The Family Way (Molly Murphy, #12)

“See if we’re strong enough to move the lid,” one of the younger sisters said, going across to the nearest stone coffin. “Come on, help me.”


Several girls and sisters pushed and strained together at the big sarcophagus, grunting with the effort. There was a grinding sound as stone moved against stone, then one of them exclaimed, “Holy Mother of God!” They backed away hastily as we all recoiled at the smell. Hands were pressed against noses. There was the sound of retching. Some girls went hastily back up the steps. I took a deep breath and went over to the coffin.

They had only succeeded in moving the lid several inches. With much trepidation and not at all sure what I would find, I reached my hand in, touched something soft, and pulled out a long strand of red-blond hair.

“I don’t think Sister Francine had hair like this, did she?” I asked.

Nuns crossed themselves.

“Who is it?” one of them asked.

“It’s Maureen O’Byrne,” I said. “She didn’t run away after all. She must have figured out what Sister Jerome had been doing and threatened to expose her if Sister didn’t let her keep her child.”

There was a collective gasp. Sisters and girls alike turned back to stare at Sister Jerome.

“You stupid girl.” She spat the words. “I was doing it for you.”

I stared down at her, feeling a mixture of pity and revulsion. “For me? How were you doing this for me? You’d never met me until yesterday.”

“For the cause, the Irish cause,” she said, speaking the words slowly now as if it hurt her to breathe. “The money was going to the Republican Brotherhood. To Irish freedom. And now you’ve ruined everything.”

“Stand aside, please. Here’s Mother now,” said a strong voice. The crowd parted and at the top of the stairs stood an old, hunched, and wizened woman in a nun’s habit, supported by a younger nun. Beside her was a young priest.

“Help me down the steps,” she said and she came down, with the priest supporting one arm, the sister the other.

She stood over Sister Jerome. “Jerome, what is this? What have you done?” she asked. She smelled the stench and her gaze went to the half-open coffin. “And who has desecrated Sister Francine’s resting place?”

“It’s Maureen O’Byrne, Mother,” Sister Perpetua said. “Maureen O’Byrne’s body has been hidden in Francine’s tomb.”

“Who did this terrible thing?” Mother asked.

“Sister Jerome.” I could hardly get the words out. “And she killed Katy too. Pushed her down these very stairs.”

The old woman looked at me with surprise and interest, not knowing who I was. “She tried to kill me,” I added. “But she misjudged and fell down the steps herself.”

The old woman shook her head sadly. “Oh, my dear Jerome. I warned you, didn’t I? I saw the signs—the secrecy, the way you tried to distance yourself from us. I feared that you would betray all that the order stands for. The sin of pride, my daughter. You had too much pride. Make amends for that now. Repent before you go to your maker. Father Bernard will hear your confession.”

“I don’t wish to confess,” Sister Jerome said. “I have suffered my own hell for twenty years. I never wanted to be here. I never truly believed. I have been locked away, deprived of a normal life. It is you who should be begging my forgiveness.”

Father Bernard knelt down beside her. “I beg you to reconsider, Sister,” he said. “You cannot go to your maker with these terrible sins on your conscience.”

“I have no conscience,” she said. “And I am not sorry for anything. Go away. I wish to die alone.”

“You should all leave now,” Mother said. “Father Bernard and I will stay at her side until it is time for mass. Bring the doctor down to us as soon as he gets here.”

“Mass, Mother?” one of the girls said. “Surely we won’t be having mass now?”

“Nothing will ever stand in the way of the order of this house,” Mother said firmly. “Our primary purpose is worship and prayer. We will prepare ourselves to pray for Sister Jerome’s soul, even if she will not.”

“There is no point in bringing a doctor,” Sister Jerome said. “My body is broken.”

As we started to walk away she said to no one in particular, “Such a waste. I could have done so much more. Somebody tell my sister, but not my parents. They don’t deserve to know.”

“Should we perhaps call the police, Mother?” one of the nuns asked.

“Not yet, Sister,” the old nun replied in a low whisper and she glanced over at Sister Jerome who was now lying there with her eyes closed.

I understood her wisdom. She wanted to make sure that Sister Jerome died in peace. She wanted to protect the convent from outsiders. I joined the others going back up the stairs and I didn’t look back at the woman who had tried to kill me.