"Sweet Mother of God!" Dominica breathed.
"Is everybody all right?" Ruby cried anxiously.
"Don't move," I said, looking out the window. "We're hung up on a tree. If we come loose, we'll end up in the river." From below, we could hear the deep-throated noise of water tumbling over the boulders.
' 'What happened?'' Maggie asked in a half-whisper.
White-faced, Ruby was clinging to the steering wheel.
"There were big logs in the road," she said. "I was trying to keep from running into them." She looked at me. "What are we going to do?"
' 'Pray,'' Dominica replied promptly. She closed her eyes, clasped her hands under her chin, and began to mutter in a half-audible voice. I sat back, trying to get a fix on our situation. To my right, barely within reach, was a small tree. If I eased the door open, slid out, and grabbed for the tree-
"Hey, down there!" came a rough voice. "Y'all right?"
Dominica 's eyes flew open. "There, you see?" she cried triumphantly. "It works every time!"
The answer to Dominica's prayer turned out to be Dwight, St. T's handyman, who had just driven up. He clambered down the hill to survey our predicament, climbed back up, then came down again with a heavy chain. He fastened one end to the Honda and the other to his truck and snaked the car up the hill, the four of us still inside. I don't know about the others, but I felt very nervous while this operation was going on. I could imagine the weight of Ruby's Honda pulling the truck over the edge and landing us on the rocks, with the truck on top of us.
It didn't. When we reached the top and climbed out, I saw why Ruby had swerved. A dozen large logs were scattered at the entry to a narrow bridge, completely blocking the road.
Dwight was a dark, burly man with dirty brown hair, a scar on his stubbled jaw, and a crumpled pack of Camels poking out of the pocket of his plaid shirt. His GMC pickup had a rifle slung in the back window-a modified combat weapon, from the look of it, as macho as he was.
"Sure am sorry about them cedar posts layin' in the middle o' the road," he muttered. He dropped his cigarette and ground it out under his heel. "I was haulin' 'em out to where I'm buildin' some new fence. When I got there, the load was half-gone. Figgered I musta dropped 'em off the truck an' come back to see."
"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."