It would be just like Sister Cecilia to thrust herself into a situation where her help wasn’t required. She was a novice as impetuous in her own way as Emma had been, but Sister Joan had never questioned Sister Cecilia’s calling, only her ability to integrate into communal life. She had a multiplicity of interests—painting, pottery, music, writing—but she especially loved teaching art to young children. Sister Joan had never been good with children. As much as she loved the idea of them, she lacked the patience required to be a truly dedicated teacher.

She listened, but heard no further sounds.

She felt a twinge of guilt at her unkindness toward Sister Cecilia. Her tension over the mysterious painting and now Emma’s presence wasn’t an excuse. She liked to think that her insight into Sister Cecilia’s frailties as well as her virtues—her cheerful, tolerant nature, her irrepressible curiosity, her deep spirituality—arose from love, but Sister Joan knew she had to guard against being overly critical and judgmental.

The door pressing heavily against her arm and foot, she resisted the urge to leap down the steps and race to the gate. After all these years, she’d never felt uneasy about being alone in the tower. She’d overseen the installation of a state-of-the-art conservation lab on the second floor and had spent countless hours there.

The painting.

She took in a sharp breath and spun around, the door shutting behind her.

The painting was no longer leaning against the wall by the spiral stairs. It was the sole reason she’d asked Emma to come to Maine, and it was gone.

Sister Joan tried to quell a surge of panic. Had one of the other sisters moved the painting? But when? Why? No one ever touched anything in the tower without her permission.

She tightened her grip on the gate key. The tower was cool, unlit, the light gray and dim, but she hadn’t made a mistake. She wasn’t given to dramatics. The painting—The Garden Gallery, it was called—wasn’t where she’d left it thirty minutes ago when she’d gone to meet Emma at the convent’s main gate.

Sister Cecilia must have taken it. What could she have been thinking? She was working on a biography of Mother Linden. Had Sister Cecilia come across information about the mysterious painting? Was she trying to save the day?

If the young novice wanted to successfully embrace convent life, she would have to learn to confront unpleasant situations and conflict head-on.

At the same time, Sister Joan recognized that lately she hadn’t lived according to the standard she’d set for Sister Cecilia. She’d been secretive and uncommunicative, dealing with her questions and fears on her own instead of taking them to her Mother Superior. For thirty years, she’d trusted in her faith and her community. They’d never failed her.