A Nun’s Fight for Justice (Preview)

Chapter One

“Was that thunder or a gun?”

The question hung in the air, and none of the nuns seemed willing to answer.

Clara Whitmore held her breath, trying to decide what the rumble had been. She didn’t have long to make her decision—she had to get moving. Deep down, she was certain she knew the answer.

“Hide,” she announced to the other two women.

“What do you think—” Beatrice, one of the other nuns, started to speak when Clara held her hand up to demand silence.

“It sounds like a gun to me,” she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion. “And you both need to hide yourselves. Go to the children, keep them safe.”

“What makes you think it’s a gun?” Beatrice demanded.

“Trust me, I know,” Clara said over her shoulder.

She was already heading toward the west wing, where the girls between the ages of five and ten slept. Her heart thudded in her chest, resounding in her ears as she ran. Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallway, only adding to the ominous soundtrack that punctuated the late night.

A storm had been brewing earlier that evening. She’d seen the dark clouds gathering on the horizon, and she’d even gone to the extent of reading the children two bedtime stories to ensure they fell asleep before the storm really set in.

However, she also knew the sound of thunder compared to the sound of gunfire, and what they’d heard certainly sounded like the latter.

She wished her footsteps weren’t so loud, as it felt like she was just beckoning the intruder to find her. At the same time, it would be better for everyone if the intruder stayed as far from the children as possible.

With that in mind, Clara slowed a bit. However, she didn’t stop.

She was nearing the end of the hall, and as she turned, her feet slid out from under her. The shoes that were given to the nuns were thin and had little sole left. They were often donated by the good people of Crooked Cross, and most of the time they had been worn nearly through before they made it to the donation box.

Clara, like the rest of the nuns, was taught to be grateful for the things that were given to them and not complain, so she never said anything about the state of the shoes. Overall, the weather in New Mexico didn’t require better footwear than what those shoes provided.

She also didn’t spend a lot of time running, and she hadn’t taken into account that the shoes might not have the best traction on the wooden floors. Her feet flew out from under her, and though she tried to catch herself on the wall, she wasn’t able to stop herself from landing on her side in the hallway.

“Sister Whitmore, are you okay?”

The small voice came from the other end of the hall. The children must have woken in the chaos. Her heart leapt to her throat. She didn’t know what the intruder wanted, despite having her suspicions, and she didn’t want to alarm the girls any more than they already were.

“Yes, yes,” she said quickly. She gathered herself as she rose to her feet, brushing herself off as she walked briskly toward the large room.

Beds lined the walls, sheltering as many as twenty girls at a time. There were only thirteen girls in that age group in the orphanage now, but they were all awake. Clara wasn’t surprised by how nervous they had been over the impending storm. It was likely they were all sleeping lighter than usual, so the sounds coming from the front of the orphanage had likely woken them.

“What’s going on?” one of the girls asked as Clara stepped into the room.

“I’m not sure what it is right now,” Clara said in the most cheerful voice she could muster. “So I need you to all listen to me, alright?”

The light from the hallway illuminated the children’s faces enough that she could see them. Though they all appeared terrified, they still nodded at her request.

“I want you to all get under your beds and hide,” she said. “No matter what you hear going on outside the room, you stay in here and stay under your beds. Once it’s alright, I’ll come back and tell you.”

“Is it going to take very long?” another voice asked in the dark.

“I’m scared.”

“Me too!”

“Hush now, girls. All of you have got to be quiet,” she said as she looked around the room with a forced smile on her face. “I’m going to close this door behind me, and Felicity, I want you to get up and lock it. The rest of you get under the beds now, and Felicity, you get under the bed once the door is locked. Do you understand?”

Clara spoke quickly and firmly. She didn’t want to scare the girls, but she didn’t have the time to sit and comfort them, either. They were operating on borrowed time.

Whoever the intruder was, he had come to the orphanage for a reason, and it wasn’t likely he would leave until he’d gotten what he was after.

Without wasting another second, she hurried back through the door, pulling it closed behind her. She remained with her back pressed against it for a moment, listening as Felicity locked it.

The girls had been strictly warned never to lock the door unless they were told to do so. Every now and then, the orphanage would have a child who would lock it anyway, but Father Fuentes was always swift and strict with his discipline, so it had never been much of a problem.

So, Clara felt a wave of relief wash through her when Felicity did as she was told. At least she could relax knowing the children were safe in the room.

