old, wrought-iron, double
gates were open and Mary stepped through to the well-manicured lawn and
collection of ancient and modern headstones. The anger left her body as she stepped forward on the sacred ground,
feeling an overwhelming calm and peace.
In the middle of the cemetery was a large, bronze statue of
the Virgin Mary, her hands outstretched and a patient and loving smile on her
face. “I wonder how she would feel about the term carnal woman? ”
Mary muttered as she moved closer.
“She would have hated it.”
Mary turned to find the old nun from earlier standing just
behind her. “I think you’re right,” Mary agreed. “I think she would have felt compassion
for the young women who found themselves pregnant and unmarried.”
Nodding, Sister Bernadette turned away from the statue and
glided across the cemetery to a collection of small gravestones on the farthest
edge. Mary followed her and was dismayed to find a collection of infant graves hidden
under the shade of one of the giant, oak trees. “These were the ones we couldn’t
save,” Sister Bernadette said, a translucent tear slipping down her cheek.
“Why so many?” Mary asked.
“We were not skilled, not prepared for the complications of
some of the births,” she explained.
“But you could have called doctors or midwives,” Mary replied.
“We were told that by the time they would have reached us…” she
began and then she sighed deeply. “But we will never know, will we?”
“The girls?” Mary asked horrified.
The nun glided a little farther away and Mary followed,
looking down on several rows of small, very plain gravestones with the names of
the young girls listed upon them. “Didn’t anyone stop this?” she asked.
Lifting her head, regret in her eyes, Sister Bernadette shook
her head. “No one,” she said sadly. “These girls and their children were
forgotten.”
Mary shook her head. “No, the children were not forgotten,”
Mary replied firmly. “Their mothers never forgot them. And they need to know
the truth.”
Shaking her head, the old nun began to fade away. “Sometimes
the truth carries too much pain,” she whispered.
“Sometimes you need pain to start the healing process,” Mary
countered before the ghost faded away completely.
“You!” an angry voice cried out. “What are you doing here?”
Mary turned to see Mother Superior striding through the
cemetery towards her. “You do not belong here,” she continued. “This is private
property.”
“I didn’t see a ‘No Trespassing’ sign,” Mary said.
“Well, this is sacred ground,” the nun replied. “Not a
tourist venue.”
Mary folded her arms across her chest and rested them on her
belly. “It seems more like a crime scene to me,” Mary said, “with the evidence
of years of criminal negligence being covered up.”
“You have absolutely no proof,” the nun responded
immediately. “And unless you have some kind of warrant, I demand you leave
immediately.”
Mary stood her ground for another moment, facing the angry
nun, then slowly nodded and walked past her. When she was just behind her she whispered, “It’s going to be a lot
harder to destroy this evidence than it is to burn a few records. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be found
purposely impeding an investigation. They do put nuns in jail, you know.”
Chapter Twenty-four
As Mary drove back to her office contemplating the options
she had available to get the records, including a brief consideration of
breaking and entering, she was interrupted in her musings by another call
coming through on her cell phone. “Mary O’Reilly,” she answered, not
recognizing the number.
“You’re not in your office,” was the curt response.
She immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Sol
Atkinson, and her heart rate increased just a little. She had to admit the man understood the art
of intimidation, but she was not going to allow herself to be bullied.
gates were open and Mary stepped through to the well-manicured lawn and
collection of ancient and modern headstones. The anger left her body as she stepped forward on the sacred ground,
feeling an overwhelming calm and peace.
In the middle of the cemetery was a large, bronze statue of
the Virgin Mary, her hands outstretched and a patient and loving smile on her
face. “I wonder how she would feel about the term carnal woman? ”
Mary muttered as she moved closer.
“She would have hated it.”
Mary turned to find the old nun from earlier standing just
behind her. “I think you’re right,” Mary agreed. “I think she would have felt compassion
for the young women who found themselves pregnant and unmarried.”
Nodding, Sister Bernadette turned away from the statue and
glided across the cemetery to a collection of small gravestones on the farthest
edge. Mary followed her and was dismayed to find a collection of infant graves hidden
under the shade of one of the giant, oak trees. “These were the ones we couldn’t
save,” Sister Bernadette said, a translucent tear slipping down her cheek.
“Why so many?” Mary asked.
“We were not skilled, not prepared for the complications of
some of the births,” she explained.
“But you could have called doctors or midwives,” Mary replied.
“We were told that by the time they would have reached us…” she
began and then she sighed deeply. “But we will never know, will we?”
“The girls?” Mary asked horrified.
The nun glided a little farther away and Mary followed,
looking down on several rows of small, very plain gravestones with the names of
the young girls listed upon them. “Didn’t anyone stop this?” she asked.
Lifting her head, regret in her eyes, Sister Bernadette shook
her head. “No one,” she said sadly. “These girls and their children were
forgotten.”
Mary shook her head. “No, the children were not forgotten,”
Mary replied firmly. “Their mothers never forgot them. And they need to know
the truth.”
Shaking her head, the old nun began to fade away. “Sometimes
the truth carries too much pain,” she whispered.
“Sometimes you need pain to start the healing process,” Mary
countered before the ghost faded away completely.
“You!” an angry voice cried out. “What are you doing here?”
Mary turned to see Mother Superior striding through the
cemetery towards her. “You do not belong here,” she continued. “This is private
property.”
“I didn’t see a ‘No Trespassing’ sign,” Mary said.
“Well, this is sacred ground,” the nun replied. “Not a
tourist venue.”
Mary folded her arms across her chest and rested them on her
belly. “It seems more like a crime scene to me,” Mary said, “with the evidence
of years of criminal negligence being covered up.”
“You have absolutely no proof,” the nun responded
immediately. “And unless you have some kind of warrant, I demand you leave
immediately.”
Mary stood her ground for another moment, facing the angry
nun, then slowly nodded and walked past her. When she was just behind her she whispered, “It’s going to be a lot
harder to destroy this evidence than it is to burn a few records. If I were you, I wouldn’t want to be found
purposely impeding an investigation. They do put nuns in jail, you know.”
Chapter Twenty-four
As Mary drove back to her office contemplating the options
she had available to get the records, including a brief consideration of
breaking and entering, she was interrupted in her musings by another call
coming through on her cell phone. “Mary O’Reilly,” she answered, not
recognizing the number.
“You’re not in your office,” was the curt response.
She immediately recognized the voice as belonging to Sol
Atkinson, and her heart rate increased just a little. She had to admit the man understood the art
of intimidation, but she was not going to allow herself to be bullied.
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