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Overview
Grace desperately wants to know who left her at the convent; she wants a family and to not feel alone in the world. When Grace finds a three-decades-old diary from the 1940s in the convent library, her interest in the history of the convent is also piqued. Terrible things happened in the little village of Tildonk, Belgium, when the Nazis arrived, and terrible things happened to the mysterious girl who wrote the diary. Unravelling the mystery of the diary ultimately means unravelling the secrets of Grace's life, which are more complicated than she ever imagined.
Based on the author's own experiences at this very convent school, Finding Grace is an emotional look into the lives of girls in the strict world of convents, both in the 1940s and the 1970s, from the author of Silver Birch-shortlisted Jacob's Landing.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9781771086912 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Nimbus Publishing |
| Publication date: | 09/26/2018 |
| Pages: | 160 |
| Product dimensions: | 5.25(w) x 8.00(h) x 0.45(d) |
| Age Range: | 11 - 15 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
The Convent for Girls, Belgium
1975
"PSST, GRACE? ITH MOI."
"Yes, Dotty," I mumble from underneath my blankets. "I know it's you. What do you want?"
"My eyths won't go to thleep."
"Mmmm ... just tell them to close," I say, rolling over.
"They won't."
"Mmmmm ... I'm trying to sleep."
"But we didn't give each other butterfly kitheth." Her voice sounds like a whimper. I must have dozed off while reading to her. I glance over at Dotty, who's staring at the ceiling in the bed next to mine with her hands folded above the blankets and her baby doll tucked in beside her. I'm not sure who started the butterfly kisses, but with Dotty if you do something once, you have to do it every day. Sighing, I flip off my quilt and pad over to her bed. I lean in to give her butterfly kisses with my eyelashes.
"Bonne nuit," I say.
"Be back thoon," she then repeats over and over to herself. Dotty can't say the letters, no matter how hard she tries. I lie in bed listening to her whispering until her words slur and she falls asleep. Ever since I can remember, Dotty has always said "Be back soon" over and over at bedtime.
Sometimes I wonder if they were the last words our own mother said to us. There isn't a day that goes by when I don't wonder where she is. I'm starting to think she doesn't know how to find us.
I'm sure she never meant to leave us.
Here.
Forever.
I toss and turn all night. My mind zips in and out of different events like a mixed-up movie going backwards and forwards, remembering when we used to sleep together in one bed because Dotty had a bad habit of wandering at night. After a few scary nights of searching the nuns' quarters only to find her rocking back and forth near the infirmary each time, Sister Jovita started safety-pinning our nighties together so that I'd notice when she was trying to get out of bed. Sister Jovita said Dotty's late-night roaming had more to do with the fact that she was born with an extra chromosome, which fills her with more love than common sense, but I think she was just plain scared of the dark. Like me. Even though Dotty is fifteen years older than me.
As much as Dotty drives me mad sometimes, she's nicer than some of the boarding school students. They tease me endlessly about my "mongoloid sister who has the face of a chimpanzee." Dotty listens to me rant about how horrible they are, and at the end she always says, "Juth breathe, Dotty. Ith okay," which is her way of saying not to worry about it.
I wish I had more of her ability to just be her own self and not worry about what people think. In a way, I depend on Dotty just as much as she depends on me, but I guess that's what sisters do.
In the morning, when the first bell rings for morning prayer, my body feels heavy as if I haven't slept much. I rub my eyes before glancing over to see if Dotty is up, and then I remember.
She's dead.
Up until a week ago, my world revolved around Dotty. I only know that now.
Now that she's gone.
* * *
Monsieur Castadot, the groundskeeper, sits in the back pew of the little chapel with his head buried in his hands, waiting for the funeral to begin. He's always been kind to Dotty and me.
Sister Jovita leads me to the front pew, where we sit next to Mother Superior, who takes up two spaces. I cover my nose at the smell of incense burning. Dotty hated the smell, said it made her "nothe want to throw up." Mother Superior leans in and tells me to sit up straight and put my hands down.
