“And I know you’ve got the day’s schedule worked out down to the minute.”
It was printed and waiting on Jazz’s desk and she retrieved the list and waved it at Eileen. “Our speakers should start arriving in…” She checked the time on her phone. “One hour and thirteen minutes. I’ve got the speaker from NASA in the gym, the woman from Case medical school in the science lab, the attorney in the library, the yoga instructor in the art room. Sarah said it would provide the right vibe.”
Sarah Carrington was the art teacher at St. Catherine’s and Jazz’s best friend, and since both Jazz and Eileen knew she was also the most ethereal free-thinker on the planet and a big believer in things like the mojo of a place, they exchanged knowing smiles.
“All the other speakers and their rooms are listed, too,” Jazz told Eileen and handed her the paper. “We’ve got a full house, not one room open in any of the time slots.”
“The girls will love it.” It was what mattered to Eileen. That and the fact that she was helping in the formation of intelligent, independent, and confident young women. “You did…” Eileen’s smile thinned with skepticism. “You managed to get some of the girls to sign up for the talk in the chapel, didn’t you?”
“Religious vocations?” Jazz sighed. “Not the hottest topic on the agenda.”
Eileen’s grin was one-sided. “What? They don’t all want to grow up to be me?”
“They should be so lucky. But you’ve got to admit—”
“Yes, I know. Believe me, I get it. Obedience is bad enough. But the whole chastity thing … Well, it’s harder today than ever to get girls to think about religious life. There aren’t many of them anymore like—”
Eileen didn’t need to finish the sentence. They both knew who she was talking about, Bernadette Quinn, a teacher who’d left the school three years before.
“Bernadette should have been a nun,” Jazz reminded Eileen even though she didn’t have to. “She was—”
“Obsessed?”
“I was going to say devoted, but now that you mention it…”
It was all they needed to say about the subject. They both remembered the last, uncomfortable weeks Bernadette had taught religion at St. Catherine’s, the complaints from parents, the uneasiness of the other teachers who had to deal with Bernadette, the tears of the students who couldn’t live up to Bernadette’s impossible standards.
But then, Bernadette had never been able to live up to those standards, either.
“I wonder what ever happened to her.” The words escaped her before Jazz could stop them and she could have kicked herself. Assembly Day was all about energy, all about excitement. Thinking about those last weeks and the discord holier-than-thou (or anybody else) Bernadette caused at St. Catherine’s should have had no part of it.
Talk about mojo!
Jazz swished away the bad vibes with the wave of one hand and offered a confession. “I got girls to sign up for the religious vocation talk because I convinced Tina Carlson to offer extra credit in Religion to anyone who agreed to attend the chapel talks.”
If she expected Eileen to criticize the strategy, she was wrong. A knowing smile, a wink, and Eileen went into her office.
The next hour was as hectic as early mornings always were at St. Catherine’s, with parents calling girls out for sickness, girls stopping into the office to retrieve lost items, others running late and rushing past the office just as the last bell was about to ring. By the time it had and the girls were in their homerooms, the coffee and bagels were delivered and their speakers were gathered. The sounds of their conversation echoed back from the fifteen-foot-high ceilings of Jazz’s office.
St. Catherine’s was located in the Cleveland neighborhood of Tremont, once the home of dozens of different ethnic groups, people from all over the world who’d come to Cleveland at the end of the nineteenth century to labor in its factories. The building had once been a Russian Orthodox seminary, and though it had been remodeled when Eileen spearheaded its transformation into the most prestigious girls’ school in the area, it still retained its old-world charm. The scientist from NASA chatted with the attorney and Eileen near the bookcases with leaded-glass doors. The yoga instructor and Sarah, who was the one who’d recommended her as one of the speakers, laughed together over near the windows that looked out across the street and Lincoln Park, the eight-acre green space in the center of the neighborhood.
It was the perfect setting and everything was going well. Except …
Jazz took a look around the room, did a quick tally, and caught Eileen’s eye, and the principal excused herself from her conversation and came over. “What?”
“Sister Dorothea Baker.” Jazz poked a finger against the nun’s name on her list of speakers. “No sign of her.”
Eileen chomped down the last of a cinnamon raisin bagel, freeing up her hands so she could give Jazz an unconcerned shrug.
“The ditzyest nun I’ve ever met. And that’s saying something!” Eileen flashed her a smile. “Don’t worry. I guarantee you, once she shows up, you’ll hear all about how she was running late and ended up getting lost. But she’ll show up.”
Only she didn’t.
By the time each speaker was met by a host teacher and escorted to the room where she’d spend the day and the girls would rotate in and out in forty-five-minute shifts, there was still no sign of Sister Dorothea. The girls who signed up to hear her speak about religious vocations might actually be relieved, but that didn’t keep Jazz from worrying.
Before she had a chance to mention it to Eileen again, the phone on Jazz’s desk rang. It was Dorothea Baker.
“It’s not a bad accident.” On the other end of the phone, Sister Dorothea’s voice was high and tight with tension. “Just a fender bender, but—”
Jazz heard a man somewhere nearby bark out “turn signal,” “brake lights,” and “watching where you’re going.”
“I won’t be able to make it to St. Catherine’s,” Sister Dorothea announced, her voice wobbly.
“She won’t be here,” Jazz repeated, because just as Sister Dorothea abruptly ended the call Eileen glided back through the office. “Sister Dorothea. Minor accident.”
Eileen’s mouth thinned. “And a forty-five-minute slot where we’re going to have to entertain a lot of girls.” She tapped one foot against the hardwood floor.
“I’ll tell you what we’re going to do,” Eileen said at the same time she picked up the phone and called down to Maintenance. “Frank, it’s me. How soon can you get the fourth floor straightened up?”
Frank, the head of the maintenance department, like everyone else at St. Catherine’s, didn’t argue. What Eileen wanted Eileen got, only by the time she ended the call Jazz wasn’t sure what it was she wanted.
“What are you planning?” she asked the principal.
“Don’t worry about me, you’ve got work to do.” Eileen put her hands on Jazz’s shoulders and turned her toward the door. “We can’t have a dog demonstration in the chapel, so Frank’s going to clean up the fourth-floor space. Nobody’s been up there in years, so it shouldn’t be bad except for some dust. By the time he’s done, it will be time for the girls to switch speakers and you’ll be back with that puppy of yours.”