“It sounds reasonable,” Quinn said. Except for two possible errors. Instead of a friend in a car, it might have been a brother in a green Pontiac station wagon.
The clams had communicated, the planners were at work.
“Maybe,” Frisby said, “she’s coming back here.”
“Why?”
‘“On television, when someone escapes from prison, they always return to the scene of the crime to straighten out a miscarriage of justice. It could be she’s innocent and she’s going to try and prove it.”
“Whatever she’s trying to prove, Mr. Frisby, she’s not innocent. Good night.”
For a long time after he went to bed Quinn lay awake listening to the whine of the air-conditioner and the loud angry voices of the couple in the next room quarreling over money.
Money, Quinn thought suddenly. Sister Blessing’s money had come from her son in Chicago, and the letter Martha O’Gorman had destroyed had been postmarked Evanston, Illinois. A son in Chicago, a letter from Evanston. If there was a connection, the only person to ask about it was Sister Blessing.
Sixteen
Even while the new day was still no more than a barely perceptible lightening of the sky, Sister Blessing knew it was going to be a good one. Her bare feet sped down the dark path to the shower room, and she sang as she washed herself, unmindful of the coldness of the water and the grittiness of the gray homemade soap: “There’s a good day coming, yes, Lord, there’s a good day coming, yes, Lord.”
“Peace be with you,” she called out when Sister Contrition came in, carrying a kerosene lantern. “A fine morning, is it not?”
Sister Contrition put the lantern down with a clank of disapproval. “And pray, what’s the matter with you all of a sudden?”
“Nothing, Sister. I am well, I am happy.”
“You’d think a person would have more to do in this world than going around being happy.”
“You can be happy and do things, too, can’t you?”
“I don’t know, I’ve never tried.”
“Poor Sister, is your head bothering you again?”
“You attend to your head, I’ll attend to mine.” Sister Contrition poured a little water into a basin, rinsed her face and dried it on a scrap of wool salvaged from a worn-out robe. “You’d think a person would take a more sober viewpoint, especially after the Punishment.”
“The Punishment’s over.” But she became a little less cheerful at the memory of it. It had been a black time for her, in spite of her satisfaction in knowing that things had not been easy in the colony while she was gone. The Master was finally forced to cut her isolation to three days instead of five because he couldn’t manage Mother Pureza without her and because Brother Crown had sprained his ankle falling off the tractor. They need me, she thought, and her spirits soared again, beyond the dark grimy room and above the disgruntled face of Sister Contrition, still oily after its brief bath. They need me and I am here. She hung on to the words like a child to the string of a kite riding a high wind.
She began singing again. “There’s a good day coming, yes, Lord.”
“Well, it’s about time,” Sister Contrition said irritably. “I’ve had enough of the other kind lately, what with Karma acting up. I hear there’s a new convert.”
“It’s too early to tell but I have hopes, very high hopes. It may be a whole new beginning for the colony. Perhaps it’s a sign from Heaven that we are to prosper again like in the old days.”
“Is it a man?”
“Yes. His soul is very troubled, I hear.”
“Is he young? I mean, is he young enough so I’ll have to keep an eye on Karma every minute she’s awake?”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“God grant he’s old and feeble,” Sister Contrition said, sighing. “And poor eyesight wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“Haven’t we enough old and feeble ones as it is? The Tower needs youth, strength, vitality.”
“That’s all very well, in theory. In practice, I have Karma to consider. Oh, what a terrible problem it is to be a mother.”
Sister Blessing nodded soberly. “Yes. Yes, it is.”
“At least it’s over for you. My worries are just beginning.”
“About Karma, Sister. Perhaps she should go away for a while.”
“Where?”
“You have a sister in Los Angeles. Karma could live with her—”
“She’d never come back here once she got away. Worldly pleasures look good to her because she’s never known them, how trivial they are, how treacherous. To send her to my sister’s would be consigning her to hell. How could you even suggest such a thing? Has the Punishment caused you to lose your senses?”
“I don’t think so,” Sister Blessing said. She wasn’t sure, though. It was certainly very odd to feel so good after so much suffering, but then the punishment had ended nearly a week ago and it was becoming blurred in her mind like an image in a cracked and dirty mirror.
Outside she began to sing again, pausing only to call out a greeting to the people she passed on her way to the kitchen. “Good morning, Brother Heart... Peace be with you, Brother Light. How is the new wee goat?”
“She’s a frisky one, fat as butter.”
“Is she now.”
A new dawn, a new goat, a new convert. “Yes, Lord, there’s a good day coming. Good morning, Brother Tongue of Prophets. How are you feeling?”
Brother Tongue smiled and nodded.
“And your little bird is all better?”
Another nod, another smile. She knew he could talk if he wanted to, but perhaps it was just as well that he didn’t. “Yes, Lord...”
She made a fire in the kitchen stove with the wood Brother Tongue brought in from the shed. Then she helped Sister Contrition fry ham and eggs, hoping that the Master would appear for breakfast and announce the admission of the new convert. So far only the Master and Mother Pureza had seen him: he spent his time in the Tower, observing the colony at work, talking to the Master, asking questions and answering them. It was a difficult period of testing for both of them. Sister Blessing knew it was no easy matter to qualify for entrance and she hoped the Master would be a little lenient with the man and not scare him off. The colony needed new blood, new strength. There had been too much sickness lately among the Brothers and Sisters because they were overworked. How welcome an extra pair of hands would be to help with the milking and the gardening and the wood-chopping, an extra pair of good strong legs to herd the cattle—
“You are dreaming again. Sister,” Brother Crown said in an accusing voice. “I’ve asked you three times to slice a little more bread. My ankle will not heal on an empty stomach.”
“It’s practically healed already.”
“No, it’s not. You’re just saying that because you’re holding a grudge against me for reporting your sins to the Master.”
“Nonsense. I don’t have time for grudges. Your ankle doesn’t show the faintest trace of swelling. Let’s look at it.”
Brother Tongue had been listening to the exchange, jealous of the attention Sister Blessing was giving someone else. He put his hand on his chest and coughed loud and hard, but the Sister was onto his tricks and pretended not to hear.
“It’s as good as new,” she said, touching Brother Crown’s ankle lightly.