Well—it wasn’t as if Madeleine had never thought about it. She would be good at it, should it please God. And yet…

You’re not worthy, whispered a voice that sounded all too familiar. That’s not for you. That’s not right for you.

Be quiet, she ordered it, as always.

“I don’t have any such ambitions, Sister,” she murmured. “That would be immodest.”

“Heaven forbid,” Agnes said dryly. “I do have one more question for you.” She crossed her arms; the authoritative gesture immediately made Madeleine’s skin prickle. This “question” was more likely to be an interrogation.

“Unlike most of us, when you joined the order you didn’t change your name to honor a saint or the Blessed Virgin Mary. You were Madeleine Laurent before, and you’re Sister Madeleine now. I’ve always wondered why.”

Sister Agnes could make an inquiry about how you liked your coffee into an accusation. “My name means ‘woman from Magdala,’ Sister. Like Saint Mary Magdalene, one of Christ’s most loving followers. I was grateful to my parents for setting me that example, and I kept my name with my Superior’s blessing.”

There was another reason, one Agnes would never know. Madeleine had wanted to honor her parents’ memory by keeping the name they’d given her.

After all these years, the thought of their loss could still bring a cold sensation to her chest. Or maybe that was just the wind again.

Sister Agnes hmphed. “Some would argue that decision means you haven’t fully left the world behind. That you’re reluctant to cut your final tie to the secular life. If you wish to be a leader in our order, then consider that possibility. Examine your own soul.”

Madeleine looked Agnes dead in the eye. “I already have, Sister, with the help of the Church.” Not you. “But thanks for your advice.”

Advice. Or rather, interference. If Sister Agnes’s words created a pit in Madeleine’s stomach, it was from her presumption. Madeleine had joined the Daughters of Grace when she was twenty-two, and she’d stuck it out this long, hadn’t she? Of course, she had doubts and regrets occasionally.

It was strange: Agnes’s officiousness disturbed her more than it usually would have. There was something about this island Madeleine couldn’t put her finger on, but it set her off balance. Something that seemed to whisper a warning on the wind…

This isn’t right for you.

“Brr.” Agnes stomped her feet. “It is cold. Must be even worse for a New Orleans transplant like you.”

Praise God for a change of subject. “I can handle the cold. Worth it for a chance to see the ruins.”

“Mm. Not that I’d say this in front of them, but the students are right. The ones on the Mainland are better.”