“Because I’m the boss until the next shift begins.”
The hospital was quiet as Domenica made the rounds. The sailors of the Boidoin had been examined and treated. They slept quietly in their beds on the main floor. The nurses on the morning shift had already gathered in the hospital kitchen to prepare breakfast for the patients. The scent of freshly brewed coffee and hot croissants drifted through the corridor. As hungry as Domenica was, the thought of her bed was more appealing than food. She signed out of her shift and picked up the work log. She stopped to bless herself with holy water from the font outside the chapel when she remembered a final task she had promised to complete. She entered the chapel, closing the door behind her. She genuflected at the altar in the cool darkness. The scent of carnations filled the air. She placed the Holy Book on the lectern and placed the cruets, bells, and linens on the side table for Mass.
“I couldn’t find the light.” A man’s voice cut through the silence.
She squinted into the darkness. “Captain McVicars?”
“I’m not praying.”
“It’s not an accusation.”
“What are you doing?” the captain asked innocently.
“Sister Claudette asked me to prepare the chapel for Mass.”
“Is it Sunday?”
“We have daily Mass. What are you doing?”
“The laundress is pressing my uniform. I don’t know how she got the oil stains out of it, but she did. I offered to kiss her.”
“Did she accept?”
“That’s between Madame Esther DeGuisa Wing and me.”
Domenica turned to go.
“Stay,” he said.
“Mother Superior is waiting for the paperwork.”
“Any person with Superior in her name should be kept waiting, if only to teach her humility. Come sit with me.”
He slid into the middle of the pew to make room for her. He spread his arms across the back of the pew like wings.
Domenica sat at the end of the pew, as far away from him as possible. “Are you Catholic?”
“No. No. No. No.”
“One no would do.”
“The great tunes sound better in four-part harmony. Miss Cabrelli, you may not know this, but there aren’t many Catholics in Scotland. They were drummed out.”
“I know the story.”
“Then why did you ask?”
“Knowing the history, the last place a good Protestant would want to be is in a Catholic chapel. So I thought maybe you were Catholic.”
“Am I allowed to laugh in here?”
“You’re the captain. You can do whatever you want.”
“Who is that fellow?” McVicars pointed to a statue.
“That’s Saint Bernard of Clairvaux. The saint I told you about.”
“Right. That one. He looks ill.”
“He’s French. Saint Bernard was known as the doctor of the church.”
“Seems to me a saint should have vigor so that the devout have something to aspire to, something to emulate. Makes a better statue too, don’t you think? The Catholic church should go to Scotland and find a champion pole tosser with thick legs to pose for their statues. Saint Bernard was not worth the bronze. I wouldn’t trust my soul to a puny bloke with sloped shoulders and a weak chin, would you?”
“Too late. I have prayed to him.”
“You have exactly seven freckles on your nose.”
“And you have a slight chip on your front tooth. The left one,” Domenica countered.
“I fell off a horse.”
“How’s the horse?”
“Long gone, I’m afraid. I was ten.”
“The Sisters invited you to breakfast. When I didn’t find you in the bed you were assigned to, I assumed you left the hospital. You must be starving. I can take you to the dining room on my way out.”
“If those holy women kept a biscuit in the drawer, I wouldn’t be hungry.”
“I should have served you your tea and a macaron.”
“Falling down on the job, Cabrelli. That’s all right. Truth be told, I had a macaron with a lovely blonde.”
“So you figured your way around the hospital after all.”
“I did. And then I had a bicarbonate with Sister Marie Honoré. Are you a nun?”
“No.”
“Good. They scare me.”
“They shouldn’t.”
“But they do. They run in packs. They move in formation like a swarm of bees.”
“You’re the second man in a month to ask me if I’m a nun. Should I take that as a sign to become one?”
“That depends. How do you feel about bees?”
* * *
The nuns’ dining room was bright and cheerful. A deep stone fireplace on the far wall crackled with orange flames over an open grill that held three teakettles. A large mirror over the fireplace reflected the Sisters at breakfast at one long table in the center of the room.
“The Mother Superior would like to meet you,” Domenica whispered. “You go.”
“Which one is she?”
“The one wearing the biggest cross. At the head of the table.”
Domenica watched as McVicars, in his pajamas and robe, gingerly approached the Mother Superior. Domenica tried to hide her amusement.
“Thank you, Mother Mum, for your attention and care for my men.” McVicars motioned to Cabrelli to join him. “Nurse, forgive me, what’s your name?”
“Cabrelli.”
He snapped his fingers. “Nurse, what’s your first name again?”
“Domenica.”
“Nurse Domenica Cabrelli did a wonderful job.”
“She’s one of our talented novices.”
“A novice lacks experience. Miss Cabrelli ran the ward like a general last night.”
“Novice in her case means that she is in the first phase of becoming a Sister of Saint Joseph of the Apparition.”
McVicars looked at Domenica. “You said you weren’t a nun.”
“I’m not. I’m praying about it.”
Mother Superior looked the captain up and down. “Captain, may I see your hands?”
McVicars’s hands were ruddy and had mild surface burns from the fire.
“Captain, I insist you have Nurse Cabrelli dress those wounds. You don’t want an infection. Your blood would turn.” The Mother Superior turned to Domenica. “Bring him back for breakfast when you’ve taken care of him.”
* * *