Penny poured over the thick, old book filled with detailed sketches and accounts of fantastical creatures. They ranged from the cute jackalopes to the charming domovoy to the awe inspiring unicorn to the powerful thunderbird, and all those that fell between. She quickly shoved it under her tangle of blankets as a knock sounded on her door; it opening half a minute later.
Mother Mary Clare shuffled in. She had a tenseness independent of her arthritis.
“Penrose, dear, I’ll handle your extracurricular lesson today,” she said. “Sister Mary Agnes has another matter.”
She pulled the book from the covers and flipped to the creature she’d been staring at before. The picture was of three creatures that looked like leg-filled white pants with the waist rounded up like the top of a head peaking out. They each had a pair of beady, black eyes.
“Mother Mary Clare, you’re from California, right,” Penny asked. She held up the book. “Did you ever see these?”
“Fresno Nightcrawlers? No, dear. I was born much further south near Los Angeles.” She eased onto the edge of the bed. “I have seen jackalopes by the dozens when I was a girl. I'm not quite as sensitive as you, and of course nowhere near as Sister Mary Agnes.”
Penny looked at her hands. “I probably don’t have magic,” she said, frowning.
“It’s more unusual to have it than to not.”
Magic and sensitivity was strong in the Fox family. Aisling—Sister Mary Agnes—told her bits and pieces about the family when she pestered her enough. There were a lot of mages on her grandmother’s side, and while she herself was not a mage, she did marry one. Aisling was the only one of the three children with magic, but the other two—Connor and Keena (Penny’s mother)--had both been sensitive to magic and creatures.
“We should do our lesson in my room,” Mother Mary Clare suggested. “I have some stitching to do, and could use the extra help.”
Penny helped the old woman up, and tried not to focus on how slow she was walking to keep pace with her as they headed for her room. She jumped and spun on the spot as a shriek ripped through the hall. Hurried, heavy footsteps echoed as two bulky nurses rushed by.
“Steady, Penrose,” Mother Mary Clare said soothingly. “It sounds like one of the others is having a moment. Nothing to fret over.”
Her green eyes caught a boy two years older, tossing around on the ground, beating it and kicking as the nurses tried to restrain him. A puzzle lay scattered around him. She inched closer to the Mother and focused on moving ahead.
Penny tore damaged seams from Mother Mary Clare’s old habits and skirts. She listened as the Mother spoke in calm, soothing tones about the earliest days of the Holy Cor, back when they were still heavily integrated in the Church. Fear of demons turned to fear of mages–confusing them with witches and humanoid creatures possessing magic–and the Holy Cor began to retreat from the public eye. With part of their duty being to educate mages so that they were not a danger to others or themselves, they believed the seclusion was best.
She rubbed her thumb over a small, embroidered heart tucked on the underside of a shirt cuff. The heart was surrounded by golden flames and a silver halo; the mark of the Holy Cor.
“Do the Sisters that serve the Holy See have a hidden embroidery,” Penny asked.
“No, that is just for us.” The Mother stitched a hem with steadied practice. “We serve the Holy See as well as the Holy Cor. Our embroidery is just to mark each other should we need to discuss something of the Realm.” She smiled up at Penny. “Such as children. We ensure there are at least two that serve in homes like this to watch for young mages. Others work in hospitals to watch for people injured or sickened by more unusual means.”
“And then you contact the Order of Ferblanc, right?”
“If necessary,” Mother Mary Clare said, nodding. “Magic is power, and power corrupts. They’re needed for the unfortunate times we see this happen.” She shook her head, tutting. “Too many people now ignore God’s laws, and that goes for modern mages too. Penrose, dear, please rip the embroideries out as well. The shirts are going for donation.”
She gathered up the shirts again. She stared at the embroidery for a pause before piercing it and tearing at it.
“Is there something weighing on your mind, child?”
“Only a bit… I’ve heard a little about my mother, but….”
“But, nothing of your father?” Mother Mary Clare nodded knowingly, eyes still fixed on her stitching. “I warned Sister Mary Agnes not to feed into your questions.”
Penny wasn’t sure what Mother Mary Clare knew. She had scolded her before for not using Aisling’s nun name, but she was not certain the Mother had been informed that she was aware that Aisling was her aunt.
Aisling was more forthcoming when speaking about Connor and her parents—Deirdre and Malachy—than she was Keena. Penny put together that the strain between the sisters started around the time Connor died, but she had nothing to grasp beyond that.
“Nothing was mentioned of your father when you were surrendered,” the Mother continued. “He was left off the birth certificate. In this age of unwed mothers, there were no questions asked.”
