Devious - Lisa Jackson [60]
Cammie had emitted a low chuckle. “Of course most nuns are good. Very good. It comes with the territory. Angela falls into that category, but Sister Edwina?” Cammie had held out her flat hand and tilted it back and forth, indicating that she was wavering on her opinion of the tall nun. “Not so much. And Sister Devota?” Cammie had rolled her eyes. “The perpetual victim.” Nodding to herself, she added, “There are still a couple I can’t figure out. Irene sometimes takes on the world and doesn’t care. If the meek are going to inherit the earth, then Irene’s going to end up broke. She’s like a Russian soldier one minute, and then kind and calm the next. That Irene’s an odd one.”
Cammie had thought for a second. “And Sister Zita is so . . . quiet. She’s always watching everyone. It’s a little creepy. Ever so silent until it’s time to play yes-woman to the reverend mother. It’s like she’s trying to earn points with Sister Charity, or maybe the priests or God. Who knows? It just doesn’t seem authentic, but then I should talk.” She’d walked over to one of the birdhouses and peeked inside the hole. “No one home, huh?”
“Not yet. So, do you have any friends?” Valerie had asked.
“From that group? Just Lucia, and that’s probably because we went to the same high school, you know, had kind of a ‘shared history’ ”—she made air quotes—“even though we really didn’t know each other back then.” She’d admitted, “I get along with Angela. She really is just plain sweet, I think. Pretty impossible not to like.”
“The Goody Two-shoes?”
“Yeah. Well, I guess I was just being a little catty.”
“You?” Val had teased.
“Yes, moi, believe it or not. But Angela seems real. Genuine. I’m not so sure about Maura.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. Just a feeling. Maura’s a bookworm. Quiet. Wears thick glasses and never, I mean never, smiles.” She slid a look at Val. “I sometimes wonder if she’s really filled with the Holy Spirit. Doesn’t seem to have much joy in her life.”
“Maybe she’s just an introvert.”
“Maybe,” Camille whispered. “But the one I can’t really get a bead on is Asteria. She seems like a ditz—you know, the kind of dreamer who believes in fairy tales and frogs turning into princes, all that romantic junk.”
“And she became a nun?” That seemed odd.
“Go figure. Sister Edwina told me that Asteria had been engaged to a guy who committed suicide, so Asteria joined the order. Edwina said it was commit herself to God or to a mental institution.”
“Sounds a little overly dramatic.”
“Everyone’s story is. Except for Sister Charity, who says that she knew she wanted to be nun from the time of her First Communion. Can you believe that?”
Camille had stopped herself and sighed loudly. “I guess I shouldn’t be gossiping about any of them. I’d hate to hear what they had to say about me.”
“St. Marguerite’s is starting to sound more like a high school than a convent,” Val had observed.
Cammie had laughed without a whole lot of humor. “You don’t get it, do you?” she’d said. “Of course the convent is like high school. The whole world is like high school. Take a look around.”
What? “Maybe in your world.”
“In everyone’s world,” Cammie had insisted, “and, trust me, the convent is no different. There’s the same pecking order, the same authority figures, the same cliques. It’s just that it’s like an all-girls’ school.” She’d looked away then, her face puckering into a frown.
Val could still see her sister as she’d been that day, dressed in plain street clothes, a simple pair of gray slacks and a white blouse, without a touch of makeup, her black hair pulled back into a thick rope and shining blue in the sun. Camille had walked to a bench and sat down. She’d seemed unbearably sad.
“You don’t have to go through with this,” Val had said. “Maybe you’re not cut out to be a nun.”
“I know.” One side of Cammie’s mouth had lifted into a sad, self-deprecating smile. “In for a penny . . .”
“It’s not you.”
“I get it. I know I went into the convent for all the wrong reasons.” She’d lifted her ponytail and readjusted the band holding the thick hank of hair away