CHAPTER 2
'HAVE I DONE SOMETHING WRONG?' Ettie enquired.
'No, child. But the sooner you learn the truth the better.’
Ettie hurried after the small, squat figure floating over the convent’s stone floors. Finally they reached the dining room. All the long wooden tables and benches were permanently set with cutlery, mugs and pitchers of water for the nuns' simple meals.
Ettie kept this room as clean as a new pin. Sweeping the stone flags, polishing the table and lighting the fire on cold winter mornings was another labour of love. Once breakfast was over, Ettie and two young women employed from the local village would clean the children's dormitories and tend to the sick.
Sister Patrick sat down on one of the benches. Ettie had an anxious sensation. The vast room echoed with an eerie silence. The strong smell of wax polish wafted up into the air. A smoky haze from the fire curled around the roof's lofty ceilings.
It was late on a winter's afternoon and Ettie moved restlessly. The boys and girls would be waiting for her. She loved her little friends and they loved her. For they all knew from life's experience what it was like to be unloved.
But Sister Patrick was in no hurry to let her go. 'Ettie, nothing in life is permanent, so?’
A little shiver went down Ettie's spine. ’No, Sister Patrick. Nothing lasts forever. Except heaven.'
‘Heaven is our eternal home,’ Sister Patrick agreed. ‘But in this life we are in the hands of the Good Lord.’ The nun's tongue came out and slipped nervously over her dry lips. 'We must accept our fate.'
Ettie did not answer. For she too, had very dry lips.
'The bishop has given us a directive.'
Ettie sat up. This new bishop who had replaced the old one, was very important. When he visited he arrived in a shiny cab pulled by a fine black horse. A special rug was produced for him to stand on; even Mother Superior knelt down and kissed the ring on his finger.
‘Rome can no longer support us,’ explained Sister Patrick. ’And there are many repairs to be done. The windows are all broken. There are leaks in the roof of the school house.’
Ettie wondered why this was important. 'We catch the drips in pails,’ she reminded the nun.
‘Those drips are becoming waterfalls,’ Sister Patrick objected. ’The chapel too, needs attention. Sure, the big bell is so rickety it’s about to fall from its tower.’
‘Can’t it be tied with rope?’ asked Ettie innocently.
The nun smiled sadly. ‘Ah, if only the sisters had your youth! We should do a great deal more than we do now.’
Ettie rarely thought about the age of the nuns. They all looked, well, just like nuns. There was perhaps, Sister Francis who walked with the aid of a stick. And Sister Bernadette who sat in a chair most of the day muttering her prayers in French. But now Ettie realised there were very few younger faces.
'Already Sister Catherine has left for the motherhouse in Belgium,’ Sister Patrick added. ’Soon Sister Enuncia will follow.'
Ettie swallowed. ‘Then who will teach the children?’
The nun heaved a sigh. ‘Sad it is, Ettie, but they too must go.’
Ettie felt a lump grow large in her throat. ‘But where?’
A tender smile touched the nun’s lips. ‘We must pray for guidance.’
‘But - ‘
Sister Patrick put a finger to her lips. ‘Quiet, now, Ettie. The problem is that the Sisters of Clemency have lost our patrons over the years. The old bishop took no interest in money. He was a good man but only wanted to save souls. He loved his orphans and thought God would provide. But unfortunately, we are lost without patronage.’
Ettie remembered the wealthy gentry arriving in their fine carriages who once attended Mass in the chapel. But as the East End of London grew poorer, their visits declined. Yet she had been taught that God was loving and merciful. Surely He would save the orphanage?
‘God helps those who help themselves, doesn’t He?’ Ettie boldly protested. ‘We could grow vegetables and fruit for Sister Ukunda to sell at the market. Keep hens for eggs and a goat for milk. Perhaps even a cow. Arthur could build a stable to keep them in.’
‘Arthur is just our gardener, child. He’s not a farmer, just as we are not builders.’
But Ettie would not give up. ‘We could learn to be,’ she insisted.
Sister Patrick shook her head sadly. ’Shh, darlin’ girl. Rome’s decision is final.’
Ettie hung her head. She bit her lip to keep her tongue silent.
‘Life changes,’ Sister Patrick tried to soothe. ‘We must accept God’s will.’
'But Sister Patrick,’ Ettie burst out, ‘I can't live without you.'
The nun looked lovingly into her eyes. 'My child, you have all your life to live without me.'
Suddenly Ettie realized that something or someone far greater than either herself or Sister Patrick, was now governing their lives. It was a frightening discovery. Ettie's heart, which usually overflowed with love and gratitude, felt heavy and lost. At last the dam broke. Her sobs echoed in the big room like loud claps of thunder.
'Hush, my dear one,’ comforted a loving voice. A voice that she had trusted all her life. A voice as close to a mother’s voice as she had ever heard. ’We have spent many happy years together. God only loaned you to me. Now I must give you back.’
Ettie heard someone wailing. The cries were lifting right up to the rafters. They bounced on the sharp glass of the broken windows and against the faded holy pictures on the walls.
These noises couldn't be from her, of course they couldn’t! But they weren't from Sister Patrick who was trying to console Ettie.
'I'll never leave you,’ Ettie heard herself insist. ’Never!’
‘Wherever you go,’ Sister Patrick murmured calmly, 'I'll always be in your
