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A terrible story-Katherine had thought so the first time she’d heard it, to be punished for simple curiosity. She had been a Catholic then, and when she’d voiced her disapproval, the nun at Christ the King Elementary had said the destruction of Lot’s wife was not because of her curiosity, but her disobedience, since God’s angel had expressly forbidden such an action. Katherine responded that the angel was a fool to think someone would not want to see such a sight, and that Lot’s wife was brave and Lot a coward. Katherine said she would have looked, even if she was turned into a stupid pillar of salt. It was the first of many beatings she’d endured at Christ the King. Now when she remembered the incident, she didn’t think about the beatings, but rather the idea of a great city destroyed in an instant by a rain of fire, and she contemplated the possibility that all of human history was a dance in which God and the devil changed places back and forth.
Sister Elena was panting as they climbed the stairs to Mother Superior’s office on the third floor of the nu
Sister Elena’s knock on Mother’s door was hesitant at first, then immediately harder, as though reproaching herself for her fear, and Katherine noticed the girl’s red, raw knuckles. Elena was Mother Superior’s favorite, and as such she was ordered to do twice as much as any of the other novices, scrubbing the stone steps daily, performing the most menial and laborious kitchen duties without complaint.
“Enter,” barked Mother from inside.
“Thank you, dear,” Katherine said to Sister Elena, letting herself in. She closed the door behind her. “You work that girl too damn hard, Bernadette.”
“Good afternoon to you too, Kate.” Mother was a grim, wizened nun with strands of white hair curling free of her headpiece, looking much older than her age.
For the last twenty years, ever since her husband had been assassinated, Katherine had been sheltered at the convent. If, at any time in those twenty years, the authorities had discovered her presence, everyone in the nu
“I just got word from Beijing,” said Bernadette, coming out from behind her desk and sitting carefully on a swaybacked sofa. Tufts of stuffing oozed out the sides in spite of the constant restitching. The office was small, the only ornamentation a large crucifix and a photograph of Pope John Paul II, the pope in office when Bernadette had entered the order. “The sisters finished their clinical work in the commuter district. Their dosimeters recorded nothing.”
“Well, so much for Beijing, and so much for Shanghai. After all these years, I think we’ll have to put our faith in Sarah now.” Katherine smiled. “And God, of course.”
Bernadette frowned. She had never enjoyed levity when it came to religion. They were cousins, and though Bernadette was twelve years older, they had always been close. When Katherine had converted to Islam and married James Dougan, all contact had ceased. Even so, when it came time to hide, Katherine had had no doubt where she would run. No doubt that she would be taken in.
“It’s a heavy burden to lay on someone so young,” said Bernadette.
“I waited twenty years to contact her,” snapped Katherine. “Do you think I would have put her at risk if I had any other options?”
Bernadette’s gaze hardened. “You should have thought of that before you converted to that barbarous faith. I never liked that husband of yours. Too handsome, if you ask me. Too ambitious.”
“The faith is not the problem, Bernadette. The problem is the faithful.”
Bernadette looked away. It was an old argument.
Twenty years. Why did you leave me? That was the first thing Sarah had tapped out, after she was convinced it really was her mother contacting her.
Sarah had been hospitalized when her father was assassinated, curled up in the ICU with acute pneumonia. Katherine was dozing in a chair beside her daughter’s oxygen tent when Redbeard called, his voice weak, called to tell her James was dead, saying a couple of his best men were on their way to the hospital.
Why did you leave me? A question without an answer. None that would satisfy Sarah. None that would satisfy Katherine either.
The night before his murder, James had held her close and whispered that if anything happened to him, anything, no matter how benign it seemed, she was to take Sarah and go into hiding. He had pressed a strand of prayer beads into her palm, said the plain wooden beads contained coded information, the keys to a secret more important than his life. The information had to be protected at all costs.
That morning in the hospital, Katherine had been forced to choose between an unknown secret and the daughter she loved. Still in shock from the news, and all too aware of her own adulterous fantasies, she had imagined that Redbeard was behind James’s murder. That it was Redbeard that James was afraid of. With only minutes to decide, she had chosen to leave Sarah behind. The good wife. The bad mother.
“We missed you at lunch,” said Bernadette. “There was lentil soup.”
Katherine fingered her prayer beads. Even with her suspicions, she couldn’t have left Sarah if Angelina hadn’t promised to look after her until Katherine returned. Twenty years and she still hadn’t returned. After the prayer beads had finally yielded their secrets, Katherine knew that Redbeard had been i
“You heard about the difficulties in Newcastle?” said Bernadette.
“Early this morning I walked to the very top of the hill and I just knew something was wrong. All the stars in the sky and not one of them looked right to me.” Katherine worked her prayer beads. She was no longer Muslim, but the beads comforted her. “Just before noon I heard calls to the Newcastle police. Accusations that the local truck dealer, a Catholic, had gotten his corneal transplants from the eyes of healthy Muslim children. A mob was forming outside the dealership, egged on by women from the most conservative mosque.” Katherine looked at her cousin. “My instincts have always been acute, you know that. Not that it’s done me much good. I warned James not to go to Chicago that morning. I begged him to stay with me in the hospital until Sarah was better, but he just kissed me and hurried off, as though he was impatient to die.” She turned away, jaw firm. Even after all these years, she was still angry with him.
“The fire will burn itself out,” said Bernadette. “The madness will pass.”
Katherine took her cousin’s hand, felt her cool, dry skin, light as a bird’s wing. “I’m going away. With my glasses and dental appliance, I won’t be recognized. I doubt if anyone is even looking for me anymore. I’m ancient history, now.”