Hope and Undead Elvis (16 page)

Hope didn't know what to say to that, except to ask Rae to take her to Sister Agatha's office.

The young girl's eyes never left the floor as she escorted Hope deep into the bowels of the convent.

Chapter Seventeen

Hope and Agatha

Sister Agatha's office looked so old that Hope wondered if the entire convent might have grown around it, the way a tree will grow around a rock outcropping to reach the sun. Shelves along one wall were filled with organized books, many of which were coated with layer upon layer of dust. Only one shelf remained clear of any dirt or debris, and upon it sat a tome as thick as Hope's head. The pages were well-thumbed and discolored from decades of fingers brushing across them. It had no title printed across the spine, but she knew it had to be a Bible. Maybe it was
the
Bible; the only one that still mattered in the world.

The sister herself sat behind a colossal hardwood desk of wood that had been polished and oiled to the point of saturation. It exuded a rich, earthy smell that seemed to fill not only the room, but Hope's head as well. Despite the daylight outside, Agatha kept her office darkened, with only a candle in a pewter holder at one side of her desk. The flame battled against the oppressive gloom of the room, and Hope found her eyes drawn back to the flame every time they started to wander.

"Welcome, child," said Agatha. "Please, sit down so we can talk."

Hope spotted a straight-backed wooden chair with a knitted cushion on the seat, hulking in a shadow like a beast waiting to strike. She swallowed her anxiety and pulled the chair forward so she could be closer to the light. The candle's presence comforted her in the office, which felt like a place where much misery had transpired over the years.

And yet, Agatha's demeanor was one of solicitous concern. "Do you need anything, child? Food or water? I'm sorry that we don't have better facilities here for you and your baby. As you can see, we have never been a wealthy convent, and we're not really set up for prenatal care."

"No, I'm fine, uh… I'm sorry, what do I call you?"

"Sister Agatha is fine, or just Sister."

"What did you want to, you know, talk about?" Hope felt awkward and nervous, like the many times she'd been called into the principal's office in school.

Agatha leaned forward and clasped her hands atop her desk. In the flickering candlelight, Hope saw her nails were ragged to the quick, as if the nun had been chewing them. "I believe it is nothing less than a miracle that you found your way to us, child. God has brought you to my door, and I won't disappoint Him."

"A miracle? I wrecked my car," said Hope. "Seems like God could have brought me here without that little incident."

Agatha's breath hissed between her teeth, and Hope wondered if she'd caused offense. She told herself she was in the presence of someone for whom religion wasn't just for Sundays, but an entire way of life. She'd try to be more circumspect in her word choices. "Nevertheless, you could have wrecked it anywhere, where nobody would be there to pull you to safety. And yet, here you are. Alone. Pregnant."

Subtlety must not have been part of Agatha's toolbox, for her eyes gleamed in the flickering light as she spoke the word
pregnant
. Hope's hands drifted to the unfamiliar curve of her belly as if to protect the baby within. "Yeah, I guess I am."

"We found nobody with you in the wreckage. And yet you seemed worried that you'd lost someone. Was it the father of your baby?"

"N-no. It was… I was…" Hope's eyes drifted back to the candle flame. She couldn't help but look at it. The way it danced was almost hypnotic. She blinked, realizing her eyes were starting to water. "I was alone," she said at last.

"We are never truly alone, child. God walks beside us, and carries us in the times we cannot carry ourselves. And for that, we praise Him." Agatha crossed herself.

In the silence that followed, Hope felt pangs of guilt. Was she supposed to say something more? Pray? She didn't know what to do, and stared into the candle.

"Tell me about the father of your baby," said Agatha. She licked her lips like a greedy child expecting candy.

"I… I don't know," said Hope. "I don't even know how, I mean, you know…"

"There is no father, is there? You've never been with a man, have you?"

"No." Admitting it aloud at last somehow made it seem less real.

A look of triumph crossed Agatha's face. "I thought so. When Sister Catherine told me that you were still… intact, I had to see for myself."

"You looked?" Hope felt ashamed. She'd spent years flaunting her body on the stage, and now that this one old nun had seen her most secret places, she felt like the lowest creature on earth. The candle danced as Agatha's breath disturbed the air around it.

"You're still a virgin, child. A pregnant virgin. That has only happened once before. Do you know what that means?"

"It's a… a miracle?"

"Yes, child. A miraculous birth. God has given you His child to carry in this troubled time. You are the mother of Our Savior. His reincarnation will bring God's love upon us all, and those of us who follow His word shall evermore dwell in the light eternal."

"That sounds nice," said Hope. Her eyes kept rolling, like she was trying to keep herself awake.

"You shall be remembered for all eternity as the Second Holy Mother." Agatha's mouth tightened. "As shall I, as your teacher. It's a fitting place for someone who's spent her entire life in the service of God."

Hope felt like she'd lost control of her own mouth. What she'd intended to say was "
Amen
" or something holy like that. Instead, she said, "Stripper Mary. That's me."

Agatha's eyes narrowed. "What?"

The spell of the candle flame had been broken. Hope looked away from it and kept her eyes on Agatha instead. The flickering light reflected from Agatha's dark eyes, but filtered through the old woman's corneas, it lost any power it might have had to begin with. "Look, it's really nice that you want to take care of me and the baby and all, but you need to understand that I'm not who you think I am. I'm not holy, or a saint, or anything like that. I'm a stripper. And maybe I haven't ever had sex, but that doesn't mean I haven't ever serviced a man. I'm not pure by any stretch of imagination, Sister, so maybe you shouldn't hang all your hopes on me."

