The Prodigal Nun by Aimée Thurlo Page A

with a sigh.
    As she finished speaking, Mike came rushing up. “You got tagged,” he said, looking at the Antichrysler. “I have to deal with this all the time at school. The important thing is to get rid of the message
immediately
. Once they see they’re wasting paint and very few will ever see their message, they move on. I have just the product to take off that spray paint, too. But I better warn you—it may take some of the finish along with it.”
    “What finish?” Sister Bernarda said wryly. “This car’s paint has been finished for years.”
    “You’re right about that.” Mike gave her a grim smile. “Letme help you, and we’ll get things back to the way they were. Park next to the building while I go get the cleaner and a roll of paper towels.”
    Sister Agatha smiled. “Thanks, Mike. We’ll take all the help we can get.”
    Mike looked at the paint, then glanced at Sister Agatha. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “We were just trying to figure that out ourselves,” Sister Agatha said.
    It took them almost an hour to remove the painted threat. By the time they returned home, it was past collation. All three of them went directly to the kitchen, knowing Sister Clothilde would have set something aside for them.
    They weren’t disappointed. Sister Clothilde was waiting as they walked into the refectory, their dining room. Pax shot past them, heading to his full dog dish in the next room. Seconds later they could hear him crunching his kibble.
    Meanwhile, Sister Clothilde silently brought out a tray with three bowls filled to the brim with hot corn chowder. Two slices of thick homemade bread were beside each.
    Sister Clothilde, in her eighties, had taken a vow of silence a lifetime ago and had never broken it. Yet despite it—or maybe because of it—she always seemed attuned to the others’ needs. When she’d learned of the Good News Meal Program, she’d stepped in, planning all their menus and preparing the food herself.
    Sister Agatha helped her place the food on the refectory table and, after saying grace, began to eat. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was until now.
    She’d barely had a few teaspoons of Sister Clothilde’s specialsoup when Sister Eugenia suddenly came through the refectory door, a stern look on her face.
    “You left this morning without stopping by the infirmary to pick up your pills. I won’t have it, Sister Agatha. Just
look
at your hands.”
    Sister Agatha didn’t have to look to know her joints were badly swollen. “It’s just the spring weather, Your Charity,” Sister Agatha said, taking the pills from her. “It’s nothing to worry about.”
    “You can’t ignore the doctor’s orders. Once things progress past a certain point, it all becomes harder to manage.”
    She nodded and quickly swallowed the pills.
    “After you’ve eaten, please go see Reverend Mother. She’d like to speak to you.” Then, in a much softer tone, she added, “Your Charity, while you’re with her, try to convince her to take something to help her sleep. She hasn’t had much rest since, well, you know.”
    Sister Agatha nodded, noting Sister Eugenia’s reluctance to speak of the crime that had been committed practically at their front door. They were all having a difficult time handling what had happened. Yet she alone bore the extra burden of knowing it was partially her fault. This might not have happened if she’d taken time to listen to Jane.
    Guilt drove her to find answers now. The only way she had to balance out her failure was to find justice. God would help her. Although she’d failed Him, He wouldn’t fail her. Love redeemed all who offered Him a contrite heart.
    Once they’d finished eating, Sister Bernarda and Sister Jo offered to clean up. “We’ll handle things here while you go talk to Reverend Mother,” Sister Bernarda said.
    “Thank you, Sisters,” Sister Agatha said and hurried out.
    Sister Agatha found Reverend Mother outside on one of the