We opened a new clinic a hundred miles downriver. We had two hundred and fifty women and children on our first day, we got so many gifts of chickens, fruit and eggs, we made a big feast and shared it with the villagers. Jakab made a pot of chicken and couscous stew, and cooked yams in banana skins over the fire. It was all delicious.

I feel I’m making a difference, especially in the lives of women, here, in Senegal, and that is deeply satisfying. It wasn’t until I got to working on the Missions that I felt my true vocation. I’m so glad that you love teaching so much, dearest Keelin, and that life is very good for you.

Love and Blessings,

Brigid XXX

PS Keep up your French language studies.

Keelin read the last lines of her aunt’s letter, sitting in the staff room having a cup of tea. I feel I’m making a difference. Why had that jumped out at her? Why was it unsettling her, Keelin wondered irritably, stuffing the letter back into the envelope and shoving it into her bag. The old niggling longing that she’d kept at bay rose up again. Her life was so good right now, how could she possibly want to become a nun? She knew how little respect the Church gave to women.

But I could help change that, she thought, and that’s how I would make a difference. Maybe this was what her vocation, if she had one, was about. One thing was certain, she needed to see once and for all if the religious life was for her and get it out of her system. That nagging voice that she had shushed for so long was making itself heard again.

Cycling along the Ballymun Road after school, she kept pedalling straight on instead of turning for home, freewheeling down the hill to The Rise. She scooted left onto Griffith Avenue, wondering was she mad? Autumn had come early. Great drifts of red-gold leaves banked up against the trees that lined the long elegant avenue. She sailed through the lights at Whitehall, cycling on until the high convent wall loomed up ahead. She’d passed it many times on her bike, or on a bus, the convent of the Soeurs du Secours Miséricordieux, where Brigid had been a postulant and then a novice.

Keelin slowed down to turn left into the entrance to the large, graceful redbrick building. Her heart was thumping. She was surprised when a nun in a smart knee-length pleated navy skirt and white blouse opened the heavy wooden door. She wore no veil and her hair was cut in a neat bob. She looked quite modern, unlike Brigid in her traditional habit.