Madeleine closed her eyes. Tears slipped from their corners and rolled down her cheeks. The wet weight in her chest reminded her of waking up on the beach, coughing up seawater…one year ago to the day.

The timing couldn’t be a coincidence. Holy Writ taught that you weren’t supposed to ask heaven for signs. But that didn’t mean heaven wouldn’t send them to you unrequested.

She pressed a hand over her mouth to muffle a sob. Crying wouldn’t stop any of this. Tonight’s misery was a bell rung by a guiding Hand, awakening her from a lazy and undeserved sleep. She’d used the order as a false refuge for decades: hiding from pain, from grief, and from her own nature. Now, for punishment…for penance…came this revelation.

The word “revelation” came from the Latin revelare: to expose and make known. Literally, it meant “to unveil.”

That seemed fitting, didn’t it?

When Madeleine met with Mother Gertrude the next morning, she felt strangely calm. Or perhaps she was just in shock.

She and her Superior General faced each other alone in the chapel, sitting on the pew in the front row before the altar.

“Well, Sister Madeleine?” Gertrude asked. She’d said Madeleine’s generation was the future of the order. Hope shone in her eyes that Madeleine would help her realize that future. “Did the still, small voice of God speak to you?”

“I don’t know about that, Reverend Mother. The voice sounded loud to me. And I’m not sure it came from God—although I certainly hope it did.”

Mother Gertrude frowned. “What?”

It was time. Madeleine sat up straight and folded her hands in her lap, over the rosary that had replaced the one she’d lost exactly one year ago. The smooth beads beneath her palms had to give her strength today.

She said, “I must turn away from the opportunity you offered me. I’m not fit for the position—more than you can possibly know. And last night’s reflections revealed to me that I’ve got to turn away from more than that, too.”

Now Mother Gertrude looked alarmed. “Sister, what are you talking about?”

Madeleine took a deep breath and looked away from the woman who had such faith in her, toward the altar. From there, the suffering Christ looked back. Her heavenly husband, whom she’d been trying to fool for decades.

At least now she could do right by him.

“I’m declining the position of Sacred Heart’s Superior.” Her voice was low but resolute. “And I’m leaving the Daughters of Grace. God forgive me.”

CHAPTER EIGHT