Noticing the look on her face, he chuckled. “Aye, the pigs are being slaughtered over yonder today. It’s a fine neighbourhood. This way!”
A wide swath of waste ground stretched away to their left. Brick warehouses rose on the right. “Liberty Street. Aptly named. All the lads fresh out of prison would walk this road on their first day of liberty. Mind you, most would be returning in a paddy wagon 14 in short order.”
“There’s a prison?” Sister Cecilia’s voice was tinged with alarm.
“Was. The worst characters ended up in Toronto Central Prison. Murderers. Thieves. Arsonists. Evil fellows all.” He turned his head and winked at her. “Don’t worry. The prison’s long been closed. The blackguards are all gone. Well, most of ‘em, anyway.” He chuckled again. Sister Cecilia suddenly regretted wandering off with this strange man.
“Here we are,” the man said. “St. Bart’s. Safe and sound.” They stood in front of a decrepit building besieged by scrubby grass and a brick wall that rose just above their heads. A wooden gate stood closed, and beside it was a faded sign that announced in fading letters SAINT BARTHOLOMEW’ S ORPHANAGE AND CATHOLIC MISSION.
Her guide pushed the gate open and stepped through. She followed quickly after him, entering a cobbled courtyard with forlorn swings creaking in the breeze. Ivy grew, shaggy and untended, on all the walls. Here and there weeds had poked through the paving stones. A vegetable garden struggled to survive in the corner.
“I think the Mother Superior’s office is this way.” The man hefted her suitcase and went to a stout wooden door. She followed him into the building.
The interior was a great deal more welcoming. They were in an entry hall with hardwood floors and threadbare carpets. The smell of wood polish filled the air. Children’s voices, raised in song, drifted down the hallway. Sister Cecilia recognized the hymn: “Hail Queen of Heaven, the Ocean Star.” She smiled. The song had been a favourite of her mother’s and she always felt better when she heard it. The man led her up a set of wide wooden stairs and they came to a closed door. The man set her bag down and rapped twice on the door.
“Enter,” came a clear female voice. The man opened the door and stood aside, sketching a courtly bow and indicating that the sister should enter.
Stepping into the office of the Mother Superior, Sister Cecilia found herself in a cramped room full of filing cabinets crowded around a huge oak desk. The nun wore an oldfashioned habit with a cowl that covered her whole head save for her wrinkled face.
Sister Cecilia swallowed and mustered her cour-age. “Sister Cecilia reporting for duties here at St. Bartholomew’s,” she stammered. “I was told to report to Sister St. Martin.”
The old woman stared at her severely for a long, uncomfortable moment before saying, “I am Sister St. Martin. I’m sure you’d rather be somewhere more exotic, my dear, but make no mistake, there are young souls to save everywhere, even in the heart of the most civilized places in the world… perhaps more so!” The severe nun looked past Sister Cecilia to where her guide filled the doorway. “Finbar, take her to the attic room. She can share with Sister Teresa.”
Sister Cecilia frowned as she turned to the man. “You work here? Why didn’t you say so?”
Finbar chuckled, tugging the bill of his hat in a mock salute. “Never asked, did ya?” He picked up her bag and went off down the hall. Sister Cecilia made to join him, but the Mother Superior stopped her with a word. “Sister.”
Sister Cecilia faced the Mother Superior. The older woman smiled, transforming her stern face in an instant. “We welcome you here. There are so many children who need help and so few hands to turn to the work. We get some angry and desperate young people to take care of. Patience and kindness work wonders. Finbar is a good example. He was a prisoner here when there actually was a prison.” Sister Cecilia’s eyes went wide. “I trust him completely. We took him in when he couldn’t find any work and he’s been a loyal friend and excellent worker ever since. Patience and kindness: remember those two words and you’ll do well here. Now go and settle in. I’ll see you at dinner.”
Patience and kindness. Sister Cecilia had taken those words to heart. For years, she had taught and counselled the young children who came through St. Bart’s, and eventually she herself rose to the position of Mother Superior. She worked hard and long, battling to keep the orphanage alive, but now, perhaps, they had reached the end. Sister Cecilia leaned against the counter, her heart heavy, listening to the rain. After a moment of silent prayer, she opened her eyes.
“I’m sorry, Sister St. Martin,” she said to the empty kitchen and the rain on the window. “I’m sorry that everything will end this way. But the Lord has a plan for each of us in his wisdom. We must trust in him.” She sighed heavily, placing the tea things into the sink. She turned the faucet and carefully commenced washing each cup and saucer.
Outside the window, huddled under the eaves, two small figures, one burdened with a squirming, wrapped bundle, peered in at the woman as she went about her chores.
“What’s she doing?”
“Rubbing a cup. Be quiet.”
“What a strange thing to do.”
“They are an odd folk. We must be wary.”
“Ooh. He’s getting heavy, this little baggage.”
“Shhh. She’ll hear you!”
“It ain’t my fault it won’t sit still!”
“Just be quiet, will you?”
“Uh-oh. Do you smell that? I think he’s soiled himself!”
“Be careful! Don’t…”
“EW! What a filthy little baggage!”
“Just don’t…”
“Uh-oh! I dropped it.”
The sound of a baby crying cut through the drumming of the rain. Sister Cecilia’s head jerked upright and, for a second, she thought she saw two small faces peering into the rainstreaked window. She blinked and looked again but they were gone. She could have imagined it, but she hadn’t imagined the sound of the baby crying. Years of comforting frightened children had honed her ears to pick up that sound. A baby was out there in the terrible storm. She immediately dropped the clean cup back into the soapy dishwater with a plop and went to the kitchen door.
“There. I’ve got him again, the little nipper!”
“Drop him and let’s go. We’ve done what himself asked us to do.”
“Drop it? I only just picked it up again!”
“Just drop it and scamper!”
Sister Cecilia opened the heavy wooden door and stepped out into the rain. In the darkness she thought she saw a flicker of movement at the corner of the small vegetable garden. The tomato plants rustled briefly.
“Perhaps my ears were playing tricks on me,” she muttered. “Maybe it was just the rain on the roof.” She was about to close the door when she saw the bundle on the ground.
It glowed softly in the darkness, catching the light streaming from the open door and transforming it into a pale blue-green glimmer like the luminescent dial of the clock on her bedside table. Sister Cecilia stared in wonder at the object, frozen by its beauty. The cry of a baby jerked her out of her stupor. The bundle began to wriggle.
“What am I doing, standing here like a fool?” She crossed the garden in an instant, wading through icy puddles and bending to take the wriggling bundle in her arms.
It was indeed a baby, wrapped in cloth swaddling that, for all its simplicity, was exquisitely woven out of a thread the nun had never seen the like of before. The weft of the cloth repelled the rainwater, making the droplets bead and run off without soaking in. Its surface bore a repeating pattern of minute, intricately entwined leaves and vines so beautifully articulated that they seemed to be alive. Sister Cecilia ran her fingers over the fabric, her eyes wide. With trembling fingers, she reached up and pulled away a fold of cloth to reveal a tiny round face.
The baby had a thick head of wavy, wheaten hair that formed a golden comma in the middle of its forehead. Round cheeks, flushed from the chill rain, framed a tiny pointed nose. The mouth was a perfect little red bow. The most arresting feature, though, were the child’s eyes. They were slightly almond shaped and a most unusual greenish blue with flecks of gold. Though the baby had been crying, as soon as it saw Sister Cecilia’s face, it left off