I try to listen to the service, but my mind is too busy worrying about what's going to happen to me now that she's gone — now that I don't have to help look after her. I feel like bolting out of the chapel, like Dotty used to do when she'd had enough. Before I act on impulse, Sister Jovita squeezes my hand and says, "It's time." She hands me the long matchstick and points to the altar and just like that, I move forward, whether I like it or not.
Suddenly the music floods into my heart. It pulls me into a stream of images of Dotty: her jumping-up-and-down hugs at the end of each school day, as if she hadn't seen me in months. The way her eyes danced when she'd tilt back her head to laugh. Her ability to never stay mad at anyone — no matter what they said or did. The hymn ends and I return to the ritual of the service, light the candles, and blink back tears.
After the service, I follow Sister Jovita to the graveyard. A gentle breeze blows around and amongst the trees, causing them to flutter and hum as if they're singing a comforting farewell song to Dotty. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Sister Francis standing underneath the walnut tree. Why is she here? She never liked Dotty — or me. I move in closer to Sister Jovita and listen to the low deep voice of the priest. A pine box gets lowered into a freshly dug hole. I squeeze my eyes shut and try to push out the recurring image of her body being burned in the incinerator on the property.
* * *
Days later, droplets of rain slide down the pane and splash onto the windowsill. "Come on, Grathie," I hear Dotty squeal. "Thtick your tongue out and tathte the rain. Ith yummy." I push the window up, take a deep breath, and try to remember her. Some moments are easier than others. As if coordinated by the convent, Dotty's death happened a week before the new school year started. Everything familiar was ending.
One last glance back at our room is all I allow myself. Two beds, a night table, and all the memories of her. I grab my suitcase and don't look back.
Goodbye, Dotty.
CHAPTER 2"GRACE, DEAR, PUT SOME PEP INTO YOUR STEP. You look like you're cleaning the floor with your shoes," Sister Jovita says.
"I'm coming," I mumble underneath my breath. I follow Sister Jovita down the wide hall, both of us walking really close to the wall. It's something that was instilled in Dotty and me as a way to practice humility, but I've never understood what that really means.
I peek into the kitchen to see who's working, but it's empty. The stool Dotty used to use sits tucked into the corner. Because the convent didn't have the right kind of schooling for Dotty, she helped in the kitchen and laundry. And because she missed me too much while I was in school, I'd have to dart back the second classes were over — otherwise the whole convent heard her hollering. Sometimes I felt more like her mother than her sister, but Dotty and I were stuck together, whether I liked it or not. The nuns made sure I knew it. If I complained about it, I'd get the lecture: "You've been blessed with a roof over your head since the day you were born. The least you can do is help us with Dotty." It wasn't a suggestion; it was an expectation.
I half expect her to appear, dragging the stool across the floor so it screeches. "For the love of the Lord, Dotty. Pick up the stool," the Sisters would say. "I forgot," she'd say every time. I think she knew what she was doing, because she'd cover her mouth, giggle, and then look at me as if to say, "Oopth."
"Grace, please stop lollygagging."
I follow the swish of Sister Jovita's long grey robe with a heavy sigh. We pass the dining hall and walk up four flights of stairs.
"Here we are," she says, sounding relieved to have made it up the stairs without needing a rest.
I have never been in this part of the convent before. We pass through a dimly lit hallway, past a small bathroom off to the right, before entering a large dorm with dark panelling and high ceilings. A small table with a brass bell on it stands guard in the middle of the room. The smell of wood and emptiness fills the air. Beige curtains held open by long tassels separate twenty chambrettes, each with its own bed, sink, mirror, chair, and armoire.
Sister Jovita stops in the middle of the dorm in front of an empty chambrette. "This will be yours."
I drop my bag and plunk myself down onto the mattress. It creaks when I lie down.
"You look comfortable," Sister Jovita says.
"It's a little lumpy."
"I don't think a little lump will harm you. Now, let's get you unpacked."
