"That's okay," Dominica said. "We're just glad that
God brought you along when we needed you."
"Yeah. It was real lucky." Dwight's shrewd grin showed two broken, tobacco-stained front teeth. "You goin' to tell Mother Winifred 'bout how I drug y'all up that drop-off?"
She nodded, and Maggie said, "Of course. We're very grateful to you, Dwight."
"We sure are," Ruby said earnestly. "I hate to think how long we might have hung there on that cliff-if we'd hung there." She glanced down at the river and shuddered.
"Good," he said, and unhooked the tow chain. "Don't hurt none fer a man to be rekkanized fer helpin' folks out."
I frowned. Dwight had been there to help when the fires broke out, too. While we gave Dwight a hand with the fence posts, I wondered if there was any connection.
When the road was clear, we got back in the Honda. "How far is it?" Ruby asked nervously.
"We're almost there," Maggie said. We drove down the road a hundred yards, through an oak grove, and saw the ranch house ahead of us.
"That's Sophia," Dominica said. The house was a single-story, multiwinged building, large and sprawling. It was constructed of native limestone and cedar, with porches on three sides and a metal roof painted barn red. "It's the main building," she added. "The refectory and the kitchen are there, and Mother's office and the library and a couple of guest rooms."
"Sophia?" I asked, puzzled.
"You'll get used to it," Maggie said with a smile. "In most monasteries, everything has names-the buildings and the rooms, the paths, the gardens, even the trees. It's true here, too. That barn, for instance. It's called Jacob."
The picturesque red bam stood to the left of the ranch house. To the right was another long, low, stone-and-cedar building, with an addition built at right angles to it-Rebecca, according to Dominica, where the St. T sisters lived. She also pointed out Hannah, a dormlike brick residence
hall behind a clump of oaks, where the St, Agatha sisters lived.
"You're still living separately?" Maggie asked, surprised. "I thought you were all going to move into Hannah."
"Maybe that's part of the problem," Ruby said, following the long, curving drive around Sophia. ' 'If you and the St. Agatha sisters lived together, you might get along better."
"That's what Mother Hilaria said," Dominica said. "Just before she died, she reassigned us. But afterward, Olivia convinced Reverend Mother General that we ought to wait until her successor took over."
"That's unfortunate," Maggie said. "The longer the two groups are separated, the easier it is to stay that way, if only because there's less tension."
"Less tension?" Dominica shook her head. "Don't count on it. Even separated, we're at one another's throats. Figuratively speaking, of course. Although sometimes I wonder." Abruptly, she leaned forward and changed the subject. "Margaret Mary tells me you're an herbalist, China. What do you know about foxglove? I understand it's poisonous."
"You bet," I said emphatically. "It used to be called Dead Men's bells." The name was a reference to foxglove's bell-shaped blossom, as well as to the knell that was rung for the dearly departed. "Why do you ask?"
"Because I heard someplace that it can be confused with other plants. It affects the heart, doesn't it? Like digitalis?"
"It is digitalis," I said. Foxglove is a cardiac herb. It contains four glycosides, the most powerful of which is digitoxin, a stimulant that increases cardiac activity, causing the heart and arteries to contract and raising the blood pressure. Why was Dominica asking about it? "Foxglove is a lovely ornamental," I added, "but it shouldn't be used as a medicinal. There's too much danger of making a fatal mistake."
Ruby pulled into a parking lot and stopped the car. "We're here," she said, and opened the door.
I got out, intending to ask Dominica why she was so interested in foxglove. But I was distracted by two women who seemed to be having an argument a short distance away. One wore a navy coat with a gold cross in her lapel, a starched wimple, and a short veil. Her arms were full of file folders. The other wore jeans, a Cowboys sweatshirt, and knee-high rubber boots. She was pushing a wheelbarrow full of empty terra-cotta pots. Both had angry faces and set mouths. They were scowling at one another.
"Uh-oh," Dominica whispered as Ruby opened the trunk. "They're at one another again."
"Who are they?" I asked.
"That's Sister Gabriella with the wheelbarrow. The one with the file folders probably started it-she's Sister Olivia. Our next abbess, if Reverend Mother General has her way." Dominica sighed. "And she will, unless somebody does something to prevent it." She squeezed her eyes shut. "Please, God," she whispered urgently. "Do something!"
Given Dominica 's track record, I wouldn't have been surprised to see Olivia struck down by a bolt of lightning. Dominica opened her eyes. "Sometimes it takes a while," she said.
"My grandmother had an old saying," Ruby remarked sagely. "God helps those who help themselves."
Dominica considered this. "My grandmother had another. With the fox, play the fox." She narrowed her eyes. "There must be a way to get rid of her."
I get the jitters when people talk that way.
Chapter Five
Rue lends second sight. If you carry a bundle of it, mixed with broom, maidenhair, agrimony, and ground-ivy, you will be able to see a person's heart and know whether she is a witch.
Medieval folk saying
The argument ended, obviously without a resolution. Sister Gabriella turned on her heel and strode angrily away, pushing her wheelbarrow as if she were powered by the wrath of God.
Sister Olivia raised her head and saw us. The flush spread over her cheeks and her eyes became steely behind her gold-rimmed glasses. She marched in our direction, shoulders back, spine erect, with a look that reminded me of General Patton. But under her stiffness, I saw a deep hurt. Whatever she and Sister Gabriella had been arguing about, it had pained her. I wondered how much emotional effort it took to maintain the stern exterior that hid her feelings.
To Dominica, she said crisply, "Put your bag in your room and come to the office, Sister. We've fallen behind while you've been away." To the rest of us, she gave a thin smile. "Welcome to St. Theresa's. You'll need to check in with Mother Winifred. Her cottage is down that path." She turned on her heel and marched off.
Ruby raised her eyebrows. "Somewhat abrupt, wouldn't you say?"
"She's a witch," Dominica said feelingly, taking her bag out of the trunk. She looked at Maggie. "Ask Mother for
Perpetua's room, won't you? It would be wonderful to be close together. We've got so much to talk about. There are things going on here that you wouldn't-" She broke off with a glance at me. "We just really need to talk," she finished lamely.
When Dominica had gone off, Ruby and I followed Maggie down a gravel path that led past a statue of St. Francis, through a small oak grove, and across a grassy meadow bordered with weeping willows and cottonwoods. At the foot of the meadow I could see the Yucca River, a broad band of rippling silver glinting in the pale afternoon sun, and on the other side, the high south bank, a spectacular cliff festooned with ferns and rimmed with cedar trees. It was as lovely as a garden.
"The Townsend Ranch boundary runs along up there," Maggie said, pointing to the top of the cliff. She pulled her jacket closer around her and pointed in the other direction. "And that's the garlic field."
The expanse of rich brown soil, perhaps five or six acres, was sliced lengthwise by furrows of blue-green spikes, already a foot high. St. Theresa's famous rocambole, preparing to fling itself into another growing season.