And the bell just then ringing she thrust the certainty to the back of her mind and followed her sisters.
Four
At school the next day the Romany children had chattered excitedly about ‘Sister’s visit.’
‘And there was two of them come,’ Petroc was announcing. ‘One in a black veil, and Sister Joan in her white. Why’s that, Sister?’
‘Sister Margaret is a lay sister,’ she explained. ‘That means she goes out more into the world than we do. She does the shopping and posts the letters and things like that.’
‘Then she ain’t a proper sister,’ Billy said firmly.
‘Indeed she is.’ Sister Joan was equally firm. ‘She keeps the rule just as we all do. In many ways her job is harder because she has more distractions.’
‘But you come out?’ Tabitha said, looking puzzled.
‘Only with permission,’ Sister Joan said.
‘What’s this rule then?’ Conrad enquired.
Sister Joan hesitated. They were about to embark on a geography test and she knew a red herring when she saw one, but on the other hand it was probably wise to tell them something of the life a nun led, to dispel some of the more grotesque misconceptions that got into people’s heads.
‘When we enter the religious life — become Daughters of Compassion,’ she said, ‘we have to train for it, you know, the way one trains for everything. So we spend two years as what is called a postulant — we learn what it means to give up everything for God. Then we take vows that last for one year and after that, if we still want it and if the other sisters agree we take vows that last for the rest of our lives. Vows are promises we make to God.’
‘What promises, Sister?’ This from Samantha Olive who leaned forward, her green eyes alight with interest.
‘Poverty — that means not owning things; chastity — that means being pure; obedience — you know what obedience is; and then in our order we take a vow of charity — of love and kindness.’
‘If you can’t own anything, and you can’t get wed and you have to do as you’re told and go round being nice to everybody it can’t be much of a life,’ Hagar said.
‘I think it sounds lovely.’ Samantha’s plain little face was wistful.
‘Most of the time it is, but you have to be suited to the life. You have to really want to do it and live it and be it.’ Sister Joan smiled at her.
‘I think I’d rather get married, Sister,’ Madelyn Penglow said apologetically.
‘Getting married is fine too, if you choose the right person. Now, how about that geography test?’
‘I’ve been thinking, Sister,’ Petroc said sweetly, ‘that God’d be real upset to see us all inside working on a morning like this. I think He’d say, “Run out and enjoy yourselves”.’
His black eyes met her own blue ones with a look of limpid innocence; in his ear the customary gold hoop glinted against black curly hair.
In fewer years than I care to count, Sister Joan thought, with a spasm of amusement, you will be a heartbreaker, my lad.
‘The Creator,’ she said aloud, ‘has expected people to work ever since they had to leave the garden of Eden. Now Madelyn will give out the papers and Edith will give out the pencils. Some of the questions are going to be too hard for the younger ones. Don’t worry about it but do what you can.’
The test proceeded smoothly with no more than the normal amount of cheating. She rode back to the convent in the afternoon, her mind reaching ahead to the evening’s visits. It was a pity that the other parents would have had warning by now. She had particularly wanted to meet the Olives when they were unaware. Their daughter had an aura about her — not of loneliness. Of apartness. Yes, that was the word. She was set apart in more ways than being a newcomer to the district. The other children who usually teased newcomers for a few days before admitting them into the group had always held aloof from Samantha; yet in some odd fashion they craved her approval, covering up for her when she was, as she frequently was, slow at games, their voices dying into a mumble when Samantha spoke. If it hadn’t been a ridiculous notion Sister Joan would have said they were afraid of her.
On Wednesdays Father Malone came to hear confessions and stay on for a bite of tea and a bit of a gossip. The nuns fluttered round him, relishing the only breath of masculinity that entered their lives. Father Malone was elderly and unambitious, unlike his curate Father Stephen who rushed everywhere at top speed as if he were already chasing after a bishop’s mitre.
‘A very spiritual young priest,’ old Sister Mary Concepta said in some bewilderment when she had made a confession to him on one occasion, ‘but a little thoughtless, I fear. He kept asking me what else I had done that was on my conscience, and he didn’t seem to understand that being confined to the infirmary with rheumatism doesn’t give very many opportunities for occasions of sin.’
‘Being nearly eighty doesn’t make for many opportunities either,’ Sister Perpetua had boomed. ‘Man’s a young idiot.’
‘Oh, no, Sister.’ Sister Mary Concepta’s sweet, old face had looked distressed. ‘He was quite right to press me, but Father Malone makes one feel more comfortable, you know. Always finishes off his visit with a nice little joke. So amusing.’
After that, though nothing was said in Sister Joan’s hearing, she noticed that Father Malone came nearly always to hear confessions. Not that he was lenient. One was apt to find oneself on
