When You Wish upon a Rat (17 page)

Ruth was intrigued.
Thank you, Rodney. You've pulled it off this time!

Suddenly, she felt a sharp dig in her ribs. She turned to the girl next to her, stunned to be pulled so rudely out of her reverie.

“Move!” the girl hissed.

Ruth saw that the girls to the left of her had started to file out into the middle aisle and that by standing still she was holding up the line. The singing was still going on, but whatever had been happening up at that front table seemed to be over. Ruth got up and awkwardly turned to follow the girls as they made their way out. But when each girl reached the aisle she stopped to do a kind of curtsey before turning around and heading toward the back of the church. Ruth panicked momentarily. She had never curtseyed before. Should she try? Well, of course she had to. Out in the aisle she hesitated.
Which leg should she use?
But she stalled a moment too long. The girl behind sighed impatiently and Ruth lost her nerve. She made the mistake of trying to copy the girl who had come out from the row opposite. In the process she lost her balance, toppled over onto the patterned tiles, and hit her head against one of the pew ends. When she looked up, a sea of strange faces was staring down at her, waiting for her to get up.

“You all right?” The girl behind bent to grab Ruth's elbow and help her up, but Ruth could hear the mocking tone in her voice and pulled away. She scrambled to her feet; the sharp pain on the side of her head as she followed the row of girls out made everything around her suddenly seem very real. So much for the music! She wasn't hearing anything now. She could hardly even
think. The gasps and titters from the other girls made her feel as if her head were filled with mush. She stumbled toward the back doors trying not to look as stupid as she felt.

Outside, it was bleak and windy. Clouds hung low and heavy in the sky. Ruth huddled down into her blazer, watching shyly as girls broke up from their rows into small groups as soon as they left the church. A few looked her over curiously before heading off either on their own or with friends.

The girls were around her age, although some were a little older, but there was no squealing or boisterous chatter, no calling out or
omigod
-ing. Not one girl was searching frantically for her cell phone, as far as Ruth could make out. She could hear the nuns still singing in the church and wished she were back there with them, more or less invisible and listening to that lovely music.

As the crowds of girls moved off quietly down a paved path toward a group of three-story sandstone buildings, Ruth followed. On either side of the path there were flower gardens, and along the high granite wall surrounding them, some big old trees. It didn't really correspond with Ruth's notion of a school, and yet all the girls were in uniform, so that was what it had to be. When she passed a group of older girls—all about thirteen or fourteen—the tittering and laughter became louder and she turned around. Mortified, she realized that they were laughing at her.

The girl who had been sitting next to her in church caught Ruth's eye. “New girl, are we?”

A collection of friends almost magically formed around the girl, and they moved to surround Ruth, all of them taller and older. “So what is your name?”

“Ruth.”

“And are you a pauper or an orphan or … a miscreant?” the girl sneered. “Or all three?”

“I'm not sure.”

“She's not sure!” the girl repeated. “Well, little Miss Goody Two-Shoes, have you got a mummy and a daddy? Or is Mummy a fast girl who likes sailors?”

Ruth had no idea what this meant, but the other girls seemed to. They held their hands over their mouths to hold back the sniggers.

“Is Daddy a sailor, sweetie?” The girl leaned over, lifted up Ruth's thick braid, and dropped it contemptuously. “Are you a little
accident?
”

“Girls!”

Ruth's tormenters immediately fell away.

The voice was not loud, but it had the tone of absolute authority. A tall nun had appeared seemingly from nowhere. She held up one hand to stop the tide of girls flowing down the path toward her. Everyone was immediately still and very quiet. Thick beads hung around the nun's waist, and a wooden cross
was tucked into her leather belt. They rattled a little whenever she made the slightest movement.

There were perhaps fifty or sixty girls standing motionless now, waiting, faces expressionless. The nun clasped her hands slowly in front of her chest and peered over the heads of those girls at the front.

“And what is the rule about how we walk from Mass into breakfast?” she asked in a voice that was hardly more than a whisper.

