“Who is it?” a querulous voice asked. “Sister Grace, is that you?”
“No,” Alex said. “Please open the door. I’ve brought my sister for you to take care of.”
We could hear footsteps, and then an elderly woman nervously unlocked the door. “Did Sister Grace send you?” she asked.
“No,” Alex said. “Father Franco in New York did. May I speak with you privately, Sister?”
“I’m all alone,” the nun said. “Sister Grace told Sister Anne and Sister Monica to take the girls back to New York City and to stay there. That was October, I think. A few weeks ago Sister Grace said she’d better get help for us so she and Sister Marie left, and then it was only Sister Helen and me. Sister Helen passed away three days ago. Or maybe it was four. It’s so hard to keep track of time. I’m all alone now. Do you know where Sister Grace is?”
“No, Sister,” Alex said. “But we brought food. We can give you our food.”
“That would be very kind of you,” the nun said. “Please come in.”
“We haven’t been introduced,” Dad said. “My name is Hal Evans, and this is my daughter, Miranda, and our friends Alex and Julie Morales.”
“I’m Sister Paulina,” she said. “I was in charge of the dairy, but we slaughtered the cows months ago. There was no feed for them. The meat kept us alive until Easter.”
I couldn’t bear it. “I’ll get the food,” I said, glad for any excuse to get away from her and the house. It reeked of death, and I realized that Sister Helen must still be there, rotting away.
It was awful. I remembered finding Mrs. Nesbitt lying on her bed the morning she died. I left her there, went through her house searching for food, for anything we could use, before going home to tell Matt and Jon and Mom that she had died.
At the time it seemed so right to do that. Now I asked myself what kind of monster was I, that I could carefully examine every inch of a house knowing that a beloved friend was lying dead while I looked.
I took the food from the van and slowly carried it to the farmhouse. The smell must have been too much for everybody, because they were all sitting on the porch, looking out onto the gray deserted field.
“It’s so nice to have company,” Sister Paulina was saying as I approached. “I don’t know when Grace and Marie will be back, though. It’s been so long. You’d think if they’d found help, they would have returned by now.”
“Here,” I said, thrusting the bag of food at her. “It’s all the food we brought with us.”
“This is so kind,” Sister Paulina said. “Sister Helen would have been so glad. She said she wasn’t hungry, but I could see that she was. In her eyes, you know. Even at the end her eyes never lost that look.”
“Maybe you should come with us, Sister Paulina,” Dad said. “Back to our home in Pennsylvania.”
“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Sister Paulina said. “But Grace left me in charge while she’s gone. I couldn’t possibly leave.”
“Sister Grace might never return,” Dad said.
“Oh, she will,” Sister Paulina said. “It’s only been a few weeks, and nowadays everything takes so long. I worry that Marie has taken sick. There’s been so much illness. We did what we could for the people in town, but so many died. I suppose they’ve all left by now, the ones who survived. It used to be people would bring us food and firewood, but no one’s come for a very long time. We had hoped at Easter we’d be remembered, but it was just the four of us.”
“Please,” Dad said. “You’ll die here if you stay alone.”
“I’ll die anyway,” Sister Paulina said. “I made my peace with that a long time ago.” She smiled, but it wasn’t a crazy-lady smile. It was the smile of someone who wasn’t afraid of death.
“We’ll stay with you,” Alex said. “Julie and I. Until Sister Grace gets back.”
“Alex,” Dad said.
“No, Hal,” Alex said. “It’s the right thing for us to do.”
“It’s sweet of you to offer,” Sister Paulina said. “But Sister Grace didn’t give me permission to open the convent to others, so I’m afraid I’ll have to say no.”
“Is there anything we can do for you while we’re here?” Dad asked.
“Why yes,” Sister Paulina said. “Helen’s been lying in her bed all these days. She looks so peaceful, but I think it would be for the best if she were buried. Don’t you agree? Dust to dust.”
“We can do that,” Dad said. “Tell us where we can find shovels.”
Sister Paulina rose and pointed to one of the outbuildings. “That’s the toolshed,” she said. “Helen was in charge of the vegetable garden. Oh, she had a green thumb. Tomatoes so sweet you could eat them for dessert. Zucchini and carrots and corn. All summer long we’d eat from her garden, and then we’d can what we didn’t eat. It was a wonderful life.” She looked out at the apple trees. “No crop this year,” she said. “If God is merciful, next year the bounty will return.”
“God is merciful,” Dad said. “I believe in His mercy.”
“I used to,” Sister Paulina said. “I suppose I will again someday. After all, you people have brought me food. And you’re going to help with Helen.”
Dad nodded. “It’s going to take a while,” he said. “We’d better get started. Come on, Alex.”
“Could we walk around?” Julie asked. “I’ve heard so much about the farm, I’d like to see it.”
“Certainly, dear,” Sister Paulina said. “You’ll forgive me if I don’t join you? My arthritis is kicking up today. I think it will rain tomorrow.”
“Want to come?” Julie asked me, and I was more than willing. We never walked so far we couldn’t see the farmhouse, but we were too far away to hear any conversation or to be overheard.
“There’s no reason why you and Alex can’t stay with us now,” I said.
Julie shook her head. “Alex’ll find another convent to take me,” she said. “Between here and Ohio. The archdiocese in Pittsburgh will know where there’s one. Then he’ll go to the monastery.”
“He doesn’t have to,” I said. “Carlos won’t know any better.”
“It’s not just Carlos,” Julie said. “Alex wants to go to the monastery.”
What Alex wanted was me. But there was no way Julie could know that, or at least know the depth of his feelings.
“Maybe he’ll change his mind,” I said. “You said he didn’t always want to be a monk.”
“That was before,” Julie said. “Alex explained it to me when we were in Kentucky. He said God had entrusted me to him and that once he knew I was safe, he would dedicate his life to Christ in gratitude.”
“People change their minds,” I said.
“Not Alex,” Julie said. “Even when he’s wrong, he doesn’t change his mind.”
I realized then that I knew Alex better than she did. But Julie would never believe me if I said that, any more than I’d believe Syl if she said it about Matt.
“Alex loves you,” I said. “He wants what’s best for you. So does Carlos. You’re lucky to have them.”
Julie shook her head. “They may love me, but they don’t want me,” she said. “Neither of them wants me. But it doesn’t matter. The Holy Mother will look after me until I can look after myself.”
“We’ll look after you,” I said. “Mom and Dad and Lisa and Charlie. Jon. You’re part of our family now. You and Alex both are.”
“We have no family,” she said. “Not anymore. Come on. We should go back.”
I let her lead me to the farmhouse. When we got there, Sister Paulina, Alex, and Dad were kneeling in prayer. Julie joined them. I felt uncomfortable standing and watching, but I knew I’d feel even more uncomfortable joining them.
Then Alex and Dad went upstairs, and a few minutes later they brought down Sister Helen. They’d wrapped her in a blanket, but it didn’t matter. It was obviously difficult for them to carry her, and Julie, without hesitating, walked over to help. I had no choice but to do the same.
We carried her outside, Sister Paulina by our side. Dad and Alex lowered the body gently into the hole they’d dug. Alex, Julie, and the Sister recited some prayers, and then Dad and Alex filled the hole with dirt.
We didn’t stay much after that. It was still early, but the sky was getting dark. Sister Paulina kissed all of us good-bye and thanked us, and said she’d tell Sister Grace about our visit when she got back. Which we all knew she never would.
We were back on the road for less than two hours when the van stopped. We could feel it die.
Dad got out, lifted the hood, and acted like he knew what the matter was. Alex joined him. They looked