She mulled over what the Mother said as she continued ripping the embroidered heart. Mother Mary Clare did not know Aisling until she was placed at the home, and did not know her mother. She would have to ask Aisling directly, and the thought made her insides squirm. She had never been brave enough to ask why she was given up, and her father being excluded from her birth certificate fell in that area.
A firm knock sounded, and Mother Mary Bernadette entered upon Mother Mary Clare’s encouragement. Her stern eyes fell to Penny for a long minute before going to the other old woman.
“Mother, little Nathan had another episode,” she said. “Unfortunately, he’s hurt himself. The director wants to see us.”
“Yes; yes, of course.” She struggled up. “We can continue later, Penrose. I’ll find you.”
Penny watched the two elder nuns shuffle off. She went the opposite way and found herself in the multipurpose room. The puzzle was picked up and put away. There was a boy rocking back and forth playing with a fidget popper and four girls tucked in another corner coloring thick books or making beaded bracelets. She hovered where she stood, recognizing that the girls were the various stages of non-verbal ones that lived at the home, and quietly left the room.
She found herself walking towards Aisling’s room without paying any attention. She had spent more than an hour at least with Mother Mary Clare, so gambled that Aisling was finished and didn’t alter her path. She slowed as she approached, the hairs on her neck standing before she even saw that the door was wide open.
“--the creeps,” came an unfamiliar male voice. “Places like this are just prisons.”
“You’re ridiculous,” answered a twinkling, female voice. “You saw those poor kids. They have nowhere else to go.”
“Just hurry up with the packing. I want gone before that Mother comes sniffing around.”
She poked her head around the doorway, keeping her weight on her back foot in case she needed to run for it.
Both figures were the definition of willowy; the man looking as if he was trying to transition out of a goth stage into something more age appropriate, and the woman giving off Christmas elf vibes despite the earthtones. They were removing Aisling’s more commonplace clothes from the small dresser and putting them in a suitcase.
“Ugh,” the man said, peering into the top drawer. “This is not appropriate. Britt should’ve been here.”
“She can’t travel right now. You know that. Oh, move over! I’ll pack the underclothes. See if she has trainers under her bed or something.”
Penny shuffled away with a queasiness in her stomach. These strangers were taking Aisling away. And, they were trying to do it before Mother Mary Clare noticed. She ran for the administration wing. She skidded on the tiled floor as she rounded a corner to stop from colliding with Aisling.
“You’re leaving,” Penny blurted before the young nun could get a word out. “There’s weirdos in your room. Packing up all your clothes.”
She stepped back, taking in that Aisling was wearing a pair of jeans and black blouse. Her dark hair was still pulled back, but it wasn’t covered by a veil. Her eyes filled with tears as her heart raced. She sniffed, and turned to run off, but was caught by the arm and pulled into a hug.
“Ssh, Penny, it’s okay,” Aisling said softly. “I’m only going for a week or so.”
She stared hopefully up at Aisling, but felt sick dread. Aisling’s dark eyes were full of tears that she was fighting not to shed.
“Something’s wrong… Are you lying? You’re going away forever?”
“No, I’m not lying,” Aisling said. She looked at the floor. “I have a funeral to attend. It’s unexpected, so I'm just a little sad. That’s all.” She patted Penny’s hair. “We can talk when I come back. I don’t want to keep my friends waiting too long.” She hesitated a minute before placing a kiss on Penny’s head. “See you in a week.”
“Okay… Sorry about your loss, Aisling. I’ll light a candle in the chapel tonight.”
Aisling’s mouth screwed up as she either fought speech or a cry. She gave a melancholy smile, wiped her eyes, and hurried off.
Penny stood at a loss. There was no reason for her to be in the administration wing now that Aisling herself clarified what was happening. There was nothing for her in the all purpose room to do or anyone for her to talk to. Mother Mary Clare was still–as far as she knew–busy with other business.
“Ah, Penrose Fox,” a voice came, startling her from her thoughts.
A pudgy, old man approached with an even pudgier woman with cropped blonde hair that looked as if it had been bleached, dyed something, and the dye washed out. She knew the man as the St. Brigid’s director. It took her a minute longer to realize the woman was her new case worker.
“Hello, Mr. Miller,” Penny mumbled.
“We were just speaking about you,” Mr. Miller said. His fake joyfulness waned at Penny’s long, silent look. “Anywho… Ms. King found you a placement.”
“I wanted to tell you the good news in person,” Ms. King piped in. She smiled a wide, fake smile. “We had such a short time together, but I really enjoyed meeting you.”
Her eyes darted from one to the other. Short was an understatement. They had their first and only meeting last month, and now it sounded like she was already passing her off. It confused her. She hadn’t mentioned fairies, or magic, or anything deemed abnormal during their meeting.
