“The fire?” Scarlett asked, for the other tragedies Camden had spoken of had happened long before that, and not necessarily on the house’s property, but in the forest beyond. That canyon of death. The dark place. “Yes. I did. A lightning strike? Is that right?”
Sister Madge nodded sadly. “There was a terrible storm that night that came on very suddenly. The staff and students of Lilith House were in the chapel enjoying a service when a bolt of lightning struck the building.” She shook her head, appearing as though she was barely holding back tears. “Of course, I’ve imagined so many times what it must have been like for them as the chapel filled with smoke, the old wood igniting too quickly for anyone to escape. It’s almost too terrible to comprehend.”
A lump had filled Scarlett’s throat. “Yes,” she managed. She knew Kandace had run away from Lilith House a week before the fire—she’d learned about it from Kandace’s mother when she’d attempted to get in touch with her friend—and though no one knew what had become of her, whether she’d decided to begin a new life where she could leave her problems and responsibilities behind, or whether some form of trouble had found her, Scarlett had to feel relieved that Kandace hadn’t been there that night to burn to death as chaos and screams filled the acrid air around her. She was too vibrant, too full of life to have died like that. Trapped. Crushed.
It’d been years before Scarlett had stopped hoping Kandi would appear back in her life, full of stories about all the adventures she’d been on during those missing years. Grown up, matured, another “aunt” to richen her daughter’s life.
She offered Sister Madge a weak smile. “I like to think Lilith House and I are alike,” she said. “We both need a second chance. Perhaps we can provide that for each other.”
Sister Madge tilted her head, a small smile lighting her thin lips as she studied Scarlett. “What a nice sentiment, dear.” She leaned forward slightly. “Now, what can I do to help you get more settled in our community?”
A muffled crash came from the back of the house and Scarlett frowned, her gaze shifting to the short hallway where she could see three closed doors.
“Cleo,” Sister Madge said. “My cat. I live here as well, if Ruth didn’t mention that,” she explained. “Just enough room for the two of us.” Her smile grew. A cat? What had it done? Knocked over a piece of furniture?
“Ah,” Scarlett said. “Um . . .” She worked to pick up the string of the conversation again. What can I do to help, the nun had asked. “I’m actually looking for someone with childcare experience. There will be a lot of work taking place at Lilith House over the next year, and I’m going to need someone to look after my daughter on an as-needed basis until school begins. I was hoping you might be able to suggest someone? It’d be nice if the person could come to the house sometimes, but I’m also happy to drop Haddie off on the days I know I’ll be overseeing the renovations for a good part of the day.”
“Yes, of course, and I think I have the perfect candidate in mind. Amelia Schmidt helps out in our childcare center and she’s just the loveliest girl, and wonderful with young people. Many of our parishioners use her for babysitting, but with it being summer now, I’m sure she’d relish more work. She doesn’t drive just yet, but if you’re willing to drop Haddie off, like you said, or pick Amelia up, it could work out just fine. Here.” She pulled a pen and pad forward and jotted something down on it, handing it across to Scarlett. “Here’s her number. Her father died a few years ago, God rest his soul.” She closed her eyes and made the sign of the cross. And when she opened them, she waved over to a photograph on the wall of a group of men, all in white suits, standing stoically for the camera. “He was a member of the Religious Guild here in town.” She sighed heavily. “But anyway, Amelia’s mother is a true pillar of the community herself.”
“The Religious Guild?”
“Oh, yes. It was formed right after the town was founded. The sons of Farrow have held the moral line for centuries.”
The moral line? What line was that? And why did they get to decide where any particular moral boundary began and ended, simply because of their bloodline? No one man was more righteous than another by virtue of his birth. That sort of belief system was rife for all sorts of corruption.
Scarlett’s gaze moved from the photo of the group of men to the one next to it. It looked like a Biblical rendering of a man standing while a woman, mostly naked lay at his feet, reaching for him beseechingly. “The Fallen Woman,” Sister Madge sighed. “Of course, there have been many famous ones throughout history. I like this depiction, because she’s seeking atonement by reaching for the blessing of a righteous man.” She lowered her voice as though sharing a secret. “So many do not, you know. Atone.”