Free Missing Sisters -SA by Gregory Maguire Page B

girls loved to swim in the pool, especially as it was the custom to stop at the Tollhouse for ice cream on the way home. Alice signed herself up to go, and then went into the kitchen to speak with Sister Paul the Hermit.

    “If I decide not to go, if I want to stay here and help you make supper, can I?” said Alice.

    “Sister Vincent de Paul always used to say yes.”

    “Oh, the trials,” said Sister Paul the Hermit. “I know you’re the special case, but you’re going to have to speak more clearly, child of God, if you expect me to understand. They tell me you can; you’re just lazy.”

    “I’m not lazy,” shouted Alice.

    “I heard that ,” said Sister Paul the Hermit. “Now what’s the rest?” Alice repeated her proposal. She was counting on Sister Paul the Hermit’s being too new to have learned the system completely, and she was right. (So why’d they write on her report card that Alice was a slow learner when the stupid nun couldn’t even figure out how things went?) “It’s okay by me,” said Sister Paul the Hermit. “But I’m warning you. I’m not the world’s best company today. It’s that time of month.”

    “If you don’t see me here in fifteen minutes, I went swimming and don’t worry,” said Alice. “But you gotta sign this paper that says it’s okay. Thanks, Sister Paul the Hermit.”

    “I wish,” sighed the nun. “The hermit part, I mean.”

    With the permission form in hand, Alice went and dawdled in the parking lot with the other girls. Esther Thessaly and Rachel Luke were playing jump rope. “Fancy lady dressed in red, sleeps each night in a different bed. People want to know why is it, how many bedrooms did she visit. One. Two. Three.” The fancy lady visited fourteen bedrooms before Esther tripped on the rope. Then the nuns swept down the concrete steps and clucked and pummeled the kids into the cars, including Alice. She waited, and just before the door closed she hopped out again. “I’m going to stay. Sister Paul the Hermit signed for me,” she said. She thrust the paper at Sister John Boss, who was annoyed.

    “Don’t be fickle,” said Sister John Boss. “Get in the car.”

    “I feel carsick,” said Alice, and then, daringly, “It’s my time of the month.”

    “Oh, lordy,” said Sister John Boss. “I hope not. Not already. You’re only a babe.”

    “Wanna stay home too!” screamed Ruth Peters, trying to scramble over laps to follow Alice.

    “You stay where you are, Ruth. You need some sunlight,” snapped Sister John Boss.
    “Well, all right, Alice, if you’re not feeling well, go and lie down. Sister Paul the Hermit will get you an aspirin if you need one, and we’ll be back in a couple of hours. I’ll come up to check things over then. You understand?”

    “Gotcha,” said Alice.

    The cars left. The neighborhood sighed in relief; it liked it when the girls went away for a while. Alice ran and found her wallet, which she had hidden under the lilac bushes. Then, remembering her expedition to Saint Mary’s in February to deliver the My Fair Lady music, she hurried along the sidewalk to where she’d caught the bus.

    Only this time she had ten bucks in her pocket. She could plan a more efficient disobedience now. She corraled all her available courage, and invented some she didn’t really have, then leaned down at the window of a waiting taxicab. “I need to go to Albany, number eighty-six South Allen Street,” she said. “It’s an emergency.” The cabdriver opened the door and said, “Jump in, sister.” He didn’t seem to have any problem understanding her. For a minute she wondered if he thought she was a nun. No, he was just being friendly, calling her sister .

    “You got the cash for a ride all the way to Albany?” said the man.

    “Is ten dollars enough?” said Alice.

    “You’ll get change,” he said, and pulled the sleek yellow car out into the stream of traffic.

    The window was down, and air splashed