Ruth's stomach churned. The woman had not even raised her voice and yet almost
because of this
she was way scarier than anyone shouting. Beyond the walls a car horn sounded, then two twittering birds swooped past. Someone called out a name. But in spite of these normal noises, the outside world seemed far away.

“Perhaps you can answer that question, Marcia?” The nun looked straight at the girl who'd been teasing Ruth.

“We should walk silently from Mass into breakfast, Sister,” Marcia said.

“And why is that?”

“So that we might ponder the mystery that we have just witnessed, Sister,” the girl replied without hesitation.

What?
Ruth was intrigued in spite of her fear. What mystery did they just witness? Oh, if only she knew more!

“And what mystery is that, dear?”

“The mystery of Our Lord's sacrifice as commemorated in the Holy Mass, Sister.”

Our Lord's sacrifice?
What did that mean?

“And what were you doing, Marcia?” The nun's voice was getting lower and more threatening with each question. Her slimness and her height and her face—the long, perfectly shaped nose, arched eyebrows, high cheekbones, and full mouth—reminded Ruth of a fashion model but also—Ruth shuddered—of
a snake.
On a nature program, she'd once seen a snake silently raising its head, getting ready to strike a mouse. This frightening extraterrestrial being draped in black fabric with white starchy cardboard around her face was as beautiful and deadly as a snake.

“I was talking, Sister.”

“You were talking.” The nun breathed the words slowly and momentously, raising her chin, her blue eyes narrowing as she continued to stare at Marcia. “And you were laughing.” She was almost inaudible now. “So tell me, Marcia,
why
were you talking and laughing, dear?”

“Sister, I was trying to make the new girl feel welcome, Sister.”

Liar!
Ruth wanted to shout. But there was a slight murmur of excitement among the crowd of girls. Marcia's tone was appropriately subservient, but it was obviously audacious of her to give any excuse at all.

“Were you, now?” The nun's eyes were like slits of blue porcelain, cold and hard.

“Yes, Sister.”

“We'll talk about that further during recreation this afternoon,” the nun said softly. “Be waiting outside my office at three thirty sharp.”

“Yes, Sister,” Marcia said.

“And bring a pen and exercise book.”

“Yes, Sister.”

So the nun didn't believe that girl!
Ruth thought victoriously. But before she could get too pleased, the nun turned around slowly and fixed that blue stare on her.
Oh no.
Now the other girls were turning too, and Ruth wished the ground would open and swallow her. She had never been so frightened of anyone. Her knees were shaking. She suddenly knew what it was like to be that mouse, struck rigid with terror as the snake readied itself for the kill. The nun appraised her coolly for a few moments, from head to toe, as though she might be some kind of irksome insect.

“What is your name, child?”

“Ruth.”

“I
beg
your pardon!” A flush of pink hit those high cheekbones.

Utterly confused, Ruth wondered what she had done wrong. She bit her lip and looked around for a clue as her own face began to burn and her legs got even wobblier. Perhaps the nun
had been talking to someone else? But no, everyone was looking at her now, including the nun. They were all waiting, but …
for what?
What had Ruth done wrong? She had no idea.

“Sister,” a voice behind her whispered. “Say
Sister.
”

Ruth didn't dare turn around to see who had spoken.

“My name is Ruth,” she said in a small voice. “Sister,” she added quietly.

“Let us start that from the beginning, shall we?” The nun flashed a cold smile for the benefit of the crowd, and the girls around tittered appreciatively. “What is your name?”

“Ruth, Sister.” Ruth was close to tears. She almost never cried, yet here she was with that clamped feeling in her throat and a terrible prickling behind her eyes only half an hour into her new life.

“Well, Ruth, you do have a lot to learn.” The nun's voice remained dangerously low. “You are clumsy and ill-mannered. I can only hope you are not completely ignorant as well. This being your first day, I will overlook your transgressions … but remember, we have little patience here for insolence or sloth or uncouth behavior of any kind.”