“Wait,” Mother Mary Clare demanded, hobbling as quickly as she was able. “Wait just a moment, Mr. Miller!” Mother Mary Bernadette, stern as usual, walked by her side as if ready to drag her along. “This is too sudden. We must—.”
“Sometimes it’s sudden,” Ms. King said, all niceties dropped. “You might have all the time in the world to mull something over, but in the real world, things move quickly.”
Mother Mary Bernadette grabbed her crucifix and muttered something about patience under her breath as she glared at the case worker.
“Please, Mr. Miller,” Mother Mary Clare pleaded. “Wait a week. Perhaps two. Penrose—.”
“Is a normal, healthy, kid with no behavioral issues or disabilities of any note,” Ms. King said icily. “Keeping her here is cruel and unusual.” She scoffed. “What fixation do you have with her? It’s not normal. It should be looked into.”
“No need to be hasty,” Mr. Miller said nervously. “The Mother Superior just has high empathy and concern. For all children, not just Penrose.”
“She’s far too involved,” Ms. King said sniffily. “Worse than her is that Sister Mary Agnes. Some sick twist of fate that her mother died now to call her off.”
Penny gasped loud enough to draw notice from both Mothers. She hastily shut her mouth, but her lip shook. She had been so casual with Aisling. She should’ve said something more meaningful.
An odd sense of loss crept into her chest.
“This is extremely inappropriate,” Mother Mary Bernadette said. “Not only to drag Sister Mary Agnes’s personal affairs into this, but to be having such conversation in front of little Penrose.” She put a heavy hand on Penny’s shoulder. “The girl is only nine.”
“You can understand Ms. King’s reasons,” Mr. Miller urged. “We have three new arrivals scheduled this week; two of which are non-verbal. It really isn’t fair to keep Penrose here.”
“Of course, but just wait a week,” Mother Mary Clare said. “This isn’t a placement around the corner.”
“Or is it because you want to call this Sister Mary Agnes to interfere," Ms. King said nastily. She fixed Mr. Miller with a stare. “We’ll talk later tonight. You know what’s right here, and it isn’t letting these women run amok. I thought you were in charge?”
She shrank next to Mother Mary Bernadette as her case worker faked a smile at her. Mr. Miller scurried off, sweat clinging to his brow.
“They aren’t wrong,” Mother Mary Bernadette said, “but they are handling it wrong.” She drew herself up. “I’ll try speaking with the director. If only to calm him down.”
“I’m being sent away,” Penny asked once she and Mother Mary Clare were alone. “But… what if I’m a mage? There’s still time.”
Mother Mary Clare shook her head. “It is time for you to try a family again, but I disagree with the hastiness. There is little doubt your new case worker doesn’t favor religious involvement.”
“But, Aisling—Sister Mary Agnes….”
“We can only pray Mother Mary Bernadette gets Mr. Miller to see reason,” she said. “A week gives you time to say your goodbyes, and us time to interview the family.” Her droopy, wrinkled face fell. “I find it distasteful that you are supposed to be sent to them out in West Virginia, then for them to come to you. But that is my burden.”
“W-West Virginia?” Penny paled. “B-but, that’s a different state. That’s hours from here! Days!”
“Hours, Penrose, dear,” Mother Mary Clare said calmly. “I’m sure they won’t oppose to you writing or calling from time to time.”
Her head was filled with static at all these facts. She was being sent farther than ever before, with no option for visits. Aisling was gone, and would return to find her gone. Tears cut down her face and Mother Mary Clare offering a comforting hand made them fall harder.
“Aisling…” she sniffed. “Her mom died. My grandma… I wanted to….” She wiped her eyes with her forearm. “They won’t understand. They’ll give me back too.”
“Don’t go into this with negativity, Penrose,” Mother Mary Clare said. “This could be a long term placement. That would be a great blessing for you.” She ushered Penny into a hug, smoothing her hair. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll send Sister Mary Agnes to bring you back. You’ll have a home here no matter what happens.”
Penny wished the Mother’s words brought their usual comfort.
-------------------------
A little late, but name reveal! Penny is not short for Penelope. Way, way, way back when she was a vague name concept, she probably was a Penelope, but I kept running into the Cornish name 'Penrose' which I felt fit much better since you have Ira and Nellie both having English connections. Keena is apparently Irish/Gaelic in origin (the rest of the family got the same origin when I named them) so just more of a nod than the Greek Penelope.
I didn't name Aisling's (Keena's) friends yet, because I don't know if they're coming back. Out of her band of "supporting characters" they're the most inconsequental. Silas is the most prominent storywise, and he was introduced in Nellie's book/s. Britt (Arden's mom) was too. Which, the reason Britt can't travel is either she's very close to Arden being born or he's recently born. I didn't tack down a birth month for him, and the months are vague in this (summer sometime since Penny isn't in school).
