Someone has already done a load of wash that morning, and Kate threads her way among the nightgowns and towels that hang limply in the damp morning air. Kate knows it will take a day or two for these things to dry unless the sun surprises them with an unexpected appearance. She glances down at her own white habit, stained with dirt and blood. Her shoes are dusty, the heels worn. She tries to arrange her veil, hoping that she pinned it on straight that morning in Magdalena’s bedroom.
Just as she raises her hand to knock on the kitchen door, it opens and she is staring into the eyes of Sister Domitia herself. The older nun gasps in surprise, then her eyes crinkle in a welcoming grin. She grabs Kate and hugs her, and Kate fights back the tears that always seem near. Then Sister pushes her back a few inches to study her. She stares at the stains on her white habit.
“Why, Sister Mary Katherine, what a surprise.” She looks behind Kate. “Did you come down all by yourself?”
The question hangs in the air. Then Kate nods, and Sister Domitia looks worried.
“Come in. Why are we standing out here?” She pulls Kate into the kitchen. “Teresita has gone to the market, and I had a free period before my class, so I stayed home this morning to catch up on my correspondence. Is everything all right?” She falters now as she looks at Kate.
Suddenly Kate cannot find any words. She sits down abruptly in a dining room chair. Sister Domitia sits across from her, and folds her small plump hands neatly on the table in front of her. “Something has happened. You look terrible. What is it?”
Kate watches her face and struggles to begin. “Sister, I need to get a message to Juliaca. They don’t know where I am. I need to tell them I’m all right.”
She watches as Sister Domitia’s reassuring nods stop. “What do you mean they don’t know where you are? Isn’t one of the sisters here in Lima with you?”
“No, I came alone. I left—it was about a week ago. I just walked out.” Now she puts her head down on the table and begins to cry. The sobs are quiet, but they go on and on in the empty room. Finally she hears Sister Domitia get up and go to the phone at the other end of the nuns’ living room.
“Henry? This is Domitia. Listen, I’ve got a problem here. I need to get a message up to the Dominican nuns in Juliaca.” There is a brief silence. Then her voice lowers, “The youngest one, Sister Mary Katherine, just showed up at our door. She’s distraught, and I haven’t gotten the whole story, but—” The voice ceases. Then, “Yeah, that’s right. She says they don’t know where she is. We need to get a message up there immediately.” Sister is quiet for a few minutes. “No, I don’t think you need to come over just yet. Let her relax, sleep, maybe eat a little. She looks done for. I’ll call you later. Okay, thanks, thanks a lot. Tell them she’s fine. Bye.”
Kate lifts her head now, watching the nun hurry back across the room. She feels heavy. She follows the nun up the stairs to an empty bedroom and sinks onto the bed. She hears the door click as Sister Domitia pulls it shut.
When she awakes she is confused. Where is she? She looks out the single window, but gray mist shrouds the courtyard below, making it hard to tell what time of day it is. She switches on the light. Someone has put a small stack of clean clothes on the chair by her bed. She gathers them up and the towel next to them and makes her way to the bathroom. From downstairs she can hear laughing and talking and the clinking of silverware on plates. It must be suppertime. She has slept all day.
When she comes downstairs in the gray skirt and blouse and the small token veil that the Precious Blood Sisters wear, the other nuns rise to greet her. She is immediately surrounded by their warmth, and someone passes a plate to her with a generous portion of chicken and rice. No one asks her questions, and the nuns carry on with their chatter of the day as if it is the most normal thing in the world to have a runaway in their midst. Kate is grateful for their tact.
After dinner she joins the nuns for Vespers in the living room. As they sing the psalms, Kate glances around at the group. Three of the sisters are over fifty, and the one young one among them must be about thirty. Their plain scrubbed faces are serene if a bit tired. They settle comfortably in their chairs, their feet stretched out in front of them, and Kate watches the easy way they handle their prayer books, caressing them unconsciously like familiar pets. Why can’t she live like this? Why is she so restless, always wanting more? The words of the final hymn to Mary soar in the small room: “Salve Regina, mater misericordia.” Had it been to Mary she cried out in the night when the man attacked her, or was it a call to her own mother, tall and slim and so far from her these days? She feels a fierce ache to see her mother, to sit across from her and feel the love she had always taken for granted. After Vespers, Sister Domitia tells the nuns about the attack Kate has suffered. They were shocked at the sight of the ugly gash on her arm. She feels embarrassed by their pity,
