Vow of Penance Read Free

of the estate on which the convent stood. It had not then become a convent but was still in private hands. Nevertheless it was worth keeping. She cut round it, clipped it to the requisite pile, and rose, switching off the light, making her way past shrouded packing cases to the tiny washbasin where she could rinse her hands before descending into chapel for the final benediction that heralded the grand silence.
    The community filed in, heads bent, hands candled. Against the walls their shadows made Gothic shapes. At such times their separate personalities were merged intothe image of devotion and dedication that marked every religious. Delicate seeming Sister Martha who did the bulk of the gardening singlehanded and still looked as if a breeze might waft her away became, like the large boned Sister Perpetua, merely another facet in the diamond bright virtues of the Order.
    ‘We will pray tonight for Father Malone’s happy and holy sabbatical and his safe return to us,’ Mother Dorothy said, rising. ‘Let us also pray for Father Stephens whose work load will be greatly increased during this coming year.’
    Prayers over there was a brief period of meditation before the recitation of the rosary began. Sister Joan bowed her head, lips tracing the familiar words, thoughts of the great art treasures that Father Malone would have the chance to see firmly banished. Envy had no place in the nature of a Daughter of Compassion. However a touch of wistfulness remained.
    ‘Sisters, go in peace.’ Mother Dorothy’s voice sounded calm and sure amid the shadows cast by the flickering candle flames.
    Did the prioress still harbour worldly desires? Did she, in some corner of her disciplined heart, regret never having seen or done something or other? Kneeling for the blessing, the light sprinkling of holy water, Sister Joan considered it unlikely.
    She waited until the last of the community had filed out, received Mother Dorothy’s final goodnight nod, and began her rounds. Candles to be snuffed, missals to be piled on the shelf, doors and windows to be locked and checked. At her heels Sister Teresa pattered silently. In the kitchen Alice lay curled in her basket by the stove. Night came down gently over the convent.
    The final smiling nod exchanged and the two sisters separated, each entering one of the two lay cells off the kitchen. Long practice had accustomed Sister Joan to undressing, washing hands and face and cleaning herteeth without the aid of a mirror. On the rare occasions when she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror she was always agreeably surprised to discover that she looked about ten years younger than her actual age, her cheeks rosy and her dark blue eyes marked only by the faintest laughter lines. She slipped the long white nightdress over her head, ran a comb through her short, shining blue-black hair, and got into bed, wishing as her hip bones contacted the thin mattress on its wooden base that she was a little more generously endowed with curves. There remained only her private prayers to mouth silently and a last whimper from Alice, chasing tails in her sleep.
    Over in the postulancy Sister Hilaria took a final peep at her two sleeping charges and padded down the stairs to check that the door was bolted. She had already checked it or thought she had, but since practical matters were apt to confuse her she always made a point of doing everything twice in case she had forgotten the first time.
    When a new lay sister could be found Sister Joan would rejoin the general community and take up her duties as assistant novice mistress. Sister Hilaria smiled at the prospect. Sister Joan was lively and funny and never forgot to lock up or sweep out the cells. With Sister Joan around she could spend more time on the spiritual lives of the two girls in her charge. Sister Hilaria stared vaguely at the door, wondering why she had come downstairs. To check the door had been bolted. Yes, that was it. She turned the handle and