Dr. Garnett said nothing. He merely patted Sister
Jacqueline’s hand, offered her a small, tight smile, and
walked away.
“Courage?” the nun echoed bitterly. “What good is
courage? You can’t fight the Devil when you can’t see
him.”
As Sister Jacqueline started to turn away, Judith
called her name. “My condolences,” she said. “There
are many of us in the community who will be sorry to
see the Order of Good Cheer relinquish the hospital.”
“Thank you,” Sister Jacqueline replied, her voice
devoid of life.
“A question,” Judith went on. “A very minor question. Do you know who brought Bob Randall the balloons and cutout of him in his playing days?”
“No,” the nun replied without interest. “Sister Julia
at the front desk would know. She was on duty Monday night. Why do you ask?”
An embarrassed expression flitted across Judith’s
face. “Oh—ah, my cousin thought she recognized him
as one of her children’s old high school chums. How
do I get in touch with Sister Julia?”
“You don’t,” Sister Jacqueline replied. “She started
making a private retreat in the convent Tuesday morning. Sister can’t be reached until Sunday afternoon. It’s
a shame, since I wish I could tell her that not all of her
prayers were answered.” Shoulders slumped, the nun
left the cousins and headed for the stairwell.
As the Van Boecks disappeared around the corner at
the far end of the hall, Renie reversed Judith’s wheelchair and pushed her cousin back into their room. “Did
Sister Julia volunteer for the retreat or did somebody
give her an order—excuse the pun.”
“I think your imagination may be running away with
278
Mary Daheim
you,” Judith said. “I’m sure the retreat was Sister
Julia’s idea, but her isolation is inconvenient. And what
did Sister Jacqueline mean by fighting the Devil?”
“Restoration Heartware?” Renie suggested as
Corinne Appleby came into the room. “Or a certain individual?”
“Time for your shower,” Corinne announced with
forced cheer. “Good, you’re ready to go,” she added,
indicating the wheelchair. “Shall we?”
Judith had no choice. Renie volunteered to go along
and take her own shower. As they reentered the hall,
the journalists were dispersing. Snatches of conversation could be heard as they passed down the hall
toward the elevators.
“. . . Funny stuff going on around here . . .” “. . . Hey,
I intend to keep my job . . .” “Congress, huh? Why not,
she’s no bigger windbag than they already . . .”
At the rear of the group, Judith spotted Mavis LeanBrodie. She was standing outside Addison Kirby’s
room. “Kirby!” Judith heard Mavis exclaim as the
