“And so I agree with Father Thomas. I feel it’s our duty to attend the auction tonight,” Father Paul insisted. Once again, he’d asked Sister Charity to round up the novitiates, nuns, and laypeople so that he could lecture them on what was expected, his version of a pep talk. With a solemn-faced, quiet Father Frank O’Toole at his side, Father Paul was trying to convince everyone who had gathered in the meeting room to go about his or her business—no, God’s business—as normal.

As if they could!

Was he out of his mind?

After what had happened here?

His was the-show-must-go-on mentality.

Sister Charity listened and nodded her agreement, though her commitment to the auction was waning, and she had to force her lips into a curve of accord. She’d done it all her life, of course, followed the rules, obeying the church’s law, trusting in the Trinity, in her church. She’d accepted that only men became priests, and most of those men were good, God-fearing men whose faith was unshakeable. The few bad apples, and there seemed to be more of them than she had ever thought, were tarnishing an institution that had existed for more than two millennia and that would stand until the end of time.

For those who dismissed organized religion as unhealthy, as taking away one’s right, one’s individual opinions, she said, “Bah.” The church was good. The people within it were good.

But Father Paul, right now, standing near the windows, was pushing her to the limits of her patience in insisting they partake of the festivities at St. Elsinore’s tonight.

Outside, visible through the panes, a storm was brewing, dark clouds smoldering overhead. The rain was predicted to start around four, a storm unleashing all its fury around six, just in time for the festivities at St. Elsinore’s.

Sister Charity’s heart twisted. To the depths of her soul, she loved St. Elsinore’s, and she’d been giving her heart, mind, and body to the upcoming auction, had been excited to be a part of it, not only as someone who had grown up there, but also as a member of the church.

However, things had taken a tragic and dire turn.

With two of her novitiates missing and two more murdered, it hardly seemed right to leave the convent and partake of any of the celebration tonight.

Why not? What good has staying here done?

A deep sadness settled in her chest. Though she hated to see the orphanage at St. Elsinore’s moved, the building marked for the wrecking ball, she had thrown her heart and soul into helping with the transition.

How the choir would perform without Sister Louise was beyond her. But they would make do. She was a firm believer in God giving a person only what he or she could handle.