Her eyes darted quickly around the narrow hall. She had to hurry to find a place to hide.

“Clara Whitmore! Come out and see me, why don’t you?” a man’s voice shouted. It was followed by the sound of another gunshot, and Clara had to clasp her hand over her mouth to keep from screaming.

Though she had suspected that the man had come for her, hearing him call her name told her with complete certainty why he was there.

Her husband had likely sent him, and the thought terrified her. Robert wasn’t the sort of man to let anything valuable go, however, so it really had only been a matter of time before something like this happened.

“Clara! Come on now, I’m not going to hurt you!” the intruder cackled as he fired his gun once again.

Clara hoped he was shooting the weapon into the air. It didn’t seem that he was shooting at anyone, but the walls were thin enough that a bullet could pass on through, and a stray shot could easily harm or even kill someone in one of those closed rooms.

Then she heard another sound.

The intruder had clearly made it past the foyer and had gone up the stairs. He must have heard her running away and had gone in that direction looking for her. He wasn’t breaking into any of the rooms, but she could hear him rattling the doors on his way up the hall.

The old mansion had once been the home of a wealthy family that had moved to the States from Mexico. She didn’t know why or how the place had come to be an orphanage, and not all of the rooms were open to the children who lived there.

However, there were unlocked rooms among the locked ones, so the intruder was checking each of them as he walked up the hall.

Clara didn’t take the time to think. She dove into the next open room only two doors down from the one where the girls were hiding.

She barely stepped into the room when she heard the man’s footsteps rounding the corner she’d fallen by only minutes before. It was clear he’d heard her footsteps and was coming for her.

If she moved to close the door, that would tell the intruder which room she was in. He was rattling the doors he passed, and she heard as he reached the one with the children inside. She silently prayed that the door was truly locked, letting herself feel the relief when he moved on.

It was short-lived, however, as his shadow appeared in the doorway of the room where she hid.

She remained in her hiding space, pressed between the open door and the wall. If he so much as touched the door, he would feel her hiding behind it.

How was she going to defend herself against a man with a gun? Should she even try to defend herself against him?

Her presence in the orphanage was putting everyone else in danger. If she tried to fight him and succeeded, how long would it be before another came for her just the way this man had?

And what did he want with her? She had her suspicions, but the fact that he had a gun worried her. Her husband would know she wasn’t violent, so why send a gunman for her?

Before she even had the chance to consider what to do next, however, she felt the door shift.

The intruder had placed his hand on it as he leaned into the room, trying to use as much of the hallway light as he could to see inside the dark interior. Once his hand had pressed against the door, however, it remained in place rather than opening the rest of the way.

“There you are,” she heard him say.

She could have screamed in terror, but in that moment, a second shadow appeared behind the first. The second shadow had something above its head, and she heard the impact as whatever it was came down on the intruder’s head.

The man grunted as he fell forward, landing in the middle of the room in a heap.

“Father Fuentes!” Clara cried as she flew from her hiding place behind the door. “Thank goodness you came when you did!”

She threw her arms around the man’s neck. It was a short, quick hug, as physical touch was very much discouraged in the orphanage, but she couldn’t help herself. She had been certain that the man was going to yank her out from behind the door, and she didn’t know what would have come next.

“Are you alright?” Father Fuentes asked.

“I am for now,” she said, her voice shaking. “I have to tell the girls that everything is okay and that they can unlock the door.”

“You may tell them, but give them strict instruction to stay in bed,” Father Fuentes told her. “I don’t want them to see this.”

He nodded toward the man on the floor, and Clara had to agree.

Blood was pooling around the intruder, and there was even some blood on the small Virgin Mary statue Father Fuentes held in his hand.

“Is he dead?” she asked softly.

She didn’t want any of the children to hear, should they be trying to listen through the wall.

Father Fuentes knelt by the fallen man, checked his pulse, then looked up to Clara and shook his head.

“No, but I do mean to get to the bottom of who he is and what he wants,” he said as he took the gun from the intruder and braced himself to drag the man. “And I don’t want the children to have any part in this.”

“I’ll make sure they’re in bed and meet you,” Clara said. “Where are you going to take him?”

“To my study,” Father Fuentes said. “I can handle him myself, really. After you check on the girls, I’d like for you to check in with the other nuns and make sure everyone is okay.”

“Actually,” Clara said, “Father, I’m afraid there’s something I should tell you.”

