Missing Sisters -SA Read Online Free Page A

thick as to look an inch deep in water, Alice stood on her upside downness. If Sister Vincent de Paul was out there languishing, she would by Christ (a prayer, not a swear) bring her home through her own good works and elevation of spirit.

    “Alice, you’re dawdling,” observed Sister John Boss from across the brown lake of the front hall. Alice leaped over to the stairs, stepping adroitly on her reflection’s soles.

    This was Saturday, when the daily rules were somewhat loosened. Things were meant to be fun. And often they were. Today, for instance, some of the girls were going to practice their parts for a student production of the musical comedy My Fair Lady .

    The story was a delicious one. (The whole school had gone to see the movie, which they loved because for once it wasn’t a Bible movie.) It was about a poor, young flower girl, Eliza Doolittle, who couldn’t speak well to save her life. She sang pretty well, though, and a man who taught speaking lessons met her. He sort of fell in love with her, although the student production wasn’t emphasizing that part very much. He taught her to speak like a queen, however, and then she got to wear fancy clothes and go to parties. She was beautiful, like the Ugly Duckling all grown up. The girls of Sacred Heart were doing the female roles, and the boys of Saint Mary’s across the river in Albany were learning the male roles.

    Alice, to everyone’s surprise, including her own, had been chosen to play Eliza Doolittle.
    Alice’s speech problems gave her a convincing advantage in the part. But because it was such a long show, Alice only played Eliza up till Eliza learned to speak clearly. Then Naomi Matthews played perfect-tongued Eliza through the end of the play.

    Sister Isaac Jogues was waiting in the rec room. The wreck room. The other girls were annoyed and showing it when Alice arrived, late. She hadn’t known they’d all be there. She had hoped this would be a strictly solo rehearsal. “Sorry,” she panted.

    “Not sow-oww-wee, Alice,” said Sister Ike.

    “Not celery, Alice,” said Rebecca Luke.

    “Can it, Rebecca, or I’ll can you,” said Sister Ike. Rebecca made a face and popped her gum defiantly. Gum was allowed in the wreck room, but it still seemed disobedient and fun to flaunt it, especially when a nun was there.

    Rebecca Luke, Sarah Corinth, and Naomi the-queen-of-the-hive Matthews. Alice had looked forward to being alone with Sister Ike and maybe pumping her about Sister Vincent de Paul. But the wreck room was now a zoo for prima donnas. They made Alice sick. Only after a minute did she notice little Ruth Peters, thumb jammed in her gooey mouth as usual, lying on the battered sofa and kicking at the pillows. Alice’s self-pity lightened up. Tough it out, she told herself. Kick out like Ruth. You can learn something from a four-year-old.

    “All right, this’ll be noisy but I don’t know how else to manage it.” Sister Ike took over.
    “Naomi, put the record on low. Practice that ‘I Could Have Danced All Night’ section, where the chorus parts come in. It’s notes you’re after, not volume. Can you do that?”

    “Alice can’t hear; she won’t be bothered,” said Naomi. “We can be loud.”

    “I can too hear,” said Alice.

    “Oh, sow-oww-wee, forgive me.” Naomi flounced away. Her star role was definitely going to her head. “Come on, Sarah and Rebecca. Let’s do this right.” The three intergalactic comets flowed away to the other side of the room. Alice noticed she and Sister Ike were suddenly in the empty half of the room.

    “Now Alice, your part is just as important. I hope you understand this,” said Sister Ike.
    She thumped out a C major chord to bring Alice in. “The show won’t work unless your character works. We’re all very pleased you are taking part. It shows real team spirit. And this is such a nice show.”

    Across the room the record revolved steadily, thirty-three revolutions per minute.