necessities like these.
Reverend Mother looked up and the usual greeting was exchanged.
Studying her expression, Reverend Mother sighed. “I recognize the look on your face, child. Something has happened,” she said, and leaned forward in her chair.
“It’s good news, Mother. But the fact that it’s a blessing may not be readily apparent.” Sister Agatha stopped speaking, and gathered her wits. She was babbling. Starting out by hinting at the negative was a bad idea. “Mother, the Antichrysler is in a coma. It stopped working this morning as I pulled into Mr. Gonzales’s garage, and we couldn’t get it running again. The poor man said it could take a month or more before he had all the parts he needed to fix it.”
Reverend Mother sat up quickly. “Then how did you make your way back here? You didn’t hitchhike? I thought I heard a truck a few minutes ago.”
“No, Mother. Mr. Gonzales, understanding how much we need reliable transportation, made a very generous donation. I accepted it—pending your approval, of course.”
“He donated a truck? Praised be the Lord!”
“Not quite, Mother. But although it’s not what we might have chosen, it’s just perfect for us.”
“Not a sports car! It would be so … pretentious.”
“No, Mother, it’s a motorcycle,” she said in a whisper. “You heard a motorcycle.”
Reverend Mother just stared at her.
“It’s in great condition, Mother, and I can take care of any repairs it may need in the future myself. I’m very familiar with motorcycles.”
“But how will we take our elderly sisters to the doctors? Surely you can’t expect Sister Clothilde or Sister Gertrude to straddle a motorcycle, holding on for dear life!”
“No, Mother, but I haven’t told you the best part! The motorcycle has a sidecar! Come to the window, you can see it from here,” she said, pulling the curtains aside.
Sister Agatha continued extolling the virtues of a motorcycle’s gas conservation and every other advantage she could think of.
Reverend Mother stared at it. “The sidecar looks like a canoe on wheels.”
“But it’s large enough inside to carry the supplies we need to bring from town, and I’m sure the sisters will be very comfortable with the wind screen. The seat is padded and everything.” She paused, then added softly, “And, most important of all, we really have no other choice, Mother. We will eventually have our station wagon back, but in the meantime, the motorcycle will save us a lot on taxi fares.”
“I suppose it could work,” Reverend Mother said slowly.
“Even after the Antichrysler is back, using the bike for small errands will save us a substantial amount on gas, and wear and tear on our car.”
“But it’s such dangerous transportation.”
“Not if we’re careful. Sister Bernarda is willing to learn, and I can teach her the basics in a few days. I’ll also make sure she gets plenty of practice before going out onto the open road. This motorcycle would be a real blessing to all of us, Mother.”
She unfolded the papers Mr. Gonzales had prepared, signing over the ownership to the Sisters of the Blessed Adoration.
“All right, then,” Reverend Mother said with a nod, taking the papers. “We’ll accept the donation.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I spoke to the archbishop this morning. He told me that the police now believe Father was murdered,” she said, whispering the last word in horror.
“They can’t know that for sure, Mother. It must be just one of the many possibilities. If he ingested something poisonous, it still could have been accidental.”
“If it
does
turn out to have been murder, the chapel will have to be shut down temporarily, Sister. We’ll also need to get in touch with His Excellency the archbishop, because our beautiful chapel will have to be reconsecrated and rededi-cated.”
“And in the meantime?” The possibility that the nuns might be barred from using their own chapel
Reverend Mother looked up and the usual greeting was exchanged.
Studying her expression, Reverend Mother sighed. “I recognize the look on your face, child. Something has happened,” she said, and leaned forward in her chair.
“It’s good news, Mother. But the fact that it’s a blessing may not be readily apparent.” Sister Agatha stopped speaking, and gathered her wits. She was babbling. Starting out by hinting at the negative was a bad idea. “Mother, the Antichrysler is in a coma. It stopped working this morning as I pulled into Mr. Gonzales’s garage, and we couldn’t get it running again. The poor man said it could take a month or more before he had all the parts he needed to fix it.”
Reverend Mother sat up quickly. “Then how did you make your way back here? You didn’t hitchhike? I thought I heard a truck a few minutes ago.”
“No, Mother. Mr. Gonzales, understanding how much we need reliable transportation, made a very generous donation. I accepted it—pending your approval, of course.”
“He donated a truck? Praised be the Lord!”
“Not quite, Mother. But although it’s not what we might have chosen, it’s just perfect for us.”
“Not a sports car! It would be so … pretentious.”
“No, Mother, it’s a motorcycle,” she said in a whisper. “You heard a motorcycle.”
Reverend Mother just stared at her.
“It’s in great condition, Mother, and I can take care of any repairs it may need in the future myself. I’m very familiar with motorcycles.”
“But how will we take our elderly sisters to the doctors? Surely you can’t expect Sister Clothilde or Sister Gertrude to straddle a motorcycle, holding on for dear life!”
“No, Mother, but I haven’t told you the best part! The motorcycle has a sidecar! Come to the window, you can see it from here,” she said, pulling the curtains aside.
Sister Agatha continued extolling the virtues of a motorcycle’s gas conservation and every other advantage she could think of.
Reverend Mother stared at it. “The sidecar looks like a canoe on wheels.”
“But it’s large enough inside to carry the supplies we need to bring from town, and I’m sure the sisters will be very comfortable with the wind screen. The seat is padded and everything.” She paused, then added softly, “And, most important of all, we really have no other choice, Mother. We will eventually have our station wagon back, but in the meantime, the motorcycle will save us a lot on taxi fares.”
“I suppose it could work,” Reverend Mother said slowly.
“Even after the Antichrysler is back, using the bike for small errands will save us a substantial amount on gas, and wear and tear on our car.”
“But it’s such dangerous transportation.”
“Not if we’re careful. Sister Bernarda is willing to learn, and I can teach her the basics in a few days. I’ll also make sure she gets plenty of practice before going out onto the open road. This motorcycle would be a real blessing to all of us, Mother.”
She unfolded the papers Mr. Gonzales had prepared, signing over the ownership to the Sisters of the Blessed Adoration.
“All right, then,” Reverend Mother said with a nod, taking the papers. “We’ll accept the donation.” She took a deep breath before continuing. “I spoke to the archbishop this morning. He told me that the police now believe Father was murdered,” she said, whispering the last word in horror.
“They can’t know that for sure, Mother. It must be just one of the many possibilities. If he ingested something poisonous, it still could have been accidental.”
“If it
does
turn out to have been murder, the chapel will have to be shut down temporarily, Sister. We’ll also need to get in touch with His Excellency the archbishop, because our beautiful chapel will have to be reconsecrated and rededi-cated.”
“And in the meantime?” The possibility that the nuns might be barred from using their own chapel
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