Vow of Sanctity Read Free Page B

looked unhappy.
    ‘One wishes money wasn’t so important,’ he said.
    ‘Money is very useful provided it’s earned and spent in the same way,’ Sister Joan said with spirit. ‘Wasn’t it Saint Teresa of Avila who said that with God she could do a lot but with God and some ducats she could do more?’
    ‘Yes, of course. How right you are to remind me that practical things matter too,’ he said with the swift contrition of someone to whom the religious life was clearly still very new and shining.
    She would have liked to ask him why he had felt drawn to the contemplative side of his order rather than to more physically demanding missionary work, but Brother Cuthbert’s reasons for doing anything at all were none of her business, so she contented herself with an inarticulate murmur and bent to the wicker basket he had placed on the floor.
    ‘Shall I empty this, Brother Cuthbert? You’ll need to take it back?’
    He shook his head. ‘You can bring it over yourself, Sister when you come to mass,’ he told her.
    ‘I was going to ask you about that. The local church …?’
    ‘Is called a kirk and is Protestant. There is a chapel in our own community where the few Catholics around come to mass on holy days. Father Abbot offers the mass at ten in the morning on Sundays and feast days. For the community he offers it every day, of course.’
    ‘Do I use the boat?’ she enquired.
    ‘The parishioners have their own small fishing boats they use as transport, but I bring the craft to this side of the loch for anyone who needs it.’
    ‘Fine. I’ll see you the day after tomorrow then.’
    ‘If there should be any emergency,’ he said, ‘there’s a bell you can ring.’
    ‘Where?’ She looked round.
    ‘Just outside the look-out post. If you put your hand through the gap you can feel the end of the rope. If you need help you ring the bell and it sounds right across the loch.’
    Sister Joan smiled somewhat doubtfully. It occurred to herthan an accident was more likely to happen when one was on the steps outside than inside the retreat in which case it might prove impossible to tug at the rope. Perhaps the bell was there to provide psychological security.
    ‘Enjoy your supper, Sister.’ Brother Cuthbert gave her a smiling nod and prepared to depart, his sandalled feet plodding rapidly through the door and down the stone staircase to the path below.
    The wicker hamper contained rolls that had clearly been freshly baked that day, a slab of yellow cheese, a jar of herrings in vinegar, a small box of tea bags, several boxes of matches, a small jar of cooking oil, a packet of digestive biscuits and a few onions and apples. At the bottom of the hamper a crock of honey and a couple of saucepans completed what were evidently regarded as desirable for a nun on a spiritual retreat to consume.
    ‘And God bless you for the tea bags‚’ Sister Joan breathed after the tiny figure now loping along the shore.
    She half filled one of the saucepans with water from the plastic containers and knelt down to light the primus stove, feeling as if she had been catapulted back into a camping trip she’d gone on with a school party when she was fourteen.
    A lamp with wick ready trimmed hung on a hook from an area where the cave roof slanted lower. With the last of the sunset vanishing the cave itself was becoming very dim. Nevertheless it seemed warm and dry enough and she certainly seemed to be supplied with necessities. Except for a lavatory.
    While the water was heating she squeezed her way past an overhanging curtain of rock to the far end of the cave where a discreetly sited chemical toilet was hidden from the main living area. Brother Cuthbert had obviously been too bashful to direct her to it personally. Its existence was cheering. While the notion of a month-long spiritual retreat might have had a medieval flavour it was reassuring to find modern aids to hygiene and cleanliness.
    The tea was strong, hot and sugarless. Sister