Ruth nodded mutely, a wave of blessed relief spreading through her.
She was forgiven.
She smiled tentatively at the terrifying creature in front of her to show how relieved and pleased and grateful she was to have been let off the hook. But something wasn't right. The nun was still staring at her …
waiting.
What now?
Ruth looked around wildly. What was she meant to do now? Then she heard the soft voice behind her again.

“Say
Yes, Sister
and then
Sorry, Sister
and then
Thank you, Sister.
”

“Yes, Sister. Sorry, Sister,” Ruth said breathlessly. “And thank you, Sister.”

The nun gave the barest of nods and stalked off.

Everyone else followed silently.

Feeling as though she had only just avoided an execution, Ruth joined them. She was too scared now to look around, but she followed the crowd. Ruth Craze was known for her good manners. Teachers and other parents always commented on her politeness. And she was nimble and quick, not usually clumsy.
So what had happened?

“Don't worry,” said a voice at her side. “They're not all that bad.”

Ruth turned to see a girl not much older than herself with dark, curly hair and blue eyes smiling at her. This must be the whispering savior. Ruth wanted to hug her.

“Really?”

“Oh yes. That was Sister Winifred. Wild Winnie the Wicked Witch.” The girl laughed under her breath. “Or just
Winnie
for short. She's batty, as you probably gathered, but not so bad when you get to know her. I'm Bridie, by the way.”

“I'm Ruth,” Ruth whispered back.

“I know.” Bridie giggled. “You told us.”

“So are there nice ones?”

“Nuns, you mean?”

Ruth nodded.

“Yes, of course. They're not all fearsome. Come and I'll show you where to go next.”

They turned a corner and continued after the other girls along a paved path toward the old sandstone buildings.

It's a jail,
Ruth thought angrily. The great stone wall surrounding the buildings and the garden was so high that it had to be.
What did Rodney think he was doing?

“What happens now?”

“Breakfast,” Bridie said. “Then chores and then school.”

“Chores?”

“I take it you're not a
lady
boarder?” Bridie looked Ruth over and grinned. “Sorry, but your uniform tells me that.”

Ruth looked down at herself and realized for the first time that her uniform, although quite clean, was secondhand. The cuffs of the blazer were worn and there were some old stains on the tunic; her shoes were worn too.

“You're like me,” Bridie explained. “We have to do work for our keep—just cleaning floors, washing dishes, and stuff like that. Nothing too drastic.”

“Do we go to school too?” Ruth asked anxiously. She had a
sudden vision of herself down on her knees polishing floors all day.

“School? Oh, yes.” Bridie looked uncomfortable. “Of course we do. Unfortunately.”

They were now walking along an unlit stone corridor with a very high ceiling. Every now and again there were big plaster statues set on wooden pillars. One was of a woman with her arms outstretched and a blue veil over her head. Another was of a man with long hair. He also had his arms stretched out and he was dressed in a red robe. The weird thing about him was that he had his heart on the
outside
of his body, even though he was standing up and looked as if he was meant to be alive. Then there was another man in a brown robe holding a staff and a little child in one arm. This one had a halo of flowers on his head.

“Who are these people meant to be?” Ruth asked her new friend, slowing down so she could have a better look.

Bridie laughed. “You've got a lot to learn, haven't you? That one is the Sacred Heart. You must know him. That one is Our Lady of Fatima. That is Saint Anthony.” She grinned at Ruth's puzzled expression. “You obviously didn't grow up with the One True Faith?”

“Er … no,” Ruth said, “I guess I didn't.”

“Don't worry, there are a few others like you.” Bridie smiled. “It doesn't take long. Just a few months—then you can be baptized and you won't go to hell if you die.”

“Hell?”

“Eternal damnation for anyone not baptized into the One True Faith. Which means being chucked into a fire forever. So best to learn quickly and get it done.”

Ruth tried to imagine being tossed into a fire.
Forever.
“I think I was christened,” she said in a small voice, hoping it was true. She could distinctly remember Auntie Faye telling them that Paul should be christened, but couldn't remember if he ever was. Neither of her parents was very interested in religion.