"What?" Crawling horror crossed Agatha's face as Hope explained herself. "You're a whore? A common
whore
?"

Hope stood. Behind her, the chair tumbled to the floor. The wood back broke with a loud
crack
. "Screw you, Sister."

Agatha leaped to her feet, spry for such an elderly woman, but held her hands out in supplication instead of threat. "Forgive me, child. I spoke out of turn. I hadn't expected such a revelation, but I suppose the Lord works in mysterious ways, and it is not for me to understand them."

"Don't call me a whore," said Hope.

"You'll have to forgive me. I've spent my entire life devote to God and doing His work here on earth. It's a shock to find out He chose someone like you to be the vessel of his child."

"What's shocking is that I haven't left yet. In fact, I think I'll go right now."

"Stop!" The tone of command in Agatha's voice was so powerful that Hope ground to a halt. The elderly woman was used to being obeyed.

"What?"

"You must not leave. You know as well as I that it isn't safe beyond the walls of this convent. You may not like me, child, but you'll come to respect the protection I represent. God has seen to it that this is a place of peace and safety, and you might doom the entire world if you leave."

"What do I care about the world?" Yet in the face of Sister Agatha's piety and resolve, Hope found herself weakening. She
had
been hungry, and thirsty, and naked, at least in a metaphorical sense. The sisters of the convent had fed and clothed her. Didn't she owe them something in return? Perhaps in the new rules of the broken world, which Hope was still trying to learn and understand, the convent really was as safe a place as Agatha claimed. Hope had been comatose for months and the convent hadn't been attacked or burned by the Righteous Flame. Had she really been so far ahead of them that they hadn't reached her yet? Or had they simply burned themselves out?

What price freedom, and what price safety?

"You care," said Agatha with smug satisfaction. "Because you fought to live. You fought for the life of God's child within you. Even your name represents the one thing which remains when all else is lost. Stay with us as an honored guest instead of a patient. Let us keep you safe and give you a place of peace and harmony to raise the child under the watchful eyes of God."

Hope sighed. It was a convincing argument and she was tired of running. She'd lost Undead Elvis, who had been the spiritual guide on her journey, and with him had gone any sense of knowing what to do. She was like a lost lamb looking for its flock.

Maybe she'd found it.

Still, her natural sense of suspicion wouldn't let her cave so easily. "One night," she said. "I'll give you that much. Tomorrow I may decide to leave. If I do, I hope you'll let me go in peace."

"We'll see," said Agatha, sounding exactly like Hope's mother had when she was growing up.
We'll see
inevitably meant
no
, but Hope had always dreamed that one day it might mean something else.

Hope folded her arms. She knew she didn't have any power over Agatha, and if the nun decided to hold her against her will, she'd have a tough time finding her way to freedom. Her best bet would be to try to keep on the old woman's good side. "So what should I do in the meantime?"

Agatha sniffed. "I suppose you could help Sister Rae in preparing our evening meal."

Hope nodded and left the office. She asked a couple of other nuns she found in the hall where the young deaf nun might be found. They didn't know for certain, but thought she might be praying in her room. They gave Hope directions and headed off in the direction of the chapel.

Sister Rae was indeed praying. She knelt beside her bed, holding her rosary in her hands, with her head bowed and tears streaming down her cheeks. Hope chewed on her knuckles. She didn't want to interrupt the young girl's devotion, but she could see something had upset Rae, and Hope felt an overwhelming need to offer comfort. She started to step into the room, but froze as Rae pulled her habit over her head and retrieved a replacement from her bunk.

A large rose tattoo decorated Rae's left shoulder, with the vine continuing down her back, disappearing beneath her gray boyshorts, and running down the back of her right thigh to stop just above the knee. It was a gorgeous piece of skin art, and Hope couldn't imagine how much it must have hurt or how long it had taken. But she'd seen more than just the tattoo. Rae's back—indeed, her entire body—didn't display the musculature of hard labor.

No, she'd been a dancer.

The fresh habit went over Rae's head, and the one she'd removed joined others in a wicker basket to be laundered later. Hope wondered if they would beat them against rocks, like Undead Elvis had to clean her clothes by the lake.

Rae turned around and gasped as she saw Hope standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you," said Hope, holding up her hands.

Rae sniffled a little and wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her habit. "It's okay."

"Why are you crying?"

"I was praying. For guidance. For an answer."

"An answer to what?"

Rae stepped forward to the door and glanced into the hallway beyond. Her furtive motions put Hope on edge. Something had scared the young nun. Nevertheless, she put on a brave face, smiled at Hope despite her tearful eyes, and took her hand. "I'll show you sometime. Soon. Maybe God sent you. Maybe you're the answer I need. But right now, we need to prepare the evening meal."

"But what about the answer
I
need?" muttered Hope, but she let Rae lead her out of the convent.

Chapter Eighteen

Hope and the Sisters

The convent's kitchen was small. The appliances had suffered repurposing in the wake of the loss of electrical power. The stove had been tipped onto its back and the door removed to create an improvised fire pit. A bundle of wood sat beside it, waiting to be lit for the next meal. A folding sawhorse perched over the oven with a large pot suspended from the crossbar. Hope shivered, for the last large pot she'd seen had people cooking inside it. This one had been scrubbed clean.