factory, Sister Dolores, and if she asks you for anything, lay a lash across her lips,” she said as she strode out of the dining hall.
When they were alone again, Anna looked up at Sister Dolores and marveled, “You’re a witch?”
Sister Dolores’s eyes changed, her pallid skin darkened to a healthy bronze and her mouse-colored hair turned jet black. “I dabble,” she said, smiling.
“You’re not a nun, then?” Anna whispered.
“Never was.” Sister Dolores’s features melted back into their former state.
Anna thought she should be terrified of the witch, but could not summon her fear. Wonder and confusion crowded it out.
“Sister Eustace tells me that you killed your baby brother,” Sister Dolores said, “that you drowned him in a bathtub. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Hmm. I have to kill my baby brother, and I don’t know if I can do it. I was hoping you could advise me.”
Confusion and wonder still filled Anna, but the fear finally forced its way through. “I need to go to the factory, ma’am.” She pushed herself to her feet with her back against the wall.
“Anna,” Sister Dolores placed herself between Anna and her exit, “you know my secret and I,” she tapped Anna’s shoe with her own, “know yours. Can I trust you to keep my secret?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pinky swear?” Sister Dolores held out the little finger of her left hand.
Anna blushed again, hesitantly raising, lowering, then raising again her pinkyless left hand.
Sister Dolores giggled, “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”
Anna looked toward the door. The dining hall and the corridor beyond were empty of both person and sound.
“Anna,” Sister Dolores said, “I do thank you for telling me. That was a brave and noble act. This house may become a very dangerous place in the next few days. I am not here to rescue anyone, but I will remember what you did, and may repay the favor if a chance presents itself.”
The next few days here meant nothing to Anna. She would be long gone by sunrise. Joseph had told her so. “May I go?” Anna asked, “to the factory?”
“Go,” Sister Dolores said.
Chapter 7
Anna zombied through the hours of factory work, cutting, stamping, stacking leather soles. The sisters overseeing her conspicuously ignored her worsening limp. Apparently, Sister Eustace had informed her staff of Anna’s attempt to fake a foot injury. That was fine by Anna. She had expected to be giddy, restless. The phrase last day of school kept coming to her. She had feared her excitement would arouse suspicion, but as it was, she felt too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too uncertain to be giddy.
She had just warned a witch spy that the sadistic nuns were on to her. The witch had to be evil, because she was here to kill her own brother. And she was a witch, which made her evil by default. Now the evil witch had become her… her what? Not her friend, but maybe her ally.
Would that make Anna complicit in the murder of the witch’s brother? And what about all the children the sadistic sisters had worked to death? Or neglected to death? If the witch was here to kill Abbess McCain or Sister Eustace, that would be just fine, but she was here for one of the children.
Then a new thought occurred to Anna. If I leave, who will take care of my girls? Sister Dolores said that danger approached, who would protect Lilly and the Marys? Her meaner half laughed. I can’t protect them, I can’t protect myself. She looked at the knuckle where her pinky belonged. I can’t protect Sister Dolores’s baby brother, whoever he may be. The one person I did protect turned out to be an evil witch.
She considered her right hand. It should have been throbbing and useless but proved to be whole and unharmed. Anna wondered if being an evil witch was such a bad thing.
Variations of these thoughts occupied her mind from the time she entered the factory until she returned to the dining hall that evening. She caught
When they were alone again, Anna looked up at Sister Dolores and marveled, “You’re a witch?”
Sister Dolores’s eyes changed, her pallid skin darkened to a healthy bronze and her mouse-colored hair turned jet black. “I dabble,” she said, smiling.
“You’re not a nun, then?” Anna whispered.
“Never was.” Sister Dolores’s features melted back into their former state.
Anna thought she should be terrified of the witch, but could not summon her fear. Wonder and confusion crowded it out.
“Sister Eustace tells me that you killed your baby brother,” Sister Dolores said, “that you drowned him in a bathtub. Is that true?”
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“Hmm. I have to kill my baby brother, and I don’t know if I can do it. I was hoping you could advise me.”
Confusion and wonder still filled Anna, but the fear finally forced its way through. “I need to go to the factory, ma’am.” She pushed herself to her feet with her back against the wall.
“Anna,” Sister Dolores placed herself between Anna and her exit, “you know my secret and I,” she tapped Anna’s shoe with her own, “know yours. Can I trust you to keep my secret?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Pinky swear?” Sister Dolores held out the little finger of her left hand.
Anna blushed again, hesitantly raising, lowering, then raising again her pinkyless left hand.
Sister Dolores giggled, “Oh, sorry, I forgot.”
Anna looked toward the door. The dining hall and the corridor beyond were empty of both person and sound.
“Anna,” Sister Dolores said, “I do thank you for telling me. That was a brave and noble act. This house may become a very dangerous place in the next few days. I am not here to rescue anyone, but I will remember what you did, and may repay the favor if a chance presents itself.”
The next few days here meant nothing to Anna. She would be long gone by sunrise. Joseph had told her so. “May I go?” Anna asked, “to the factory?”
“Go,” Sister Dolores said.
Chapter 7
Anna zombied through the hours of factory work, cutting, stamping, stacking leather soles. The sisters overseeing her conspicuously ignored her worsening limp. Apparently, Sister Eustace had informed her staff of Anna’s attempt to fake a foot injury. That was fine by Anna. She had expected to be giddy, restless. The phrase last day of school kept coming to her. She had feared her excitement would arouse suspicion, but as it was, she felt too exhausted, too overwhelmed, too uncertain to be giddy.
She had just warned a witch spy that the sadistic nuns were on to her. The witch had to be evil, because she was here to kill her own brother. And she was a witch, which made her evil by default. Now the evil witch had become her… her what? Not her friend, but maybe her ally.
Would that make Anna complicit in the murder of the witch’s brother? And what about all the children the sadistic sisters had worked to death? Or neglected to death? If the witch was here to kill Abbess McCain or Sister Eustace, that would be just fine, but she was here for one of the children.
Then a new thought occurred to Anna. If I leave, who will take care of my girls? Sister Dolores said that danger approached, who would protect Lilly and the Marys? Her meaner half laughed. I can’t protect them, I can’t protect myself. She looked at the knuckle where her pinky belonged. I can’t protect Sister Dolores’s baby brother, whoever he may be. The one person I did protect turned out to be an evil witch.
She considered her right hand. It should have been throbbing and useless but proved to be whole and unharmed. Anna wondered if being an evil witch was such a bad thing.
Variations of these thoughts occupied her mind from the time she entered the factory until she returned to the dining hall that evening. She caught
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