The Prodigal Nun by Aimée Thurlo Page B

benches. After an unusually harsh, wet winter, they all looked forward to recreation, when they could spend time outside in the fresh air.
    Despite the fading light of day, Sister Agatha could see that Reverend Mother was exhausted, and her heart went out to her. “Mother, I just spoke with Sister Eugenia. She’s very worried about you.”
    Reverend Mother held up a hand. “I know. She’s been wanting me to take those sleeping pills the doctor prescribed. But I tried them before, and they make me too groggy to pay attention to our prayers at Matins. My job is to serve the Lord, and I can’t do that if I’m all doped up.”
    “Lack of sleep isn’t good either, Mother,” Sister Agatha countered quietly. “You need sleep in order to serve.”
    “The problem is that I’ve had too many things on my mind. The Archbishop called again. The reporters have played up the threat to the nuns and are speculating that the death of Mrs. Sanchez is only the beginning and more violence will follow. The Archbishop is worried about the reputations of the monastery and St. Augustine Church. Apparently, he’s been getting calls from some of the parishioners who want the diocese to hire parking lot security for local churches.”
    “Mother, people are just scared,” Sister Agatha said softly. “With gang violence on the rise and big-city crime just to the south, all it takes is one dramatic incident to give fear a foothold. Once this killer’s caught, we’ll have peace again.”
    “At least we still have the Good News meal deliveries to serve the community and bring the comfort of God’s word to them. For that, we can thank Sister Jo and her spirit of giving,” Reverend Mother said, then stood.
    Together, they walked across the grounds and back to the recreation room. “Providence brought her here to us, I’m sure of it.” Reverend Mother added.
    “From the looks of it, Providence definitely has a sense of humor,” Sister Agatha added, coming to a stop in the doorway.
    Sister Jo shuffled past them, two mop heads tied to her shoes. Smiling, she moved quickly to the end of the room, stepped to her left, then pushed off the wall with one hand and spun around on the polished wooden floor.
    “What on earth is she doing?” Reverend Mother asked.
    “Skating?” Sister Agatha offered.
    Sister Bernarda, standing against the wall just inside the room, laughed. “She’s buffing up our floor.”
    “But why?” Reverend Mother asked.
    “Sister Jo got sandwiched today between the meal deliveries and the soccer match and wasn’t able to take care of the floors. When she tried to sneak in a little work tonight, Sister Eugenia reminded her that, at this monastery, work is prohibited during recreation. That’s when Sister Jo decided to get creative,” Sister Bernarda answered.
    Sister Jo slid to a stop by the table, picked up a can of wax, and sprayed the bottom of the mops. Then she strode off again, a grin on her face. “Wheee. Just like the old duck pond in December.”
    Reverend Mother laughed. “And here I thought nothing could make me laugh out loud today.”
    As the bell for Compline sounded, they abruptly stopped speaking. Sister Jo slid to a stop, grabbing the doorjamb to keep from falling. As she reached down to untie the mop heads, the others began to file out of the room, heading for chapel.
    Joining her fellow sisters, Sister Agatha knelt and gazed at the altar. “Lord, help me find answers. I failed you once. Pleasedon’t let me do that again,” she prayed silently from the bottom of her heart.
    Soon she began chanting the Divine Office, her voice indistinguishable from those of her sisters.
    The next morning, after Terce, Sister Agatha went to the parlor. Sister de Lourdes was already there at the desk.
    “I’m glad you’re here, Sister Agatha,” she said. “A few minutes ago I received a call from Louis Sanchez. He asked that you stop by as soon as you can. He said he needed to talk.”
    “Thanks, Sister