The car was immense—the largest, perhaps, of all the large cars she had seen since returning to America. Sister Eunice introduced herself to the driver, and saw the flicker of disappointment on his face. Quickly she smiled and complimented him on the size and solidity of the car.

"It's an Oldsmobile, ma'am. I mean Sister. It's Father Bresnahan's."

With a little prodding, the driver revealed that his name was Joseph. Joseph Mullins. A thin short man, with strings of dark hair combed across a bald top. He wore a dingy white shirt and colorless dark tie under the sort of winter jacket a farmer would wear to go out and feed the stock. Sister Eunice had been away from this part of the world for 40 years, but she recognized the type. A church mouse, she thought, probably Third Order of St. Francis. So now she knew something about Father Bresnahan: he was the sort of priest who used men like Joseph to run errands.

"Call me what you like, Joseph," she said, and then repeated, for the twentieth time this journey, the story of the change of her name. "Please accept my apologies for the confusion. Why, you must have expected Sister Martin de Porres in a white habit, but instead you find Sr. Eunice Larkin in a borrowed wool dress."

The man winced at the mention of her clothes—as if he had been forced to consider the idea of her getting dressed. Well, that's the way it would have to be. Yesterday, for her mother's funeral, she had worn her habit, but today, very deliberately, she had decided to wear street clothes.

Joseph opened the back door of the car for her, like a chauffeur. For a moment she considered insisting on the front seat, but one look at Joseph's expression—servile, haggard, categorical—and she decided to pick another battle. He took her satchel as she climbed in, and handed it back to her when she was settled.

"Thank you, Joseph." she said. "How long to Dubuque?"

"Oh, not long, Sister, not long."

Sister Inez, who apparently had more of a head for numbers than Joseph, had told her the trip would take fifteen minutes. Amazing how the roads had improved.