"It could be a burial, though it looks rather smal . I've dug a bit to the left, so I'l have to take this portion down." I indicated the spot where I was squatting.

"I'l excavate outside the grave itself and work my way down and in. That way we'l have a profile view of the burial as we go. And it's easier on the back to dig that way. An outside trench wil also al ow us to remove the coffin from the side if we have to."

"What is the stain?" asked a young nun with a face like a Girl Scout.

"When something with a high organic content decays, it leaves the soil much darker. It could be from the wooden coffin, or flowers that were buried with it."

I didn't want to explain the decomposition process.

"Staining is almost always the first sign of a burial."

Two of the nuns crossed themselves.

"Is it Elisabeth or Mere Aurelie?" asked an older nun. One of her lower lids did a little dance.

I raised my hands in a "beats me" gesture. Pul ing on my gloves, I started troweling the soil over the right half of the stain, expanding the pit outward to expose the oval and a two-foot strip along its right.

Again, the only sounds were scraping and screening. Then,

"Is that something?" The tal est of the nuns pointed to the screen.

I rose to look, grateful for an excuse to stretch.

The nun was indicating a smal , reddish-brown fragment.

"You bet your a . That sure is, Sister. Looks like coffin wood."

I got a stack of paper bags from my supplies, marked one' with the date, location, and other pertinent information, set it in the screen, and laid the others on the ground. My fingers were now completely numb.

"Time to work, ladies. Sister Julienne, you record everything we find.

Write it on the bag, and enter it in the log, just as we discussed.

We're at" - I looked into the pit "about the two-foot level. Sister Marguerite, you're going to shoot some pictures?"

Sister Marguerite nodded, held up her camera.

They flew into action, eager after the long hours of watching. I troweled, Sisters Eyelid and Girl Scout screened. More and more fragments appeared, and before long we could see an outline in the stained soil. Wood. Badly deteriorated. Not good.

Using my trowel and bare hands, I continued to uncover what I hoped was a coffin. Though the temperature was below freezing and al feeling had left my fingers and toes, inside my parka I sweated. Please let this be her, I thought. Now who was praying?

As I inched the pit northward, exposing more and more wood, the object expanded in breadth. Slowly, the contour emerged: hexagonal. Coffin shape. It took some effort not to shout "Hal elujah!" Churchy, but unprofessional, I told myself.