Sister Jovita opens my bag. My clothes have been neatly packed. Dotty and I used to do our laundry together. She always rolled her clothes. Folding was "tho hard." I miss seeing the rolls. My laundry number, 145, is sewn onto my very own uniform: a navy-blue sailor skirt and top with collars, cuffs, and my very own cravat. I've never been allowed to wear the school uniform before. Instead, I wore a tablier, a blue pinafore that buttoned up like a light overcoat. When I asked Sister Jovita why I wasn't allowed to wear the uniform, she explained that because I wasn't an official boarding girl, I had to wear my tablier instead. "And the uniforms are expensive to make," she added. "Everything costs money, Grace. Someday you'll understand this." Another reminder that I was to be grateful for what I had.
"Do I really have to stay here?"
"Grace, dear, we've been through this many times. Life moves forward. Things can't be the way they were. Besides, Mother Superior feels it's best that you join the other girls in the dormitory and get on with your schooling in a more dedicated way. You'll be much happier with children your own age. Keep in mind we've worked endlessly on your English, so I know the language barrier will not be a problem."
She's right about that. Once Dotty's health started slipping, Sister Jovita took it upon herself to give me private English lessons, being English herself — it made the most sense. She must have known that Mother Superior had been planning on moving me all along. I just thought she was trying to keep my mind off of worrying about Dotty. The rest of the nuns spoke only French, and the girls were forbidden to speak English except between themselves outside of class time and away from the nuns. I tried to practice with Dotty, but she made it so confusing I stopped.
"But the girls don't like me." I feel my lower lip tremble.
"Whatever would make you say such a thing?"
Images of Dotty and I being chased up the tower stairs during the girls' free time on Saturday afternoons as they shouted, "Sister retards don't belong here!" flash through my mind.
"It's just a feeling," I say.
Sister Jovita sits down next to me. "Life has a way of placing people into your life at the right time, dear. You've lived far too long without having the joy of friendships with children your age. I'm here if you need me."
She reaches into the pocket of her robe. "I have something for you. Close your eyes." She places something in my extended hands. When I open my eyes, photos of Dotty stare back at me from a little album.
"She was a dear soul, full of light and love," Sister Jovita says, pointing to a picture of Dotty when she was little. "Just like you."
Bells ring in the distance; Sister Jovita stands up. "I must dash. Hurry and put your things away and promise me you'll mind Sister Francis."
Just the mention of her name makes my stomach hurt.
Back when the girls chased Dotty and I up the tower, we found our way back and ended up in the cloisters — an area forbidden to the students. Just when we thought we were safe, Sister Francis discovered us. "What on earth are you doing here?" she hissed.
Before we had time to explain, Sister Francis demanded we hold our hands out in front of us. She took out her key ring attached to a long thin piece of leather. Dotty's hands shook as if we were in the middle of an earthquake. We had been in this position before. I closed my eyes, but when I heard a heavy thump, I opened them. Dotty was sprawled out on the floor on her stomach with her arms spread out as if she was making a snow angel. "Dotty ith bad," she repeated over and over.
Dotty and I had witnessed nuns in training doing this when they had something to confess, like shutting a door too loudly or talking when they weren't supposed to. I don't think we were meant to see it, but we did. We had lots of time to wander and explore places we probably weren't supposed to, and that's when we'd run into a new batch of nuns in training. Dotty latched onto this behaviour. She only needed to see it once for it to become a habit.
As if completely ignoring Dotty's wails, Sister Francis said, "Very well. Grace, you'll take penance for the two of you." I winced as the keys dug into my knuckles, causing them to bleed, but I held back my tears.
"Forgive us," my voice cracked. "For we have sinned."
Dotty continued sobbing on the floor.
"I pray you won't grow up to be like her," Sister Francis said, looking at Dotty. "Now, kiss my feet and promise to never visit this area again."
"We promise," I said. My lips trembled as the words tumbled out. I smelled sweaty stockings and stale incense from her robe as I knelt down to kiss her shoes.