“Oh?” He looked at her with raised eyebrows.

“Yes,” Clara replied, her voice shaking once more. “I think I know why he’s here.”

Chapter Two

“Sister Beatrice and Sister Margaret are going to stay up for a while and make sure the children are alright,” Clara said to Father Fuentes when she finally made it to his study.

After she’d told him she thought she might have some useful information, he’d told her to go about her rounds and check on the children, then to make sure the other nuns were tending to them while Clara met with Father Fuentes in his library.

Though the orphanage didn’t have any sort of hierarchy, Clara was often seen as the woman in charge of the other nuns. She hadn’t done anything in her mind to warrant that kind of respect, and Father Fuentes had never given her any specific lead role, but the other nuns simply listened to her.

And when things went wrong, they turned to her for guidance.

So, she wasn’t surprised when she asked the other two sisters to watch the children and they both eagerly assured her that they would.

“Is the intruder gone?” Beatrice had asked.

“He’s not a threat anymore,” Clara said.

She certainly wasn’t going to tell a sister a lie, but she also didn’t want to give out too much information. She didn’t know what Father Fuentes intended to do with the man, or what he meant to tell the rest of them once it was done.

And she wouldn’t know until she got into the library to speak with him.

Upon entering the room, she found that Father Fuentes had tied the intruder to a chair. The man was still unconscious, and Father Fuentes had removed his two knives and placed them on the desk nearby.

There was still blood in the hallway, and even as the man sat in the chair, blood dripped onto the floor around them. The man wasn’t bleeding heavily any longer, but there was still enough to spatter about.

Clara made a quick note to herself to clean the room before the girls were allowed back in the library. It would be bad enough that they’d have to see blood on the floor of the hall as they passed by in the morning, but that could be discussed with them when the time came.

“Those are the only other weapons I found,” Father Fuentes said when he saw her looking at the knives. “I’ve already taken the gun out of here. There’s no place for that kind of violence in this orphanage.”

“I agree.” Clara was unable to hide the relief in her voice.

She wouldn’t ask him where he put the weapon. She wasn’t sure he would even tell her if she did. Either way, she didn’t want to know.

“Will you fetch some clean cloth? I’m going to bandage this wound,” Father Fuentes requested, and Clara looked at him in clear surprise.

“You’re going to bandage him?”

“Of course. His head is bleeding, though I don’t believe this wound will require stitches.”

“Would you like me to bring you everything, just in case?”

“Please. And some warm, soapy water so I can clean this as well.”

Clara moved quickly, returning to the library with the requested items in a matter of minutes. It wasn’t uncommon for the sisters to have a pot of water heating in the kitchen at all times. Whether for wash water or coffee, it was a wise idea to have some on hand. The rest of the items were all located in the same place downstairs, and Clara retrieved them quickly.

She laid out the supplies on the desk, and Father Fuentes set about cleaning the wound he’d caused and bandaging the man’s head.

There was silence between them as the bound man was still unconscious. Clara wondered if Father Fuentes meant to wake him, or if he found it easier to tend to the wound with the man knocked out. Either way, she didn’t have long to dwell on his methods before he spoke.

“You think I should leave him,” Father Fuentes stated.

“No, Father,” she said quickly, though as she said the words, she realized she didn’t fully believe herself. “I merely don’t understand.”

“What is there to understand, my child?”

“Why would you wrap his head and make sure he’s bandaged when he was in here not long ago with that gun? He could have killed any one of us in an instant,” she pointed out.

“Of course, but that doesn’t mean he’s not also human,” Father Fuentes replied. “One must not measure how much care someone deserves based on their actions. He will be held accountable for what he did, but he doesn’t need to suffer in the meantime.”

To her surprise, Father Fuentes chuckled. “That is, suffer more than he has, I should say. He’s going to have quite the headache when he does wake, mark my words.”

Clara found herself smiling despite the circumstances. She greatly admired Father Fuentes, and she hoped to be like him herself one day. She simply didn’t see things the same way he did, and she wished to learn, even if it wasn’t easy.

A few moments of silence passed before he spoke once more.

“You said you suspect you know why he’s here,” Father Fuentes said. “I would love to hear your version before he wakes.”

“Are you going to talk to him, too?” she asked in surprise.

“Of course. A man breaks into my home in the middle of the night, I should like to know why he did so.”

Clara said nothing. She wasn’t sure how to tell Father Fuentes what she suspected. Still, she owed it to him to tell him the truth. Even if it wasn’t easy.

