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from bad. They just do .
    â€œSarah?”
    Sarah turned to see Mother Angelina standing beside her, her eyes probing Sarah as if she would have all her secrets. Mac stood behind the nun. Sarah knew Mac felt that Angelina’s personal protection—and indeed the safety of the whole convent—was his life’s job. In part this was because he’d shot and killed the young man Angelina had raised and thought of as a son, but in greater part it was because Mac was a basically good person who’d done some terrible things and was trying to find his way back to redemption.
    â€œI wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye,” Sarah said.
    â€œI know,” Angelina said. “And I’ll keep your lad safe until you come for him.”
    Tears filled Sarah’s eyes. She glanced at Mac and he nodded solemnly.
    â€œAye,” he said. “With me life.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Angelina hugged Sarah and caressed the sleeping baby’s cheek. “We’ll see you soon,” she said. “And I’m sure I won’t even recognize this little one when we do.”
    â€œIt’s time, Sarah,” Mike called. His words felt like a rope pulling her from all that was good and safe. Her face must have shown her feelings because Angelina kissed her cheek.
    â€œAll will be well, Sarah. With God’s help. I know it.”
    Sarah nodded and then turned away. She was the last one to leave the garden. An image of John playing ball with Gavin on the north side of the garden wall came to her. It had been a sunny day and their laughter had carried up and over the highest apple trees in the grove.
    She couldn’t help but feel that every step she took from this place was the biggest mistake she’d ever made.
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    F iona settled her two little girls in the back of the wagon. She and Nuala would take turns driving the horses although before the Crisis Nuala admitted she’d never even ridden a horse. Nuala’s boys played in the back of the wagon with Fiona’s girls and three other children from the camp and one of the young unwed mothers from the rape camp.
    â€œNow play nicely,” Nuala said to the children as she handed out sandwiches they’d packed before they’d left the nunnery.
    â€œWhen will we get there, Mummy?” Maeve asked, her worried face looking out at the fringe of trees and onto the pasture they would soon cross.
    For Fiona, it was still too soon to look at little Maeve and not think of how her brave mother had died—needlessly, in pain and in terror. Fiona knew the other women in the camp had forgiven Mac, the foreman of the rape camp, but she still couldn’t. She was sure that was a serious character flaw on her part and she prayed nightly to overcome the deficit. And then she’d watch Maeve do something new for the first time—a new word or master a simple game—and she’d be reminded that Bridget, the child’s mother, would never see it.
    â€œSoon enough,” Fiona said. “Eat your lunch and then nap if you can.” She turned to Nuala who held her baby in her arms and shook the reins to drive the team forward. After Mike and the other men had harnessed up the horses to the wagons, they’d ridden on ahead to reach the old compound. Fiona had a shotgun at her feet and the other three wagons were right behind her. The day was brisk but sunny, a perfect day for the beginning of a journey, she thought.
    â€œYour sister-in-law’s none too happy about any of this, is she?” Nuala asked as she looked in the direction of Sarah’s wagon.
    That was an understatement. Everyone in the group knew how Sarah felt. And when she and Mike were at odds with each other, everyone felt that too. A part of Fiona couldn’t blame Sarah. She herself would hate leaving the nunnery if that was the only place her child knew to return to.
    Life was so uncertain these days. It was all very well to say the