell them you want to visit the grave,” Mairin suggested. “We could all go.”

Angela shook her head emphatically. “They wouldn’t allow it, anyway. It’s... complicated, I guess.”

“Because of the pervy doctor who got you pregnant?” asked Denise.

Angela shuddered. “Sister Rotrude says I have to go back for a checkup.”

“We’ll protect you,” Mairin said. “We have to protect each other. I’m just glad you’re back with us.”

“How can we help?” asked Odessa. “We want you to be all right. All right?” She patted Angela’s knee and hummed a familiar

tune, then began singing softly. “Oh Happy Day” was one of the songs Odessa had taught them, even the descant part, a favorite

the girls liked to sing when no one was watching them. A few of the others joined in, tapping their feet and trying their

best to cheer Angela up.

Mairin sang along, snapping her fingers to the beat, hoping her friend would join in. An idea struck her. “I’ll be back in

a jiff,” she said.

She slipped on her shoes and retrieved the skeleton key from a high ledge above the only window in the dorm, then unlocked

the iron gate at the top of the stairs. The gate was a fire code violation, but the nuns didn’t care.

A while back, one of the new girls had asked, which had earned her a dozen pops with Sister Rotrude’s penance stick. “You’ll

take the fire escape like anyone else,” the nun had said. Then she’d punished everyone by having a fire drill in subzero temperatures,

forcing the girls out the window onto the rickety exterior stairs made of rusty iron. The stairs ended ten feet above the

ground, so they had to dangle and drop to the frozen earth.

Mairin made her way to the office, giving a little shudder of remembered fear as she passed the closet. If she got caught tonight, it would probably mean more time in confinement, but she had to risk it for Angela’s sake. For all their sakes.

In the main office, she flipped the switch to open the PA channel to the dorms. Then she turned the radio dial to the top

40 station. “Twist and Shout” was playing. Perfect. By the time she ran up the stairs to the dorm, it was “Happy Together”

by the Turtles, and the girls were already dancing. Even Angela was up on her feet, practicing her go-go girl moves. Exuberant

laughter and song filled the room.

“We’re screwed if we get caught,” said Janice. “Rotrude’ll go ballistic.”

“Let her do her worst,” said Angela, her cheeks finally showing some color. “I just had a baby that died. Nothing worse can

happen to me, ever.”