"I expect you to practice humility by never speaking of this to anyone," she said.
Before she left, she turned and said, "Dotty! Arise in the name of God." She left before Dotty stood up with her tearstained face.
Later that night, when Sister Jovita noticed my hands at bedtime, Dotty started saying, "Juth breathe, Dotty. Ith okay."
Sister Francis's voice echoed in my mind. "Never speak of this — to anyone."
"Um ... Dotty and I were being chased ... um ... in ... the gardens," I said. "Near the back wall ... when Dotty saw a butterfly and chased it in amongst the rose bushes. She fell against the stone wall. I got scraped really badly trying to help her."
Sister Jovita hugged me. "Oh, bless your heart." Then she looked at Dotty. "You do get carried away, don't you?"
Dotty never spoke about Sister Francis, but when she'd see her in the corridors, she'd often stop dead in her tracks and pee in her underpants.
The sound of shoes clicking against the hardwood floors brings me back to the dorm. I slip off the bed and peek between my curtains to see who's coming. Maybe Sister Jovita forgot something. My stomach tightens when it's not her.
Sister Francis marches towards my chambrette. Her robes drag along the floor, making her look even shorter than she is. "Vien ici. Come away from those curtains. You look ridiculous clinging to them!"
My legs don't want to move, but somehow I manage to make them. She stares at me with her piercing eyes and pinched lips.
"Are you forgetting something?" she asks.
I immediately curtsey and give a little head nod as if she's the Queen of England.
"There will be no special treatments," she says, brushing past me. "You'll be treated like everyone else. You've had enough coddling as far as I'm concerned. You're not the first child to lose someone, and you won't be the last."
Her words slam into me. I bite my lip, trying to stop my emotions from sweeping across my face, but my eyes fill up with water regardless. I don't know why she's so mean. Maybe she didn't like us living with the nuns, but Dotty wouldn't have it any other way. She'd cry and cry whenever the topic came up about me moving into the dorm with the girls.
"Stop this nonsense!" Sister Francis orders. "There's no need for crying. Put your clothes away. The girls will be arriving from England shortly. And brush that unruly hair of yours, for goodness' sake."
Without another word, she leaves.
I touch my hair and think of how Dotty used to say I looked like one of the angels in the paintings in the front foyer. I feel my eyes well up when I hear her voice whisper in my head, "Juth breathe. Ith okay. Be back thoon."
CHAPTER 3IT'S EXACTLY TWELVE STEPS FROM THE CURTAIN TO my bed and six steps from the armoire on the right to the rusted sink on the left. I count the steps again just to make sure. Dotty used to pace when she was upset about something. I guess I'm a bit like her that way.
I peek out from the curtains every few minutes. No one yet. I plunk myself on the bed. The springs squeak and groan as if the mattress is upset to have someone sitting on it. I unfold the school uniform Sister Jovita left for me.
Folding it and unfolding it, I remember all the times I secretly wanted to wear one. I'd imagine playing with the other girls while wearing the uniform. I feel guilty for even thinking it now. I slip the blue sailor top over my head, step into the pleated blue skirt, pull up the brown socks, and nestle myself by the window, waiting for the girls to arrive.
When I have children, I'll never send them away to boarding school.
From the window, I have a clear view of the entrance to the convent. I keep my eyes peeled on the black iron gates. I notice two rickety army buses off in the distance heading towards the school.
A flurry of activity occurs at the front door. Several nuns holding umbrellas line the entrance to greet the girls. I press my face against the glass to watch them climb off the buses. The sound of their chatter drifts up as they run to avoid getting wet from the rain.
I take one last glance at the photo album and then tuck it underneath my pillow.
A herd of clomping shoes and chatting girls enters the dorm. Within minutes, twenty thirteen-year-old girls talking at once take over. "First one there gets dibs on their old bed from last year!" a girl yells.
(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Finding Grace"
by .
Copyright © 2018 Daphne Greer.
Excerpted by permission of Nimbus Publishing Limited.
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