They both learned their lessons from Sister Ignatia, together at St. Elsinore’s, as orphans. Both Georgia and Charity had grown up within the crumbling walls that were now, for the first time in nearly two hundred years, being emptied of their charges, eyed for possible demolition.

A travesty.

“So, what can I do for you?” Georgia asked after they got through trivialities.

“I want to speak to Father Thomas,” Charity said, girding her loins for battle. She and Georgia were like competitive siblings, always trying to outdo each other.

“He’s not in right now. But I’d be glad to give him a message.”

I just bet you would. “Is he ever there?” Charity asked, unable to keep the bite from her words.

“He’s a busy man. The Lord’s work is never done.”

“I’m well aware of that,” she said, and decided she had to tell Georgia what was happening. “I’m hoping he’ll consider rescheduling the auction,” she said, knowing she was asking the impossible. “We have a . . . situation here at St. Marguerite’s. Another one of my novitiates has gone missing . . . well, maybe even two, and as it is, I think it would be disrespectful to go on with any kind of festivities.”

There was a long pause and then a sigh on the other end of the line. “I understand,” Georgia said, surprisingly accommodating, “but you know, it’s too late. The invitations have been sent, the tickets sold, the hotel ballroom booked, the caterers and women of the church who have gone to all the trouble to get the refreshments and dinner ready. Oh, Charity, you and I both know what Father Thomas’s response will have to be. I’m sorry,” she said.

“Me, too, Georgia.” There was no reason to press the issue. Even before her request had been presented to Father Thomas, wherever in the world he was, Georgia had squelched it.

Of course.

“I’m not certain that the choir will be able to perform.”

“Surely they will. For their lost sisters. For the Holy Father. I know this is a time of great trouble for you, Charity, but this auction is for the good of the very place we called home for so many years. Even Sister Ignatia, bless her heart, is going to attend. Father Thomas is going to wheel her in, though she’ll have an attendant, of course.”

Just how old was Ignatia, the woman who had helped raise her and yet terrorized her? Ninety-five? A hundred? Even older. Sixty years ago, she’d been a miserable woman in her forties, and the years surely hadn’t improved her sour, almost cruel disposition.

In Charity’s opinion, Sister Ignatia had scarred more children than she’d helped.

“It’s going to be grand,” Georgia said on a sigh, as if she were a debutante going to her first ball.