“Do you remember when I came here two years ago?” she asked.

“As clearly as though it was yesterday,” Father Fuentes replied.

“Do you remember why I said I had come?”

“My child,” Father Fuentes replied, “I’d like to hear why you think this man is here, not hear you quiz me on the past.”

“Yes, Father, I’m sorry,” she said meekly. She drew in a breath, gathering her thoughts before she continued.

“I was married before I came here,” she told him. “I had married a man who turned out to be very different than I thought. I did my best to stand by his side, but the day came when I could no longer take it, and I ran away.”

“You poor thing,” Father Fuentes said, and Clara could hear the pain in his voice as he spoke. She knew he sympathized with her, and his compassion nearly moved her to tears.

Still, she had to get through her tale, so she thanked him before continuing with her story.

“I don’t know why my husband is as cruel of a man as he is, and I eventually learned there was no changing it. I know it was wrong for me to take some of his money, but I was desperate. If I didn’t get out of there, I believed he would kill me,” she admitted. “And he owns a mine. I knew the money wasn’t going to put him in a tough place.”

“My child,” Father Fuentes said, “there’s never a way to justify sin. Stealing is always wrong, but there is forgiveness.”

“And I’ve asked God to forgive me,” she assured him. “Really, I have. I just took enough to get away from my husband, and I hoped if I were to disappear, then he wouldn’t find me.”

“So you came here,” Father Fuentes said.

“I’ve never told you this,” Clara admitted, “but I didn’t intend to come here and stay. I thought if I made it into Mexico, then I would be able to start over in a place that my husband would never think to look to find me.”

Father Fuentes said nothing, and Clara felt she should explain further.

“You see, I’m originally from back East. I married when I was fifteen and moved to the West with my husband. I thought we were going to have a homestead and make a life for ourselves, but things changed when he got caught up with some men who were trying to buy a mine. He got a taste of having money, and that’s when he started being abusive toward me. So I left.”

Despite her effort to be straightforward and detached from her story, Clara found herself feeling defensive. Nothing Father Fuentes was doing caused her to feel that way, but rather her own mind carrying her back to that awful marriage to her husband, Robert Whitmore.

Clara couldn’t shake the feelings of shame she had endured constantly when she’d been married to that man. She’d felt time and time again that she couldn’t do anything properly, and all her thoughts and feelings were somehow wrong. Father Fuentes never did anything to cause her to feel that way himself, so Clara didn’t quite understand why she was defensive.

She tried to remain focused, watching him as she told her story.

Father Fuentes nodded along with what she said, and she found it difficult to read the expression on his face. A part of her thought he looked sympathetic, but another part of her that feared his judgment.

Father Fuentes wasn’t the sort of man to condemn, but rather encourage those who were in the orphanage—whether they were there to serve the children or if they were the children themselves.

Still, she didn’t want to disappoint her mentor regardless of how he would react.

“Why did you stop here?” Father Fuentes asked her. “Why didn’t you go back home, or why didn’t you go on to Mexico?”

“I found solace here, Father,” Clara told him. “You know that.”

There was another pause, and she sighed.

“My parents are dead. I don’t have any family or any life back home. I was thrown out of the family once I married my husband, and I’ve heard since then that they died. There was nothing for me back home. When I was passing through here, I saw what good you did with the children, and I wanted to do something like that with my life. I don’t care to be wealthy, nor do I care to have the kind of life money can buy. I wanted to devote myself to doing the right thing.”

“And, we must not forget,” Father Fuentes said, “that it’s not very likely your husband would have suspected you’d become a nun.”

“Certainly not,” she said with a small smile. “My husband is not the religious sort by any means, and I’ll admit, when I left I did make it sound as though I had run off with someone else. I figured if he thought I’d had an affair and left, he would give up on finding me. Not to mention the fact that if he thought I’d run off with another man, he wouldn’t be looking in the church.”

“You know this place is meant to be a shelter during stormy times,” Father Fuentes told her. “But did you really think that you were going to stay here forever?”

“I did, really I did,” Clara cried. “Maybe not at first, but over this past year specifically, I have changed my mind about a lot of things. I realized I wanted to do good to those around me. I wanted to give, not take.”

“I have seen that change in you,” Father Fuentes said, and his words caused her heart to skip a beat. “And I’ve been greatly encouraged by it. But now, it seems we have a new problem.”

