Elodie wipes a film of sweat from her forehead and turns her face away from the steam. She’s been assigned to pressing sheets this month, a task even more tedious than sewing them. It’s also a lot more painful on her right arm, which has never been the same since she was bound to that bare bed for a week.
“Take five minutes,” Sister Camille says. “Your face is red.”
Sister Camille is new. She doesn’t look much older than Elodie, but she’s now the one in charge of the sewers. She’s too kind for Saint-Nazarius. It’s only a matter of time before they get rid of her.
“Why do you stay here?” Elodie asks her, replacing the iron in its plate. “You don’t belong here any more than I do.”
“God put me here for a reason,” she says. “Though sometimes I can’t think why.”
“Do you think He put me here for a reason?” Elodie asks her.
“Of course,” Sister Camille says with certainty. “We don’t always understand what He does or why He does it. We may never, not in this lifetime. That’s what faith is.”
“That’s not comforting,” Elodie mutters.
Sister Camille squeezes her hand, a gesture so startling that Elodie flinches and retracts it.
“That’s the worst part of being here,” Sister Camille says sadly. “Watching children grow up without any affection. It’s not normal. I hate not being able to hug the little ones and hold them when they’re crying.”
“You’d be fired,” Elodie says. “Or worse.”
“I did once, when I first started. I picked up a little girl who’d been chained to a pipe all night. She couldn’t have been more than four.”
“What happened?” Elodie asks, wishing Sister Camille had been around when Elodie was little.
“I was caught by Sister Laurence and banished to the cafeteria.” She looks sheepish and adds, “And then down here to the basement. I can’t be cruel like they tell me to be. I just can’t.”
“Maybe that will change.”
“Of course it won’t.”
“Then why do you stay?”
“I told you,” she says. “It’s God’s will. But between you and me, I’ll be happy when they do get rid of me.”
“Take me with you, Sister—”
“I wish I could,” Sister Camille says, taking Elodie by the hand and leading her out into the corridor. “Listen to me,” she says, lowering her voice. “They’re changing the law.”
“What law?”
“The law that put you here.”
Elodie shrugs, bewildered.
“The government is starting to investigate these hospitals,” Sister Camille explains. “They know about the orphans and they’re doing something about it. They know you’re not mental patients.”
Tears spring to Elodie’s eyes and she collapses against Sister Camille’s chest. “When?” she cries. “When can I leave?”
“The doctors have already started interviewing the children.”
A surge of panic charges through Elodie’s body.
“What’s wrong?” Sister Camille asks her. “It’s a good thing, Elodie.”
“The last time a doctor interviewed me I wound up here,” she whimpers, remembering that day at the orphanage. “I failed!”
“Just be yourself,” Sister Camille reassures her. “You’re not retarded. We both know that. These doctors are on your side.”
Elodie is skeptical. The doctors are never on her side; they only pretend to be.
“They’re going to find that most of the children here are of normal intelligence,” Sister Camille says. “If anything, you’re disturbed from being locked up in here and from all the abuse. You’re smart, Elodie, but ignorant.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you don’t know anything about the world. Basic things. You’re backwards, that’s all. But not crazy.”
“That’s true.”
“If you poor things weren’t retarded when you came in, you surely will be when you get out.”
“Do you think I’ll be able to find my mother?”
“Anything is possible with God,” Sister Camille says, but the look in her eyes belies her words. Elodie does not see faith in them, only pity. Or maybe it’s Elodie’s own doubt, her ambivalence about God.
“Where will I go?” Elodie wants to know. “I don’t know anything other than this place—”
“The younger kids will probably go into foster homes or proper orphanages. The older ones will just be released, I imagine.”
“Released?”
Sister Camille nods. And then, reading the look of alarm on Elodie’s face, she adds, “Don’t worry, you’re not old enough to be on your own.”
“Do you think they’ll send me back to the orphanage in Farnham?”
“I don’t know.”
Elodie’s mind is buzzing. The very possibility of escaping Saint-Nazarius—of never having to see Sister Ignatia’s face again—fills her with a burst of fresh hope, something she hasn’t felt in years.
“You’re going to have to be patient,” Sister Camille warns. “It won’t happen quickly.”
“But it will happen?”
“I believe it will. It’s already happening at other hospitals.”
Elodie beams, her whole body trembling with excitement and relief. There’s a fissure of fear—she still has to convince the doctors she isn’t crazy or retarded—and some trepidation about where she’ll be sent, but nothing that can possibly outweigh her joy.