Chapter Three
As far as buses went,the bus taking me to Trevorstone had to be one of the finest. Not that I had any other experience with them except the old, loud, non-air-conditioned ones that belonged to the convent. This bus was huge, for one. The seat I had been given was next to a large window, giving me an opportunity to see the towns we passed. I had my own space, too, which pleased me. Not that I would have minded, truly, but it was nice to be left alone. Once the people on the bus saw my white veil and habit, their initial curiosity faded.
Mother Mary Margret and Sister Hannah had seen me off before I left. The former, unnervingly enthusiastic about my trip. The latter, still in a daze from yesterday, I thought. When she touched my shoulder in goodbye, I wondered if Jack would have any deliveries today.
As soon as I had walked to the bench at the cross section, the bus came. I didn’t have to wait long to board, so when I found my assigned seat, I immediately opened the packet and the envelope with the money in it. I had never bought anything with money, only handled it if I helped out in the gift shop.
Inside, were two, crisp twenty-dollar bills. I assumed each bill was for each day of travel—for on the way there and for the return back to the convent. It would more than do.
Around noon, the bus pulled into a rest stop. The shops inside were mostly food related, of course, but there was one gift shop. I had an hour until we had to board the bus, so plenty of time to browse. I was deep in concentration, looking at earrings that held me enthralled and contemplating how to actually wear them—I had no holes in my ears for them—when I heard the whispers.
“They still have nuns around?” a girl’s voice asked.
“Guess so. She’s so young!” another girl whispered back.
“Never had a dick, never will.”
Laughter.
The cheap earrings that tickled my fancy were a rose gold with dangling crystals the color of sparkling amber. I touched the stone of one with the tip of my finger, then lifted the little plastic square they were attached to off the rotating rack.
“I’ve probably seen more cock than either one of you will have in your lifetimes,” I said as I passed the little shits by. In my peripheral, I could see their young mouths gaping open. Smiling to myself, I went to the register and made my first purchase.
Now to figure out the best way to pierce my ears.
* * *
Two Sisters were waiting for me when I got off the bus, my trip having met its destination. Both were in black habits, their white scapulars waving in the evening breeze. I noticed right away how thin the women were, and I internally groaned. Either they had chosen to forego meals for some kind of vow, or their convent was more on the ascetic side. Hoping for the former, I walked to them, eyes down, suitcase in hand.
“Sister Constance, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” The tallest one offered her hand, which I accepted. Her grip on my forearm from her other hand was strong. Quickly, she released me. “I am Sister Hazel, and this is Sister Abigail.”
I looked over at her companion and nodded. She had beady eyes that reminded me of blackberry seeds. She didn’t offer a hand in greeting.
“Nice to meet you,” I told them in a quiet voice.
Sister Hazel folded her hands in front of her, nailing down her wayward scapular, and rolled on her feet. “The car is just over there.” She aimed her chin in the direction across the street, then eyed my small black suitcase. “Is that the only luggage you have, child?” No censor, just observation.
“Yes, Sister.”
“Very well then,” she said in a very pleasant but resolute tone. We both followed her to the stop light and crosswalk and waited for the crossing sign to blink. “I trust your Mother Superior explained everything to you about the Blessings of Hope and our small parish. Did you have any questions?”
On my way here, after growing bored of looking at nothing but highway, I had read all the information in the packet Mother Margret had given me. A few glorified bake sales and an auction were what I was volunteered for. There was a small note about spending an hour a day with any one of the homeless people who Trevorstone Parish fed on a nightly basis, the only time they opened their doors to the outside.
“No, not really,” I answered her.
“Very well. Sister Abigail will be the one you will report to every morning and night,” she gestured absently at the beady-eyed woman beside us.
Ah. The “Gail” Mother Margret mentioned. Wonderful.
Just then, a gust of wind blew, taking my veil and headpiece along with it. Long strands of blonde hair whipped across my face, stinging like a thousand bees. “Drat!” I turned around and watched as my veil danced on the sidewalk behind me, only to lift up into the air to hitch a ride on a truck that passed by.
“Well, there goes that.” I turned back around to see the two Sisters staring at me. It wasn’t a good stare. Whatever they saw there was anything but good.
When the automated voice of the cross walk reminded them to get going, they shook themselves, and we crossed the street, me trying to tame my hair with one hand while carrying my luggage with the other.
When we got to the car—just an ordinary sedan, not too new, not too old—Sister Hazel took the driver’s side and gestured to the back seat. “In you go, child.”
With a sigh, I climbed in. I finger-combed my crazy hair and attempted to braid it into a long tail as the Sister drove us through the quiet streets of Trevorstone.