Clara cared deeply for what Father Fuentes thought of her, and she desperately wanted to prove herself as a good nun. She hadn’t been open about her past with anyone since the day she’d arrived, though she had always gotten the distinct impression that he knew she was hiding something.

“My husband doesn’t like it when he’s not in control,” Clara said. “And though I don’t know how he found out where I am, it’s not a surprise that he sent someone after me.”

“You believe that’s what this man is?” Father Fuentes asked. “A bounty hunter?”

“I don’t know that you can call him a bounty hunter when I’ve not done anything wrong,” Clara said, but then she corrected herself. “Legally wrong, that is. I know I took money from him, but as we’re married, I don’t believe that would be a legal matter.”

“Legal or not, moral issues are often greater,” Father Fuentes said. “But you have confessed to me, and you have also confessed to God, that’s what matters.”

“For the sake of argument, however,” Clara said, getting away from the fact she’d stolen money, “I suppose you could call him something of a bounty hunter. I suspect my husband hired this man to retrieve me.”

Father Fuentes said nothing, but he still nodded.

To Clara’s surprise, he walked away from the bound man. The man’s head was fully bandaged, and she started to gather the medical supplies so she could put them away.

Father Fuentes stopped her, however.

“Sit down, my child,” he told her.

“Father?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, as well. And it’s a discussion I’d rather have before this man wakes up.”

Father Fuentes gave the bound man a nod as he spoke, and Clara sat back down. She was confused at the idea that Father Fuentes would have anything to confess to her, but she could see that he indeed had something weighing on his mind.

The night had already shaken her perspective on her life, and she didn’t know how to prepare for what Father Fuentes had to say.

The look on his face told her that it wasn’t anything good.

Chapter Three

“I, too, have a past,” Father Fuentes told her. “It’s what drove me to start this orphanage and make myself right with God.”

Clara was unable to hide her surprise. She’d even been surprised by the way he had struck the intruder on the back of the head, as Father Fuentes was such a kind, gentle soul. It felt strange that he would be capable of violence.

“Yes, my child, even I have things in my life I’m not proud of,” Father Fuentes said with a chuckle upon seeing her surprise. “That is why I have clung so strongly to God’s forgiveness.”

“It’s hard for me to imagine you doing anything you’re not proud of,” Clara admitted. “Father, you don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I know I don’t,” Father Fuentes told her. “But considering what you’re going through, it sounds to me like you could use some friendship. I can hear in your voice how scared you’ve been in your life, and I can only imagine what this does to you now.”

Clara nodded, though she didn’t trust herself to speak. Her throat constricted with emotion, and she hoped to have the same level of compassion in her heart that Father Fuentes had in his.

“I was a gunslinger in my younger days,” Father Fuentes told her. “But I wasn’t a man of the law. Quite the opposite.”

“You were an outlaw?” she gasped, and he laughed.

“Not quite, but that’s merely because I never got caught by someone who could turn me into an official outlaw,” he told her. “I was the man who operated under the cover of darkness. Largely, I was hired by political men who wanted to put an end to other political figures. A well-placed bullet could greatly change the outcome of any given agenda.”

Clara was shocked beyond words. Nothing about Father Fuentes would lead her to believe him capable of such things. But then, her mind went back to the way he’d struck this man in the back of the head without so much as giving it a second thought.

It was clear that he knew how to handle himself in situations such as that one.

“I was living selfishly, only in it for the money. I know what you mean when you say that money changes people. It did me.”

“What made you walk away from that life?” Clara asked.

“I wanted to make myself right with God,” Father Fuentes told her. “I knew I was on the path to the devil. I knew it was just a matter of time before I would be the one having to explain my own life to God himself, and honestly, I wasn’t too keen on what would happen when that day came.”

He shook his head and looked away from her, seemingly remembering. He folded his arms over his chest as he sat back in the seat he’d chosen.

“But then I heard about St. Anna’s church,” he told her.

“The one that burned down?” Clara asked in surprise, and he nodded.

“The property that borders our own,” he told her as he pointed his thumb over his shoulder. “I heard about it burning to the ground, and how the family that lived in this here mansion left shortly after. There were so many questions about the incident, and eventually, the bank decided the best thing to do would be to donate the mansion for the good of the community.”

“And you stepped in to take over?” Clara asked, which she believed was the most likely thing for Father Fuentes to do.

He nodded once again.