That did it. The girls scattered, some heading for the stones and others for the settlement in the packs of three or four that teenaged girls seemed to fall into instinctively. Only Emma and Ava headed off as a pair. Sister Agnes watched them leave, a frown line climbing nearly the whole length of her forehead from her eyebrows to the edge of her veil.

Their veils were coming in handy today, keeping their hair safe from the wind. Madeleine’s order, the Daughters of Grace, had long since discarded the old-fashioned nuns’ habits you’d find in The Sound of Music. Her modern habit was still undeniably modest, with a long-sleeved white blouse, a black sweater vest, a skirt that went past her knees, dark hose, and comfortable black sneakers. A black veil covered her short dark hair and fell to her shoulders, and her rosary rested at her waist. Over all of it, Madeleine wore a black puffer jacket that did a decent job of shielding her from the Orcadian weather, even without her scarf.

No high school student would call it fashionable, but at least she was warm.

“We should keep an eye on them,” Agnes said, still watching Emma and Ava. “They spend a lot of time together. A…special friendship.”

“They’ve always been good friends.” Hopefully she didn’t sound like she was challenging her senior sister.

“Yes, but this sort of behavior is more noticeable in a smaller group. I suppose it didn’t occur to me until now that they could be—well, we all miss things sometimes. Even me.” Agnes squinted. “Is Ava wearing your scarf?”

Madeleine knew where this was going. “She was cold, Sister.”

“Then she should have brought a sweater. They need to learn responsibility.”

Ah yes, just as Christ had said of his faithful followers: For I was cold, and you told me I should have brought a sweater. It might be judgmental to think poorly of Agnes, but she missed the mark on some basic things. It was fine to give a shivering child a warm piece of clothing.

And there was nothing wrong with intense female friendships in your youth. That was when you talked at all hours, shared everything, and spent every possible moment together. It was natural. And then, as God willed it, you grew up and turned that emotional energy toward a man in holy matrimony.

Or to Christ and his saints, as Madeleine had done. The Sisterhood had called to her instead, letting her know where her divinely ordained duty lay. It wasn’t with a husband and children.

Which was also completely natural.

“Am I talking to myself?”

Madeleine snapped back to attention. Sister Agnes had raised her eyebrows and was employing her usual trick of looking down her nose, even though she was several inches shorter than Madeleine.