‘Come in, I’m Sister Frances. Mother Veronica asked me to keep an eye out for you. She’s talking to a builder about a renovation we’re doing and she’ll be down in ten minutes or so. Can I bring you some tea while you’re waiting?’ the nun said pleasantly, leading her into a small parlour off the hall.

‘Thanks, that would be lovely,’ Keelin murmured, fighting the urge to run. She’d a good job, money of her own, freedom of sorts. Wasn’t that enough?

The tea and Mother Veronica arrived simultaneously, and Sister Frances asked her Superior if she’d like a cup.

‘A good strong one, please, Frances,’ the older nun, who wore the traditional habit, said agreeably, shaking Keelin’s hand.

‘So you think you might have a vocation, Keelin. Tell me about it,’ she invited kindly, sitting in a chair opposite Keelin. She was a tall, angular woman with a thin face dominated by bright, hazel eyes that had a humorous glint in them, despite her austere appearance.

‘Well, I suppose it was meeting my Aunt Brigid the first time and hearing her stories of the Missions that ignited my interest. My aunt is one of your nuns, she works in Senegal.’

‘Your aunt is Brigid Dunne?’ exclaimed the nun delightedly. ‘I worked with her in St Louis, before I was recalled home and promoted. Well goodness, you couldn’t have a better role model.’

‘I know,’ Keelin agreed. ‘I just don’t know if I have a vocation or not.’

‘Being a postulant and then a novice gives a person time to decide if the religious life is for them or not. Final vows aren’t taken for several years, so you will have plenty of time to make your decision,’ Mother Veronica explained. ‘Tell me why you think you might have the call to enter.’

‘It’s a feeling I’ve had for years, something that won’t go away—’

‘The Lord keeps knocking until we listen,’ Mother Veronica smiled.

*

‘You’re not serious, Keelin! In the name of God, why would you want to give up the great life you have to become a nun! Are you mad!’ Imelda was aghast at the news Keelin had imparted. ‘It’s all bloody Brigid’s fault, writing you those letters. Brainwashing you—’

‘Mam, stop. That’s not fair – Auntie Brigid didn’t brainwash me. Remember when I met her that first time, she urged me to live life and travel, and have fun,’ Keelin protested.

‘I supposed she’s delighted,’ Imelda snapped.

‘I haven’t told her yet. I wanted to tell you and Dad first,’ Keelin said gently.

‘I can’t believe you’re even considering entering. I reared you to be free of religion. To have a life of your own and to be independent. Don’t forget that.’