Dead Wrong by William X. Kienzle

Willingly he had taken on this obligation. He had no other desire in life but to be a priest.
    The three sisters were another matter.
    Oona, the eldest, whose sixty-fifth birthday they would be celebrating, was an often mean-tempered hypochondriac who frequently actually was ill. Koesler could remember once visiting her in the intensive care unit of a hospital. She complained that she was getting insufficient care. Since she was already receiving the maximum care of which the hospital was capable, he could do little for her.
    Eileen, at sixty-one years, was next. As she aged, a bit more rapidly than the others, particularly in recent years, she reminded Koesler of one of the maiden ladies—it didn’t matter which—in Arsenic and Old Lace. Eileen walked in a rush of tiny steps. Her dresses overflowed with an abundance of lace. She managed to be occupied with “busy-work” most of the time. And she seemed dedicated to making peace. There was lots of peace to be made.
    Maureen, at fifty-eight, was the baby. She was the nuts-and-bolts practical one. She had been employed most of her life at a series of diverse jobs. She’d been a waitress, a butcher, and a lifeguard. Those were the more colorful occupations in her résumé. In addition, she had been a secretary in a long list of business offices. And it was she who had adopted the two girls.
    Each was now thirty-three years old. Both had been foundlings. Mary Lou had been first. And then, because Maureen sensed a loneliness in the youngster’s life, Brenda had been brought into the household.
    The two girls had such similar backgrounds. Each had spent her earlier years in various foster homes. Each had found her way to St. Vincent’s Orphanage on Detroit’s east side. The home was owned, operated, and staffed by the Sisters of Charity, those wondrous women whose bonnets brought to mind giant gulls—the precursors of TV’s “Flying Nun.”
    Mary Lou had hated everything about St. Vincent’s. Not that she was abused in any way. But she desperately wanted a home. So when Maureen took pity on her and brought her home on holidays and isolated weekends, Mary Lou tried to blend into the furniture, and wept bitterly each time she was returned—dragged back—to St. Vincent’s at the conclusion of each sojourn.
    Maureen began bringing Brenda home with Mary Lou, hoping the companionship of the other girl would neutralize the trauma of return for Mary Lou.
    It didn’t work out quite as hoped.
    Brenda, for the most part, kept her feelings locked inside. She seemed so thoughtful—contemplative. She also seemed passive. On those occasions when they were returned to the orphanage and Mary Lou would go into her tantrum, Brenda would watch as if she were part of the audience at a play.
    When the girls reached the fifth grade, all of their care and education to that point having been provided by St. Vincent’s, Maureen was able to take both of them permanently without legally adopting either.
    As to the spinsterdom of the sisterhood: It is not all that uncommon for the Irish to postpone marriage. It often happens that this delay in marrying becomes set in stone. To a degree this was the case with the Monahans.
    In addition, Oona, as the eldest, took on a heavy load in caring for her younger sisters, as well as supporting the family when their father died prematurely. As sometimes happens in such circumstances, Oona’s social life was all but nonexistent. She glided into her later years having experienced few interpersonal relationships, fewer thrills, and no romances.
    Eileen was naturally shy. As a child she seemed foreordained to become a nun. During her formative years, she prepared for that vocation. But when, after high school graduation, it came time for her to enter the convent, a medical exam found her health to be extremely delicate. The doctor’s opinion was that Eileen was destined for a brief sojourn on earth and that she was utterly incapable of enduring the