Devious - Lisa Jackson [117]
“I probably shouldn’t be talking to you, not without a lawyer from the archdiocese or someone of authority to witness what I’m saying, but I think that’s wrong. Father Paul and I are in disagreement about it, of course, but then we often are and . . . and sometimes I think it’s important to do what you believe to be the correct course in your heart. I believe in rules and discipline and structure, but sometimes . . . well, as I said, as much as I trust authority, I know I was given my own free will to pray, to seek the Father’s counsel, and then do what I believe is best.
“I know there is a lot of darkness surrounding the church right now, but there is so much good that is forgotten. Here, we help the sick and the hungry, offer counseling and guidance and love. Did you know that St. Ursuline’s has been in the city since the seventeen hundreds and provided medical care for a disease-riddled, newfound city? I believe the first pharmacist in the United States was a sister from St. Ursuline’s, and the nuns there helped educate girls and . . . Oh, there’s no use telling you the history of convents and trying to prove to you our worth. You already know it. But, with all good comes the capacity for evil, I suppose.”
For someone so rigid, Montoya thought, this was a surprising admission. The fine lines across her face seemed more pronounced today, her spine having lost much of its starch. “It’s not as God intended, to speak through attorneys. I know the church, which I love with all my heart, has been battered in recent years. All the ugly scandals coming to light.” She looked pained, her graying eyebrows drawn in consternation and sadness. “But all that is Satan’s work, and we do God’s work here, so I just want to tell you the truth before anyone else, another of my novices, gets hurt.”
She stood and walked to the window, where she looked out to a courtyard. “You’re asking about Sister Lea, and I’m not surprised. I knew her name would come up.”
“Why?” Bentz asked.
“Because she, too, was enamored with Father O’Toole.” Charity sighed through her nose. “The girls who come here, for the most part, are barely women. They’re young and full of life and filled with joie de vivre and the Holy Spirit. They’re often giddy and naive, some even rebellious, but they are good-hearted and willing to serve God and come here to learn. I’m strict with them, yes. They often need structure and discipline, but in the end, they can be trained to be angels of mercy here on earth. . . . Oh, listen to me go on. The point is, they’re impressionable, and they are women. They have hormones and dreams, and many are romantic, caught up in youth and . . .” She pulled a hand from the pocket of her habit and waved off whatever else she might say as fluff.
“Anyway, I saw that Sister Lea was treading in dangerous water, falling in love with Father O’Toole. He’s handsome and fiery and virile.” She slid a glance at Montoya. “As I said, nuns, even this old one, are women. We notice though we try not to.” She cleared her throat, her hand disappearing into the black folds of her habit again. “I wasn’t the only one who witnessed the, uh . . . attraction. I heard the younger nuns talking, and Father Frank . . . well, just as the nuns are women, he’s a man. It was a difficult situation.
“I talked to Lea. Actually, she came to me and though she wouldn’t discuss what had happened between her and Father Frank, she agreed to leave, but only on her terms. She’d lost her spirit of conviction and wasn’t certain she wanted to be a nun any longer. I let her go.”
“And you didn’t check on her?” Bentz asked.
The older woman turned and skewered him with a gaze meant to cut through granite. “No, Detective, I didn’t. I asked her to contact me when she was settled, and I received a postcard saying she was leaving the church. . . . Here, maybe I can find that one, too.” She walked