Sister Brigit snorted. “That will be a first.”
“The sisters aren’t pleased with the new priest,” Eileen whispered as Father Ferguson began his speech.
“It’s not that we’re not pleased,” said Sister Clare, whose hearing was obviously better than Eileen had credited. “It’s just that now we’ll have to train him. New priests never know how to deal with nuns.”
“Besides,” Brigit said, “This is not a ritual of the High Father. It’s a ritual of the Mother.”
“The Mother?” Thomas asked.
“The Mother,” repeated Clare, her tone icy, though she kept her voice quiet. “Before she was the Loyal Consort, she was the Mother of All, who brings us in to this world at the beginning and gathers us up at the end, and this ritual was hers.”
“It should be we who are giving the blessing,” said Brigit. “Not him
