Free The Sister and the Sinner by Carolyn Faulkner Page B

pleasure in completing each task, now they brought her no joy. J.D. had ruined them all for her. Memories of him helping her pull weeds filled her thoughts. How he'd tried to milk the goat for her once, and ended up wearing more of the milk than what he managed to get into the pail. Memories of him reading aloud from the Bible to Mother Agnes, of how tender he was with the old woman... he'd left, but he'd neglected to take his spirit with him. Instead it remained here, everywhere, haunting her throughout her day.
    She had already resolved that she would stay with Mother Agnes until the inevitable end, but now she considered what to do beyond that. Perhaps she would try to get a post as a teacher or a governess or something. She would not stay in the convent. She knew she could never wipe the thoughts of "knowing" someone, in the biblical sense, from her, and even though the welts he'd inflicted on her poor legs and bottom took nearly two weeks to heal, the pain was as nothing compared to the emptiness in her heart.
    About two weeks to the day, things began arriving.
    At first it was just an order from the grocery in town. Canned goods, staples, fresh fruits the like of which she had never seen. Not a huge amount of them, but enough for her and Mother Agnes.
    The next day, Mr. Nelson the butcher, arrived with a beautiful ham, studded with cloves, as well as two small chickens and a goose.
    Soon there was more food in the convent than she had ever seen in the entire time she had lived there, and no one seemed to be able to tell her where it had all come from. They said that the money had come through Western Union, with strict instructions as to how it was to be distributed and for the benefit of the Sisters of Mercy Convent.
    And that wasn't the end of it. A nurse arrived a few days later to tend to the Reverend Mother. She refused to say who was paying her, although she allowed that she was getting a very generous salary, and that she had been expressly told that Sister Mary Francis was not to lift a finger to do anything more than provide companionship to Mother Agnes.
    Mary Francis knew who had sent the gifts. They were guilt-gifts from her outlaw, she was certain. He needed to send them to assuage his conscience. She was tempted to refuse the gifts, but saw no need to make Mother Agnes suffer. And so, she accepted them. Not cheerfully, for nothing she did was with a cheerful spirit these days.
    Even the Doctor was in on the conspiracy, as he seemed to appear on their doorstep with much more alarming frequency, and when she confronted him about it, he told her she should stop looking gift horses - and doctors and nurses and food - in the mouth and enjoy the blessings that God saw fit to bestow upon her, then he tromped out of the house.
    And still, the gifts continued. A score of volunteers from town arrived to help her clean and repair the convent. She was told not to help, but merely direct their actions. A telegram arrived one day, which the sheriff delivered personally, from the diocese that supported their mission. Father Michael had been killed in an Indian uprising. Another priest was on the way to take over for him, and several sisters would be arriving as well. There were still settlers in the area, and they would need the school and health clinic the convent provided.
    As three weeks turned into four, and then five, another thought crept into her guilty conscience and kept her awake at nights. Her monthly had not returned.

    * * *

    J.D. wasn't having such an easy time of it, himself. He'd been hauled up in front of his father as soon as he'd settled that little matter with Higgens and his gang. John Cartwright was ready to tear him limb from limb, and he hadn't even started on the part about the claim-jumping gang and J.D.'s position with the Pinkertons. It was a good thing his wound had healed well, because there was certainly going to be blood on the ground before he left his father's office, and it was all