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.Then she clawed her right hand across the face, leaving three red scratch marks on her cheek.Argyle Hobbs’ jaw dropped.Then in a quiet voice she said, “Oh, Father Carroll! Should we call the police on him? I think perhaps we should.I don’t know what possessed him to come after me like that.He has a wife at home.Perhaps he’s just a sexual fiend.”Argyle Hobbs lowered his eyes to his shoes.Sister Ignatius continued, now in her normal voice: “I think I’ve made my point, Mr.Hobbs.I’ve always liked you, Argyle, ever since I was a little girl, and I want us to remain friends.In fact, I believe that from now on we’re going to be very close friends, aren’t we?”“Yeah,” he said halfheartedly.“Thick as thieves, we a’e and always will be.”“Never forget what I taught you, Ellen.A woman’s body is for her to do with as she sees fit.It is up to no man to make that decision for her! You’ll understand what I mean after I’m gone.”Ellen left the orphanage at eighteen and entered the convent of St.Catherine’s, down in Braintree, where she served until coming to St.Andrew’s.Although not as aloof as she was at Exeter Orphanage, needing allies in such a politically driven field as the Church, Ellen still enjoyed the comfort of sleeping alone in her own bed and having a cell all to herself.It was a place of complete and absolute privacy, a place to do her praying, to read her Bible, to sniff her glue, and to contemplate the wonders of Christ.Ellen F.became Sister Mary Ignatius through her own volition: “Mary” in reverence to the Blessed Mother, and “Ignatius” after St.Ignatius of Loyola because of an inscription she had found on the statue given to her by Nurse Ross—“FROM THE SOCIETY OF ST.IGNATIUS LOYOLA—BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS.” And so it was that Sister Mary Ignatius was born.She felt privileged to have such a special name that honored the two most important women in her life.Ellen F.was now dead.No longer a lowly orphan, Sister Ignatius was now the head nun in a church that consisted of only one nun, but to Sister Ignatius that made her role even more important.Among other things, such as her belief that she had been commanded by God to continue the pious life of Nurse Ross, she held the conviction that she had been commissioned to feminize the male-dominated ethos of Holly Hill.Henceforth she would be known to all as “Sister Mary Ignatius of the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd.” This order of cloistered nuns existed in Manchester, and she liked the name so much that she took it for her complete title, without the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd even knowing who she was.She even forged her own certificate stating she’d been cloistered there before presenting it to the Bishop of Manchester and receiving her assignment to St.Andrew’s.It was almost laughable how easy it was to get such a position.There was no phone call checking up on her credentials.She merely showed up with her bogus references in hand, and within an hour she was on her way to Holly.Perhaps it was the strange circumstances of St.Andrew’s that led the Bishop to dispense with the protocol of how clergy were commissioned.Sister Mary Ignatius of the Sisters of the Humble Shepherd was young, inexperienced, and very eager to serve God.Sister Ignatius was firm on the phone, just as she was direct.“Your husband’s grandfather has just died, Mrs.Benson.It would have been his wish that he and your husband be buried together.The burial will be at no cost to you, since there is a small family plot on the Benson land just behind the residence.Not that you need worry about financial matters anyway, Mrs.Benson.”If this had been anyone else besides Sister Ignatius speaking to the young widow, he or she would have stopped immediately, yet for Sister Ignatius this was subtlety at its subtlest.“I also think that this is a wonderful opportunity for you to survey the house.After all, it’s been left to you and your daughter.Ben Benson had no other living relatives.”All the nun could hear was weeping on the line.“Mrs.Benson,” she continued, “if you’re going to sit there and sob, at least give me your answer so that I can put down this telephone.This is a very expensive call.”There was a pause before the woman replied, “We’ll be there tomorrow morning.”Father Poole and Sister Ignatius greeted the young woman and her child, two-year-old Jessica, at Holly’s train station the next morning at 10:06 a.m.Although this was by no means a happy occasion, Father Poole couldn’t help but greet the little girl with enthusiasm.“Why hello there!” gushed the priest.“My, what a pretty dress that is! Oh, a lollipop! Can I have some? Grape! That’s my favorite flavor!”Sister Ignatius, having neither the patience nor the stomach for any of this, interrupted.“This way to the car, Mrs.Benson.”Georgiana Benson, as pretty a young woman as she had been, now looked older, just as Sister Ignatius looked fifteen years older than her actual age of thirty-seven.Georgiana had been crying persistently since her husband had shot himself several days earlier.She had neither slept nor wanted any company.The wooden coffin carrying Johnny Benson’s body was taken out of the train as Father Poole, Sister Ignatius, Johnny’s widow, and baby Jessica made their way to the automobile that would take them to the foot of Holly Hill.“The house isn’t far, Mrs.Benson,” Sister Ignatius assured her.“We’ll be up there soon so you can unpack.As we go up the hill, if you look back, you’ll be able to see the town cemetery.You might want to consider having the burial there.The location is ideal.You still have time to decide, since the service isn’t until tomorrow morning, so you and the baby will have plenty of time to….”Father Poole coughed loudly, startling Sister Ignatius a little.“I think we’ll have time to discuss all this later, once Mrs.Benson and Jessica get settled in.After all, it’s been a rough few days for them.”Sister Ignatius scowled.She snatched the suitcase from Georgiana’s hand and said briskly, “Here, let me help you with this, dear.It must be heavy.”“Thank you,” Georgiana said blandly.“Not at all, my dear,” Sister Ignatius replied quickly.“You have enough to handle with the child.I’ll meet you at the car.” Then she marched ahead at double the pace of the two adults and one child she had left behind.The group was brought to the foot of the hill by Patrick Flynn, a Sunday regular at St.Andrew’s and a good friend of Father Poole.The priest had asked around his congregation for a ride to the train station to pick up the Benson widow.Patty Flynn was happy to oblige.“As sure as shamrocks are green, Father Poole, I’ll be glad to help ya whenever the need should arise.”In his late thirties, Patrick Flynn was around the same age as Father Poole.A hard worker who’d come over from Ireland eleven years back, he was still single and lived with his sister
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