Free The Corporal Works of Murder by Carol Anne O'Marie

Helen shut her bedroom door and listened to its solid click. Please God , she prayed earnestly, don’t let anyone knock to see how I’m doing or if I need anything.
    Dinner had been a nightmare. By the time she had finished talking to Eileen and made her way to the dining room, most of the nuns were already there. When she walked in, the silence hit her like a hot wind. Apparently her outburst in the Sisters’ Room had upset them all. For several anxious seconds, no one spoke.
    â€œAre you still mad?” It was old Donata.
    Someone groaned. “Really!” Therese sniffed, clearly incensed. “Have you no finesse?” she hissed.
    Mary Helen smiled. She rather enjoyed Donata’s flat-footed approach. At least you never had to guess what she was thinking. “I wasn’t angry, Donata,” Mary Helen said, her voice filling the still room. “I was just frustrated. I’m sorry if my reaction upset everyone.”
    Ursula rose from her chair. “We are the ones who should be sorry,” she said piously and glanced around, waiting while the low murmur of agreement spread through the group. Satisfied, she sat down, and quiet conversation gradually began to melt the tension.
    Relieved, Mary Helen picked up her dinner tray. All at once her appetite returned. The spicy aroma of tonight’s stew made her realize that she hadn’t eaten much solid food all day. In fact, she felt hollow. Balancing a tray with a large helping of stew over rice, crisp sourdough bread and butter, and a tall glass of iced tea, she decided to come back later for dessert. The chocolate éclairs looked especially inviting.
    Slowly Mary Helen made her way toward a vacant place at the end of a half-filled table where she could eat in peace. Crossing the room, she smiled benignly at a Sister who smiled at her. “How do?” she said to another. What was it Eileen always said? “A kind word never broke anyone’s jaw.”

    â€œMary Helen, I saved you a place.” It was Sister Patricia, a college president.
    â€œThank you,” Mary Helen said, although tonight she’d much rather have sat alone. She was just placing her napkin in her lap when a familiar voice rose above the others.
    â€œI’d like to say something.” It was Anne. She must have just come in. Had she been crying? Red-faced, her hazel eyes blazing, she stood tall and stiff, like Saint Joan of Arc at the stake. All she needs is the fire , Mary Helen thought.
    â€œNow what?” Patricia muttered. Mary Helen wondered the same thing. Neither had long to wait.
    â€œAlthough I’m sure none of you means it,” Anne began in a strong voice, “I just want to tell you how difficult it is for Mary Helen and me to come home after working all day with homeless women and their desperate needs and tragic lives and have some of you”—her eyes narrowed and swept the room—“some of you,” she repeated, “make our work more difficult by blaming us for the tragedies we stumble upon.” Her voice choked.
    All eyes shifted like searchlights toward Sister Mary Helen, no doubt expecting her to say something, anything to save the day. She pushed her bifocals up the bridge of her nose and cleared her throat. Without warning her mouth felt furry and her mind went blank.
    â€œWhat in the world is she thinking?” Patricia whispered. “Wasn’t one scene at dinner enough?”
    Apparently not. Anne went on. “As I said, I’m sure no one means it and Mary Helen would never complain, but it hurts.”
    â€œWhat is Anne saying about Mary Helen?” Donata’s voice pierced the frozen silence. “Did she complain about the desserts?”
    Following a moment of shock, the room burst into laughter. Mary Helen was never quite sure whether or not Donata had made an honest mistake, not that it mattered. The spell was
broken. As someone once said, the next best thing to