June 9, 1985, morning
It was completely, totally unfair that he still had to go to Sunday school with all the freakin' ankle-biters. But those were the rules – he had to attend Sunday school until he either turned fifteen and could move into the men's quarters and start spending his weekends looking for a job or until he had memorized each and every one of the fables they spent their time studying. Since there were nearly a thousand of the freakin' things in the book they used, each of which were at least five or six pages long, Caleb doubted that the second option would be open to him. In fact, during the – freakin' hell, has it been that long already? – nine years he'd been wasting his Sunday mornings in the crowded Sunday school classroom, only one person had managed the feat. The girl had been twelve or thirteen and had already decided to become a nun when she grew up, but that had been back in '79, and no one else had even attempted the memorization before or since. Caleb doubted that he'd see it happen again before he could finally cease with the whole wasting-away-half-the-weekend thing.
Not that he'd be doing much else, mind. But if he decided to waste his Sunday mornings after moving to the men's hall by sleeping instead of attending mass, then that would be his choice.
He let out a jaw-cracking yawn and wished for the umpteenth time that 'kids' were allowed coffee with their breakfasts. As it stood, he used the pocket money he received from doing odd jobs around the Home, church, and rectory to buy a morning cup of joe at the McDonalds on his way to school every morning. Saturdays didn't much matter, as he could sleep as late as he wished.
The industrial-looking clock that hung over the door ticked loudly over the sound of fifty-eight children too cowed by Sister Margaret's ruler to even think about being noisy while they waited for the sister to show up for the day's lesson. Caleb had discovered shortly after his arrival at the Home that when it was quiet enough, he could hear himself blink. It was in these absolutely silent and still minutes before Sister Margaret's appearance that he further learned that it was possible to hear others blink.
When the clock showed the hour at two minutes to eight, the entire class collectively made an effort to even breathe quietly. Thirty seconds passed and questioning looks began to be traded among the long-timers (lifers, Caleb thought). The clock clicked over to one minute remaining until eight o'clock, and everyone seemed to hold their breath, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps.
When eight-oh-one came and went with still no sign of the nun, the confusion trickled down through the younger kids and the short-timers. Sister Margaret defined punctuality. Where talking out of turn earned a swat on the knuckles with her ever-present ruler, and profanity yielded a month's worth of Saturdays beginning with a lecture on clean language followed by a long day of menial labor, tardiness produced the sternest possible punishment – a full week of lockdown (the kids' term, Sister Margaret simply called it 'grounding') where the perpetrator wasn't allowed outside his or her room for a full seven days, not even to go to school. It was a sure way to make sure that none of the kids overslept on Sunday. Just to make sure, Caleb had four different alarm clocks in his and Heck's room – one that plugged in, two that ran on batteries, and a wind-up one that sounded like the old telephone he could barely remember from the apartment where he and his dad had lived…before.
At eight-oh-three, Sandra Colfax (already fifteen, but volunteering to help out with the littlest children, of which there were nine, all between three and five), leaned over to where Caleb and Heck were sitting. "Should we go get someone? Maybe the sister is ill?"
Heck shrugged and looked to Caleb for direction.
Caleb shrugged and had to force himself not to smirk at the reactions of the other kids to Sandra's whisper. They look like Sis Maggie is just gonna jump outta the closet at the least li'l noise! "Let's give her a few minutes. Heard-tell that college kids wait five 'fore leavin' if the prof don't show. They call it the 'five-minute rule'."
Sandra started to open her mouth to reply when the sound of footsteps finally filtered in from the hallway outside the classroom. As one, the entire class took a quick, deep breath and let it out. Most of the ones old enough to ponder such things wondered just what sort of punishment the nun would inflict on herself – after all, she hated hypocrisy almost as much as tardiness or profanity.
Fifty-eight pairs of eyes blinked when the nun appeared. It wasn't Sister Margaret.
Sister Ann greeted the group with a cheerful, "Good morning, class! Sister Margaret is feeling a little under the weather today, so I'll be filling in for her."
Normally, of all the assorted religious-type folk who came and went around the Home, Caleb got along the best with Sister Ann. She had a bright and sunny personality, and though she had made a life of her faith, she understood that not everyone did or even could believe in the same god as she did – in short, she didn't preach. She also tended to turn a mostly-blind eye to the kids caught out-of-bounds, as long as they weren't hurting anyone or anything (especially themselves). But something about her that morning set Caleb's teeth on edge.
He pushed it aside.
"Today," she continued, not noticing Caleb's unease, "we'll be doing things a little differently. I know that Sister Margaret usually reads you your lesson and then she discusses it with the older kids while her helper – this year, I see it's Sandra – works with the younger children on some sort of artistic project relevant to the story." She beckoned to Sandra, "Come here, child." When Sandra reached the front of the class, Sister Ann smiled at her. The expression, normally just a part and parcel of Sister Ann's whole demeanor, sent a tingle of gooseflesh down Caleb's spine. "Why don't you take the littles out to the playground for the morning? Pick two of the older girls to help you keep an eye on them. It's far too beautiful a morning to keep them inside."
Sandra returned Sister Ann's smile and looked up at the hopeful faces of twenty girls ranging in age from six to thirteen. "Stacy and Rebecca, how about you two give me a hand?"
Makes sense, Caleb thought, they're the next oldest after Sandy.
While the three girls gathered up the smallest members of the class and herded them out, Sister Ann spoke again, "While they're collecting themselves, I want the rest of you to number off by sixes. Benjamin, why don't you start?"
One by one, the remaining forty-six students dutifully counted off by sixes. "Okay, before we go any further, if your number was 'four', please raise your hand." Nine hands raised, counting Heck's. "Julie," Sister Ann addressed the just-turned six year-old, "why don't you head on out and join those on the playground?"
Then it was the 'threes' turn to identify themselves. The spare 'three' was given a list of books to receive from the Home's library. The additional 'two' was sent out with Julie. And Caleb found himself being the additional 'one'. Sister Ann gave him a list like the one she had sent with the 'three', only it looked to be a shopping list. "Please pick up these things from Drogan's down on fifteenth, Caleb. Let the cashier know to put it all on St. Theresa's tab. If you need bus fare, stop by and speak with Carson in the office."
Knowing that Sister Ann's claim of it being too beautiful a day to spend inside was completely true, Caleb shrugged after scanning down the list. "Naw, sister, ain't a problem. I'll walk it." And get me some coffee while I'm out, he added, unsaid.
As he left the classroom behind, his footsteps echoed down the long hallway, bordered by more classrooms on either side (dating from when the Home had originally been a parochial boarding school – but the church that ran the place had neither the personnel nor the money to hire teachers enough to justify continuing in that vein) and heard Sister Ann asking the 'ones' to wait for her in the former art room at the end of the hall.
Though he'd tried to bury his unease, he couldn't help but think that something was wrong.