Даниэла Стил - Finding Ashley [calibre]

She stayed up late, reading and praying that night, and got nowhere.

Hattie knew she had done a good thing finding Michaela, but everything had changed when she did. Not only for Melissa and for Michaela, but for herself too. And in her case, not for the better. Michaela had been found. But she felt lost now.

—

Melissa was worried about her, and talked to Norm that night. He could see how upset Melissa was about her sister, although he wasn’t sure why. Hattie sounded like an intelligent woman and he trusted her to make the right decision.

“Would it be so terrible if she left the convent? I thought you weren’t happy about her being a nun.” He was confused by her reaction, after what she’d said when they first met.

“I wasn’t happy. Her going into the convent made no sense to me for all those years. Now I know why she went in. She’s been protected for all of her adult life. First by me, then by the Church. She’s an innocent. Look what happened to her when she got raped.”

“She was twenty-five years old then. Now she’s forty-three. She’s not naïve.”

“She’s never lived on her own, or had to pay rent or take care of herself. Now she wants to go to Africa. What’ll happen to her there? She could be killed.”

“She could be killed crossing the street in the Bronx, or mugged leaving the hospital at the end of her shift. She loves it there. Maybe she needs her freedom. Maybe she wants to marry and have kids, it’s not too late.” Melissa looked shocked at the idea.

“It’s taken me eighteen years to get used to the idea of her being a nun. Now she wants to quit.”

“Mel, there are chapters in our lives. I’ve had them, you too. My marriage was right when I did it, and so wrong nine years later, or even five. It ended for you with Carson. You had a huge success as a writer, now you’re done. Maybe she’s just tired of being a nun.”

“You’re not supposed to get tired of that,” she said, and he smiled.

“She’s human. People change. Maybe she’s outgrown it. She seems to have had some kind of crisis of faith. She should have the right to leave if she wants to.”

“I agree with the mother superior. She should take a year to think about it.”

“Maybe she will. But your worrying won’t change anything. She’s a smart woman. Trust her to make the right decision for herself.”

“I never thought so before because I don’t like nuns. But I think the convent suits her. She was happy there before.” Mel was being stubborn about it. She was frightened for her sister if she stepped out into the world.

“I was happy with my wife when I married her. We would have killed each other if we’d stayed married.” She knew that what he said was true, but she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted Hattie to stay in the little pigeonhole where she’d been for nearly twenty years, not fly off the branch into open skies. It was too risky.

When she said it to Norm, he shook his head. “Maybe she wants a little risk in her life. Not a lot, but just enough to feel she has a voice in her own fate. Let’s see what she does before you panic.”

“Maybe it’s a good thing I never had to deal with my kids growing up. The stress of it would have killed me.”

“Just remember, your sister isn’t a teenager. She’s forty-three years old, six years younger than you are.”

“She’s never had to fend for herself. And as soon as she did, she ran straight into the convent to hide. That tells you something.”

“All it tells me is that she was severely injured when she got raped, and did the only thing she could think of. She’s grown up.”

“Africa is not safe, even as a nun.”

“It’s what she loves.”

“She’s running away again.”

“Maybe she is. She has the right to. You hid here for four years, before you opened the door and took a chance on life again. We all have to do it our own way.”

“What makes you so wise?” she said, and kissed him with a sigh.

“I’m older than you are,” he reminded her wryly.

“Five months.”

“I guess it makes a difference. Why don’t you let your sister figure this out for herself. She may decide to stay in the convent in the end.”

“I hope so,” Melissa said fervently.

—

Hattie spent the days after her meeting with Mother Elizabeth researching organizations that ran hospitals, orphanages, and refugee encampments in Africa where there were children, and where they needed medical assistance and hired nurses. The best ones she found were run by the Catholic Church or the United Nations. She had been stationed in two of the Church-run ones during her two years there. But there was a refugee camp for orphans run by the UN that caught her attention. What she read about it said that many of the children arrived at the camp in such dire condition that they died. It sounded like a hardship post, and was in the bush. Most of the children were orphaned as a result of tribal wars. The young girls were frequently taken as sex slaves by their captors, even as young as ten if they were mature. AIDS was rampant, cholera, typhoid, starvation. There were several photographs of the camp online, and she stared at them with tears in her eyes. She knew those faces, and had seen so many children like them. There was little one could do, but if you managed to save one life, or even a few, it was a victory for the human race. Looking at them, she knew she didn’t need children of her own. Working with children in such desperate need was enough for her. This was her vocation. She had known it when she was in Africa. She had hated to leave, and longed to go back ever since.

She called the phone number on the website and got caught in the cyber tangle of voicemails, pressing buttons until she reached a human voice. She managed to get an appointment for later in the week, and the next day got permission to leave work early on the appointed day.

Her whole body felt electrified when she walked into the UN office. There was an African woman at a desk, a tall young man with a Swedish accent, and another man who was older and French. Her appointment was with the woman, and they walked into a glass cubicle, where she questioned Hattie intensely about what she’d done in Africa previously, and her motives to return and for wanting the job. She had brought copies of her nursing certificates with her. And she leveled with her.

“I’m a nun. I have been for almost nineteen years. I am planning to ask to be released from my vows in the near future. It’s my choice. I’m not being asked to leave. And I want to go back to Africa to do the kind of work I did there. Your camps for orphans offer what I’d like to do. I’d prefer to work with children. I love the work.” Her eyes lit up as she said it, and the woman smiled. She had a face like a tribal sculpture, and was beautiful in her native dress.

“We all love it. That’s why we do it.”

“I finally realized that I don’t have to stay in the convent to do this kind of work. I can do it as a layperson.” She put her CV down in front of her. “I can supply references from my order and the bishop, and the people I worked with in Kenya.” The UN worker nodded, and took her seriously.

“Languages?”

“Enough French to get by and conduct an examination. I learned some words in local dialects. We had translators when we needed them.”

“So do we. They might need you more in the hospital, as a surgical nurse. We don’t get enough trained people from the United States.” And her credentials were good.

She brought a man in then. The three of them spoke for a few minutes. He said he was Dutch. He had grown up in Zimbabwe and was in New York on a special project for three months, and then he was going back.